Page 1 of Bad Call

CHAPTER ONE

BAYLOR BUCHANAN

The club was sodark that I could barely see my hand in front of my face.How in the hell was I supposed to find a fuckable face in this crowd?

The neon strobe lights, deep bass, and pulsing beat of the dance music vibrated throughout my body, making my heart pump faster. Sweaty, writhing bodies packed the dance floor from wall to wall—it was all familiar old hat to me. The same old same old.

Whatwasnew was the absence of women wearing skimpy sequined dresses that barely covered their breasts, hanging all over the men at the bar hoping to get free drinks.

This club teemed with men.Onlymen.

This was my first gay nightclub experience, and I wasn’t leaving until I found someone’s dick I was interested in shoving down my throat.

I took it all in, my eyes tracking the shadows that danced along the dark walls as a haze of purple lightswept past. Quickly, I realized the shadows were actual bodies. Entwined lovers caught up in the lustful magic of the club’s vibe. For a moment, I became a voyeur, fixated on watching men loving on men in plain sight. If I were lucky, that would be me by the end of the night, wrapped up in someone’s arms, caught up in the music and the magic. Lost to my hormones.

As I maneuvered through the dense crowd, seeking hands grabbed at me, copping a feel of anything they could palm in their desperate grasp. My ass, my dick, my stomach.

I didn’t mind allowing them to touch me. Isn’t that what I was here for?

To be touched?

To be taken by another man for the first time?

To experience the differences between men’s and women’s bodies?

A year ago, I would have laughed at myself. My best friend was gay, so I considered myself an ally. But I was the straightest ladies’ man in Southern California. I’d hit up every bar, nightclub, and dating app available to me. And yet here I was, thirty-eight and still single.

Over the past few months, I’d noticed a shift in my interest. Men started catching my attention. I stared longer, my thoughts ran deeper, and the more I entertained the idea, the more hyper-fixated I became. My curiosity about them was killing me, and I wasn’t leaving tonight until it was sated.

And that wasn’t going to happen until I made my way to the bar in search of liquid courage.

Fuck, even the bartender was smoking hot.

Dressed in tight, black boyshorts that cupped his junk, his fitted black vest left his toned bare arms on display for his big tippers. I had the insane urge to lick his biceps.

Once a manwhore, always a manwhore, no matter whether you were with men or women.

“What can I get you?”

The bartender looked me over like I was a pork chop marked half off in the butcher’s case.

“Your number,” I answered boldly.

He laughed, dismissing my lame attempt to pick him up as a joke. Giving up, I placed my order.

“I’ll have a rusty nail.” Go big or go home, right?

The hottie made a show of pouring my drink, spinning the bottle, and flipping it before sliding the squat glass down the bar top. I caught it and brought it to my lips, draining the honey-sweetDrambuieand scotch in one go. The liquor slid down my throat easily, creating a pleasant warmth in my belly.

“Can I get one more?” I called out over the noise, sliding the empty glass back his way.

After making a second drink, he passed the glass back with a wink. I kept my eyes on him as I drained it just as quickly as the first. The scotch quelled my anxiety and soothed my nerves. It made my head feel weightless, as if it was floating above my shoulders.

“That’s not the kind of drink you toss back. This isn’t a kegger.”

The admonishment spoken in a deep voice slitheredinto my ear over the music. His body heat radiated against my back as we were crowded against the bar, jockeying for the bartender’s attention.

Reaching over my shoulder, he grabbed my glass, swirling the amber dregs in front of me.

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