Page 34 of The Play

“I gotta—”

“Yeah, let’s get a drink.” Nate flashed him a knowing grin. “I feel you.”

Yeah, he was. There was Nate’s hand drifting down his back, heading right towards his ass.

Deacon cursed Riley a hundred ways to Sunday. This hadn’t just been a bad idea to encourage Nate; it was a catastrophic one.

They got through the crowd, Nate’s hand settling in the small of his back. Not exactly friendly, but not crossing the platonic line either.

Deacon considered shaking his hand off. He didn’t want to encourage the kid. But then, did he want to discourage him?

Before last night, he’d have said, yes, absolutely, without a question. But there was that cold shoulder Grant had given him last night. Even though he’d just said, I wish things were different.

Deacon sure fucking wished they were.

Maybe he was a little bit of what Riley had just said. Lonely, wasn’t it?

“Didn’t know you guys relaxed like this,” Nate said, and his glance over at Deacon made it clear that you guys actually meant one person and one person only.

Deacon.

“Uh, yeah, sometimes,” Deacon said.

He could see Grant, holding court with a few Condors players surrounding him, and the last thing he wanted was to join them. He nearly said, let’s not go over there, let’s go to the bar instead, but before he could, Carter looked over and gestured at them.

Like a good little puppy, Nate changed directions, and Deacon had no choice but to follow him.

Could this get any worse? Deacon decided that no, it could not.

And then it did.

Because right when they approached, Nate slung an arm around Deacon, like they were together. “What can I get you?" he asked. “Another one of those . . .what was it?”

Riley spoke up. “Think it was a gin and tonic, right, Deac?”

Grant’s eyebrow skidded up. Darker than usual in the dim light of the room, a slash against his pale skin.

“You drink gin and tonics?” Grant asked, because that was surely the most innocent question he could ask.

Because he couldn’t ask: what the hell are you doing with Nate? After yesterday, when I almost . . .when we . . .

Deacon cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, I guess. Tonight, I do.”

“It’s the bartender’s superpower,” Carter confided. “He always knows what you want to drink better than you do. And trust me, you don’t want to question it.”

Grant lifted his own drink. Clear and fizzy.

Oh, God.

“You’ve got good taste, I guess,” Grant said wryly.

Deacon was very proud of himself for not running away. But he did gently disentangle himself from Nate.

“I gotta . . .uh . . .bathroom.” Deacon said.

He was nearly down the hallway to safety—AKA the bathroom—when he heard footsteps behind him.

A voice telling him to slow down.

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