I shut my eyes and try to think of gross things. Or sad things. Or literally anything that’ll get my cock to soften. Nothing works. I go back to stuffing it inside, this time with more intent than before, and at last I manage to zip up my jeans—with no regard at all to my comfort. I grab the shirt, quickly throw it on, then sigh as I stare at the bed.
I can’t believe all of this just happened.
Could this night start out any worse?
“Come on, turn around,” he urges me. “Let’s see how you look.”
Oh, well. The boner has to go down at some point. I turn around, pretend not to be mortified, and face Danny with a spread of my hands. “Well?”
He gives me a once-over. Then he nods with approval. “I think we’re ready to get you a guy.”
“Great.” I swallow. Yes, I’m still hard. Yes, it sorta shows, even in the jeans. “And, um … seriously. My … uh, erection was just a—”
He grips me by the arms suddenly. I freeze and stare at him. “Look, Romeo. If we’re going to be friends, we need to be comfortable with stuff like that. It’s normal. We’re men. Our bodies react. You have nothing to be ashamed of. No apologies, alright? I’ve seen you at the gym, anyway. And clearly your efforts are paying off.”
I blink. “They are?”
“Yeah. You look good in and out of your clothes.”
This isn’t helping my erection. “I do?”
“Oh my god, Romeo, you have to know how good you look! Self-confidence is what attracts others to you!” He lowers his voice and turns serious. “Fall in love with the guy in the mirror first before you dare to give your heart to anyone else. That’s my motto.” He winks at me, slaps my arm, then steps back. “Now are you ready to hit the town with your new gay bestie or what?”
I know I’m falling in love. But it has nothing to do with the guy in the mirror.
8. Buzz
The place is loud. The music is thumping. The drinks are clinking.
And my luck is fast dwindling. Already, we’ve been here for an hour, and every guy who approaches us only hits on Danny. That’s over sixteen men, by the way. Sixteen different, perfectly eligible bachelors all go for the guy who’s already taken, and I’m basically a wall ornament.
One tanned hunk in a leather jacket with a stubbly, chiseled jaw put a hand on Danny’s back and said, “Hey there, sexy. Can I get you a drink?” And Danny with all his charm only responded: “Nah, I’m just waiting on my boyfriend. But you can buy one for my single man Romeo here!”
He didn’t.
Another guy swooped up to Danny’s side minutes later—muscled, tight-shirted, smooth glowing skin the color of rich caramel, and a dimpled smile—and said, “What’re you doing here all by yourself? Can I join you?” Danny laughed and said, “I’m not by myself. I’m here with my single buddy Romeo, and he’d totally love your company.” The guy put a hand on Danny’s thigh—I noticed right away and felt an instant pang of jealousy—but Danny politely brushed it off and said, “I’ve got a boyfriend, sorry.”
The guy didn’t keep either of us company after that.
The routine carried on and on, with one hottie after another. “Have you met my friend Romeo?” asked Danny yet again. “It blows my mind he isn’t taken!”
And yet to someone else: “No, I’m not available, but my adorable buddy Romeo here is! Want to join us for a drink?”
Each time, the potential fish slips away as fast as he can and swims back into the sea. I’m not too broken up about all of the rejection, to be honest. I doubt getting a guy was ever truly the goal. And didn’t Danny say I need gay friends? Maybe that’s the purpose of all of this instead.
“You know, it’s okay,” I tell him after a sip—and after the last guy leaves us alone. What am I even drinking? Danny ordered it. “I really don’t need to find a guy tonight. I’m having plenty of fun spending time with just you.”
Danny is too busy scanning the crowd for my next potential date that he misses the compliment. “Don’t give up, buddy. There’s plenty of fish here. Oh, I think that guy over there is eyeing us.”
We both know he’s eyeing only Danny. Or at least I do. “Really, I don’t mind. I’m sure I can find a hit on my app right now if I really wanted to.”
“You should really delete that app.”
“Why? At least those guys actually show up for a date.” I take another sip, then frown in thought, remembering a few dates who stood me up. “Most of the time.”
He turns my way and squints at me, as if I just said something either super offensive or super interesting.