Sam turned back to Dalton after a minute or two of nuzzling his boyfriend. “I invited some other people also, but it didn’t work out.” He pouted.
They’d need another booth if anyone else had shown up. “Did you invite Miller?”
Sipping his drink out of a tiny cocktail straw, Sam nodded. “He says he’s not ready to go out in public.”
“Have you seen him lately? How’s he doing?”
Sam half shrugged, chewing on his straw for a second before dropping it to say, “Nik tells me he’s doing pretty well. He’s mostly healed. Physically.”
There was no good response to that, so Dalton racked his brain for another topic, but there was no need. Ian had leaned against Sam’s other side again, like a puppy dog who needed to be petted, which Sam appeared delighted to do.
Dalton gave up on them and tried to have a shouted conversation across the booth with his sister and Kendra. Thirty minutes later there was still no Tierney, and Dalton had hit the point where he had to text the man and check on him when his cell vibrated in his pocket. He knew somehow—maybe it was the tingle in his fingertips—that it would be Tierney.
Are you there?
Yes, Dalton texted back. But you aren’t. Are you going to bail? They could meet up at his place.
On my way. Just a simple answer, but Dalton could feel the gritted-teeth determination in it.
“Was that T?” Sam spoke in his ear.
“Yeah. He’ll be here soon.” Tilting his head toward Andy, he took the opportunity to ask, “Why did you invite my sister? She hates him.”
“Oh, yeah, but she needs to stop.” Sam nodded. “I thought it would help if she saw you two together. You know, him being all attentive and responsive to you.”
“You’ve never seen us together, how would you know what we’re like?”
“Um, that could be a flaw in the plan, but I decided to sally forth on faith.” Sam smiled brightly. “And since you brought it up? You haven’t said anything about what’s up with you two. If I didn’t know I was your go-to guy for romantic advice, I’d think you were avoiding the subject.”
Dalton picked up a stranded straw off the table and bent it into a little square. How much did he want to say? His relationship with Tierney had a quality of something fragile or precious, which would flourish best without a lot of attention focused on them. He didn’t know how to define it, and he didn’t want others doing it for them.
Or it was because, somewhere deep inside, he was still a little scared about repeating his past mistakes.
But Sam was staring at him, eyebrows up as high as he could make them go, except they kept dropping back down, because apparently he wasn’t adept at expressing interest after a fruity drink or two.
Sigh. Dalton jumped right into the deep end of the pool. “I’m trying to not do anything stupid, like fall in love with him.”
Sam dismissed the statement with a flick of his wrist. “Yeah, that never works.”
“What?” Not at all the reaction he’d expected. “Thanks for the encouragement.”
“I’m sorry.” Sam shook his head, drunkenly regretful. “It’s just, you know, that plotline never works.”
Dalton pressed his back into the booth and gave his friend the squinty eye.
Using his glass to gesture with, Sam explained. “The lead character is always claiming he’s only going to have a sexual relationship and not fall for someone, and then around the three-quarters mark he suddenly has this earth-shattering revelation that he’s in love.”
This had gone far enough. “Remember the discussion we’ve had about Tierney and I being actual people and not fictional characters?”
“I’m just saying, sometimes books have a line on the truth.”
Dalton heaved a sigh. “Anyway. That’s my plan.” One he was failing miserably at following.
Sam fidgeted, swirling his straw around and around in his cocktail, like he could read the future in the patterns he made. “Okay, as your friend?” He swayed a little closer to Dalton. “I’m just telling you I think you need to come up with a backup plan also.”
Oh thank God, some real advice. “Like what?”
“Well, like, if you do fall in love, make him fall in love with you too.”
Or not. “Your plan seems to be lacking some details.”
“Figuring out the details is up to you. This is your plotline.”
Before Dalton could express just how unhelpful that was, Sam’s eyes went big and he started bobbing his head, frantically. Then he said, “He’s here,” which was the first helpful thing to come out of his mouth all night.
Dalton turned just as Tierney appeared next to the table. All sound seemed to stop as everyone in their group froze and stared at him for a moment, then burst into exaggerated animation to cover up their reaction. It couldn’t be more obvious that this whole outing was about him if they’d tried.
“Hi, Tierney,” Sam called, much louder than he needed to.
“Hey, man, have a seat,” Ian said, half-standing until the table stopped him from straightening further.
Nik and Jurgen said their hellos, while Andy and Kendra gave tight-lipped smiles, then started talking into each other’s ears, casting glances in Tierney’s general direction.
“Um, hey,” Tierney said, pulling one hand out of his pocket and waving, before dropping it quickly. He wasn’t really dressed right for the club, wearing a button-down shirt—sleeves rolled up and neck undone—with slacks. Not khakis or jeans, but dark slacks. Which fit his ass very nicely. It was probably what he’d worn to his parents’.
While the people in the booth were making room for him, Tierney shifted his weight, glance darting around until Dalton patted his leg and drew his attention to the newly available seat. Tierney’s butt hitting the cushion was audible over the music.
“I don’t know how long I’m going to last,” he said, lips brushing Dalton’s ear.
Goose bumps swept across Dalton’s skin and down his neck, awakening bodily memories of other times Tierney had touched him. He almost turned for a kiss, but he could feel everyone watching them. At least, he thought he could, but he wasn’t going to check.
Leaning just close enough to be heard, he said, “We don’t have to stay.”
Tierney took a deep slow breath in and then nodded. “I’ll give it a try. At least I have some support.”