His eyes widen in surprise. “Thanks…I’ll definitely show you the good stuff later.” He smirks.
I bet they keep some special shit in the back they only bring out when the real famous people show up.
He leaves me to go make a drink. When he comes back, his entire demeanor has changed. Sliding the shot my way, his stare lingers, dissecting me.
Green eyes flicker with interest as he darts them to my mouth. “You want the good stuff? I have some really good stuff. If you’re still standing later, I’ll bring it?”
Sounds like a goddamn challenge. I don’t ever back down from those.
“Oh, I’ll be the one still standing later.” I knock back the shot and slam it on the bar. “Keep these coming, Green Eyes.” What the fuck did he say his name was again?
He rewards me with a wide smile. “You got it.”
After about the sixth shot, I glance around to see what my brothers are up to. Riley is in a heated discussion with a couple dudes in suits. Seth is telling a loud ass story, his voice traveling above the music. Owen has his tongue down a redhead’s throat. Business as usual.
“I get off at two,” the green-eyed bartender tells me, pushing another shot my way.
So?
Do I look like I need a play-by-play of his schedule?
“Cool, man,” I utter, sucking down another shot. He was right, this shit is good.
“We could continue this party later. At my place,” he offers. His palm opens, and a couple familiar happy pills smile back at me.
“Thanks, er, Deacon?” I take the pills from him and swallow them dry. “As long as Owen can bring his bitches, he’ll go anywhere.”
“Devon,” he corrects with a grin. His attention slides over to Owen before darting back to my mouth. Seriously. What the fuck? Do I have some shit on my mouth?
“He can have his women, so long as I get you all to myself.” He walks away to serve another drink, and I stare at him in confusion. When he senses me looking, he turns and winks at me.
Wait.
Is this fucking guy into me?
I’m backpedaling at warped speed as I look at the entire night with new eyes. This fucker’s been flirting with me. I didn’t even realize it. Hell, it could be misinterpreted that I flirted back. The E is buzzing through my veins, and my dick is thickening beyond my control. I check out the tattoos on Devon’s neck, and Blaine the party pooper pops in my head. I rake my gaze down over him. He has a solid back like Blaine, leading down to a firm ass in his black pants. Holy fuck. No. No! What the fuck am I thinking? Fuck! There’s something wrong with me.
Devon saunters back over to me and pours another shot into a glass. I reach for the bottle instead. His grip on it is tight, so my hand just holds onto his.
“I could lose my job if I give you this bottle,” he says, frowning. “Just let me pour you a drink and I promise I’ll take care of you better when we get home.”
I jerk back my hand, heat burning through me. Anger. Rage. Fury. Shame. Lust. Fuck no. Fuck no. Fuck no.
“I gotta take a piss,” I slur out, eager to get away from him and the wrong as hell impression he has about me. I down the shot, then stagger away.
As I push into the bathroom, someone follows me in. I swivel around, ready to whip some ass, but stop short. It’s Devon. His eyes are on fire as he closes in on me. Shock paralyzes me as his hands grip my face and his lips press to mine. Because of the E and the fucking alcohol, I stand stock-still while his tongue prods at my mouth to open for him.
But my wrecked mind goes fucking crazy.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snarl with a shove, sending him stumbling back. “Do I look fucking gay to you?”
His green eyes widen. “You flirted with me all night, man. I caught you checking me out. Of course I thought you were fucking gay.”
“I wasn’t checking you out,” I bellow, charging for him. “I’m not gay, asshole.”
I shove him again, and he shoves me back.
“I fucking idolize you, dude, but not this. I don’t need this shit in my life,” he mutters, shaking me off. “You need to take a hard look at yourself, Xavi. What you see is not what everyone else sees.”
What the hell does that mean?
I swing at him, but he ducks out of the way before storming out of the bathroom. I’m a raging bull and slip into one of the stalls to calm my thoughts so I don’t destroy the entire club. My first instinct is to check social media. To see if he’s telling the whole fucking world I’ve been flirting with him. I fucking wasn’t…right? Panic seizes me as I fly through each account, searching for any hint of my encounter with Devon. On Twitter, I find a picture someone took of me at the bar smiling at Devon with the hashtag #IWantInOnThatSandwich.