STEFANO {Published/Sample Only}

7

The empty beach sidewalk led to a busy alley, and Mark directed me to a hole-in-the-wall place I didn't even notice. I rushed ahead, opening the door for him.

"After you," I insisted. A few drinks and I'd have him up against a wall again, and it wouldn't be just a brush-it'd be a full-court press.

He went straight for the bar; I trailed behind. "Beer," he ordered. "And-" he waited on me while reaching to his back pocket.

"I got it!" I grabbed his hand before it hit his wallet to stop him, then tossed some cash to the bar to cover our tab. "And a shot of whiskey."

His fingers started doing that thing again, stretching to mine, short nails dragging up and down my palm. It was so simple, yet kindled a thousand fucking fires inside me.

"Make it a double!" I insisted to the bartender pouring my shot.

He then slid the double pour to my palm, which went straight to my lips, downing the glass in one unending gulp.

Mark pushed his beer bottle to his lips, watching me as he sipped. "Shall we?" he jerked his chin toward an empty table before taking off for it.

I stood on one side of the table; he stood on the other, his eyes twinkling under this bar light, his lips twisted in a smirky smile. Forget the booze-I didn't need liquid courage. I was ready to take him now.

He lowered the bottle from his mouth, studying me. "Did you tell your brother you're staying another day?"

"No."

He took another sip, gaze on me, neither of us breaking the eye contact. "So, you're pretty good at soccer."

My laugh sent my head back, catching the stares on us. "Pretty good?" I repeated, noticing a few more guys were smiling over. There were a lot of guys here. Wait, where were the chicks? Back home, the bars were wall-to-wall women. It was all guys here. "Do chicks not go to bars in San Diego?"

He shrugged, looking around as I had. "We usually get a handful here, but it's mostly just gays."

I ducked toward the table, leaning his way. "What?"

"It's a gay bar."

I lost my footing, falling into the table, causing even more fucking stares. Why the fuck were we here! "Why would you bring me here? You said we were going to a bar! We need to leave!"

He didn't move. "Leave? Why?"

Why? Why! It was a fucking gay bar, and I- "We need to go, come on!"

"Mark!" someone yelled his name, some guy making his way over, his hands falling to Mark's shoulders as he dipped his face to his ear.

My slumped shoulders went straight, back with it, staring down the dead man touching Mark. Who the fuck was this?

"Mark!" he kept up, still clasping his shoulders, leaning too close. "Please, please, introduce me to your friend!"

You had to be fucking kidding me. Here five minutes and some stronzo is already fucking disrespecting me- calling me just a friend? Like I couldn't be more, like I wasn't good enough to be more. He was asking for it, and I'd happily fucking destroy him.

"Stefano." Mark pointed between us. "This is Bryce."

"I don't give a fuck," the reply was automatic. He knew another guy's name. A guy whose hands were on his shoulders, and Mark was smiling. He wasn't telling him to fuck off or back up or correcting him when he called me a friend. "I'm outta here! This was a mistake!" I hit the table again, this time on purpose as I charged away for the doors.