Page 52 of Just Bromantically Invested

It feels nothing like it felt with Madden, but that isn’t stopping me from having a reaction.

“Fuck,” I mutter into my glass.

“You okay?” the bartender asks. “You’ve gone bright red.”

“My first time in one of … in somewhere like … in here.” I hate that I stutter over my answer, but he only laughs.

“It’s a good vibe.”

“It is.”

His golden eyes roam over me. “Let me guess … you’re either newly out or closeted, right?”

The fact he can tell I’m either of those things is beyond me. “Kind of both?”

“How can you be both?”

“I’m not … I’m …” I wave my hand over the dancers, but my dick is still hard, and my heart’s still heavy with Madden. “No. I know I’m … something.”

“You’re questioning?”

“Umm … I guess?”

“Hey, it’s okay. Most of us start that way.”

“You—we—do?”

He nods. His floppy black curls are pulled up on the back of his head, and I give myself a moment to check him out. He’s hot. It’s so fucking weird I find him hot. Even acknowledging that though, I don’t want to sleep with him. I don’t want to sleep with any of them.

I want my Madden.

“I talk to a lot of people who come in here, and the look you were wearing is one I see a lot. It’s common for people to question in their twenties and thirties. Especially men. We’re told we have to be a certain way, and we grow up believing it.” He shrugs. “I was twenty-four when I figured myself out. Spoke to a woman a few weeks ago who was forty. You’re allowed to have your own journey, and that’s beautiful.”

It sort of is. I smile and finish my drink, which he quickly replaces with another.

“That one’s on me. I hope you find what you’re looking for here.”

He heads off to serve some other people, and I throw the third drink back as well. I really fucking hope I find it too, but after our conversation, I think I already have.

What I’m going through, it’s okay.

A lot of people have to face who they think they are and all the ways that changes regularly. This is just my turn.

Once my glass is empty, I make my way out onto the dance floor, feeling like an idiot. A determined idiot. I’m not fun or spontaneous like Madden, so this is a totally new experience for me. I’m full of them this week, apparently.

It’s awkward dancing by myself at first, but it doesn’t take long to be approached. A smallish guy with blond hair similar to Madden’s makes his way in front of me. We’re surrounded from all sides, so when he puts his back to my front and twists his hands back behind my neck, it feels natural to wrap my arms around him.

To hold a guy who isn’t Madden.

To rest my hands on his flat stomach. To feel his firm chest. To have him grind his ass into me in a way that gets my dick hard.

I’m not sure if it’s the heat or the revelation that’s making me light-headed, but I have my answer.

Men turn me on.

Men.

And not only when they’re naked and in my living room and it’s convenient for my neglected dick.

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