Page 18 of See My Words

Teena’s concerned face swam into view, and he focused on it with the desperation of a drowning man. “No,” he gasped out. “No.”

She took his arm and drew him through the crowd, navigating expertly until they reached the short hallway where the employee entrance was. Scott collapsed against the wall and buried his face in shaky hands.

“Breathe with me, love,” Teena crooned. “In, out. In, out. You’re safe. You’re safe, darlin’.”

The soothing words and the oxygen helped calm his racing heart, and the anxiety roiling through him started to recede, leaving his body numb. He turned into Teena’s arms, and she wrapped him up, holding him close.

“Been a while since you’ve had one of those,” she whispered against his hair. “Seen enough of ’em to know the signs, but—”

“Fuck,” Scott choked. “Fuck.” He clutched at her until he felt a measure of control return and let go, noticing with chagrin that her sequined bodysuit was now crumpled, her wig askew, makeup smudged. “I’m sorry, Teena.” He started to straighten her wig, and she grabbed his hands.

“You know me better’n to think I give a flyin’ fuck about that. You okay? That’s all I care about right now.”

He nodded and slumped against the wall again. “Thanks,” he rasped. “I think it was too much, coming back tonight. When I’m not one hundred percent myself.”

“Right. When you don’t have your armor on. I get it, baby.”

Scott blew out a breath. “I think I just need to find Rylan and tell him I’m going home. You seen him?”

“Yep. Taking pictures of a straight girl’s bachelorette party up in VIP. It’s all the rage, you know, to have your hen party at the gay club.”

Scott was grateful for the distraction the image provided him, and he chuckled. “You queens love it, though,” he teased. “You get to call ’em bitches and cunts all you want, and they adore you for it.”

“Amen, sister. Amen.”

They hugged again, and Teena swished off to the dressing room to make the necessary repairs to her appearance. Scott went up the back stairs to VIP, looking for Rylan. The party was in full swing, the twenty or so guests in varying stages of inebriation ranging from tipsy to staggeringly drunk. He was amused to see the bride-to-be was in the latter category, and he made a mental note to ask Danny to pass along his world-famous hangover cure to anyone sober enough to remember it later.

Rylan was nowhere in sight, though, and Scott was about to go brave the downstairs again when a curvy girl with a cute smile appeared next to him and took his arm.

“Hey, what’s with the resting bitch face? Huh?” She peered up at him.

Scott quirked his lips at her. “Just thinkin’ deep thoughts, darlin’,” he drawled as best he could with his muffled voice, but she didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, inching closer.

“Ooh, I love deep thoughts,” she giggled. “Love them. ’Cause right now I’m thinking—balls deep.” She bit her lip as she scanned up and down his body. “You are just too sexy for my panties. I think they might have to come off.”

He blinked, and she gave him a saucy grin. “Too forward? I don’t care. I’m on vacation!” She tossed her long, dark hair. “I refuse to go back to boring, old Ohio without a hot memory and a sore pussy. Refuse!”

Arousal tingled pleasantly through Scott, chasing away the last lingering tendrils of anxiety. “And you think I can provide both, then, do you?” he murmured, sliding his arm around her waist, reveling in the flattery coursing through him at her boozy admiration.

“Oh, I know you can. You’re sex on legs. Sex.” She hiccupped. “We have a limo. Big cushy backseat, perfect for—deep thinking.” Her breasts were soft and warm against his ribs, and her lips were plump and pink. They’d look so hot wrapped around his—

Scott was tempted. Oh, how he was tempted. He hadn’t had sex in weeks, not even a blowjob, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d subjected himself to such a drought. Jacking off in the shower wasn’t cutting it, and after begging Rylan for that selfish and ill-advised kiss in his surgeon’s office, he hadn’t gone near him since.

Rylan. Scott couldn’t help but glance over at the couch he’d almost made love to him on. Thank Christ the attack hadn’t stolen that sweet memory away, too, and all of a sudden he didn’t want to replace it with one of fucking a total stranger in the backseat of a rented limo. He dropped his arm from around the girl’s waist, trying to think of a way to let her down gently.

“You do realize you’re in a—I don’t know—a gay bar, Joanne, right?” This dry observation was made by another girl who stood nearby with her hands propped on her hips, looking at them with amusement.

Joanne gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “My bad,” she chirped with another hiccup. “I forgot.” Disappointment clouded her expression as she asked with a pout, “So you really don’t like pussy? Such a shame!”

Scott wanted to tell her he loved pussy, loved everything about it, the way it felt, the way it tasted, that gay bars could also include bisexual people as patrons, but instead he took the easy way out and gave her a wink and a chuck on the chin.

“But I do think you’re gorgeous.” He kissed her cheek. “Better luck next time, sweetheart.” With another drunken grin, she staggered off happily on the arm of her friend, and Scott made his way back down the stairs to the main dance floor.

Time to find Rylan and go home.

Scott meandered around the fringes of the crowd, uneasiness crawling up and down his spine as he did his best not to jump in fright every time someone made a sudden move in his peripheral vision, or even worse, bumped into him. Jesus, he had to get a fucking grip, and soon.

Where the fuck was Rylan? Panic started to whisper in his ear again, but the crowd shifted and he caught sight of him at last, dancing with a group of people, his camera nowhere to be seen. Scott’s tension eased, and he planted his back against a nearby wall and watched him for a moment, drinking in his fluid grace, the sexy way he moved his hips, how he seemed totally at home in his surroundings—happy.