He flipped through the t-shirts, took one, and shoved everything else back into the box.
“Bar gun,” Hazard said.
“What? Oh no, man. We don’t have—”
“The fucking soda gun, right there. Hand it to me.”
The kid complied. Hazard bent over the bar, hanging the shirt over the sink, and sprayed it with water until it was soaking wet.
“Our first contestant,” Will’s husky voice crackled on the speakers, “comes all the way from Buenos Aires, Argentina.”
“Oh fuck,” Hazard muttered.
“Oh fuck,” the kid whispered. “Nico. It’s going to be Nico.”
Hazard rolled his eyes. He tugged on the kid’s vest again until the kid glanced at him.
“Pants.”
“What?”
“Give me your pants.”
“My—no way, man.”
“How tall are you?”
“Five-ten, but I’m not—”
“Perfect. Take them off and give them to me.”
“I—they’re my pants.”
Hazard leaned back from the bar, studying the kid. “Stand up straight.”
The kid did.
“Push your hair to the side.”
The kid did.”
“Are you twenty-one?”
“Yeah, but—”
“I’m going to break something down for you. Are you ready?”
Will’s voice blared: “Nico Flores.” An Argentine tango played over the speakers.
Hazard tried to keep from throwing up.
“Eyes here, kid. Thirty seconds and you can stare at him all you want.”
The kid dragged his attention back to Hazard, but it looked like it cost him.
“How many guys in here?”
“I don’t—”
“Fire code is five hundred. Let’s say we’re close. Let’s say it’s four-fifty. Does it look like four-fifty to you?”
“Sure. Yeah. What are you—”
“How many bachelors?”
“I don’t—”
“On the stage. How many bachelors in the auction?”
“Ten.”
“Nine,” Hazard said. “My boyfriend doesn’t count. Are you rich?”
“I work at a bar, dude.”
“So odds that you’re going to win an auction and take one of those guys home, small. Right?”
“Yeah.”
Behind him, Hazard heard shouts go up, catcalls, whoops of delight. He fought with himself and lost, glancing back to catch a glimpse of Nico strutting around the stage in the tank and shorts. His first outfit showed off coltish legs and the slender musculature of his arms and shoulders. Hazard would put money that his next outfit showed a lot more.
When he looked back, the kid was entranced again.
“Hey.”
“Oh my God. What?”
“You’re young. You’re hot. You’ve got a nice ass. And you’re wearing cute underwear.”
“I thought you said you had a boyfriend.”
“I’m telling you out of those four hundred and fifty guys in here? Nine are going home with a bachelor. And the other four hundred and forty-one are going to be frustrated and horny as hell. They turn around to get a drink, they see you slinging shots in nothing but that vest and your cute undies, and what do you think is going to happen?”
The kid’s gaze leveled on Hazard. “Fifty bucks.”
“Twenty.”
“I can just take off my pants. The whole thing still works out my way.”
“But you’re grateful. Twenty-five.”
The kid slid out of the jeans and passed them over the bar. Hazard had been right: the undies were cute, and the kid did have a nice ass. The poor kid was blushing, but he looked proud of himself too.
Hazard raced back to the stage as the second contestant started up out of his seat.
IV
OCTOBER 20
SATURDAY
7:49 PM
WHEN THE FIRST ROUND was over, people placed their bids. Hazard was seeing everything through a red tinge and couldn’t keep the numbers straight. He kept thinking about the voice from the front of the stage. The asshole.
Somers, who had been the final contestant called up to parade in front of the crowd, was returning to his seat chased by howls and catcalls. Some of the guys were just yelling compliments. Some of them were just yelling what they were feeling—You got me hot, John-Henry, you got me hot!—but one of them—
Somers dropped into the seat at the edge of the stage, and Hazard shoved the wet t-shirt and the jeans into his hands. Then he started toward the throng.
“Ree,” Somers called in a fierce whisper. “Ree.”
“I’ll be right back.”
“Ree, get back here.”
Hazard slowed. His heartbeat took up most of his brain, and it was making it hard to think. But he slowly retreated to the stage.
“What is going on?” Somers demanded, grabbing Hazard’s arm and tugging him toward one of the private rooms at the back of the club. “I’ve got to change. I’m going to pass you my clothes.”
Hazard kept throwing looks over his shoulder. He was pretty sure he knew who his target was. He was pretty sure it was the guy at the front, in a deconstructed blazer and with messy bedhead. The guy was grinning as he listened to a friend, and then he burst out laughing.
Hazard’s world went red again.
“Two minutes,” Hazard said, reversing course toward the asshole.
Somers caught hold of him again and dragged him into a private room. As soon as the door shut, Somers kicked off his shoes, stripped out of his clothes and pulled on the jeans.
“What’s the deal with you?”
Hazard shook his head. “How’d you do?”
“Second place. To Nico.”
“Aww, fuck.”
“No way that overgrown infant is winning. No way.” Somers ran both hands through his hair, and somehow, it just made him look better. “Where the hell are you going?”
Hazard stopped at the door. “Did you hear what that asshole said?”
“Huh? Which one?”
“The only one that matters, John.”
Somers rolled his eyes and held up the wet t-shirt. “Really?”
“He said he wanted to bend you over and fuck you until you couldn’t walk.”
“So?”
Hazard was growling so hard he could barely hear himself think. Through gritted teeth, he said, “You’re my boyfriend. Mine.”
“Oh,” Somers said, eyes running up and down Hazard. “So this is happening.”
“Give me your clothes.”
“We’ve still got a couple of minutes.”
“Give me your clothes. I’ll hold on to them for you.”
Somers’s eyes narrowed. “And then you’re going to charge out there and beat the shit out of that guy.”
“Possibly.”
“Is there any possibility of you staying cool? I want the hot kind of jealousy, not the kind that’s going to land you in jail.”
“It’s an infinite universe. Lots of things are possible. Clothes.”
Sighing, Somers passed over his bundled clothing. Then, with a grimace, he pulled on the sopping t-shirt.
“Jesus,
