“I’ll have a beer.”
“What kind?” the bartender asked, although he kept looking down the bar as if he were trying to be in two places at once.
“Whatever is fine,” Getty shouted when the place got louder.
The guy opened a beer bottle and placed it on the counter. Getty paid for it, grabbed the bottle, and sucked half the contents down.
He was starting to regret coming here. Getty was used to the peace and quiet, and this place was cosmically loud. It was also too damn crowded. Men kept bumping into him, stepping on his toes, and not one damn apology.
He spotted a balcony and decided to go upstairs. It seemed less crowded up there. He had to fight to get to the stairs then was bumped numerous times getting to the second floor.
Getty pressed himself against the wall and waited for everyone to pass him before he spotted an empty couch. He dropped onto it and sat back, looking up at the lighting on the ceiling.
Maybe he should’ve gone to Tilted instead. It was more for the older crowd, but he was willing to bet he wouldn’t be stomped on, shoved aside, and be in danger of losing his hearing.
God, he was only twenty-eight, but already he felt worn down, too old to even enjoy partying anymore.
How had time passed him by so quickly? Just yesterday he’d turned twenty-one and was having the time of his life with Pete. His parents had still been married, though they hadn’t been getting along. Life had seemed so simple just seven short years ago.
“If you truly believe you’re gonna pull one over on me, you’ve got another think coming.”
The dark, masculine voice caught Getty’s attention. He looked to his right and saw a stranger seated on the next couch over, a twink standing over the stranger, his arms crossed, his lip out in a pout.
Curious, Getty took a sip of his beer as he watched the twink try to use his body to convince the stranger of giving him whatever he was asking for.
The stranger? Shit. He was smoking hot. The guy had pretty skin, the color of coffee beans, and long dreadlocks that were so sinfully sexy that Getty’s fingers itched to dive into them. He had a low-trimmed beard and mustache that was expertly cut and was slouched, leaning on one arm.
“I’m not trying to get one over on you,” the twink said with a pout. He slid to his knees and petted the guy’s muscular chest. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with paying for it.”
The guy with the dreads snorted. “I’ve never paid for sex, and I’m not starting now.”
“Fine.” The twink got up and stormed off. Getty quickly turned his head when Dreads glanced his way.
“Hey, handsome.”
Getty looked up and saw a muscular guy in leather winking at him. He looked like one of those leather bears Getty had seen when searching the internet late at night on websites he probably shouldn’t have been on.
The guy took a seat right next to Getty and starting pawing him. “How about you and me go back to your place? I can show you a real good time.”
Getty leaned away from the guy, slapping at his hands, which were everywhere. “No thanks.”
“Your lips say no, but your eyes are screaming to be dominated.” He groped Getty’s dick.
Getty jumped up and backed away. Leather Bear got up and stalked toward him. “Don’t be shy, handsome.”
“The male said no.”
Getty whipped his head around. Dreads was now standing, and fuck, he was tall. The expression on his face was murderous as he glared at Leather Bear.
“This is none of your business,” Leather Bear snapped. “Mind your own.”
Dreads moved past Getty and got real close, so close it looked as if they would kiss. Getty held his breath, pressing his bottle against his chest as if it would protect him.
“You either walk away or be carried away. I’m not gonna repeat myself.”
The snarl to his voice made Getty want to obey. His gaze bounced between the two, wondering if there was going to be a fight. That was something he didn’t want to see.
Leather Bear curled his lips and headed for the steps, shoving aside a few people on his way down. Getty still hadn’t breathed. Why on earth would a complete stranger stick up for him? Why would he threaten someone for a guy he didn’t even know?
Dreads turned, and fuck, he looked dangerous, lethal, and so damn hot.
“Thanks.”
Dreads gave a single nod. “You can chill. No one else will bother you.”
Getty was ready to leave, but he didn’t dare move. Dreads had given an offer, and it would’ve been rude for Getty not to accept. He dropped back down on the couch, and Dreads returned to his own.
He wanted to strike up a conversation but couldn’t think of anything to say. Dreads was so out of Getty’s league that the guy just might laugh at him if he offered to go home with him.
After all, Getty had wanted to get laid, and no one in the club interested him more than Dreads did. Too bad he didn’t have the guts to ask.
“You here by yourself, shorty?”
Getty looked at Dreads and pressed his hand against his own chest. “You talking to me?”
Dreads smiled, and it was the nicest smile Getty had ever seen. He was back to leaning on one arm, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to lie down or sit up. “Yeah, I’m talking to you. What’s your name?”
“Gettysburg, but please call me Getty.”
One dark brow arched. “Did your parents hate you?”
That made Getty laugh. “I’ve asked them that a million times. My mom was a college professor, obsessed with Abraham Lincoln and that era.”
But damn, couldn’t she have chosen another name for him? Getty would’ve been happy with Abraham or even Lincoln. He been teased his whole life about his name, making his school years grueling.
His father even thought it was funny when he would say, “Gettysburg, get your address over here.”
Thank fuck he didn’t say that anymore.
“And your name?” Getty took another drink of his beer. It was getting warm, and he wanted another but didn’t want to get up. He was enjoying his conversation with the guy.
“Donnchadh, but call me Donny.”
Getty’s eyes widened. “And you’re making fun of my name?”
Don-cha. In truth, Getty liked it. It was unique, but not embarrassing like Gettysburg. It was even kind of exotic.
“It’s Irish.” Donnchadh winked. “You can even call me Duncan.”
“I think I like Donnchadh,” Getty said. “If that’s okay with you.”
“Shorty, you can call me whatever you like.” He patted the cushion next to him. “Why don’t you come closer so I can hear you better?”
Getty blew out a small breath. This was what he wanted, to get laid, but Donnchadh seemed so intimidating. Mysterious. Dangerous, even.
Getty would be doing himself a favor by getting up and walking away, but instead, like the idiot that he was, he moved closer, sharing Donnchadh’s couch with him.
“Much better.” Donnchadh was leaning on one arm, but he was still tall enough that Getty was able to look him in the eyes. “You come here just to party, or did you have something else on your mind?”
Getty sucked on his bottle as if his life depended on it. He finally lowered it and laughed. “God, I’m such a geek. I’m freaking out because some hot guy is hitting on me.”