With one last shuffle forward, they arrived at the door and paid the cover charge.
Brandon was careful to keep his shield hidden as he pulled out his wallet and flashed his driver"s license. They weren"t here on business. They were just two old friends out to see another buddy"s band.
Once inside, they had to fight their way to the bar. The place was a mad house.
Charlie"s band had a good following, but the real numbers came from the men who had so few options for a safe, fun night out on the town. Massachusetts may have been on the cutting edge of gay rights, but the nightclub scene remained seriously lame and limited. Saturday night at the Blue Door was worth the hassle, if for no other reason than the sheer number of people forced a lot of bodies up against each other. If he"d been out with anyone but Patrick, Brandon might have worked his way around the room just to check out who was there. Instead, he slid onto the bar stool next to his best friend.
“Nice work snagging this space,” Brandon said, pitching his voice to be heard over the house music. Charlie"s band wasn"t slated to take the stage for another half-hour.
Patrick smiled at him, laughter dancing in his eyes. “I can"t take the credit. I got the impression that the young men who vacated these stools were headed to the bathroom for more intimate pursuits.”
Brandon laughed and shook his head while Patrick ordered their beers.
Anonymous bathroom sex—or any bathroom sex, for that matter—had always been a mystery to him. He"d had his share of short-term flings in college, with both men and women, but he"d never been a one-night-stand person. In the decade or so since college, he"d been in two serious relationships—almost two years with Nina and a little more than a year with Derek. But since the thing with Derek had ended, he"d joined the Organized Crime Task Force of the Boston Police Department, which had eaten up a lot of his time. He loved his work, but right now it didn"t allow for much in the way of a social life.
He"d once thought a man with the advantage of being equally attracted to both sexes would have little trouble finding someone with whom to connect, but it wasn"t the case. He could, of course, try harder, make more time, but he found he was comfortable with his life as it was. And countless fantasies about Patrick helped him ease the ache when needed.
Which was abso-fucking-lutely pathetic.
He sighed again, feeling like the idiot he knew he was. He had to let go of his thing for Patrick. Patrick was straight. He was also completely aware of Brandon"s bisexuality and had been since high school. If Patrick had ever entertained thoughts about trying a 7
Samantha Wayland
taste of the other half of humanity—the male half—he"d never so much as hinted at it to Brandon.
Which sucked. But on the bright side, thinking about how he"d never have Patrick was totally killing his erection.
Spinning on his stool, he leaned back against the bar. There were at least a hundred single, attractive men in the room and a handful of women too. He should find one, brush off his somewhat rusty flirting skills and see what could happen. He might just meet someone. It could be good. It could be great.
It could be that the king of unrequited love was giving himself pep-talks in his own head and still couldn"t psych himself up enough to pick his ass up off his bar stool.
Damn it. The truth was that the prospect of meeting someone left him completely cold. Someone wasn"t Patrick.
Once again, abso-fucking-lutely pathetic.
Determined not to be a complete loser, he renewed his efforts to find an interesting face in the crowd. He almost cringed when his eyes locked with those of a huge man dressed in full biker leather strutting directly toward him. Long strings of frizzy black hair hung over a beat-up leather vest, charmingly accented with nothing more than sallow, bare skin and lots of coarse chest hair curling over the neckline. Yuck. Filthy jeans hung limp, presumably from a belt that was lost beneath the swaying bulge of his belly. And while the wardrobe was regrettable, it was nothing compared to the look in the man"s eye. Yikes. His beady eyes ate up Brandon like he was the all-you-can-eat roast-beef buffet at the Elk"s Lodge.
Whirling back to face the bar, Brandon dove into the debate between Patrick and the pretty bartender about the Red Sox"s chances at the pennant this year and prayed Big Ugly Biker Dude would go away.
When an enormous paw landed on his shoulder with a painful thump, he barely resisted the urge to slump his head down onto the bar. Why him? He really wasn"t in the mood to deal with this.
He briefly toyed with the fantasy of spinning around and telling the guy to take a hike, but he knew it wouldn"t be wise. Instead he straightened, plastered a smile on his face and looked over his shoulder. “Yes? Can I help you?”
“I"m buying you a drink,” Big Ugly Biker Dude informed him and at least twenty people in their immediate vicinity.
Brandon tried not to let his revulsion show. It wasn"t easy. And it didn"t help that after casting a brief glance over his shoulder, Patrick stayed facing the bar. Some wingman he turned out to be. Brandon could see Patrick"s smirk out of the corner of his eye, his delicious dimple winking. The jerk was laughing at him.
Brandon kept his focus on Big Ugly Biker Dude, his smile and his voice courteous.
“No, thank you. I"m all set.”
8
Destiny Calls
Completely ignoring him, Big Ugly Biker Dude looked at the bartender. “Get him another of whatever he"s drinking.”
Brandon turned to catch the bartender"s eye. “No, thank you. I don"t want that drink.” He hated the look of sympathy she sent him. Patrick"s hand came up to rub over
