Why We Fight (At First Sight 4)

“Don’t touch them,” a deep voice said from behind us. “They’re with me.”

Trigger’s eyes widened as he took a step back. His group behind him looked like they were about to collectively shit themselves.

We all whirled around to see Charlie standing behind us, arms across his chest, glowering at the men along the wall. He was dressed in full leathers, something I’d only seen once or twice. He wore all black from head to toe, and even though I knew Charlie was a big ol’ softie, I absolutely believed at that exact moment that he was capable of destroying every single person around us.

And they apparently believed it too. While most of the men looked at Charlie in awe, Trigger had pulled off his hat and clutched it in front of him. He tilted his head in deference. “Sorry, Charlie,” he said, and whatever act he’d been putting on before was done, seeing as how his voice was soft. “I was just having some fun.”

Charlie glanced dismissively at him. “I bet you were, Trigger.” He raised his voice. “But you should all know that these three are mine. As are the drag queen inside and her partner. If anyone lays a hand on them that they do not explicitly ask for, then that man will have to answer to me. And you won’t like what I do.”

Most everyone mumbled their acknowledgment. The ones that didn’t actually look frightened.

“Sorry,” Trigger said to Paul. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay,” Paul said. “Just don’t offer to fist someone without knowing them first. It’s only polite.”

Trigger nodded. “Only polite fisting from here on out.”

“Follow me,” Charlie said, spinning on his boots and heading back toward the entrance.

We did.

Everyone in line that we passed nodded at Charlie. He barely paid them any attention. It was so badass that I could barely contain myself. I wanted to squeal over him, but instead I sneered at all of them, because I was with Charlie.

No one complained when we cut in the front of the line. The bouncer, a black man with a thick mustache, glanced up from his clipboard and smiled. “Charlie! Go right on in.”

“Thanks, Jerome. These three are with me.”

“Of course,” Jerome said, pushing open the door, music spilling out. “All legal age?”

Charlie nodded. “They wouldn’t be here if they weren’t.”

“Of course,” Jerome said. “It’s good to see you, Charlie. We miss you here.”

Charlie patted him on the shoulder before walking inside.

We looked at each other as we stood in the doorway.

“Move your asses!” Charlie barked.

That meant, of course, that we all tried to fit through the doorway at once. Paul almost fell down. Vince managed to grab my arm before I smashed into the wall.

We righted ourselves and looked at Charlie.

He was trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” Paul muttered. “We know.”

BUILD-A-BEAR SWEAT Shop was not like Jack It.

Oh sure, there were queer men inside, and music blared overhead with the bass turned up as far as it could go, but that’s about as far as the similarities went.

It was larger than it looked from the outside, almost like it’d once been a warehouse, though not quite as big. The ceiling was high, lined with exposed pipes. The wall to the right was a bar, and there had to be at least eight bartenders working furiously behind it.

Two other walls were lined with booths and tables stuffed full with groups of people drinking and shouting at each other above the music.

The last wall had a stage built onto it and a DJ booth next to it. The back of the stage was covered in a red curtain.

In the middle of the room was a large dance floor, though no one really seemed to be dancing as the lights flashed overhead.