Chapter 22

Gavin wants to go gay clubbing. Cool. Let's go gay clubbing. I know what he's trying to do—throw me into the deep end so he can say "I told you so" when I beg to be rescued. Well, I'll show him.

The place is packed when we get there, with flashing disco lights and music so loud it makes the air ripple. The dance floor is sunken into the middle of the main room, giving spectators plenty of railing space along the periphery to lounge and feast their eyes on the human candy below. And there's certainly more than enough to look at, especially when clothing is apparently optional.

I'm no stranger to rooms full of half-naked men, each one fitter and buffer than the next. Swimming through testosterone is basically my job at the gym. But this is next level. This is testosterone and sex, on display and unapologetic, inviting you to jump in and take part.

I'm not immune.

Adrenaline drips, slow and steady, into my veins as we push our way across the room to the bar. Sculpted chests and broad backs bombard me from all sides. Anonymous hands land on my hip, graze across my stomach, steal gropes a little lower. By the time we're crushed up against the bar, I'm vibrating with all the stimulation.

Someone bumps into Gavin, pushing him into me, and my arm automatically circles around him as I throw a dirty look at the back of the offender's head.

"Don't worry about it!" Gavin steadies himself with hands on my chest. His lips brush hot against my ear. "Clubbing's a full contact sport."

"Yeah, no shit."

"What do you want to drink?"

I'm a beer guy. Sometimes whiskey if I'm feeling fancy. But most of the glasses people are taking away from the bar look colorful and fruity and sweet. Gavin wants me to have the gay experience (TM), so I'm going to go full immersion.

"Whatever you're having."

He cocks an eyebrow in skepticism.

"Whatever you're having," I repeat with a decisive nod. He's not scaring me away that easily.

"If you say so!" He spins around and leans over the counter to wave down the bartender.

The movement pushes his ass right into my crotch and all the stimulation of the club narrows into a pool of heat in my groin. My hands find their way to Gavin's hips, fingers tightening around them as my cock twitches to life.

I can see it as clearly as if it was a porn video playing in 4K right before my eyes. Gavin's long, lean back, stretched out in front of me where he's bent over the bed. The head of my cock popping past that ring of muscle, then disappearing inch by inch into his hole. The pillow of his ass cheeks against my hip bones when I bottom out.

"Beau!"

I blink a few times before my vision clears and I'm back in the club with Gavin glaring at me over his shoulder. His hand is on top of mine at his hip, but I can't tell whether he's trying to loosen my grip or keep me there.

"You're supposed to be picking up other guys."

I harrumph internally. That's what he thinks. The truth is, I have no intention of picking up someone else, or even looking at someone else. I already know who I'm going home with tonight. But Gavin's still under the impression that I don't know what I want, so the least I can do is humor him for a bit. I drop my hands from his hips and ease back an inch so my hard-on isn't nestled quite so snuggly in his ass.

He hands me a glass that looks just as colorful and fruity and sweet as I expected. "To your sexual awakening!"

We clink, then I take a gulp and nearly choke as the liquid sugar hits my tongue.

"That's disgusting."

Gavin smirks at me, but I catch the flinch when he swallows down his mouthful. He's not a fan of sugary drinks either—I guess we both have points to prove.

"See anyone you like?" Gavin asks after we find an empty spot along the railing that separates the sunken dance floor from the lounging area around it.

I give the room an honest sweep. As much as I don't like being second-guessed, I can't blame Gavin for having his doubts. His reaction is a lot more normal than mine has been. The only explanation I can think of for my sudden interest in dick is that my attraction to women simply overshadowed any latent attraction I had for men. If I give guys a fair shot—guys who aren't Gavin—maybe something will click into place.

There are a lot of good-looking men in the club. I can say that much, objectively. But do I want to kiss any of them? Fuck any of them? Not particularly.

I turn to Gavin, who's watching me like he's cataloging my every facial twitch, and the difference is staggering. Heat blooms in my tummy, my cock pulses in arousal, and all I want is to pull him into my arms and drag my nose up the length of his neck.

Am I gay or am I Gavin-sexual? I don't know and I don't care.