My money’s also on this being a weeklong romance at best.” He sipped at his water and frowned at the table. “Hmm. Looks like your options are either hard liquor or white wine. Warm white wine, but it’s shit white in a box, so who cares, right?” He filled a glass and handed it to Kelly. “Drink this and stop looking so nervous.”
“It’s just weird. We’re the only guys here.”
“Oh, more will show up. Trust me. Not our kind, though.” He linked Kelly’s arm through his. “Let’s go find the music. I like dancing with lesbians.”
Kelly thought at first that was either a joke or a euphemism for something, but it turned out Walter meant that comment literally. No sooner did he have Kelly set up with a trio of not-that-drunk (and not making out, thank God) girls on a sofa, he disappeared into the middle of the room, where he began dancing with an abandon Kelly hadn’t ever seen him exhibit, not at Moe’s, not anywhere. Kelly watched Walter move, transfixed.
“He’s so cute.” The girl next to Kelly—Tricia, Kelly thought her name was—leaned her head on Kelly’s shoulder and smiled as Walter shimmied behind a laughing girl who moved in sync with him. “Except he’s gay, dammit.”
“And you’re a lesbian,” the girl on her other side said, and they all laughed.
Kelly felt dazed. God, Walter just… moved . For a long time Walter danced and Kelly watched him, sometimes talking to the girls who sat next to him—they kept getting up and new ones sat in their places—and then after about a half hour, as a song ended, Walter came over, sweat-soaked, and collapsed next to Kelly.
“Shit.” He laughed, relaxed and happy, and he glanced at Kelly’s glass. “You need another?”
Kelly peered into his cup. It was empty. Huh. That would explain why he felt buzzy.
Walter popped back to his feet with a wink. “Be right back,” he said, and he was, with a new glass for Kelly and another bottle of water for himself. He was about to sit down when a girl grabbed him and hauled him back onto the floor.
Kelly had half a minute to observe them, that odd feeling of longing stirring in him again, and then someone grabbed his arm too.
He danced stiffly at first, but soon the wine and the gentle teasing of his partner relaxed him, and he began to loosen up. It was fun to dance with a bunch of lesbians or nearly lesbians, because yeah, nobody gave a shit about what he looked like or how badly he danced. Even when a girl with shock-red hair plastered herself tight against him, her tits mashed to his chest and his—limp—cock squashed along her thigh, it was so clear neither of them were turned on at all , and as such they could both let go and act like total sluts. Laughing, he tossed up his hands and danced. Someone handed him another drink, this one smelling tart and intense, but he drank it anyway.
He was having fun . So much fucking fun .
When he heard the familiar thumping beats of “Wild Ones” begin to play—they’d finally picked his iPod, apparently—he gave a hearty woot and threw himself into his boogie with an abandon he didn’t know he had in him. Somehow he’d become the center of a circle—he could see the straight boys now, mingled in amidst the girls, all of them looking slightly lost and out of place, and it was funny so he laughed. Hands slid down his arms, making him shiver, and as someone pressed against his back, he caught the familiar scent of cologne.
Walter’s thumb brushed Kelly’s wrist. “You’re having a good time.”
“Yeah.” Kelly tried to smile over his shoulder, but Walter’s hand skimmed his hip, and he jerked, glad Walter couldn’t feel the sudden erection that sprang up at the contact.
Walter gripped Kelly’s hip more firmly, holding him in place. “Hey—it’s just me, goofball. What, you can’t dance with me the way you were dancing with Sally?”
No, Kelly couldn’t. Except as Sia’s voice boomed out over the room and Walter led him
“It’s just weird. We’re the only guys here.”
“Oh, more will show up. Trust me. Not our kind, though.” He linked Kelly’s arm through his. “Let’s go find the music. I like dancing with lesbians.”
Kelly thought at first that was either a joke or a euphemism for something, but it turned out Walter meant that comment literally. No sooner did he have Kelly set up with a trio of not-that-drunk (and not making out, thank God) girls on a sofa, he disappeared into the middle of the room, where he began dancing with an abandon Kelly hadn’t ever seen him exhibit, not at Moe’s, not anywhere. Kelly watched Walter move, transfixed.
“He’s so cute.” The girl next to Kelly—Tricia, Kelly thought her name was—leaned her head on Kelly’s shoulder and smiled as Walter shimmied behind a laughing girl who moved in sync with him. “Except he’s gay, dammit.”
“And you’re a lesbian,” the girl on her other side said, and they all laughed.
Kelly felt dazed. God, Walter just… moved . For a long time Walter danced and Kelly watched him, sometimes talking to the girls who sat next to him—they kept getting up and new ones sat in their places—and then after about a half hour, as a song ended, Walter came over, sweat-soaked, and collapsed next to Kelly.
“Shit.” He laughed, relaxed and happy, and he glanced at Kelly’s glass. “You need another?”
Kelly peered into his cup. It was empty. Huh. That would explain why he felt buzzy.
Walter popped back to his feet with a wink. “Be right back,” he said, and he was, with a new glass for Kelly and another bottle of water for himself. He was about to sit down when a girl grabbed him and hauled him back onto the floor.
Kelly had half a minute to observe them, that odd feeling of longing stirring in him again, and then someone grabbed his arm too.
He danced stiffly at first, but soon the wine and the gentle teasing of his partner relaxed him, and he began to loosen up. It was fun to dance with a bunch of lesbians or nearly lesbians, because yeah, nobody gave a shit about what he looked like or how badly he danced. Even when a girl with shock-red hair plastered herself tight against him, her tits mashed to his chest and his—limp—cock squashed along her thigh, it was so clear neither of them were turned on at all , and as such they could both let go and act like total sluts. Laughing, he tossed up his hands and danced. Someone handed him another drink, this one smelling tart and intense, but he drank it anyway.
He was having fun . So much fucking fun .
When he heard the familiar thumping beats of “Wild Ones” begin to play—they’d finally picked his iPod, apparently—he gave a hearty woot and threw himself into his boogie with an abandon he didn’t know he had in him. Somehow he’d become the center of a circle—he could see the straight boys now, mingled in amidst the girls, all of them looking slightly lost and out of place, and it was funny so he laughed. Hands slid down his arms, making him shiver, and as someone pressed against his back, he caught the familiar scent of cologne.
Walter’s thumb brushed Kelly’s wrist. “You’re having a good time.”
“Yeah.” Kelly tried to smile over his shoulder, but Walter’s hand skimmed his hip, and he jerked, glad Walter couldn’t feel the sudden erection that sprang up at the contact.
Walter gripped Kelly’s hip more firmly, holding him in place. “Hey—it’s just me, goofball. What, you can’t dance with me the way you were dancing with Sally?”
No, Kelly couldn’t. Except as Sia’s voice boomed out over the room and Walter led him
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