Page 4 of Except You
“Come on, move your hips,” Beau says and taps at my waist, trying to move me. But I’m a straight jock. I don’t have dance moves. I’m awkward and clunky. I’m bobbing my head and moving my feet out of time to the music, and I’m suddenly more embarrassed to be a shit dancer than dancing with another man.
“Can I touch you like this? Is this okay?” Beau asks, getting a little closer and putting his hands on my waist.
My throat bobs, and I nod my head. “Sure.”
He smiles up at me. He’s a little smaller than me—a few inches shorter than my six feet—so he needs to tilt his head up to meet my gaze, and for some reason, I really like that. I kind of like that I’m taller than him.
He steps closer, his chest nearly touching mine, and then in the next moment, he’s suddenly pressed against me—his crotch against mine, his leg sliding between my thighs. It should feel sexual, I should fucking punch him for doing this to me, but all I do is settle my hands on his hips and hold him against me.
My breath comes out in a small stutter, and then I stop breathing, trying like hell not to inhale him.
Up this close, he’s almost overwhelming.
“Like this,” he says, one hand on my hip, the other sliding up my back, gripping me tightly.
I feel something flow through me, a tingle of sorts, but I tamp it down, trying to focus on the beat of the music and the man in front of me. Not the way he makes me feel.
I don’t feel anything. I’d never feel things like this for a man. And I won’t be starting now. I’m just too much in my head. Maybe I’m trying too hard to be who my brother needs.
It doesn’t mean I’m gay. It fucking doesn’t.
As we move around the dancefloor, his body is pressed against mine, his head tipped back so he can look me in the eyes. I try not to stare, but I can’t help it. My gaze meets his, and I feel my heart flutter in my chest.
“There,” he says as he grinds on me, moving me almost effortlessly to the beat. “Like this. Look at you being gay.”
He chuckles lightheartedly, and I manage a small, nervous smile in return. He’s just teasing me, taking his time to be kind to the awkward stranger in the room.
He’s nothing but light and air.
So, I let him move me, following his body as we sway to the music thumping through the speakers. We do this for what feels like ages, until sweat begins to pool at my temples and roll down my cheeks. He’s hot too. I can see the way his hair is slightly matted to his head, how his cheeks are flushed, his lips parted in a soft pant.
“Fuck, it’s hot in here. You want some water?” he asks, and his hands suddenly fall from me. I blink, feeling almost…lost. Like I’m adrift on the lake, not sure where shore is. But when he links his arm back through mine, I feel like I’ve found my compass, my true north in this sea of gayness.
He leads me toward the bar and purchases us both bottles of water, handing me one as soon as the bartender sets them down. I press it to my overheated skin, and Beau smirks at me.
“Guess we didn’t do much talking,” he says.
“Nope.”
He grins at me, and I shrug. “I do know a whole hell of a lot more about gay history now though, so that’s a plus.”
“You sure do. You’re a historian now. Want to go outside and cool down? It’s not too cold out there and it’s not as loud.”
I nod and follow him to the small back door where the bouncer places stamps on our hands so we can return if we want to. As soon as we exit, the cool air hits me, and I breathe deeply. To my right, I notice a group of people smoking cigarettes near the dumpsters. And then I hear it, a low groan emanating from the shadows behind them, and I realize with cheeks heating that someone is getting fucked.
The thought makes me antsy, makes me nervous. The cold air is making me think clearer than I have since arriving. Something about that club clouded my senses. Something about Beau.
“Don’t worry about that,” Beau says, sensing my nerves. “That’s just two horny guys getting off.”
“Yeah, but that’s the problem, isn’t it?”
I pull my cap off and run my hand through my dark, damp hair before sticking it back on.
“What’s the problem?” Beau asks, his eyebrows meeting. “There’s nothing wrong with two men having consensual sex.”
I open my mouth to object, but then close it, remembering why I’m here. I’m here to build all the goddamn bridges, to make some headway with my estranged brother. I’m not here to pontificate about why I think this is all wrong.
It’s not wrong to them.