Page 1 of Virgin Skin

Chapter 1

MILO

There’s an unfocused buzzof energy under my skin that makes me want to scream or dance or run a mile… all of which I’ve already tried this afternoon. I also took a shower, jerked off, and watched the first ten minutes of three different movies. Obviously, none of it worked and I didn’t really expect it to. Not when there’s so much riding on tomorrow and fuck knows I’m bound to fuck it up somewhere along the way. Probably already fucked the whole thing up by trying to be sneaky about it. But it’s too late to change my approach now. It is what it is and all that’s left to do is wait and hope like hell it turns out the way I’ve spent years imagining. If not… well, I don’t have the first fucking clue. What’s that saying? Planning to fail is… something.

The door to the bar swings open right in my face, and I jerk my hand up reflexively just in time to keep it from resulting in a trip to the emergency room to reset a broken nose. Wouldn’t be the first time an impulsive outing ended with me at urgent care, but it’s not really the distraction I’m looking for tonight.

The two guys who emerge from the other side of the door scramble to apologize. I give them a friendly nod as I wave them off. No harm done. I hold the door so they can pass and then I slip inside. The lights are dim enough that it’s not a shock stepping from the dark parking lot into the bar, and the music is the perfect volume to avoid awkward silence without immediately making me want to shove my fingers into my ears just so I can hear my own thoughts.

I glance around for a minute, taking the place in. It’s a mix of old and new, original and renovated. The wood floors look like they’ve been refinished, while the bar a few feet away looks newly built. One summer spent apprenticing on a construction site five years ago and picking out shit like that is the one skill I walked away with. Is it a useful skill? I have no fucking clue.

There’s a massive collage of photos covering one wall, all of them filled with queer couples smiling into the camera. If that weren’t enough to reassure me that I picked the right bar, there’s a Pride flag hanging behind the bar and several dudes getting handsy with other dudes over a drink or a game of pool.

My attention zeroes in on one guy in particular sitting at the bar all by himself. He’s hunched over a bit, with his elbows on the bar top, a leather jacket slung over the empty stool next to him. His hair is dark and buzzed close to his skull, a five o’clock shadow dusting his chiseled jaw. He’s covered in tattoos from his neck all the way down to his knuckles, as well as a small one under his left eye. Even from a few feet away, it’s obvious he has close to twenty years on me, and fuck if that doesn’t make him that much hotter. Unfortunately, I’m a total stereotype. I never met my own father so now I have daddy issues and an unquenchable thirst for older men. In theory, anyway. I still have yet to put it to the test, but considering how quickly my cock perks up to salute him, I can’t imagine I’ll be disappointedwhen I finally get around to losing my V-card to whichever nearly-twice-my-age hottie is lucky enough to deserve it.

Could he be the one? I drag my gaze over him again and my cock thickens even more. It would be the distraction I’m looking for tonight, that’s for sure.

The nerves prickling through me like a low-level electric hum focus into something hotter and more excited. I click my thumb and index fingernails against each other in a fast rhythm as I psych myself up. Just because I have close to zero experience picking up guys, let alone guys as gorgeous and no doubt experienced as this one, doesn’t mean I don’t have anything going for me. I’m attractive in my own way, I’m fun, and I’ve watched enough porn that I’m sure I’ll be able to figure out all the right ins and outs when the time comes.

I snort at my own unintentional double entendre, the huff of amusement releasing just enough of the pressure inside me that my feet start moving without another second of hesitation, carrying me across the room towards the bar.

I slide onto the empty stool on his other side and release another little breath. He turns his head and, fuck me, if he was boner-tastic from all the way across the bar, up close he’s the kind of hot that should be illegal. A little divot forms between his eyebrows, and he drags his gaze over me so slowly it feels like he’s stripping me out of my clothes one item at a time. A slow lick of heat spreads through my body and my cock strains against my zipper.

I nod towards the drink he has in front of him, nothing but melted ice in his glass, his fingers wrapped around it, the index twitching in a slow, rhythmic tap.

“What are you drinking?”

PISTON

I can’t decide whether I should hook my foot around his stool and drag the slender otter of a man a few inches closer, or demand to see his ID to make sure he’s even old enough to be inside this bar, let alone hitting on me. I swirl my glass absently, the ice clinking against the sides of it, my fingers slick from the condensation that’s been forming on the outside of the glass for the past twenty minutes while I let the ice melt.

He cards his fingers through his mop of dark, shaggy hair and quirks an eyebrow at me, waiting for me to say something. There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t put my finger on what. His top lip is just a little bit too full compared to the bottom, and his whiskey colored eyes are triggering something that’s itching at the back of my mind without managing to fall into place. Maybe I’ve met him before? Or maybe he just looks vaguely like someone I know. Possibly I find him extremely attractive and this whole tangent is just my brain’s way of stalling while I try to decide on my answer.

“It was rum and Coke, but one is my limit,” I finally say.

Disappointment creeps across his expression, but he pulls his lips into a crooked smile that makes a dimple appear on his left cheek.

“Bummer. I’m desperate for a distraction tonight.” He sighs and waves at Sawyer, who saunters down the bar to take his order. The kid shows his ID, then asks for an IPA. Since Sawyer turns around immediately to fill a glass for him, I’m assuming he eitherisover twenty-one or has a top-notch fake.

I tilt my glass to my lips and suck a piece of ice into my mouth, tasting the lingering sweetness and a hint of spice from the rum as I crunch it between my teeth. I’m staring, I know that, and he obviously knows it if his deepening dimple is any indication. So he’s a little younger than I normally go for, is that an unforgivable sin?

My gut dances with a rising heat and an uncharacteristic pull towards something a little reckless. I’m allowed to be impulsive every once in a while, aren’t I? I tap my fingers against my glass for one more second, then nod to Swayer.

“Can I get a Coke, no rum this time?”

“Sure thing.” He fills a glass and slides it towards me.

I shift in my seat to pull my wallet out, but before I get the chance, the kid tosses a five onto the bar with a smirk.

“Thanks.” I swivel towards him a little more, bumping my knee against his. “Piston, by the way.”

I offer him my hand and he takes it. His skin is warm and smooth. His fingernails are painted a dark enough color that it’s hard to make out in the dim lighting whether it’s black, blue, or something else, and his grip is firm and sure. The touch lingers a few seconds longer than it needs to, but when he finally lets go, I’m disappointed it wasn’t longer.

“Milo,” he says.

“Nice to meet you, Milo.” I test out his name on my tongue. There’s something kind of sweet about it. “So, what do you need a distraction from? Parents getting you down? Stressed about finals?”

He huffs a laugh and takes a sip of his beer. “If that’s your way of trying to ask how old I am, I’m twenty-eight. I’d be happy to show you my ID if you want.”

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