Page 79 of Walking Wounded

“Gay or not, she was too hot for me.”

Hal’s grin widens. “Nah. Don’t sell yourself short. You have alook.”

“A look?”

“Alook.”

Warmth moves beneath his skin, little bright fizzes and leaps, like bubbles. He doesn’t recognize the sparkle in Hal’s eyes, but helikesit. He thinks about going to the gym, Hal’s hands gentle against his damaged face. Thinks about waking up this morning tucked beside him on the same pillow. Thinks about Tara sayingboyfriend, and Hal not protesting.

“Come dance with me,” Luke says, voice a little rough.

Hal takes a breath. “You know I can’t dance for shit.”

Luke jerks a thumb toward the dance floor. “Neither can any of them. Come on.”

And Hal comes.

The floor is an island, its own nation, out under the dancing colors, foggy with sweat-smell, and perfume, and body heat. Sliding between couples is like entering another dimension, one in which Hal’s hand rests on his hip, keeping them together as they find an open place just for the two of them.

Luke would never say he was a good dancer, but with whiskey in his veins, and music throbbing inside his bones, Hal strong and solid at his back, he trusts his hips to do the work, his muscles to relax and fall into the rhythm.

They settle into an open pocket of floor. Hal’s hands rest tightly, possessively at his waist, fingertips digging, palms warm through Luke’s shirt. He leans backward into the touch, moving into the heat of Hal’s body. Connected at chest and back, hips and hips. Luke feels overheated. Small, and sheltered, and cared-for. And he feels electrified: turned-on, and hungry, and aching inside.

He expects Hal to pull back. But Hal shifts in close, closer, leans into the points of connection between their bodies. His mouth brushes the top of Luke’s ear, warm breath and soft lips.

Luke tips his head back, rests it against Hal’s shoulder, and he can just see Hal’s eyes, lit up with club lights, impossible to read.

One of Hal’s hands slides forward, settles low on Luke’s stomach. It’s so easy to imagine what this could mean, to pretend that Hal means what he’s doing. That hewantsthe way Luke does.

Luke turns his head. Seeks…

“Oh my God!” Someone crashes into them, shattering the moment, the touching, all of it.

It’s Tara, wet tears sliding like crystal down her face, lip quivering, the whole shebang.

“What?” Luke asks, pissed off beyond belief.

“Tara, what’s wrong?” Hal asks in a more normal tone. But his face is flushed, and his chest heaves as he breathes. Luke’s eyes dart to the front of his pants, but it’s too dark to see anything.

“That asshole!” she rages, waving her hands around. “He…he…”

Dex appears, shoving his way through the crowd, and behind him lingers a slim, young blonde girl, hanging onto his elbow.

Oh shit, Luke thinks.

“Babe,” Dex says. “Don’t–”

“He wants a three-way!” Tara yells, loud enough to draw the attention of other couples on the dance floor. “With this skank!”

Luke meets Hal’s eyes, and finds his friend steely calm. He’s in work-mode.

“C’mon, baby, it ain’t like that,” Dex says, and reaches for Tara.

She ducks away from him the same second Hal grabs the guy’s wrist and twists it back behind him in one effortless move.

Dex screams.

People scramble off the dance floor.

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