7

-Malcolm-

WHEN Ifinally park the Porsche up around the back of the bar, we're already an hour late and I want to peel my skin off. North doesn't seem to care though. He practically falls out of the car with excitement when he opens the door, then comes around to my side when I apparently don't get out fast enough for him, and pulls on my arm. Big golden retriever energy.

I cleaned us up as fast as I could after our speed fuck. But it still required another shower, fresh underwear, and dry wiping our costumes to get the worst of the cum stains out. There weren't any clean pants for me to wear so I had to pull some out of the dirty laundry from a few days ago, and they still have the half packet of cigarettes in the back pocket that I confiscated off North. It makes me feel gross but it's all I've got.

It was a rough fuck, and I didn't want to rush the aftercare, but North assured me he was fine and any hope of canceling went out the window. Even so, he's walking a bit stiffly for my liking.

It's impossible to keep a good North down, and as we go around to the front, he's practically vibrating. He holds onto my arm until we're inside the swinging doors, as if he's worried I might try to run away. But I'm committed now. I said I'd come, and I'm here, no matter how much I regret it.

The guys are gathered around a table in the back corner of the bar, but it's impossible to miss them; they're all dressed as cowboys and are by far the loudest group in the place. North drops my arm as we approach, and that's just another reason for me to be irritated.

The guys see him and cheer, raising their beer bottles. Then they notice me, and they all fall silent as one, like I'm a turd they've just found in their birthday cake. I guess North forgot to tell them I was coming. It makes me feel marginally better.

"Hey guys," North says in the ringing silence.

That seems to make them recover themselves enough to stop staring at me, and Josh finds his voice first.

"Malcolm. You came," he says. If he's trying not to sound perturbed, he's failing.

I skewer him with a look. "I'm just as shocked as you."

He laughs nervously, but I can see there's something else going on with the way he's looking at me. It's the same look he was giving us on the field. And again, he averts his eyes.

I'm going to have to be careful here.

There are two free seats on either side of the table, which is probably best for the sake of appearances. North goes around for the far one, we sit, and the chatter resumes, although not quite to its previous volume. They seem spooked by my presence. The glimmer of pride I feel at that is quickly snuffed out. The stool is uncomfortable, the table is sticky, the air smells of stale beer, and the vest pulls tight across my shoulders. I feel like my skin is five sizes too small for me. I have a feeling it's going to be a long night.

Once we're settled in, Steve, in a brown cowboy hat and fake mustache, jumps up. "My round. Waddaya want, Alaska?" he says in a strained Western accent.

"Beer me, bro," North replies, shooting a set of finger guns his way.

I frown. Bro. North never says "bro" around me. Nice one, bro. That's totally awesome, bro. Sweet ass, bro. I love it when you fuck me hard, bro. North, the social chameleon.

Steve with the mustache turns to me and hesitates. "Do you want a drink Malcolm?" he asks, like he's not sure if I consume liquids like a regular human at all, or if it'll melt me into a puddle of green slime.

I shake my head. It's been four years since I had a drop of alcohol. in my teens I hit the booze hard, in the certain belief that it made things easier to deal with. But it didn't, it only made everything worse. Now I hate the feeling of not being in complete control over my body.

"I don't drink," I say.

He looks relieved, nods, and heads to the bar.

I settle back in my uncomfortable chair, stretch my booted legs out under the table, and scratch a finger under the cowboy hat, trying not to scowl as North chats away on the other side of the table.

Well, here I am. I'm keeping my promise. I'm being a good . . . whatever I am to North. Now I just have to endure this hell known as "socializing" until he's ready to go. And as soon as we get back to my place I'm going to dump these fucking costumes in a trash can, pour gasoline over them, and burn them.

I look over at North and relive fucking him against the wall at the bottom of the stairs with those cowhide chaps. The chair creaks under me as I shift.

Ok, I concede, maybe I'll just burn my costume. North can keep his in case he wants to do that again one day. But only if he suggests it, because there's no way in hell I'm going to.

The talk goes back to inane stuff—girls, sports, funny videos. They chat and laugh and drink, and North is at the center of it, radiating charm and that indescribable North-ness. Looking at him now, you'd think he didn't have a care in the world. The way he talks, the way he moves, it's enthralling. And when he looks at you it's like you're the most important person in the room. In any room. He has a magnetic pull, and the others are sucked into orbit, planets revolving around his sun.

I'm so lost in thought I don't notice one of the guys leaning into my space until stale breath washes over the side of my face, and I drag my eyes away from North. Randy, one of the beefy linemen, is peering at me, hazy eyes above red cheeks. He's either been necking beers since he arrived, or he's a total lightweight. I lean away from him, letting the distaste show on my face, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"Hey, Malcolm," he says, with another gust of warm beer breath. "How come you decided to come this time? This has got to be, what, the first time ever? What happened, man?"

I glance over at North briefly. "I just felt like it," I say.

"Cool." Randy burps under his breath. "Sweet hat by the way, bro. Think you got mixed up in the kiddy section." He flicks the brim clumsily with his knuckles, knocking it back on my head, and laughs, giving me a good view of his tonsils. I cross my arms and glare. No one is allowed to insult my undersized cowboy hat but me. He catches my look, stops laughing abruptly, and turns back to his drink.

Steve with the mustache lugs a bucket of beers down in the middle of the table, and everyone grabs one. North raises his bottle to his lips and I track his throat as he gulps, my mouth watering. It's like the best beer commercial I've ever seen.

"Hey, Mal, what did you think about it?"

I blink and realize North is looking at me. They all are. But I have no idea what they've been talking about.

"What?" I say.

"You know, the final touchdown of the game. That was on TV last night." He waits for me to respond, then prompts. "That was intense right?"

I didn't watch the game, and he knows it. He smiles at me encouragingly, though, and I know exactly what he's doing. He's trying to draw me in, get me involved in the conversation. Include me. God, I hate small talk, and joining in is the last thing I want to do, but he's giving me those puppy dog eyes, and I have to give him something.

I purse my lips. "Yeah, it was really something."

It's not much but as the guys turn back to him, satisfied with my brief answer, North gives me the brightest smile. It's almost embarrassing how obviously proud he is of my barest effort but he's still happy that I'm trying. And damn, that makes my chest ache. It makes me want to try harder for him. He keeps making me want to do things to make him happy.

Like, what am I doing here? A few weeks ago this wouldn't have happened, so what's changed now? Whatever it is it feels big. Earth moving. North is altering me in ways I don't even know, and while that terrifies the hell out of me, I can't make it stop. I want him so badly every moment of the day. And not just for sex. I want to be near him, to feel the warmth that radiates from him, from his skin, but also from his fucking soul. I want him to see me, to validate me. And it's embarrassing how much I need it at this point.

I was right, he is like the sun; he's pulled me in and now there's no hope of escape. But I'm not orbiting around him like the other guys are. Where they bathe in the warmth and joy he radiates, I actively take from him. I feed off him to fill the empty space inside my bones. I'm not a planet in his solar system, I'm a black hole.

Just for a moment, I wonder what it would be like to feel how North feels. To just relax, go with the flow, and enjoy myself. I yearn for that easiness. I don't know if I can ever get it, but at this moment I want to at least try. And that means putting effort in.

At the other end of the table, Josh stands up and declares. "Who's in for shots?" The guys raise their bottles amid shouts of "yeehaw." I take a deep breath. Guess now's a good time to start.

"Hey," I say loud enough to be heard above the din. Josh looks up, along with the rest of the table. "I'm in."

***

The shot burns all the way down, making my eyes water and my breath catch. I almost gag and have to bang my fist against my chest to stop myself from choking in front of everyone. I can see why I gave this shit up. Whatever moment of madness overtook me erodes as the spirit singes my esophagus.

"Are you ok?" North asks from across the table, a crease between his dirty blond eyebrows.

He's still recovering from the shock of me joining in; the way his eyes widened you'd think he sat down on a well-lubed zucchini.

"Fine," I say, clearing my throat.

For the next half hour, the alcohol—I didn't ask what kind it was—is like a fire in my stomach, and I can feel the warmth of it spreading outward. It makes my ears and fingers tingle, and it spreads to my brain, too, like a cozy blanket wrapping around it. I rub my forehead. My muscles unwind, my shoulders loosen. And, yeah, okay, it feels pretty good.

My resolve to only have one drink dissolves along with my tension, and when the next round of shots comes, I barely try to talk myself out of it before I slam back another, this time enjoying the way it burns as it goes down.

When I put the glass back down on the sticky table, North is watching me with that same attractive crease between his eyebrows. God, he's hot.

And when someone asks who's in for the next round and I raise my hand, he stands up and nods his head toward the terrace. After an appropriate pause, I follow him out. My head rushes a little when I get to my feet, and I blink hard a few times. I must have been sitting down for too long. And again, when I step outside and the cold air hits me, I waver.

It's dark out and the terrace is lit up with string lights. The tiny orbs reflect in North's blue eyes as he peers at me.

"Are you ok?" he says.

"I'm fine. Why?"

He frowns. "I know I made you come out, but you don't have to join in with the drinking if you don't want to," North says. "You don't drink."

His concern is cute but unneeded—I'm in perfect control of the situation. I step closer to him. "Believe me, I never do anything I don't want to," I say in a husky voice.

Which is a pretty big lie, especially recently when it comes to North. But whatever, it sounds cool.

"When was the last time you drank any alcohol?" North asks, unintimidated. "Your tolerance is probably really low."

"I'm just relaxing a little, ok? Like you suggested. Don't get your jockstrap in a twist."

His frown deepens. "Hey. I'm not, I just want to make sure—"

I grab the bandanna tied around his neck and jerk him into me bodily, covering his lips with mine. I kiss him hard, tasting the beer and shots, and the extra spicy pizza someone got delivered to the table, still on his tongue.

There are other people on the terrace but they're not paying attention to two cowboys making out, and even if they were, I don't give a fuck. I feel loose and good, and I'm halfway to rocking a boner already.

North grunts and pulls away. His lips are swollen, and his hat is wonky. Mmm, he looks so good when he's fucked up, and I want to go further. But a small voice at the back of my mind tells me that's a bad idea.

Instead, I reach into my pocket and pull out North's half squashed packet of cigarettes.

"Hey, I thought you threw those away?" North says.

"I guess I forgot." I knock one out, then put it between North's lips. I light it for him, borrowing a lighter from a woman smoking nearby. He draws in the smoke and sighs.

"How come I'm allowed this?" he asks.

I shrug. "I'm in a good mood. Plus, it looks kinda sexy. But this is the last one. If I ever catch you smoking again, you're not going to be able to sit down for a week."

He raises his eyebrow and takes another drag, blowing smoke through his nose in a lazy plume. "Is that supposed to be a threat?"

"You slut."

He laughs and I pluck the cigarette from his fingers. His eyes track me as I drag in a breath, the same way mine tracked him. That look, mixed with the smoke, gives me a heady rush, and then a second later I'm coughing. Smoking is another thing I haven't done for a very long time.

North takes the cigarette back again. "You're right, very sexy. I think some spit landed on my face."

I want to say something smart back, but my throat is too raw and my head is spinning, so I just pull a face at him. I've been dreading this, but I'm actually having fun. How the hell did North manage to get me to enjoy myself? Sneaky bastard.

He laughs and waves the cigarette under my nose. "You're too delicate for these." His eyes sparkle in the lights, and he tips his head for me to come closer. "Here. I've always wanted to try this."

He takes a drag and then leans in close. I part my lips and he blows the warm smoke into my mouth.

My face tingles. My nose feels numb. And North's face is only an inch away from mine.

Is this what it feels like to be happy?