Three days later, Nate ached in places on his body that he did not even know existed because he had been at the gym nonstop trying to get his brain to shut up. It had been an unsuccessful attempt.

This afternoon he’d woken up from an after-work nap in a cold sweat because he’d been dreaming about the curve of Bailey’s lower back and how good it would look framed by his hands while he threw his ass back on Nate’s cock. But then Bailey had rolled his head to the side, and there had been blood running from his nose over his upper lip. The knuckles on Nate’s hands, wrapped around his waist, were suddenly painted in matching crimson.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Dream-Bailey had sneered, red staining his teeth, before the muscles in his back and thighs bunched as he fucked back harder and laughed. And Nate had responded by flipping him over and punching him right in the face.

He woke up with the crunch of cartilage ringing in his ears, his knuckles tingling, and warmth spreading in his boxers as he came in them. And then the cold sweat broke out. His head whipped down to see that his knuckles were unblemished and free of blood. And as he lay there with his cock softening against his hip with unwanted aftershocks pulsing through him, his heart racing for more than one reason, he decided he needed to change how he was dealing with this whole ordeal.

His phone buzzed as he returned to his room after showering to rinse the cold sweat from his back. The notification was a welcome distraction from avoiding eye contact with his bed. He turned his phone over, absently scrubbing behind his ear with the towel around his neck. With relief, he saw that it was Jared and the button to call him before even reading the text.

“Sup?” Jared asked.

“As an apology for flaking out on you the other day,” Nate said as he tossed his towel toward his hamper and pawed around in his dresser for a clean pair of boxers. “Do you wanna hit a bar tonight?”

“It’s Tuesday?” Jared complained, “I’ve got work tomorrow.”

“At what time, though?” Nate pointed out. Jared was, after all, always complaining about how late he had to work because his shifts started in the afternoons. “I’ll buy drinks.”

“Whatever, okay.” Jared sighed. “Where do you want to go?”

Nate had been meaning to call Jared anyway. He kept thinking about the announcement Bailey had reposted on his Instagram about The Shoe Strings.

“Molly’s,” Nate said casually.

“Man, can’t you, like,” Jared paused to sigh, “just come out and say it if you want me to be your wingman for the night?”

Jared was one of the only people who knew Nate swung both ways. He’d even been supportive enough to go over to Molly’s with Nate a few times back when he first had the fling with the guy from trade school and was trying to figure himself out. The most interesting thing that happened those nights was watching Jared fend off a truly impressive number of guys tossing looks his way while trying to channel them toward Nate, the surly-looking wallflower.

“Nah, man,” Nate cocked his head to the side, working out a crick in his neck from how tense he had been over the past couple of days. “I’ve got it on good authority that Sarah’s gonna be there.”

She had reposted Bailey’s repost of the bar’s advert and commented that she would also try to make it tonight.

Forty minutes later, Jared stood outside Molly’s with Nate, staring at the poster on the front of the door announcing the live music for the night. Jared pressed his lips together in an unhappy frown and gestured toward it.

“I didn’t think this through. You know that their bassist is Brett Abshire. The Brett that is Bailey Alexander’s best friend,” he said. “I thought you were avoiding Bailey. Maybe we should go somewhere else.”

“We already drove all this way. Bailey does not dictate where I can and cannot go,” Nate announced, pushing the door open. No bouncers checked IDs on a Tuesday night, and the crowd was sparse compared to the surging waves of people who descended upon the establishment on weekends. A punk band stood on the low stage in one corner, three boys and a girl on the drums. One of the boys was indeed Brett, Bailey’s best friend.

Nate wondered if that guy was as weary of the feud as Jared was. But his thoughts were scattered by the sight of a bright pink flop of hair beside the stage, nodding to the beat of the music.

“Are you wearing cologne?” Jared scrunched his nose as he sidled through the door and joined Nate.

Nate was indeed wearing cologne because he lost his goddamn mind after hanging up with Jared earlier, tore through about three different options for what to wear, nearly took a second shower so he could freshly shave, then decided he did not have enough time and broke out the cologne his aunt gave him for Christmas last year. It smelled nice, he thought.

“You okay?” Jared asked when Nate did not answer for a few seconds.

Nate tore his gaze away from Bailey and nodded. “Fine.”

“Well, what do you want to drink?” Jared nudged him toward the bar. Nate suddenly regretted asking him tonight instead of just coming himself. In fact, he regretted coming here at all. He could not approach Bailey while all his friends surrounded him. And with Jared here. All of whom thought they hated each other.

And maybe they still did. One night of civility may not have meant all that much to Bailey. He’d gotten pissed at Nate for trying to help him out of sticky situations in the past, so maybe the more he had thought about it, the less grateful and more irritated he decided to be about the events of the other night.

“Nate?”

They were standing at the bar now, and both Jared and the bartender were looking at him. He cleared his throat. “Something strong.”

The bartender looked less than impressed, so Jared ordered tequila shots. It was probably not the best option, but Nate had not given him much to work with.

They settled on two of the bar stools, Nate with his back to the room. The selection of bottles on the shelves behind the bar suddenly fascinated him. Jared kept sending him worried glances.

When the bartender brought their drinks a minute later, skillfully balancing the shots, a bowl of lime slices, and salt, Nate paid without opening a tab. He needed to be able to make a quick getaway if needed.

“What is going on with you?” Jared leaned over to whisper and still be heard over the live music.

“It’s just a weird day,” Nate shrugged, threw back his shot, and bit into one of the lime slices. Honestly, it had been a weird week. Probably the start of a weird summer.

“Yeah,” Jared shrugged, “I guess it is.” He spun around on his stool and swept his gaze over the room. “Hey, look, there’s Sarah.”

Nate did not turn around, but Jared kept smacking the side of his arm with the back of his hand to get his attention. So, he heaved a sigh and glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, there was Sarah, bopping her head alongside Bailey. Jared looked toward her longingly, a stark contrast to Nate’s scowl.

“Why don’t you just go say hi to her?” Nate shoved Jared’s thigh.

“You’re the one who asked me to hang out, and I know you won’t go over there with me.” Jared turned back toward the bar.

He was correct. Bailey and Nate were known to get into drunken brawls at parties – tumbling into the pool on one memorable occasion at Tessa Ackerman’s place – but they generally avoided literal bar fights in establishments like these. And they did that by giving each other a wide berth, one of the only times they ignored each other instead of seeking one another out to pluck each other’s nerves. Besides, the longer Nate sat here, the more he did not want to interrupt Bailey’s fun.

His head was thrown back as he rocked to the music with a bit of bob on each beat. There was a brilliant smile on his face, bunny teeth on display, and eyes crinkled up. Nate scowled and faced away again.

“You’re just making excuses because you are too chicken shit to go talk to her,” he groused at Jared, who reared back in mock offense. Before he could start, Nate waved his hand. “Seriously, go say hi. Then maybe we can play a couple rounds of pool or something.”

Jared narrowed his eyes. “You are beyond acting strange.”

“Whatever,” Nate grabbed Jared’s shot and threw it back. “I need another drink anyway, so go ahead. I’ll meet you by the pool tables in a little bit.”

“Alright, dude,” Jared shrugged and hopped off his stool. He gave Nate a pat on the shoulder before diving into the small crowd surrounding the stage. Nate did not turn to watch him go, focused instead on trying to catch the eye of the bartender. When the guy finally did look up from whatever he was messing with behind the counter, Nate ordered a beer instead of more tequila shots since he was already feeling the first two and wanted something to sip on. That way he wasn’t just sitting at the bar twiddling his thumbs.

This had been a stupid idea. What did he expect? To march up to Bailey and demand to cash in the drink he had been promised? That sounded like the start of one of their brawls, but he did not want that right now. He dug his fingernail into the top of the wooden counter and thought about Bailey’s pretty smile and soft, warm touch on Nate’s forearm. Had his eyes always sparkled like that when he looked at Nate?

Sure, but Nate had always thought it was because he was getting a kick out of messing with him.

He rubbed a hand over his face, then glanced up with a grateful smile when the bartender arrived with his beer. He slid his credit card across the counter, saying, “I still don’t want a tab.”

“Don’t worry about it, man.” The bartender slid the card back, “That guy down there said to put it on his.”

He pointed down the length of the bar to where Bailey was leaning against it. Posing would be a more accurate term. He had his elbows propped on the counter, cheek propped in one hand, back arched, shapely ass sticking out. There was a cheeky grin on his face, and as soon as they made eye contact, he winked.

Nate fucking blushed. Christ.

But, despite the heat bleeding into his cheeks, he held Bailey’s gaze and raised the beer in thanks. Then, Bailey started prowling toward him. Oh. Jesus Christ.

“What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” he purred as he plopped onto the stool that Jared had just vacated.

“Why wouldn’t a guy like me belong here?” Nate raised his eyebrows and tipped the beer to his lips. A little bit of the twinkle in Bailey’s eye faded into intrigue as they traveled up and down Nate’s figure.

“Why didn’t you come over with Jared?”

Because he was a hypocrite. He called Jared chicken shit when Nate was, in fact, the coward.

“I was waiting for my drink,” he said instead.

Bailey nodded, then spun around to whoop as one song ended. The band transitioned to their next. He tilted his head and gave Nate an easy grin. “This song is so fun to dance to. Wanna dance?”

Nate did not have much of a choice. But then again, when did he ever have a choice regarding Bailey Alexander? Something searing hot simmered in his belly as Bailey wrapped his fingers around Nate’s wrist, fingers as warm and gentle as last time. He pulled Nate off the stool toward the open area, where several people moved to the music. And, by god, Nate let him.

When they were in the middle of the floor, Bailey let go of Nate’s wrist and started doing this terrible little shimmy with his shoulders that should not have looked as good as he made it look. But it made his shirt stretch across his chest and ride up a bit to show a sliver of his waist. Nate took a sip of his beer.

“Come on!” Bailey encouraged because Nate was standing there as still as a mountain. He grabbed Nate’s hand, threading their fingers together, and swung their arms back and forth. The beer was in sudden danger of spilling as Nate was tugged into joining the terrible dance. He held it away from their bodies and decided to take control of the situation.

Mostly because he wanted to feel Bailey’s body against his own. 

This was not so different from when they tussled, except instead of snarling in each other’s faces, their lips bloomed into twin smiles. Nate wrapped one arm around Bailey’s back, and Bailey’s hands ended up on his arms. They danced together, stepping and swaying to the song. Bailey was correct. It was a good song to dance to.

Nate wished he was not holding the beer so he could hold Bailey with both hands, but he made do.

He grabbed one of Bailey’s hands and twirled him away, watching in awe as Bailey followed the momentum smoothly, a laugh spilling from his lips. When Nate tugged, he spun back into his arm, stumbling into his chest with his whole body. He grinned up, chest heaving as he laughed, breathless and thrilled.

Before he realized what he was doing, Nate ducked his head down and pressed their lips together.