only so many faces are in view, what with so many others being buried in assholes, between legs, pushed into chairs and walls. I’ll never find him unless I go from pairing to pairing and pry them apart.
Which I will actually do. Because, hey! Look at that! I’m angry again. I’m pissed at the guy who’s started sucking my limp (well, now kinda limp) dick. At the couple sloppily rim-sixty-nining right in front of me, preventing me from going farther into the room. And I’m angry at Christian for dragging me all the way out here to drop trou (and sixty big ones) just to humiliate him. I’ve already cock-blocked dozens at one skeezy sex party tonight. Do I have to cock-block everyone here too?
I would’ve come here with Christian. If he’d just sat me down and told me monogamy wasn’t his thing. For him, I’d have made an exception; I’d have been willing to separate sex and love, even if it took some getting used to. But clearly, I wasn’t worth enough for him to try.
He’s dead.
He is so dead.
And he is standing right next to me.
Christian is fully dressed. All the way up to that tie he once left at Grant Majors’s apartment. God, it feels like years ago.
“Brayden?”
He’s spinning at a turntable. And the whole room is spinning now too as it dawns on me:
He’s the motherfucking DJ.
Morning, Starshine!
And now I’ve forgotten how to speak.
“What are you doing here? Besides getting blown.”
I am? Oh, right. Well—not anymore. I don’t mean to push the guy off me as hard as I do, but it works. He’s only flat on his ass for a few seconds before he’s off to find the next cock to gobble.
“Huh. I didn’t really figure you for the sex-party type.”
“I’m not,” I manage. The truth.
Christian steps away from his table to get closer to me. “Oh, so there’s some other explanation for why you’re standing here naked with some creep’s mouth on your dick?”
Fuck right there is—but I don’t have time to tell him right now.
“What...What are YOU doing here?” I sputter.
“What does it look like?” He doesn’t need to say much else, but he says it anyway: “I’m the DJ. Well, I was. I asked if I could cut out a little early tonight. I wanted to stop by your place and maybe clear up all the bad blood from this morning.”
“Shit,” I say. But he doesn’t hear me.
“Did Servando and Rowan tell you I saw them?”
Fuck me.
“Yeah. They did.”
Now it makes so much sense why Servando and Rowan didn’t detect the seriousness of the situation when they reported my ex’s whereabouts. And now I’m crying again. Christian notices, and his face softens, his anger and confusion disintegrating.
“Are you okay? What’s going on? Why are you naked?” He has his arms around me. He’s moving in to kiss me. “I’m sorry about this morning. It was early, I had a hangover. I didn’t mean to call you crazy. It just freaked me out to see you with my phone, and the card...I always do this when things get serious. I do something stupid that fucks it all up.”
I pull away and shake my head. Because I’M the one who fucked it all up. Big time.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were DJing at a sex party?” I ask, not even bothering to wipe the tears now drenching my face.
“I didn’t know ’til this afternoon. I’m subbing for a guy who missed a flight back from Miami. And what does it matter? I’ve spun at The Cock, Rawhide, The Eagle...Is there a difference?”
I look around at the men who are having far too much fun to care about what’s happening a few feet away from them. Christian’s right. There is little difference between the bars he listed and this party. In fact, there are probably fewer people having sex here than there tonight, and here, they’re a lot better looking.
“Nothing. I just didn’t know. Have you been here all night?”
“Since the doors opened at eleven,” he says, checking his watch.
Which is about the time I went banging into
Which I will actually do. Because, hey! Look at that! I’m angry again. I’m pissed at the guy who’s started sucking my limp (well, now kinda limp) dick. At the couple sloppily rim-sixty-nining right in front of me, preventing me from going farther into the room. And I’m angry at Christian for dragging me all the way out here to drop trou (and sixty big ones) just to humiliate him. I’ve already cock-blocked dozens at one skeezy sex party tonight. Do I have to cock-block everyone here too?
I would’ve come here with Christian. If he’d just sat me down and told me monogamy wasn’t his thing. For him, I’d have made an exception; I’d have been willing to separate sex and love, even if it took some getting used to. But clearly, I wasn’t worth enough for him to try.
He’s dead.
He is so dead.
And he is standing right next to me.
Christian is fully dressed. All the way up to that tie he once left at Grant Majors’s apartment. God, it feels like years ago.
“Brayden?”
He’s spinning at a turntable. And the whole room is spinning now too as it dawns on me:
He’s the motherfucking DJ.
Morning, Starshine!
And now I’ve forgotten how to speak.
“What are you doing here? Besides getting blown.”
I am? Oh, right. Well—not anymore. I don’t mean to push the guy off me as hard as I do, but it works. He’s only flat on his ass for a few seconds before he’s off to find the next cock to gobble.
“Huh. I didn’t really figure you for the sex-party type.”
“I’m not,” I manage. The truth.
Christian steps away from his table to get closer to me. “Oh, so there’s some other explanation for why you’re standing here naked with some creep’s mouth on your dick?”
Fuck right there is—but I don’t have time to tell him right now.
“What...What are YOU doing here?” I sputter.
“What does it look like?” He doesn’t need to say much else, but he says it anyway: “I’m the DJ. Well, I was. I asked if I could cut out a little early tonight. I wanted to stop by your place and maybe clear up all the bad blood from this morning.”
“Shit,” I say. But he doesn’t hear me.
“Did Servando and Rowan tell you I saw them?”
Fuck me.
“Yeah. They did.”
Now it makes so much sense why Servando and Rowan didn’t detect the seriousness of the situation when they reported my ex’s whereabouts. And now I’m crying again. Christian notices, and his face softens, his anger and confusion disintegrating.
“Are you okay? What’s going on? Why are you naked?” He has his arms around me. He’s moving in to kiss me. “I’m sorry about this morning. It was early, I had a hangover. I didn’t mean to call you crazy. It just freaked me out to see you with my phone, and the card...I always do this when things get serious. I do something stupid that fucks it all up.”
I pull away and shake my head. Because I’M the one who fucked it all up. Big time.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were DJing at a sex party?” I ask, not even bothering to wipe the tears now drenching my face.
“I didn’t know ’til this afternoon. I’m subbing for a guy who missed a flight back from Miami. And what does it matter? I’ve spun at The Cock, Rawhide, The Eagle...Is there a difference?”
I look around at the men who are having far too much fun to care about what’s happening a few feet away from them. Christian’s right. There is little difference between the bars he listed and this party. In fact, there are probably fewer people having sex here than there tonight, and here, they’re a lot better looking.
“Nothing. I just didn’t know. Have you been here all night?”
“Since the doors opened at eleven,” he says, checking his watch.
Which is about the time I went banging into
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