“I ride too,” he said.
“You do?” I didn’t know why, but I hadn’t expected it.
“Don’t sound so shocked. What, pretty boys like me can’t ride?” He stared at me, his blue eyes holding me in a trance, and I could see it—he was testing me, and oh God, was he gay? Bi? I’d thought before that he was flirting with me, but right then, he was daring me to have something to say about him being a pretty boy. Daring me to call him out on his flirting, but I just grabbed my drink and took a few swallows, my throat too dry.
My face was hot again, and I wondered if it was red. I’d never known I was a blusher before, but I’d never met Weston before either.
“I didn’t mean to sound shocked. Anyone can ride, of course.” Had I passed? As a straight man, was I supposed to say something specific to keep up the act? Talking with Weston wasn’t like talking with other guys I knew. He kept me on my toes.
He leaned back in his seat, swirling the dark liquid around in his glass. “What do you have?” Weston took a swallow.
“A Ducati Hypermotard. You?”
“A Harley Sport Glide.”
We talked bikes for a few minutes until the bartender came back with our plates. She set mine down in front of me, then gave Weston his. “I’d like another whiskey,” he said. “Can I buy you a drink?”
My stomach tumbled, rolling down a hill. “I, um, sure. I’d like a whiskey, but I can buy it, man.” I’d said the last part in this weird dude-bro way, like I was trying hard to sound straight, and was that even a thing? Sounding straight? What the fuck was wrong with me? I wasn’t straight, but I didn’t have a specific sound. I also had no business drinking, even one drink, the night before a game.
Weston only nodded. We were each given a whiskey, and the bartender brought me another water and one for him too. We ate and talked. When we were done with our food, we still talked and laughed, and God, “You’re a cocky motherfucker,” I said, noting how confident he’d been throughout the conversation.
“Yeah, and?” he replied, and we both chuckled.
I wasn’t sure how long we sat there. I didn’t want the night to end. I wanted to be able to stretch it out and live it over and over and over again. We each had one more whiskey, which I didn’t need. Our plates were long gone, but neither of us had made a move to leave.
When I glanced at my phone, I saw it was late, and fuck, I should have been back to the room by now. I was going to break curfew. I asked for my check. Weston frowned before adding, “Mine too, please.”
We got our bills and paid and…didn’t move. Why wasn’t I moving? Weston leaned closer, lowered his voice, his breath against me, making goose bumps chase each other across my skin when he said, “I can’t quite get a read on you. If I’m off base, tell me to get fucked, but…would you like to leave with me?”
I gasped but didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
“Christ, you’re sexy. The things I want to do to you…”
Blood rushed to my cock as nausea twisted in my gut. My vision went blurry again, and I couldn’t breathe. Holy fuck, I couldn’t breathe. I was going to have a panic attack, going to lose it right then and there, because I wanted, fuck, I wanted to know what he could do to me. How it would feel.
I shook my head, too fast, too hard. He knows, was all I could think. He knows, he knows, he knows—and what if he found out who I was? What if other people discovered my secret? My career, my life—
“I’m not… I can’t… I’m not…” I was still shaking my head, couldn’t seem to make myself stop, and he looked at me…sadly. I could see it, the pity in his eyes, the truth he saw in me that no one else did.
Weston sat up straight, his voice still soft when he said, “Okay. I figured I was wrong.”
He was lying for me, trying to make me feel better. Somehow I knew that.
“When I see something I want, I have a habit of jumping first, questioning later and…well, you’re gorgeous and I want you. I want you badly.”
I trembled, ached, tingled. Craved.
He looked at me, his gaze not allowing me to turn away, like he had power over me. Yes. I want you too. I want you to want me.
“No harm done,” I managed to say. “But I’m not…that.”
“Okay.”
“I have to go.” I shook my head again. “I just… I have to go.” I didn’t give Weston time to reply before hopping off my stool and briskly walking out of the bar, away from him, where it was safe.