Page 24 of Touch of Innocence
Gunner slipped an arm around Sam’s waist, and Sam relaxed a little bit more. Which was a bit odd. Shouldn’t the increased intimacy make him more uncomfortable? Interesting how it felt so right to be close to Gunner, how it helped him in so many ways. It didn’t fix the discomfort, but it went a long way toward helping Sam to accept it. Or almost, anyway.
“Beer,” Gunner and Sam spoke at the same time and then turned to look at each other. Sam felt his heart lurch in his chest as their eyes met, and then they both laughed, and so did Ben, which broke up some of the remaining tension.
“Beer, then,” Ben agreed, and he poured them both tall, foamy glasses and set them before them. Then he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and sloshed the amber liquid into shot glasses, putting them down in front of them, too.
“Uh, Ben, we didn’t order …” Sam started, and Ben smirked and, oh God, he actually winked at Sam and reached out to pat his shoulder. Right in front of everyone. In front of Gunner. If a hole had opened up in the ground under him, Sam would have cheerfully let himself fall into it.
“On the house, Sammy. It ain’t every day that my baby brother goes on his first ever date with a guy.”
Someone called Ben over then, and it was probably a good thing because Sam would have had a few choice words after that little gem. Especially since there were quite a few other people who had heard that, and they were chuckling and looking at him fondly like he was about ten. A cute kid, doing cute kid things.
This was the problem with small towns, damn it. Everyone knew him, and had since he was just a kid, and there were enough people here that anyone who wasn’t here would still hear about what was happening.
“Cheers,” Sam spoke glumly, picking up the whiskey and tossing it back. It burned like fire all the way down into his stomach, but once it was there, it mellowed into a low glow, like somehow everything was going to be okay.
Gunner grinned at him and took the shot, too, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand.
“So, was your brother right?” Gunner asked, and Sam winced a little but didn’t look away. He had a feeling he knew what the rest of the question was, and his feeling was soon confirmed. “Is this a date?”
Sam had been sort of trying to avoid that particular question, but here he was, face to face with it.
“Do you want it to be?” he asked, deliberately trying to deflect it on Gunner, but from the look on his face, he wasn’t particularly fooled by it.
“Yeah.” To Sam’s surprise, Gunner didn’t continue their verbal sparring. He didn’t try to ignore the question or pass it off. He just answered it, which was honestly the last thing that Sam would have expected.
“Then yeah.” Sam felt color rising in his cheeks. Must be from the whiskey. He hadn’t turned twenty-one that long ago, after all, and he didn’t tend to hit the hard stuff that much. “Yeah, it’s a date.”
“Good.” Gunner pulled Sam closer so that he was hanging off of the edge of his stool, almost cuddled against him. It wasn’t the most comfortable sensation in the world, the thinly padded seat against his ass, but somehow, that didn’t seem to matter all that much.
Together, they drank their beers, and soon enough, Ben came by and poured them both another whiskey. Gratefully, Sam downed it and felt the nerves, the tension, dissolve. The bar, crowded as it was, seemed much less hostile than it had even half an hour ago.
“Come dance with me.”
Sam felt the vibrations, heard the sound of his own voice as he leaned over to whisper into Gunner’s ear, but part of him still couldn’t even believe that he had just said those words. Surely he wasn’t brave enough to invite another man to dance with him, not right out where everyone could see him, but somehow, he had. And the slow smile that Gunner gave him made it feel more than worth it.
“If you think you can keep up,” Gunner murmured back, and then the bar was spinning around him as Gunner tugged him right off the stool and out onto the cleared area which served as a de facto dance floor.
The song was a fast one with a heavy beat. Ben made sure to sneak rock songs on there, not just the country that most bars in this little corner of the world would have been playing, and Sam relaxed into the music that he’d been listening to for more than half of his life.
The alcohol helped loosen him up quite a bit, and soon enough, he and Gunner were clowning around, seeing who could do the most outrageous dance moves, and bursting into laughter again and again. Sam had never felt so free, and when the rock song faded into a slow country ballad, and when the couples around them stepped close and swayed together, he didn’t move away.
There was a challenge in Gunner’s eyes. Would Sam, who really didn’t want people to think about him as interested in men, allow himself to slow dance with another man? Gunner clearly wouldn’t force it on him, but his look dared Sam.
Slowly, Sam stepped forward, and Gunner’s arms came up to meet him. As their bodies pressed close, as they rocked slowly to the music, everyone else seemed to cease to matter. The people who were watching, maybe judging, and even the fact that Ben was there, it just didn’t impact much on Sam for those few magical moments.
Gunner seemed to fit in his arms perfectly. He was shorter than Sam so that he could rest his chin on Sam’s shoulder and Sam could lay his cheek against Gunner’s head. It was warm and comfortable and seemed to happen as naturally as breathing. Though doubtless, the whiskey had something to do with that.
Who was this man, anyway? Other than a superb dancer, a talented lover, and a genius when it came to anything with wheels? Sam closed his eyes and breathed in his scent, which he felt like he would know anywhere. It was subtle, but there, a little bit spicy and deeply masculine. Not a cologne, just his natural smell.
For a moment, Sam struggled with himself. How did he have any right to ask this? Wouldn’t Gunner have spoken about it if he wanted Sam to know? On the other hand, if they were going to date, Sam figured that he probably had the right to ask. Gunner could, and would, shut him down if he didn’t want to talk about it.
Sam frowned, fighting with himself, trying to figure it all out, but his mind was muddled with the whiskey. So, in the end, he gave up and just let the words spill from his mouth. Gunner could always pretend not to hear it if he wanted to. It was pretty loud in there.
“Hey. Why are you here?” Sam asked and then shook his head and pulled back, gazing into Gunner’s eyes. “I mean, why are you in town? Why did you come here?”
