Chapter 17

17

ALEX

M y steps slow as the bar in Harlem comes into view. Old fashioned and paint peeling, the "A" in the illuminated word BAR over the building has gone out. A large man in a nylon sports shirt grinds a cigarette under the heel of his boot as the skinny nervous type next to him blows a plume of smoke into the air. This feels a million miles away from my first date with Des. I glance down at my suit.

The large guy spots me as I cross the road, and as I get closer he shouts, "All right, there?" And the other one grins at me drunkenly.

The back of my neck prickles as heat builds around my collar. But they're both watching me now, so I can't turn around like I've been intimidated. They move to one side as I push open the grime-covered door.

Carlos said to meet him in here, but my steps falter as I take it all in. It's the kind of bar that looks like it hasn't been renovated in a hundred years and the floor is sticky under my shoes. Men of all kinds sit around the edges, testosterone swilling over the floor, and a creeping feeling warms the back of my neck. I try not to make eye contact as I take in the old pictures of physique magazine covers from the 1950's that cover the walls in some huge chaotic jumble.

As I push through the crowd to get to the long bar that runs down one wall, bodies press in and a voice near my right ear says, "Let me buy you a drink." But I roll my shoulders and push forward, coming up short at the rough wooden counter as I suck in a deep breath. Am I going to survive this? Goddammit, a desire to understand this scene brought me here, I can't give up at the first hurdle.

The man behind the bar scans down my suit and quirks an eyebrow, then jerks his chin. "What can I get you?"

"What beers do you have?" No way I'm drinking anything else but beer in a place like this.

He scratches his head. "It's more a question of what we don't have, to be honest."

Fuck. I know nothing about beer. "What's on draft?"

He scans his hand along the array of taps, and I spot a familiar name.

"I'll have a Hoegaarden, please."

When I glance around the packed room, I have no idea how I'm supposed to pick out the guy who messaged me.

When the barman returns with my beer, I lean forward over the counter. "This looks like a place with a lot of regulars. You don't know someone named Carlos, do you?"

He nods, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Yeah, I know Carlos." He scans down my suit again and smirks. "He usually comes in later. You meeting him?"

When I nod, he frowns. "You're not the usual type he meets here."

He regularly meets people here and has a type? Christ . The barman taps the wooden surface. "Just stay by the bar where I can keep an eye on you. I don't want any fucking trouble tonight."

My stomach churns. I want to ask what sort of trouble that might be, but I can't bring myself to. I take a sip of my beer. I hope to God that Carlos turns up soon—he looked like a nice guy. Maybe I can persuade him to go somewhere else.

I'm about six nervous sips in, neck still prickling, when I hear his name shouted above the laughter and the music.

"Carlos!"

I turn around to see a dark-haired bruiser of a man in a leather bomber jacket pushing through the crowd. I squint at him. That's the guy who reached out on Grindr? He looks nothing like his picture. He heads toward a table off to the side. Should I go over and talk to him? I take in his age and his leather jacket and Get out now! rolls through my thoughts.

Taking another gulp of beer, I place the bottle on the counter, turning back to the barman. "Thanks so much for …"

An oily voice says in my ear, "You must be the lovely Alex."

And I turn to find Carlos so close in my personal space that I take a step back, my foot landing on the guy behind me, who grunts. Carlos grabs my arm.

"Mind yourself!" he says, fingers caressing up my forearms to my elbow. "You are so much prettier than your photograph!" he says, all wide smiles. "Tonight is going to be much better than I expected." Then he leans in and his lips hit my neck.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Before I can do anything, he's grabbed my hand and placed it on the zipper of his jeans, and he's rock hard underneath the denim. I jerk back a second time.

"Well, I …"

He runs the backs of his fingers down my face. "So very pretty. I want to look at this face when I fuck you."

You should have left. You should have left. You had the chance. Fuck, Alex, you're an idiot.

I press my lips together. Buy yourself some time.

"Let's get a drink," I say.

He studies me for a while, and sweat makes my shirt stick to my back under my suit jacket. Who is this guy? Is he dangerous? And what the hell was I thinking trusting a message on Grindr? Several guys start raucously yelling at a table on my right, and one of them shakes his fist, and my heart takes off like a jackrabbit. I swear if I get out of this alive, I'm deleting that fucking profile.

"What would you like to drink?" I say to Carlos.

"Heineken," he says. And as I lean over to talk to the barman, his hand is on my ass, fingers pushing into my crease.

When I straighten, he leans into me, pressing his erection into my hip. "How about you give me a blowjob in the back right now? My friends are here." He jerks his head behind him. "I need to talk to them about some business but we could take five minutes."

I shift myself so my ass is against the bar, but all he does is trail his hand around to the front of my pants, stroking.

"You go and talk to your friends," I say. "Let me finish my drink."

The barman appears with his Heineken, and he jerks his chin at him and takes the drink squeezing me with the other hand, eyes narrowing. "I'll be back in five."

He pushes past a couple of people and returns to the table he was talking to when he first arrived, and I heave a shuddering breath into my lungs. Red flashing lights are cascading through my brain. I've got five minutes to get out of here, but his table and all his friends are between me and the door I came in through.

When I turn, the barman is still standing where he handed Carlos's drink over. "What's a guy like you doing with someone like Carlos?" he asks.

Being an idiot? "Grindr."

He laughs. "That app is fucking dangerous."

As I'm starting to realize. He leans over the bar and lowers his voice. "Be careful," he says, frowning, his mouth a grim line, and I nod.

"Any trouble, shout for Leroy." He gestures at a huge Black man at the end of the counter. "He's our security. No one messes with him."

For the first time this evening, my shoulders ease. "Good to know. And thanks. Where's your restroom?"

He gestures beyond where Leroy is standing at the end of the bar farthest away from the door. And so I shuffle my way through the men and reach Leroy's impassive face several feet above mine. He's a man mountain.

"Is there a back exit to this place?" I ask him.

His face is expressionless as he shakes his head. "Off limits for customers," he growls.

"But there's a way out?"

He glowers at me. "You hear what I said?"

I give him a smile which is more like a grimace and nod. I suspect there's a back door that I could sneak through, but could I do it without Leroy noticing? It's worth a try. Okay. Restroom first.

The restroom is blissfully empty, and I unzip, relieving myself in the urinal. The door bounces against the wall suddenly and two guys lurch in hands all over each other. One guy is fused to the other's mouth as he unzips him. They don't even look at me as Unzipped Guy hitches himself onto the counter alongside the sinks and the other one leans in to kiss him putting his hands against the mirror on either side of his head. Then his jeans are pushed down to the tops of his thighs and I get a view of his backside as he groans, the other guy's hand moving back and forward, presumably stroking him. I can't really see but … holy shit.

"There you are!" a voice says. "And all ready for me, too."

And suddenly Carlos is in my space, his hand latching over mine where I'm holding myself. I try and lurch away, but he hangs on and strokes me roughly up and down.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

"You fucking asshole."

The thick-accented voice comes from behind Carlos, and suddenly his hand is no longer on me as he's wrenched round by a rough-looking guy with a shaved head. I tuck myself away as fast as I can.

"Thought you could dump that shit on me and I wouldn't notice?" the guy snarls, face like an impending tornado.

Carlos holds up his hands. "I don't know what you mean, Salim."

And suddenly there's a gap, a space on one side of Carlos, opening up a path between me and the door and before I can overthink it, I bolt for it. Turning right as soon as I hit the corridor and shouldering through the only door I can see. Maybe I should have gone out through the bar given Carlos is in the restroom right now. I groan to myself. Will the mistakes of this night never end? On my left, an old guy is piling glasses into an industrial dishwasher.

"Is there a way out of here?" I say.

He jerks his chin at a door on the opposite side of the room, propped open to the night air, and my heart soars as I shoot across the floor, stumbling out into an alley with a strong stench of rotting vegetables and vomit.

"Hey!" I hear as the door slams shut behind me, and I jump over some trash and hurry past several dumpsters toward the lights of the main street at the end of the alleyway.

When I get to the street, I look right toward the bar first, and my heart nearly stops at the group of men standing around by the front door talking to the two guys I saw on my way in. Fuck. Don't think, Alex, just go . I take off at a run. There's a shout behind me, and my heart shoots into the red zone as I realize how hampered I am by my suit. I've never been so glad of all the track I did at school and running since.

I only dare look back when I'm two blocks away, but no one is following me, and I suck a huge breath in, jogging over the intersection as I scan for a cab, lungs bursting. And God, I'm the luckiest guy alive because a yellow cab light appears down the street. He pulls over for my frantically waving arm and I collapse into the back seat.

"Penn Station," I say. I'm miles uptown but I don't care how much it costs. I'm safe. I'm fucking safe.

The streetlights wash over the car in pools of dark and light as I stare out the window at the blur of illuminated shopfronts zipping past. When I glance at my watch, I'm shocked to see I was only in there an hour. How could all that have happened in an hour? Without a doubt, the worst hour of my life.

Could I be any more stupid? I just randomly met someone from Grindr. But maybe the whole scene works like this, and I'm just the odd fish out of water. And who could I have called tonight if this had gotten worse? I've always felt my family were close, but this … this wouldn't generate any sympathy or understanding at all.

I can still feel the soft give of Des's lips under mine at the club and afterward before I dived into the subway, thrilled. But is this what he's doing when he's hooking up? My stomach hollows out and I sag back into the plastic seats as the storefronts blur into a meaningless jumble.