“You’re beautiful,” Greer purred against his ear.
“Thank you. And you’re gorgeous… but I’m not gay,” he said with a bit of slur, angling his chin to look back over his shoulder. The music softened, the song a slow one, easier on the ears. The guy rocking them together skimmed his fingers under the hem of Dallas’s pullover. Greer’s fingertips skated along his bare skin, sending an involuntary quiver over each of his stomach muscles.
“You sure about that? Not everything has to have a label,” Greer cooed enticingly, against his ear. Greer’s quick puff of breath sent uncontrollable shivers racing down Dallas’s spine. His eyes closed of their own accord. Dallas allowed himself to just feel every one of the forbidden sensations firing his body up.
If things were different, this could have been his life.
But they weren’t different.
“Yeah,” Dallas finally managed to say and opened his eyes, the words leaving a bitter taste on his tongue. Reality crashed down around them.
The man.
The music.
The cluster of people.
All the eyes watching him and Greer dancing together.
Dallas’s stomach churned. Fuck.
He pushed away from Greer and stumbled toward the bathroom, holding his mouth, willing himself to hold back the pending purge. He made it as far as the hall where a line formed outside the restrooms. The rancid burn raced up his throat. Shit. Dallas had no choice but to rip the top off the trashcan and empty his stomach inside.
=♥=
“I’ll get him,” Greer said to the angry manager who had homed in on Dallas, making a beeline straight toward Dallas. Drunks throwing up in garbage cans weren’t a good look for his business. Greer grabbed a stack of napkins, never breaking stride, trying to get to Dallas first. “Can you get us a glass of water and settle my tab?”
“Sure. Get him outside. There’s a door to the right.”
Greer followed the line of the manager’s arm to the exit door nearby. Greer nodded and went to Dallas, resting his hand on his back as he shoved the napkins into Dallas’s line of sight.
“Ugh. I’m sorry,” Dallas croaked, still bent over the can.
“No need. Get everything out because they’re kicking us out. The door’s behind us,” Greer explained, stepping a foot or two away as Dallas started to rise.
“I’m sorry,” Dallas repeated, wiping the napkins over his mouth. The horror of the moment showed on his wary face.
“Here’s some water. And here’s your tab and card. You two need to leave.” The manager extended a small black tray to Greer. Dallas took the glass, but hesitated, looking skeptically at the contents inside. Greer quickly added a tip to his bill and signed his name. He took his card then grabbed Dallas’s arm, pulling him out the side door marked Emergency.
The cool, crisp fresh air sent a chill racing over Greer’s heated skin. Dallas seemed oblivious to the bite in the air and went for the bench right outside the door, a streetlight nearby.
“I’m sorry for all that,” Dallas said again. He finally manned up, taking a drink, swishing the water around his mouth. He leaned away from Greer, over the side of the bench, spitting the water out on a small patch of grass. Greer eyed Dallas closely before he took the seat opposite him, staying as far away as he could, just in case Dallas wasn’t finished.
“You don’t have to be sorry. I’ve had a better night tonight than I’ve had in a long time.” Which was oddly true.
Dallas cocked his head, looking at Greer as if he were the craziest man in the world. His forearm came up, wiping across his lips. “You’re a strange dude then.”
Greer burst out laughing, nodding his agreement. “Hear that a lot.” After a minute more, Greer reached for his cell phone to text Skye that they had been thrown outside. After he stopped typing, he lifted the phone to let Dallas see. “I texted Skye.”
“Good. I need to go home.” Dallas started to rise as if he planned to leave right then. Greer placed a firm hand on his shoulder, keeping him seated.
“She said you two are riding together, and she’ll be out in a few minutes. She’s met someone.”
“Of course, she has.” Dallas’s tone had Greer cutting his gaze over and laughing at the clear exasperation. “When’s there not some guy dragging after her?”
“I guess you’re right. I think she has a trail of us waggling along behind her,” Greer said. Dallas leaned back on the bench, looking up at the night’s sky. Whatever he saw caused him to release a deep sigh.
Seconds later, Dallas’s head pivoted toward him. “I thought you were into guys?”
“I am.” Greer nodded, letting himself watch Dallas’s intriguing face as he tried to sort that answer out.
“So you’re bi?” he asked, studying Greer as if he were some sort of complicated puzzle.
“I’m not into labels,” Greer explained honestly.
“I’m straight,” Dallas blurted as if Greer had asked. Then nodded to drive his truth home. He looked down at the glass in his hand and took another drink of the water, this time swallowing. Dallas seemed to call it a win when the water stayed down and placed the glass at his feet.
“You keep saying you’re straight.” Greer’s hand still rested on Dallas’s shoulder. He gave a gentle squeeze before running his palm across Dallas’s shoulder and neck with a slow, purposeful caress. He skimmed his fingers over the tight ridges and cords of muscle that had imprinted themselves on Greer’s chest when they danced. “You own BikeBro?”
Dallas’s serious look morphed into something humorous. His smile brought an involuntary grin to Greer, and he had no idea why. “If by own you mean financially extended beyond anything I’ll ever be able to pay back, then yeah, I own it.”
The revealing words shouldn’t have held such a teasing tone. Greer’s brows lowered, replaying the words over in his head to find how he’d misinterpreted the explanation. Dallas dropped his head back against the concrete wall of the building behind him and closed his eyes, the smile still on his face.
Greer let his hand trail down Dallas’s large bicep. This might be a first. He couldn’t remember ever feeling such a draw to another before. A possessiveness ran through him—certainly uncharacteristic of him—but it didn’t change things. As much as he liked Dallas’s eyes on him, this allowed Greer the chance to study Dallas without looking like such a creeper. From this angle, Dallas’s hair looked more auburn than brown, and his masculine face, with its hard edges and soft, smooth skin might be the most alluring he’d ever seen.
“I’ve been taking classes on BikeBro this week. It’s a great workout.” Maybe the only thing that could have taken his mind off Dallas was Biker101. He had his chance to find out who was behind the account. The ethics of taking advantage of a drunk guy aside, Greer seriously wanted to know who’d beat him. “I won the challenge last week. Biker101 was hard to beat. Actually impossible, which is hard for me to say. Do you know that user?”
“He’s crazy competitive too.” A huge grin spread across Dallas’s face, but otherwise he didn’t move a single muscle or say another word.