“This is my friend Jesse,” he said, then pointed toward the bar. “And that’s his boyfriend, Dane.”
“We saw you dance and loved it,” Gretchen gushed. “I’m Gretchen, and this is Clark.”
“Hi there!” Jesse said. “Oooh, wait, I’ve heard about you.”
“Um…” I dipped my head because my cheeks had caught fire again. “I heard about you too.”
“He’s cute,” he said to Skylar. “I like the glasses, Clark Kent.”
“Right?” Gretchen said, saving me because I was basically spluttering.
“He definitely is very cute,” Skylar said, looking me up and down. “I like the whole look.”
“Yeah?” I bit my lip and shrugged even as my pulse beat wildly. “Thanks.”
Jesse spun away with a wave and leaned over the bar to kiss his boyfriend.
Skylar chatted with us for a couple more minutes. “Hey, I need to grab some water before I die of thirst. Thanks so much for coming!”
“No problem. Glad we did.”
I watched as he edged closer to Jesse at the bar, and Dane handed him a tall glass of water that he seemed to down in a second flat. Didn’t blame him. He probably could eat whatever the hell he wanted after burning the kind of calories he did. And we had the junk food to prove it.
A bigger guy, really hot and pretty much my type, slid beside him and whispered something in his ear. Skylar bent his head back and laughed. I looked away because I didn’t want to be some creeper, but then curiosity got the better of me. When I glanced back, the guy had greedily wrapped his hand over Skylar’s hip and was raising a suggestive eyebrow. Skylar nodded, obviously agreeing to something before they parted ways, and I had a feeling he wouldn’t be coming home tonight.
Something sour curdled in my stomach, and I downed my drink, glancing toward the exit, suddenly wanting to get the hell out of the stuffy room. “Almost ready to head out?” I asked Gretchen.
Her eyebrows knitted together. “Whenever you are.”
13
Skylar
“I’ll meet you later, stud,” I told the guy who’d asked me if I was busy tonight. He was gorgeous, big and bulky and so my type, and exactly what I needed to get my mind off everything. Someone who wanted the same thing I did—to get off and then go our separate ways. No feelings, no tears, no broken hearts.
After my next round of dancing, I looked around for Clark and Gretchen but couldn’t find them. A stab of disappointment pierced my gut. I loved that he’d come tonight. He’d looked so fucking adorable, and if we weren’t friends and he’d been looking for something less permanent, I definitely would have liked to get my hands on him…or my mouth. Down, Skylar. He made me want to be a naughty boy, and I had no business being that with him.
Trying not to let myself think about why I was so bummed that he left, I finished my shift—I got off a little before closing tonight—then met up with the guy and took care of business. For some reason, the quick handjob we shared in the restroom didn’t make me feel any better.
Once we said our goodbyes, I looked at my cell for the first time since I got there, and saw Clark had sent a text hours earlier. We headed out. Have fun tonight.
Something about the message made discomfort slide down my spine. It was a normal text, so there was no reason it should make me feel that way, but there also was no reason why coming in another guy’s fist would make me feel weird either, so I chalked it up to being emotional about my afternoon with Mom.
When I got home—well, back to Clark’s apartment—all the lights were out except for one over the bar, which he always left on for me. It was sweet and so him, to keep his electric bill down, but to be considerate as well. I couldn’t help smiling as I turned it off.
His door wasn’t completely closed, opened only a crack, light shining around it. It was late, though, and I didn’t have any reason to go into his room. If he was awake, then he knew I was home, so he would come out if he wanted to talk to me.
With that thought in mind, I grabbed my favorite tank top to sleep in and booty shorts, and took a quick shower. My body was jittery, my stomach twisting uncomfortably, my thoughts spinning—Mom, our day, Clark coming to the Playground, him leaving without a word, all playing tricks on me.
“Damn it,” I mumbled to myself, and headed for his room. I needed to make sure we were okay, though I couldn’t say why we wouldn’t be.
I tapped lightly on the door.
“Hello?” Clark replied, as if unsure he heard anything.
Slowly, I eased the door open to see him sitting in bed, his regular black glasses in place, the lamp on, a book on his lap. He wore a T-shirt, and if he had on his sleep clothes he wore around the house, there would be a long pair of pants under the blanket. “Hey,” I said softly.
“Hey.”
“Thanks for coming tonight. It was a surprise to see you there—a good surprise. I’d hoped you’d stick around a bit.”
“Seemed you were going to be busy, between work and that guy,” Clark replied, an unfamiliar hoarseness to his voice. “I mean, not that it matters. Obviously it doesn’t.” He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes darting away from me. “I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t plan to stay late anyway. It was fun, but we were ready to head out.”
I sighed, my chest feeling a little full. Somehow, I felt like I let him down, and that filled me with a sort of wrongness. Clark was too good a guy to let down. “I have no concept of personal space, so if I can’t come lie down with you for a few minutes, tell me now.”
That earned me a grin. Clark’s smiles were like a reward. “Um…sure. I guess?”
“You guess or yes?” While I was being weirdly all up in his business, consent was a must. If he agreed, I wanted it to be because he wanted to.
“Yes,” he replied, the hoarseness turning into a sexy, husky tone.
“Yay!” I jogged over and dive-bombed his bed like I was ten. No one had ever said I was super mature.
“You’re such a dork.” He treated me to a smile again, which turned into a chuckle.
“What you say is what you are.”
“Well, we knew that already, didn’t we?”
That made me frown. “Shut up. You’re not a dork. Well, maybe a little, but there’s nothing wrong with being a dork. You said it in a degrading way. Dorks are awesome. Especially sexy dorks. You totally had that sexy-dork thing going on tonight.” Always, actually, but I should probably find a way to shut my damn mouth.
“Oh my God. Whatever. I’m a dork-dork, and I wasn’t sexy tonight.”
“You, my little Clark Kent, need to clean your glasses or get a new pair or something. You’re hot. People notice you. It’s cute that you don’t notice them noticing.” I was being awfully repetitive with words tonight, but I was suddenly feeling tired. Also, it struck me then how he didn’t feel like Fancy anymore. That nickname seemed to have been relegated to our childhood, now that I’d spent more time with him.
He closed his book, and I saw he was reading The Count of Monte Cristo. I hadn’t realized people read paperbacks anymore. I loved that he did.