Page 26 of The Bro Date
We finish our shakes, and I throw some cash down on the table, not wanting to wait for change and further engage with Hailey. “Ready to go home?” I ask my best friend, hoping I helped him forget about his shitty date. Even just a little.
“Yeah. Let’s go,” he replies with a small smile.
I hold the door open, and he slips past, stopping me before we step off the sidewalk. “Thank you for tonight,” he murmurs, resting his hand on my chest and sending goosebumps sprawling across my skin. “Seriously.”
So many unspoken emotions pass between us, threatening to knock me off my axis. With an understanding nod, I place my palm on the small of his back, guiding him to the safety of my truck.
CHAPTER NINE
TOBY
“We’re doing this tonight, honey,” Tate says, flipping through my closet, looking for something to wear out. “I won’t hear another peep about it.”
After I got dumped on the curb by my last date, Tate decided to cheer me up by forcing me into another new experience.
A gay bar.
“You’ve got nothing suitable,” Tate declares, pulling out a bulging tote bag that I didn’t even notice he brought. “Good thing I came prepared!”
Tate starts pulling out all sorts of shiny shorts and leather harnesses that I would have no idea how to put on. “Uh . . . I’m not sure about this part, Tate. Can’t I just wear a button-down?”
Tate throws his head back, barking out a loud laugh, and I scowl at him. “Oh, honey. Just think of it as another round of tryouts for Team Dick. Now, put this on.” Tate tosses me a pair of leather shorts, a tiny black thong, and a harness, nearly smacking me in the eye with a buckle. “Before you make a fuss, the underwear is new, and I washed it for you.”
“Tate . . . I don’t know about this,” I say, holding up the scrap of fabric with my index finger.
“Yeah, because you never know until you try, Toby boy,” he retorts.
“Okay, but I’m not going to start wearing lingerie every day.” I gather the tiny pile of clothing and hold it to my chest.
“Oh, honey.Thatis not lingerie. That’s just underwear. When you’re ready for that round of tryouts, you let me know. I’ll show you leather and lace that’ll make you blush for a week straight.”
As if on cue, I feel my cheeks heat, making Tate chuckle and shake his head. “So innocent. So sweet,” he murmurs.
Ignoring his teasing, I turn my back so he can’t see the radioactive color of my face. “I’m gonna change in the bathroom,” I mumble, peeking my head out of the bedroom door and peering side to side.
Coast is clear.
Sneaking down the hall to the shared bathroom, I lock myself inside and undress, slipping the thong on and adjusting my package in it. The fabric is soft and silky against my junk, and I stare at myself in the mirror for a moment before turning and looking over my shoulder.
My ass looks phenomenal.
Maybe Tate’s on to something.
I step into the shorts next, and they hug my hips just right. But there are too many straps and buckles on this harness-thing, and I give up after a couple of minutes trying. Guess I’m going to need Tate’s help on this one.
I scurry down the hallway, quickly knocking on my bedroom door and waiting for Tate to open it, just in case he’s naked. My head is on a swivel, paranoid that someone’s going to suddenly pop out and see me.
The door swings open, and Tate is standing there in metallic silver shorts and a black patent leather harness that’s way moreelaborate than mine. He pulls me in and shuts the door behind us. “Oh, honey. Let me help you.”
“Can’t I just wear something else?” I plead. “We don’t want to attract any creeps.”
“Speak for yourself,” Tate laughs, opening up the harness, guiding my arms through the correct holes, and securing it in the front. “Now, there. Look at you,” Tate coos, “like arealgay. Mama issoproud.” He opens his arms, and I step into them, accepting his embrace while I roll my eyes. “Last thing is black eyeliner and a little bronzer, then you’re ready to party!”
Old Downtown is bustling tonight; the cobblestone streets are filled with locals and tourists alike. A hot pink neon sign lights up the front entrance of Stick Shift, the best gay bar in town, according to Tate.
The bouncer eyes us up and down, salivating like a snake ready to strike. I use the fake ID that Tate and Daija helped me get last year, and the creep easily lets us in without even paying the cover.
Half the bar turns to stare when we walk in, and with all these eyes on me, I instantly wish I had my bodyguard standing behind me. Tate and I are the same size, so if I’m a twink, then so is he.
