Page 27 of From Coast to Coast

“Nice,” he says, standing up and slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Maybe I’ll join you sometime.”

The words seem to echo in the silent room, and I imagine I can hear the shock. I unclench my jaw enough to offer him a small smile and a nod. Even if he doesn’t mean it, I appreciate the overt display of solidarity. God knows I need all the work friends I can get.

“Hell yeah, man, anytime,” Remy answers, clapping a hand on my shoulder and waiting for me to join him standing. He’s dressed—finally—which means every second more we spend here is a second too long. When we get outside, Remy is practically bouncing with excitement,rubbing his palms together and bumping his shoulder against mine.

“Excited?” I ask, smiling at his enthusiasm.

“Fuck yeah, I’m excited. You’re going to dance with me, right?”

I’m grateful for him having to get into the car on the other side of the vehicle so that he can’t see my expression. Images of dancing with Remy at the club flash before my eyes: his back against my chest, hips rolling, scalp dotted with sweat.You don’t like dancing,I remind myself sternly, and climb into the car.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” I tell him and watch his face fall for a second before the loose grin is fixed back into place.

“Come on,” he cajoles, but I shake my head.

“Trust me. I’m too…ungainly? I can’t loosen up enough to be a good dancer—too stiff.”

“Since when istoo stiffa bad thing?” he asks innocently. I glance over at him, scowling, and he laughs. “All right, I’ll dance and you wingman from the bar. What do you think Zolkov is going to make of it?”

“Hell if I know. He loves to go out clubbing, but I’d bet this will be his first gay club experience. I think he’s more going to make fun of me than he is for anything else.”

“Ah, yes, the important role of the best friend.”

“Indeed,” I agree, and we share a smile. I look away quickly, but not before my stomach swoops at the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles that wide. He has no fucking business being that cute.

We split off to our separate rooms to change when we get home. It’s not until I’m standing in front of my closet, clad only in briefs, that I realize I have no idea what I’m supposed to wear to a club. I’m definitely more of abrewery or pub guy, but something tells me jeans and a T-shirt aren’t going to cut it. Hands on my hips, I tap my fingers idly and survey my options. Whatever it is can’t be too flashy since we’re aiming to be as inconspicuous as possible.Yeah, because too flashy is definitely a problem you’re going to have,I think wryly, looking at the array of black, navy, and grey clothing I own. Sighing, I grab a dark blue button-up that I’ve never worn before. It’s made of a satiny, shiny material that has always made me think of pajamas. Hence, why I’ve never worn it out.

By the time I finish changing, Remy is waiting for me in the kitchen. He’s taken a different route than me with the clothing, choosing to wear a white tank top that shows off his tan. It shows off some other things as well, but because we are platonic friends, I don’t notice those.

He looks up when I walk in, eyes widening. “Damn,” he says, and then clears his throat.

“Okay?” I hold my arms out and drop them back to my sides helplessly. “I don’t have a lot of depth in my wardrobe.”

“No, you look good.” He clears his throat again and his eyes skitter away, bouncing around the kitchen before landing back on me. He steps up to me, close enough that I can smell coconut on his skin. “You just need to loosen these a little bit.”

Reaching up, he begins to carefully unbutton the shirt. His knuckles lightly brush my throat and I lean my head back a little bit, dizzy with his proximity. He opens the top three buttons and fans the edges out a bit, before looking up at me and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“There. Roll up the sleeves a little more, too. Above your elbows.”

I do as he says even though I feel ridiculous having myshirt opened this far down my chest. Might as well not have it buttoned at all. Finished with the sleeves, I hold my arms out to the side again, spinning around slowly.

“Better?”

Remy blows out a breath that puffs his cheeks. “You’ll be beating men off with a stick.”

“We’re not going for me,” I remind him, as we walk toward the garage and hop back into the car. I text Zolkov to let him know we’re on the way. He responds immediately with an emoji of a hospital, so god only knows what that’s supposed to mean. “Also, what do you want to tell Z about tonight? We can pretend we’re there for me if you want?—"

“Nah, we might as well tell him. Otherwise, he’ll just see me dancing with guys and figure it out.”

“He won’t say anything,” I tell him, glancing over. Remy shrugs, indifferent.

“I don’t mind if he knows I’m…” He stops, squinting through the windshield as he tries to come up with the correct word.

“Curious?” I fill in, and his face relaxes back into a smile.

“Right. I don’t mind if anyone knows, honestly. It’s not a big deal to me, but…” I catch his glance in my periphery. “I understand why you’re advising discretion.”

Conversation halts as we pull up to Zolkov’s and wait for him to climb in the back seat. He leans forward—forgetting to put his seat belt on until I remind him—and puts a hand on Remy’s and my shoulders. He gives each of us a little shake, just as excited as Remy and twice as excited as me.

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