Sipping his beer, Cal looked around to see what else the crowd had to offer tonight.
Plenty of leather trousers, that was for sure. And some tight jeans. One guy wore some sort of sparkly skintight abomination that made his balls look like disco balls. He’d probably gone commando, too, and all Cal could think was whoever got him into bed tonight would be picking glitter out of his teeth tomorrow.
He made eye contact with a gorgeous blond in a tight black T-shirt. The clothes didn’t do much for him—jeans, T-shirt, blah, blah, blah—but that grin said come and get me. The arched eyebrow said I dare you.
Well, all right then.
Cal elbowed Aaron. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”
“What?” Aaron slid out of the booth to let him past. “Already?”
“Already?” Cal rolled his eyes. “You’re one to talk.”
“Yeah, but you don’t usually—”
The music drowned out whatever else he’d had to say, and Cal just batted his eyes, shrugged, and then shouldered his way through the thickening crowd.
“Hi,” he said over the music.
The blond grinned wider. “Hi.”
Cal gestured at the bar. “What are you drinking?”
The blond peered at the glass in Cal’s hand. “What’s that?”
“Doom Bar.”
“I’ll try one of those.”
Thank God, he’s not drinking London Pride. They exchanged grins, and Cal bought the drink. While they waited, he said, “I’m Cal.”
“Ethan.”
The bartender quickly served up the beer, and Ethan took Cal by the elbow. Cal wasn’t sure how he felt about being physically pulled, but . . . whatever. Beer and a potential piece of arse for the night. He wasn’t going to be picky about who did what.
They found a table off to one side, one of the last remaining as people steadily poured in through the front door. Cal took a long swallow of beer, and then focused on Ethan. “So what do you do?”
Ethan’s lips pulled back in a devilish smile. “Hot men, naturally.” He gave Cal a conspicuous up-and-down, and then winked.
Cal laughed, but something in his gut was starting to feel heavy. Ethan was cute, he’d give him that. And he had that come-hither thing going on. But he was, what, maybe twenty-one? Twenty-two?
Put a little leather on him, and he could pass for one of the rentboys at Market Garden.
That thought sent Cal into his beer. He took two deep swallows before putting the glass back on the table. Seemed his preference had shifted—narrowed, in fact, towards the upper end of his usual age spectrum, towards dark hair and a better dress sense. Ethan was not going to cut it.
“Long week?” Ethan asked, a little caution mixing with the mischief in his eyes.
“You could say that.”
Ethan drew back slightly. “So, um, what do you do?”
That heavy something grew heavier. “I’m a chauffeur.”
“Really?” That seemed to draw Ethan back in. “You just drive people around in a limo all day?”
“Limo, yes.” Cal cleared his throat. “But just one guy.” Well, and whomever he’s picked up along the way. “I drive a rich banker all over the place.” Banker was the shorthand that everybody understood. Private equity managing partner was more of a mouthful. Even Cal wasn’t quite sure what it meant, only that James was buying and selling companies with investors’ money and took his cut from the profits. Something like that.
“Interesting.” The glint in Ethan’s eye made Cal’s stomach sink lower and lower. “So, when you’re off duty, do you still have access—”
“The car’s kept under lock and key.” Cal forced a laugh. “I’m afraid not.”
“Aww, damn.”
Besides, it probably already smells like sex tonight.
This was not going to work. Maybe it was the fact that James was back at home getting fucked by a whore, maybe it was simply ennui, maybe he didn’t want to pull Ethan into his horrible mood, but he couldn’t do this. He just wasn’t up for fun and games. He wasn’t up for writing. He was useless. In that state, the best thing he could do was something that didn’t pull in innocent bystanders.
He rubbed his temples.
“Headache?” Ethan asked. Damn, he was cute, concerned, maybe worried by now. He really didn’t deserve a fuck that was nothing more than Cal taking his mind off James.
“Yeah. Migraines run in the family. I think I’m getting one.” Cal stood. “I should go.” He cringed at the echo of what he’d said before leaving James’s bedroom. “I’m . . . I’m really sorry.”
Ethan reached for his hand when he walked past him towards the door. Cal paused, feeling shitty for the ruse, but not nearly as shitty as if he’d stayed for a fuck-and-run. “Hey, you take care of yourself, okay?”
“No worries. Thanks, Ethan.” He made his escape and, once outside, sucked in the night air as if there had been no damned oxygen in that bar. Aaron was busy with the meathead, and Cal didn’t see the other guys, but he had no doubt they’d have fun without him.
He didn’t go home. Not yet.