Better Than Chance (5 page)

U
NFORTUNATELY
, I
was a notoriously bad drunk. I knew this about myself. I knew I needed to eat before drinking a drop, and that I needed to drink copious amounts of water in between drinks. It was usually best if I stayed away from hard alcohol, but that was no fun, so I tried to be careful instead and aim for moderation. That night I couldn’t be bothered. I was bummed to be going alone. I’d be the only guy there without a date. I called my good friend Katie to see if she’d stand in for Aaron, but she claimed her fairy godmother was looking out for her that night and she had a previous engagement with a straight man. A night of possibility with a hot hetero man won out, although she claimed she would have dumped him if it weren’t so last minute. A true fag hag… that’s our Katie.

I stepped into the swanky hotel where the party was in full swing on Friday evening and had two drinks on an empty stomach within the first half hour. Not attending wasn’t an option so I went for liquid comfort instead. I chatted with my coworkers and made sure to make the rounds, being the friendly guy they all knew me to be. I was busy flirting with one of the bartenders when I spotted Peter Morgan across the room. I swallowed hard, as I took in the perfection of that glorious body in a beautifully fitted suit. I was guessing Armani this time. Damn, he was good-looking! Too bad he was such a jerk. I wondered if his date was a gorgeous model. I was absurdly curious about who he’d bring to a work affair. Even though I didn’t want to see this guy’s mug after tonight if it could be helped, beautiful things always were a weakness of mine. I suddenly had to see him up close and see if I could report what designer gown his girlfriend was wearing.

Mel caught me staring and bumped my arm hard. I gave her a dirty look when some of my cosmo spilled over the rim of my martini glass.

“Don’t look at him. He’ll come over and make small talk or something equally mortifying,” she mused.

“No, he’ll bring a report outlined in red ink and issue strict instructions for me to rewrite line three of paragraph two by first thing in the mornin’.”

Mel looked at me with big eyes and busted up laughing. I joined in, realizing that my laughter was the product of too many cosmos and too little food. My voice sounded loud to my own ears. I needed to watch it or I wouldn’t have a job to worry about at all. I gathered whatever self-control I could muster and turned back toward my nemesis to get another good look, only to find him standing two short feet in front of my perch at the bar. Oh fuck.

“Mr. Reynolds. Ms. Martin. Good to see you both.” Peter’s eyes drifted slowly over both of us. I was pretty damn sure he’d overheard me now, and I could feel a furious blush creep up the collar of my shirt.

His gaze seemed a bit more pointed when he looked at me. My flush of embarrassment in my inebriated state made me feel very sure at that moment that I was being judged. Embarrassment turned quickly to anger. How dare he? He had no fucking right to make any assumptions about me or decide he didn’t like me without knowing shit about me. I couldn’t trust myself not to say anything I’d regret. I peeled off a few bills to tip the bartender before I made my excuses and left Mel with our dickhead of a boss.

I headed toward the restroom. I needed to slow down my alcohol consumption and have something to eat. The evening was far from over. Unfortunately. I stood at the sink rinsing soap off my hands when I noticed a familiar form in the mirror. Justin?

“Hey there. What are you doing here?” I know my greeting was warmer than I would have aimed for if I hadn’t had a couple of drinks, but I couldn’t help it. He was kind of cute.

Justin’s face registered total surprise when he recognized me. His sweet, youthful face broke into a wide grin.

“Hi. I didn’t expect to see you here. How’ve you been?” He shoved his hands in his front pockets.
Must be a nervous habit of his
, I mused.

“Good. Well… what are you doin’ here? You here for business or pleasure?” Note to self, I thought… stop drinking. I was in high-flirt mode and seemingly powerless to stop myself. I didn’t want anything more with Justin. Not another night of hot sweaty…. I shook my head in an attempt to clear the cobwebs.

“I’m not sure actually.” He shrugged his shoulders in a boyish manner, still wearing that silly grin. “I’m supposed to meet someone, but….”

I smiled at his reflection in the mirror, reading him clearly.

“I’m at a work function. Sorry, hon. Have fun, though.” I turned to face him and gave him a platonic kiss on the cheek before I opened the door of the men’s room. Justin followed me out.

“Wait!”

I turned back and felt my equilibrium shift. I needed to sit. And eat. I held up a hand intending to say one more good-bye to Justin when I spotted Peter Morgan heading toward us. I was stuck. I remember thinking I should give a quick nod to each man and move back to the party, but that wasn’t what I did. Instead, I made eye contact with Peter before stepping back toward Justin, pulling him into my arms. He made a small surprised sound but didn’t push me away. I rewarded him with a light kiss on his lips.

Peter stopped short, and I realized later that probably had more to do with the fact we were blocking the path to the restroom rather than that he wanted to watch me grope another man. He cleared his throat and offered what might pass as a pleasant smile.

“Reynolds.” He nodded and then looked over at Justin, giving him a somewhat pointed look, as though he were saying something with his eyes. In my condition and because I was sure everything Morgan did was out of spite, I jumped to a negative conclusion and reacted in kind.

“Mr. Morgan.” I tucked Justin close to me hoping his face had lost that shocked look he wore when I kissed him. “I want you to meet my boyfriend, Justin. Honey, this is my boss, Mr. Peter Morgan.”

For a brief moment, Peter’s face was a picture of surprise before he caught himself and schooled his features to a barely interested glance. He held a hand out to Justin in greeting and again, I could have sworn something passed between them. Unreasonably, it made me angry all over again. I hated this man. I don’t know why I assumed the look they shared was meaningful, but my muddled brain was sure it also passed judgment, and that I wouldn’t stand for. I squeezed Justin and released my hold, taking his hand in mine for a moment.

“Honey, go on without me. Okay?”

“Um… sure.” Justin was a terrible actor, I decided. But thankfully he took the hint and shoved his hands back in his pockets, giving both Morgan and me a strange parting look.

I heard a small chuckle and looked up to see Peter Morgan’s eyes alight with laughter. At me? Fuck him! I could almost hear myself growl I was so pissed.

“Do not judge me! You don’t know me at all. I’m gay. Who I sleep with and how I spend my time in my private life is of no concern whatsoever to you! So spare me the disgusted, fucked-up, judgmental bullshit. I’m over it and frankly Mr. Morgan… I’m over you.”

I turned on my heels, wishing I was wearing something amazing, like a long billowing great coat and cool boots instead of a monkey suit. Moreover, I wished I could have had a few minutes to prepare a speech plainly stating my distaste for him. While I made my way out toward the valet, I reran my words in my head and decided I sounded like a paranoid idiot. That made me angry all over again. I hated that asshole!

Halfway to the valet, I knew I couldn’t drive. I’d only had a couple of drinks but had ignored all of my usual tricks so I could drink without succumbing to total inebriation. I wasn’t too far gone, but getting behind the wheel wasn’t an option. It was Peter Morgan’s fault. Shit. I had to go back in there, down a gallon of water, and sober up. Or I could just take a taxi home. I stopped to consider my options, sparing a glance toward where I’d left my boss standing, probably planning my termination letter. He was still there just where I’d left him, staring at me and looking more like a GQ cover model than he had any right to.

I couldn’t do it. I had to go home. Retreat. Lick my wounds and figure out how I could avoid him from this point forward. I hailed a taxi and pulled at my tie. What a fucking mess of a night!

2

I
TORTURED
myself with thoughts of regret over my impetuous outburst. I should have kept my big mouth shut. I’m really not a confrontational kind of guy. Alcohol was surely to blame. The best course of action from a professional standpoint would be to fess up to my inebriated state that evening and apologize. I wasn’t sure I wanted to, though I had to admit that the very idea of running into him at work scared me. I had a fear of being stuck riding in the elevator with him, seeing him in the office kitchen, or hell, even in passing from my desk to a conference room. It was ridiculous. Happily, none of my fears were realized in the week after my spontaneous verbal assault. I learned through the grapevine that Mr. Morgan was traveling for business. Whew! I could only hope it was a long trip.

Why was I wasting a moment more thinking about him? I shook my head in an attempt to rid my brain of unwanted thoughts and refocus. It was time to move on. Spring had sprung, and DC was at its most beautiful. The weather was warming and the cherry blossoms were in bloom. It was time for a new start and the desire to be around my own kind was stronger than ever. I had had enough of blending with the hetero crowd for a while. I wanted to be carefree and not worry about how I sounded or how I looked. I just wanted to be me.

It was time to go dancing.

I picked Aaron up by taxi Saturday night, dressed to impress in light-colored designer jeans with holes in all the right places and a snug V-neck black T-shirt. It was my go-to hot club-wear. Aaron looked hot too. He had on a pair of ass-hugging black designer jeans and a peek-a-boo mesh top. He had used his glitter wand liberally, and his hazel eyes were well lined. I borrowed a little lip gloss and let him put the smallest bit of eyeliner on my eyes. He claimed I looked fabulous, and a glance in the mirror proved he might just be right. However, I wasn’t accustomed to wearing makeup, and I didn’t want to feel self-conscious tonight.

Aaron looked me over as we waited in line for entrance at Boutique. He licked his lips lasciviously and wrapped an arm around my waist. I felt him pull at my shirt, and gathered he wanted to whisper something to me.

“Relax, sweetheart. You look beautiful. But you’re too uptight.” He kissed my earlobe and pulled back.

I nodded in agreement. He was right. I did need to relax. I was still keyed up from work and that wouldn’t do. When we were finally granted entrance into the insanely crowded dance club, I felt a surge of adrenaline as a thumping techno beat pulsed through my body. I kissed Aaron’s cheek and pointed to the main dance floor where a disco ball slowly turned, bathing the scantily clad handsome young men in a rainbow prism. He nodded and pointed to the bar, gesturing that he would join me after he ordered a cocktail.

Some nights the crush of sweaty skin against my own made me cringe a bit. Especially when I was sober and there was no sexual act involved. Tonight it was intoxicating and seemed to herald possibility. I wasn’t looking for a hookup. However, I wouldn’t be against dancing real close with a hot, sexy man. In fact, that was absolutely what I wanted. Aaron and I danced for hours. Sometimes we danced together, putting on a sexy show for the other boys on the floor, and other times we paired up with nearby partners.

I looked over at one point to see Aaron practically being mauled by a buff, tattooed muscleman who was struggling to get his hands in Aaron’s pants. The tight denim wasn’t allowing him access, and I noticed the groping was getting a little more insistent and rough. I knew Aaron well enough to know when he was enjoying an admiring dance partner. He wasn’t fighting this guy off exactly, but he also didn’t seem to be participating much. Something was wrong. Time to intervene.

I made my way over to my friend and set my hand on his neck, pulling his attention directly toward me. I saw that his dance partner had gotten a little further in his quest for skin than I’d thought. Aaron’s jeans were unzipped in the front, and I could tell his privates were certainly feeling the cool of the air-conditioned dance club. I swatted his assailant’s hands away and pulled Aaron’s body close to mine.

“Zip up now. We’re going outside for some fresh air. Don’t say one word! You hear?”

I know my voice was quavering with anger. How dare that prick take advantage? And what the hell was wrong with Aaron? It wasn’t like him not to defend himself. This guy was not his type. Once again I had a strong feeling something was up. I turned toward the muscleman. He didn’t have a hope of escaping my wrath in the tight confines of the crowd.

“Stay the fuck away from him. I see you anywhere near him and I will knock that smug shit-eatin’ grin right off your ugly face.”

The guy was probably six feet tall and outweighed Aaron by a good sixty pounds. I may not have possessed his musculature, but I was definitely taller than him and knew how to use my height to my advantage. He looked like he was going to protest, but he must have seen something in my expression that made him reconsider. He held his hands up in mock surrender and flipped me the bird. It took everything I had not to make good on my threat and go after him, but Aaron needed tending to. I made sure he was decent before I pulled him with me toward the side exit and into the cool spring evening. It was misty and wet outside, a stark and welcoming contrast to the close confines of the packed club.