Professional Distance (Thorne and Dash 1)

“I’m sure.”

“Okay, then. What time should I be back?”

“I’ll call.”

“Yes, sir.”

Music from the club vibrated in Thorne’s chest even from the curb. He was truly too old for this.

Don’t turn back now. You can’t put this off forever.

He wouldn’t put off sex forever, but he didn’t have to prowl around a club, looking for an anonymous fuck. He was out of the closet now. Shouldn’t he be looking for something a little less dark and suspicious?

He frowned at the surroundings once he was inside, even more certain he’d made a mistake. It didn’t look like it had been cleaned in weeks. The barstool he chose was sticky on the side. He did not want to think about that. There was a small, artificial Christmas tree behind the bar. Now that it was right in front of him, he realized it was covered in penis lights. Yep, this was definitely a mistake.

But Thorne’s need to finish anything he started forced him to stay where he was and order a bourbon on the rocks. It was an old man’s drink, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to drink some of the cocktails he saw in the hands of the younger men. They looked like they were radioactive.

Thorne took a sip of his reliable drink and scanned the crowd. Most of the men looked Dash’s age or even younger. No doubt many of them probably were there on false IDs. Several of them had bodies that were true works of art. Before he’d met Dash, he would have been more than happy to take one of them home, but now all he did was compare them. Not a single one measured up. Apparently, Dash hadn’t been kidding when he’d promised to ruin Thorne for other men. If he knew how well he’d done his job, Dash would have a good laugh at his perfect revenge.

“Hi, Daddy, you looking for a boy?” A skinny redhead in leather pants slithered onto the stool next to Thorne, moving in a way that made him appear boneless. He also appeared to be about eighteen.

Thorne shook his head. “I’m not the man you’re looking for.”

“You could be. You want a sample?”

“No thank y—” He froze mid-sentence. Marc and Dash had just walked in the door. It had never occurred to him that he’d see Dash there. And what the hell was Marc doing back in town? He should go before one of them noticed him. But he was paralyzed, unable to stop watching Dash.

“You with them?” Skinny Boy asked, following his stare. “They’re fucking hot.”

“No, but I’d like to be, with one of them, anyway.” Why the hell had Thorne told a stranger that?

“Good luck.” The boy oozed back off the stool and sauntered off.

Thorne watched Marc and Dash approach the bar.

Leave. Turn around.

But he was too late.

Marc sat on the recently vacated stool next to him, while Dash remained standing. “I never expected to see you slumming it here,” Marc said.

Thorne glanced at Dash. His eyes were wide, and he held himself as though ready to flee.

“I’ve never been here before, thought I’d give it a try.” Thorne wasn’t sure how he forced the words out. Having Dash so close made it hard to breathe, much less speak.

“Not paying for it these days?” Marc asked.

“No, I decided that wasn’t working out for me.” He looked at Dash as he spoke, and Dash pretended to see right through him.

“I see.” Marc turned to Dash. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Yeah. Anything that’s fucking strong.”

“You got it.” Marc headed to the far end of the bar, a better spot to catch the bartender’s attention.

After Marc departed, Thorne inclined his head toward the empty stool beside him. With obvious reluctance, Dash sat down.

“I’m sorry,” Thorne said, not knowing what else to do.

He thought Dash might pretend he couldn’t hear. Instead, he gave Thorne a curt nod.

Say something. “Do you want to dance?”

“No.”

That had been stupid. “Dash, I never meant—”

“To hurt me. To insult me. I want to believe that, but even if I do, I can’t see you again. I just fucking can’t…” He walked away into the crowd.

Marc returned holding two bright-green drinks. “Where’s Riley?”

Thorne motioned toward the dance floor where Dash was now sandwiched between a beautiful man with dark skin and dreadlocks and the twink who’d hit on Thorne.

“You hurt him,” Marc said, settling on the stool next to Thorne.

“I know.”

“You still want him?”

Thorne nodded, unable to deny it.

“Then don’t give up.”

Marc walked away before Thorne could ask him what he meant by that. Thorne had seen pain in Dash’s eyes. Marc might think he knew what he was talking about, but Thorne didn’t see Dash forgiving him anytime soon, not before it was too late. It wouldn’t take Dash long to meet someone more suited to him than Thorne.