Swimming through the crowd, I made it out unscathed, envelope now safely tucked in my back pocket, legs beginning to feel the effects of the back-to-back shots. I could see the exit right in front of me, like the light at the end of the tunnel. I was sure my bed tonight would feel like a cloud, and I was glad I wouldn’t be sharing it with a dumb chode, too.
Someone bumped into me. It was dark, and I quickly apologized, but the lights had hit in just the right way and bounced off the young man’s face, making his eyes glow like a prism against the sun.
And the smile. God damn, that smile on him. With the force I bumped into him with, he should have been pissed. Instead, he looked at me with a smile reserved for someone who had just won the lottery.
“Are you heaving?”
I arched a brow. “Huh?” The music was so loud. I had to lean in to hear what he said.
“Are you leaving?”
Leaning in had two effects. One, I could now clearly make out his question and no longer thought he was into some weird puke fetish. And two, the stranger’s cologne hit me like a bulldozer wrecking the bones of an abandoned building. It was a strong scent: flowery and fruity and entirely intoxicating.
“I was.”
His blond hair, short and styled, illuminated with colors from the lasers. That smile still holding strong. “Did you have somewhere to be?”
“No.” I grinned, wanting to match the expression on his face. “I just didn’t have a reason to be here.”
“Can I give you one?”
He was smooth. And he was getting closer to me. This was like a bolt of lightning, striking from nowhere and rooting me right to the spot.
“Sure, you can give me whatever you want.”
He cocked his head. Like a game of cat and mouse, except we were two cats—lions—both turned toward their prey, hunger and heat starting to fill me.
“Let’s start with a drink,” he said, nodding toward the packed bar.
Shit. If only you’d come sooner, I wouldn’t have given up my damn spot.
At least he hasn’t asked me to dance.
“What’s your name?” I asked him as we shuffled back toward the hellhole that was the bar.
“My name? It’s, uh, Jame…is…son.”
I gave him a look.
“Jamison!” he shouted over the loud music, a little more sure of himself this time. Maybe I hadn’t heard him right, although I wasn’t a private eye for shits and giggles. I was a good observer, and right then, I observed a whole lot of bullshit.
That was fine. Wasn’t the first time an American crossed oceans to make pretend they were someone completely new.
“Yours?” he asked.
“Beckham.”
“Like bend—”
“Don’t even go there.” I shot him a look with a smirk.
“Gotcha.”
We made it to the bar without losing a limb to the alcohol-ravaged zombie crowd. There wasn’t enough room for both of us, though, so I had to stand behind “Jamison” as he leaned over the sticky bar top to try and get a bartender’s attention.
He may not have been getting their attention, but I was focused all in on him and the way his ass was pushing back on me, rubbing over my crotch as he leaned. I had zero doubt the guy could feel my growing bulge against him. It drove me wild. An image of him flooded my brain. I pictured his jeans down to his ankles, ass up in the air, hands out on the bar, and me driving deep into him, the crowd none the wiser until our moans and thrusts became too primal, too loud. And then the crowd would give space and I’d ravage this sexy little thing for the entire club to watch.
What the hell? Why was this guy having such an effect on me? We just met literally minutes ago and I was already fantasizing ten different ways of fucking him silly.