Where Nerves End

yellow and about an inch shorter when Id barred him for life from Lights Out last year for threatening one of my bartenders with a broken bottle. Spending a night with him? Yeah, no.
I took another drink and kept looking around.
Ooh, he was cute. Jeans that I was sure were as tight—and probably as thin—as a condom. Meticulously messed up bleach blond hair. Lips that were made for making out, and dont even get me started on blow jobs. He was probably more Seths type than mine, though: not quite femme, but close. He was the kind of guy who could pique my interest, but would have Seth weak in the knees from the first glance. I almost wished Seth was here with me; he made a great wingman, and it always cracked me up watching him go from snark and shit-talk to speechless and stumbling when a cute twink caught his eye.
But Seth wasnt here. He was at my place. With Michael.
Michael. Who was straight. And perpetually shirtless. And wouldnt get the fuck out of my mind no matter how much I looked at other men.
I shook my head. As I took another long drink, I reminded myself there was no point in pining after my roommate. That was why I was here, damn it, to find someone who did play for the same team.
My gaze locked on a guy watching a game of pool, and my glass almost fell into my lap. Jesus. He was very familiar, but I couldnt quite place his face. Probably just someone Id seen around, but who cared, because holy fuck. It wasnt often I was willing to consider slipping out the back of a club and sucking a stranger off in an alley, especially before I even knew his name, but a guy that hot? Show me to the door.
So, drink in hand, I crossed the club and joined him by the pool tables. He glanced at me, and a devilish smile said I might actually have a shot here.
“You look familiar,” I said. “Have we met?”
He laughed, revealing a row of gleaming, flawless teeth. “You use that pickup line on every guy?”
Chuckling, I shook my head. “I guess it sounded like a pickup line, didnt it?”
“Wasnt it?”
“No, I was serious. I swear Ive seen you somewhere before.”
He looked me up and down, grinning. “Well, I dont remember seeing you anywhere before.” Our eyes met, and he winked. “What a pity.”
I smiled. “Definitely a pity.” I extended my hand. “Im Jason.”
“Ray.” He shook my hand. “So at the risk of using a cheesy pickup line of my own, you come here often?”
“This place? No. Im…not much of a club guy.”
“Neither am I.” He looked at our surroundings. “Its either clubs or the Internet, though, and I havent had much luck with that.” He sighed, shrugging with one shoulder. “Which leaves either this place or Lights Out, and”—he grimaced—“yeah, Ill take this place.”
Any other night, Id have asked him to dish on Lights Out, tell me all the reasons he hated the place, and then dropped the bomb that I owned it just to see how fast hed back pedal. Tonight? He could have insulted my mother and told me the Broncos sucked, and I wouldnt have budged.
Hot. Available. Gay. Matching opinions not required.
I shifted the subject away from the selection of gay clubs in Tucker Springs. We didnt have much in common, from our preferred drinks to types of music, but…oh well. I wasnt looking for anything like that. The important thing was that he stood closer to me as the conversation went on. When I suggested finding a place to sit, he suggested one of the secluded booths at the other end of the room. In the booth, we played all the games: lingering eye contact, leaning in close enough to dare the other to move in for a kiss, a hand on my thigh.
And finally, he threw the gauntlet.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
I grinned. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
Returning the grin, he pushed his empty glass away and slid out of the booth. I followed, and as I stood, I caught a glimpse of his face in profile, and just kept myself from letting go of an audible, “Son of a bitch. ”
He was familiar? Yeah, he was. Jesus Christ, how the hell did I not figure it out from the moment I laid eyes on him? It was sure as fuck obvious now.
How did I not make the connection that he looked like the goddamned roommate Id come here to avoid?
The resemblance was a passing one, but it was there. And truth be told, now that Id make the connection, Ray lost a little of his luster because I couldnt stop comparing him to Michael. Not quite as fit. Not quite as tempting to run my fingers through his