Page 25 of Fire
I’m gonna have to prove it. That’s why I’m drunk and at this busy downtown Lexington bar. I need to get laid to prove to myself that my night with Evan wasn’t a once-in-a-lifetime connection.
Another double whiskey and I go on my search. I’m not picky. Man, woman, or both would do as long as they can get my mind off Evan. I walk through the bar and reconsider my belief that I’m not picky. There’s not anyone who’s even made me want to go to the work of unbuckling my belt and pulling down my zipper.
Finally.I spot a chino-wearing hipster with dark hair, looking shy and a little awkward, standing on the edge of the dancefloor.
I move in a little closer and see that he can’t take his eyes off a good-looking blond kid who’s dancing or, more accurately, dry-fucking two guys on the dance floor. The hipster kid looks up at me, and I see more than just shyness there; I see heartbreak.
Maybe he sees something similar in my eyes because he leans in and whispers to me. “Is it true that the only way to get over someone is to fuck somebody else?”
“Let’s find out,” I tell him and hold out my hand. He grabs it, and I lead him to a more private corner of the club and cage him against the wall.
With close proximity, the attraction that had sparked to life dies. Sure, the kid in my arms is good-looking, but up close, his hair is a lighter shade than Evan’s, and his eyes, which looked amber under the lights of the dance floor, are actually hazel.
It shouldn’t matter. I’m here to forget Evan. I press myself closer. So what if I’m not feeling it? If I go through the motions, my body will eventually sign on to the plan. “What do you like?” I whisper into his ear while trying to ignore that he lacks thesmoky, spiced ginger scent Evan gives off that I always want to bury myself in.
“What do I like?” he repeats in a high, scared voice. That and the fact that he starts trembling against me makes an alarm bell sound in my head.
I lean back and let a little bit of the light from the neon signs into our circle of two.Fuck, in the light, he looks young. Really young.
I narrow my eyes at him. “How old are you?”
He blushes and looks down and then up again. “Ei—ei—eighteen,” he stammers.
“We’re not doing this,” I tell him, pulling back, secretly relieved I don’t have to make myself go through with having sex with non-Evan.
“Please,” he begs, as tears come into the kid’s eyes. “I really am eighteen. Tonight is my birthday.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Here,” he says, fishing an ID out of his back pocket and showing it to me. I look at it, and it’s legit.
“Maybe I seem younger because I’ve never kissed anyone.” He looks down. “Or—or anything else.” His eyes flick back up to meet mine. “I had this stupid idea that there was only one person I ever wanted to have kiss or fuck me, and I’d been waiting for him, but I realized tonight that it’s never going to happen.” He clutches my shoulders. “I need someone to break the goddamned spell he has over me, once and for all.”
There’s something about the kid. “I won’t fuck you, but one kiss? That, I can give you.” I lean in, intending to drop a light kiss on his lips and then get the fuck out of this dive.
Someone roughly grabs me by the neck of my jacket and yanks me backward. “What in the fuck do you think you’re doing?” the guy says and punches me. It’s a pretty good hit. It would have put most guys on the ground.
I’m not most guys.
I take the punch like it’s a love pat and study my attacker. It’s the blond kid from earlier who’d been dancing-slash-fucking on the dancefloor. He stands in front of me, bowed up, eyes black with fury. He’s obviously drunk and probably flying on any number of drugs, but that’s not what has him risking his life by hitting a guy like me and not having the good sense to be scared.
“You stay the fuck away from my brother.”
“Stepbrother,” Non-Evan corrects from behind me.
“Brother?” I laugh at him, letting him know that I’m on to the fact that there are more than protective family instincts behind his violent reaction.
He comes at me again, but this time, I block the punch and pin him against the wall with my forearm against his neck, effectively cutting off his speech and most of his breathing ability.
Non-Evan desperately tugs at my arm. “Please don’t hurt him. I know he’s an asshole, but?—"
“He’s your asshole,” I finish for him and let said asshole drop to the ground.
“Next time, take better care of your brother.” I give the asshole a little kick to the ribs to remind him of my advice tomorrow when he sobers up, kiss Non-Evan on the cheek, and then get the hell out of there.
What a fucking mess tonight was, but it was my own goddamned fault. I was trying to disprove something I already know in my bones.
I‘m in love with Evan Kelly.
