Riot

Beards. The guy who hurt me that night had a beard. Shit.

“Welcome, friends, to this reunion of the spirit,” Frank declares and

raises his glass. “To the spirit.”

Corey laughs and I smile but my heart isn’t in it.

Bad start.

Even worse is that I wish for Riot to be there. Last time with him I felt so calm– even though I freaked out a little at the end, when my control failed me and I kissed him. I ran away, sure I was about to have a panic attack.

It never came. How many times ever since did I find myself grabbing the phone to call the agency, make another appointment?

Too many. Every time I told myself what a terrible idea that was and put the phone down. You don’t miss an escort. You don’t lust after them. You don’t crush on them.

Period.

For him, I’m a job, and for me he’s...No clue what he is. My feelings are so jumbled I don’t even know what I’m feeling.

“Come on, Pax, let’s get some moves on.” Corey grabs my hand. “They’re playing our song!”

I laugh. “I don’t even know this song.”

“Well, you live under a rock, so it doesn’t matter. Come on!”

He drags me between tables to a small dancing area where a few daring souls are gyrating to the beat, and I let him. Why not? I’ve been mostly a recluse since the incident, but I used to like dancing. And drinking. And partying.

Besides—meet boys, right? This is our mission.

Not so many boys on the dance floor, though, and before the song is even over, Corey drags me to the bar.

He’s giving me whiplash tonight.

“I thought that was our song?” I whine as he orders beer for both of us.

“Was it? I’m not sure anymore.” He’s eyeing a guy sitting on a stool a few feet away.

Ah. All clear. “Yeah, maybe not.”

The guy’s a California surfer kind of boy, with long blond bangs and blue eyes in a tanned face. Cute, I guess. By the time our beers arrive, Corey has made his move, asking the guy for his name and stepping closer to him.

What happened to not being alone tonight?

With a sigh, I turn my back to the bar, lean against it and sip at my beer. Too late I realize I’d been hoping Corey wouldn’t hit on someone right away. That we could dance and chat for a while longer.

Kind of selfish, I guess. I do want him to have a good time and feel better. But was one hour too much to ask before he goes off and leaves me alone?

Alone in a bar full of people.

Alone in my life.

And yeah, hello depression. I was supposed to have fun, so I will. Enough sitting around, doubting and longing for something—and someone—I can’t have.

So I gulp down some more beer for courage, leave my half-empty glass and set out to cross the bar, check out the boys.

There are many, standing in groups, talking, and I catch the eye of one. He’s tall and blond, much like Corey, but with a trim beard and nicely defined muscles that bulge under his gray T-shirt when he reaches up and rakes a hand through his hair.

He’s handsome. Pretty blue eyes, nice features, nice body.