Who We Are (The Seafare Chronicles 2)

Thanks, God. You’re such a pal.

Otter stops to wait for the crowd to part in front of him, and someone bumps me from behind, and I feel a hand graze my ass. I look up and over and see some huge guy smiling at me, and he winks when he catches my eye. Apparently people don’t introduce themselves anymore. Is this what we’ve come to? Instead of saying, “Hi, my name is (fill in the blank),” you give my ass a handshake and smirk at me? Oh, yes. Oh, please do that to me some more. I’m so turned on by you, big stupid gross face. I glare at him, and he rolls his eyes and turns back to his friends, probably telling them that he just met the most frigid bitch in the history of the gay bar and that I wasn’t polite enough to grab his ass hello.

I think there’s a reason I don’t go to clubs. I feel like some country hick in the big city for the first time. It’s stuffy in here, and smells a little gross, like old sex and new sweat. There are a few women, but they are all standing around in the background, watching, waiting for what I don’t know. There’s a second floor with a balcony that wraps around the dance floor, and even more people are perched against the railing, watching, laughing, dancing. I think one guy’s getting fucked, but he might also just be choking and a concerned citizen is giving him the Heimlich maneuver.

Without his shirt on. And I don’t think I make that face when I’m choking, so chances are he’s got a dick up his butt. So, that’s cool. I’m not really one for public displays of affection, but maybe that’s the only way that guy can get off, and his loving partner of twenty years is just trying to help him.

That’s sure nice of him.

Otter pulls me up to the bar and leans over. “What’s wrong? You stink!”

he shouts.

I glare at him. “I smell fine, you asshole. I used your cologne.”

He rolls his eyes and comes closer, his lips against my ear. I shiver. “I said, what do you want to drink?”

“Sorry!” I shout back. “This music, with the girl repeating ‘oh yeah baby, ooooh yeah’, is too awesome, and I couldn’t hear you!”

“Funny guy! Beer?”

I shake my head. “Water. Or a Coke!”

He smirks. “I promise I’ll take care of you if you want to have a couple.”

I barely suppress a groan. “If I have a ‘couple’, I’ll probably end up doing something I’ll regret later, like giving you a hand job under the table, or kiss you and make you run away to San Diego again.”

“I’ll take the hand job,” he growls, the gold-green growing darker. “And I promise I won’t run to San Diego, or even across the room.” Then he kisses me, putting a little more force into it than I expected, which is obviously why I’m feeling a bit weak in the knees. He’s let his stubble grow out a bit, and it scrapes against my chin, and for a moment, I want him to keep going, to give me a bit of a burn there, so people would know what it was and who it came from.

Probably easier just to get a hat with a neon sign on it that says, “If lost, please return to Otter,” it says, laughing. Jesus, needy much? You know, it is okay for you to try and have fun. Nobody likes a Negative Nancy.

Whatever. And I can’t believe you’re my conscience. Who fucking says Negative Nancy?

Oh, please. I’m a trendsetter.

“I’m going to drink, okay?” Otter asks. Or tells me. I don’t know which.

I shrug. “I knew you would. It’s okay with me.” He looks like he doesn’t believe me. I put on my best smile, and I see something melt a little in his eyes, and I suddenly wish we were back in the hotel room so I could let him fuck me into oblivion. Better yet, I wish we were in the Green Monstrosity, in our own bed

, and fucking there. But this is me being selfish and ridiculous. Otter wants to be here, to see his friends that he hasn’t seen in forever. He wants me to be here with him, to meet said friends. He wants to show them us, to show them what we have. And it’s not like his friends are stupid people, at least, not that I remember. Jordan was nice, from the scant memories I have of him. There’s a few others whose faces are blurry, but I know that I’ve met before. Oh, and David will be here. And Isaiah.

Who knows? Maybe Jonah will show up too!

What could possibly go wrong?

Otter turns around again and hands me a glass that probably holds a third of a can of coke with the rest being ice. Otter grabs his beer and hands the bartender, who looks like his abs go up to his chin, two twenties. I watch as the bartender gives him back fifteen bucks, two fives and five ones. Otter leaves the ones.

“Christ,” I shout at him. “Is your beer imported from the moon? Or is this the last bit of Coke on Earth? I’d sure feel bad if I was the last person who could ever have soda!”

He shrugs. “Club prices.”

Oh yeah, because that makes it okay. “You’re going to make me dance, aren’t you.”

He grins. It’s not the Otter grin, because it’s evil. “You think I’d let the opportunity pass by to show off your ass to everyone? Everyone here will be wishing they could be the ones grinding up on you, and I’ll know that they don’t stand a chance in hell. Of course I’m going to make you dance.”

“I think you are seriously overestimating my dancing abilities. My kind of dancing usually ends up on the Internet, where people watch it so they can stop feeling sorry about their own lives. You know how people say they have two left feet? It’s like I have no feet and my stumps are attached to wheels shaped like triangles.”

“You know,” Otter says as he grabs my hand and pulls me up against him, his hands wrapping around my waist, “that just happens to be my favorite kind of dancing.”