I Survived Seattle (7 page)

“Um…I…uh. ‘Kay.”

While Justice stammered, Nic let go of his arm and backed away. He winked at the kid, then turned around and sauntered off. He just barely resisted the urge to look back, but he was sure those eyes were glued to his ass as he walked away.

Chapter Eight

The day after the bachelor party was a free day. That should have made Justice happy, relaxed. One of his biggest triggers for anxiety was obligations, plans; situations in which people counted on him and would notice if he didn’t show up.

There were no wedding events going on; Rory and Maia were off taking care of various preparations for the big day, but the wedding party wasn’t needed. Lara had gone into the city, wanting to explore Pike Street Market. Alone. Justice took that to mean she wanted to scope out the talent.

But instead of being happy for the downtime, Justice was jittery. His stomach was a bundle of nerves. Not the nauseating kind he usually got yet, but just enough to keep him unsettled all day.

He was still all worked up from his encounter with Nic. The man was gorgeous, and Justice had never had a kiss that hot in his life…not that he’d had many to compare it to. His sexual experiences were few and far between, and wholly unsatisfying.

While they were making out, Justice had completely lost himself in Nic. He forgot he was supposed to be in the closet. He forgot what happened when he showed people his true self. He’d even forgotten that there were at least fourteen other people on the boat, any of whom could have seen them.

Even now, he couldn’t bring himself to worry as much about it as he should. All he was left with was this stirring need that Nic had awakened in him, which left him antsy and hot under the collar. Maybe he should just sac up and give Nic a call. Going on one date, maybe getting their rocks off together, wasn’t exactly a marriage proposal. Justice could do casual dating. He could.

His mind made up, Justice pulled on the sleeve of his blue Henley, intending on getting Nic’s number from his forearm. When he rolled the material up, he was startled by the expanse of smooth, pale skin. And no writing.

“Damn,” he breathed. He’d staggered inside the night before after too much to drink, but mainly too much social interaction, and all he’d wanted was a shower. He must have washed the number off without even thinking about it.

“Guess we’re not going on that date.” Justice had to admit that, while he felt a pang of disappointment at the thought of not seeing Nic again, he also felt a certain amount of relief. He wanted to see Nic again, but he wasn’t sure he was up for a romantic entanglement that he had to hide.

He could always call the charter service, but he had no idea if Nic was the one who normally answered the phones, and he definitely couldn’t handle talking to a stranger in his current state of mind.

But unfortunately, the beast had been unleashed. Justice longed for company. He was never one for crowds, but occasionally he felt the need to be somewhere that he could let loose. Somewhere where he didn’t have to hide.

Justice chalked up his jitters, at least part of them, to that urge to engage in a little slap and tickle with some like-minded able-bodied men. He didn’t usually do casual sex, just didn’t have the kind of personality to not get attached, but groping and grinding on the dance floor wasn’t exactly sex.

Sitting his laptop on the little writing desk in the corner of the living room, Justice ran a web search for gay-friendly clubs and bars in Seattle. None of them were familiar to him, being an out-of-towner, so he just picked the one that looked the best based on the website photos. He called for a cab and was given an approximation of twenty minutes.

Justice really didn’t have any clubbing clothes, because his wardrobe was just sad, so he had to make the best of what he had. He changed into a pair of ‘factory distressed’ jeans that weren’t exactly tight, but snug enough to show off his ass a little —the only pair that did.

He didn’t have many options for tops, so he went with a black button-down dress shirt that was tailored, rather form-fitting. It was the best he could come up with. Hearing the cab honk outside, Justice stepped into his black loafers, grabbed his wallet and left.

When Justice was dropped off on Broadway, he looked around at the unfamiliar landscape. He lived in a historic town, and was definitely not a city boy. The building that housed Neighbors, the club he’d chosen, was innocuous and unimpressive. But when he went inside, it was much bigger than what he’d thought. Like, a
lot
bigger.

It seemed like the party was already in full swing; the music was thumping, the house lights were low, and the room was illuminated by randomly flashing colored spotlights and strobes.

This was what he’d been looking for. This was a place he could get lost in —lost among hundreds of other people who were just like him.

There were more women than he’d imagined. Oddly enough, it made Justice feel more comfortable; like it wasn’t just a meat market. He looked back and forth between the bar and the dance floor and, okay, maybe he stopped a couple of times at the go-go boys, because he couldn’t decide what to do first.

Some liquid courage was definitely in order at some point, but the pull of the writhing mass of dancers was too strong. Justice loved to dance. He wasn’t particularly good at it, though he wasn’t bad either, but it was one of the few times he ever let himself just be.

As if compelled by an unseen force, Justice found himself snaking his way through the throng of bodies. The crowd pulsed with movement; it had its own heartbeat. Justice could feel it thrumming through him as he found his place on the floor, syncing his own pulse to its rhythm.

Hands brushed and grabbed, asses nudged groins, bodies contorted in a dance of sensual promise. Justice felt someone’s hands rest on his hips; another, on his shoulders. He tipped his head back and went with the flow. Enjoying the release of dancing, the sensation of touch.

* * * *

When Nic and Sam arrived at Capitol Hill, the streets were already crowded with revelers. At the bus stop, Sam grabbed a hold of his arm and practically dragged him down the street towards Neighbors. Rowdy boys spilled out of the door and onto the street, and the music from inside thumped. Suddenly, it was the last place Nic wanted to be.

Digging in his heels, he jerked Samara to a stop, and she turned back to him with a question in her eyes. Nic dragged a hand through his hair, something he always did when he was frustrated.

“Look, Sam, I think I’m just gonna go home. I’m really not up for this tonight.”

“What, so you can go mope some more?

“Mope? About what?”

“About how airplane hottie hasn’t called you yet.”

Because he really didn’t have a defense for that, Nic tried to divert her attention. “He does have a name, you know.”

Sam rolled her eyes, because she knew exactly what he was doing. “Fine. You’re moping because
Justice
hasn’t called you yet. Jesus, what are you, a thirteen year old girl? As if you men ever call the next day.”

“I’m not moping, for christsake, I just don’t feel like clubbing tonight. If he wants to call, he’ll call.”

The look of sympathy that crossed Sam’s face just served to piss him off.

“Oh honey,” she said.

“Samara.” He tried to give it his best
leave it the fuck alone
tone.

“Nicolas.”

They had a brief stare-off, after which he caved, like he always did. “If I go inside, will you drop this shit about Justice?”

“Absolutely.”

“Fine. Let’s get this the fuck over with.”

She patted his cheek and pulled him forward again. “That’s the spirit!”

Nic’s stomach clenched as she pulled him inside. He really fucking hated clubbing. It was about the farthest he could imagine from being out on the open water with the wind in his face. In here, there was too little air, too much heat and sweat, too many bodies. It had been awhile since he’d been there, and it was darker on the dance floor than he remembered. A little mood lighting, all the better for the boys to grope their tricks, he guessed.
Jesus
.

Grabbing Samara’s arm, he pulled her toward the bar. “I need a fucking drink. You’re buying.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, big guy,” she said, way too cheerfully. It made Nic want to snarl at her. Why he had such a bug up his ass tonight, he didn’t really know. Well, he knew, but refused to admit it, even to himself.

She leaned forward with her elbows propped on the bar, showing off her impressive cleavage to the bartender, who must have been at least bi, because he gave them a once over —make that a twice over.

“I’ll have a mojito, please
dahling
. Nic?”

“Jack and Coke, with a lime.”

He heard an unladylike snort next to him, and Sam turned to him once the bartender had gone. “Really? Are you
sure
you’re gay?”

“I drink whiskey and I fuck men. You be the judge.”

“Touché, Nicky, touché.”

“Oh God,
please
don’t call me Nicky.”

“I won’t if you’ll dance with me.”

He sighed, gratefully accepting his drink from the bartender and waited while Samara slipped him the cash with her phone number. He knew there was no use in arguing.

“Can I at least finish my drink first?”

“But of course. I need to look around for the future ex Mr. Alvárez anyway.”

Nic rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but smile. God help the man who finally did except the job —the ‘Mr.’ part, not the ‘ex’ part. He had a feeling the indecision had more to do with Samara being willing to settle down than it did with the perspective applicants.

He nursed his drink for as long as he could, but eventually Sam realized he was just sucking down whiskey flavored ice water. She yanked him off his barstool, got behind him and started pushing him towards the dance floor.

Nic laughed and relented. Sam fisted her hands in his shirt so she didn’t lose herself in the crowd while walking behind him. As he got closer to the floor, Nic checked out the dancers. There were several hotties among a mostly average looking crowd.

One dancer in the middle seemed to be garnering more than his share of attention, though from his body language, Nic didn’t think he was aware of it. He was lost in the music, head thrown back, arms above his head. Nic would bet money his eyes were closed. He’d taken his shirt off. Nic could see it stuffed in his back pocket. His lithe body undulated to the music, sweat rolling down his well-defined back, and he seemed oblivious to the men who tried to touch him or grind against him.

He was beautiful. The man turned slightly to his right, giving Nic the perfect view of his profile. Recognition struck like lightning and Nic froze, so abruptly that Sam slammed into his back.

“The fuck?” she shouted over the pounding music.

“Airplane boy,” he choked out.

“Huh?”

Nic blindly felt around behind him until he could grip Sam’s chin and turn it toward Justice’s unintentional striptease.

“Holy shit! Hey, I’m gonna go chat up the sexy bartender a little more, maybe secure a ride home if ya know what I mean. Bye!”

Nic just grunted at her. She was forgotten already, his attention was completely focused on Justice and the erotic picture he made, rolling his hips and swaying to the music. A growl slipped out as another man stepped up behind Justice and wrapped beefy arms around his waist. Uh-uh. No muscle bound meathead was getting up on his man.

Decision made. Done and done. Nic plowed his way through the thrashing crowd, heedless of the jostling and the come-ons. He was intent on Justice, and Justice alone. Nothing was going to get in his way this time.

Chapter Nine

Justice was swimming in a sea of gorgeous male bodies, floating on a rhythm of thumping base. Okay, they probably weren’t all gorgeous, or male, but Justice didn’t care. He was in his happy place.

He stretched his arms above his head and pushed his ass against the big guy who was plastered to his back. Tipping his head back, Justice stared up at the cluster of disco balls that hung from the ceiling, and smiled. It was sad that he could count on his fingers the number of times when he’d felt this free, so he had to make the best of those moments when they came along.

The warm body that had been pressed against his back disappeared and was replaced by another one. This one was more athletic than beefy. Secretly, Justice liked the feel of the new guy much better, so he showed his appreciation by grinding up against the hardness that rubbed his ass.

Justice smiled when he heard a stifled groan and felt the guy pump his hips just slightly. He gasped when a strong arm wrapped around to hook his neck in a solid grip; not enough pressure to cut off his air, but enough to conjure some hot restraint imagery in his wild imagination.

He couldn’t hold in the shudder. Turning his head as much as he could with the arm around his neck, Justice caught sight of them in one of the mirrored columns that studded the dance floor. There was a flash of recognition at the exact moment a gruff voice whispered in his ear.