Page 7 of Bone Deep
I break our little standoff when I notice Anthony has gone still. He’s white as a ghost. The vibe in our little group has definitely shifted. I follow his line of sight. He’s staring at some guy at the bar.
Jen nudges him. “Hey, are you okay?”
Anthony doesn’t answer. Just points. I glance over just as the guy turns around.
Tattooed. Broad. Intense eyes.
Chance.
“Hey, Beautiful.”
Oh shit.
I watch Anthony ignite with a level of rage that is completely out of character for him.
“No. You don’t get to call me that.” Anthony turns to leave and Chance grabs his arm.
Aw, hell no.
My protective instincts take over.
Anthony let this guy into his heart. Was ready to come out of the closet. And this guy just left him three years ago. No goodbye. No explanation.
I was proud—and a little envious—of Anthony for coming out anyways. For reclaiming his sexuality after everything that happened to him.
But Chance just waltzing in here after three years has me ready to put him through drywall for my bro.
Before I can cause a scene, Jen plants a hand on my chest. “I got this. You and Spencer take him outside. Lexi and Beau are here if I need them.”
My jaw clenches, but I nod and turn to Anthony. “Let’s go get some air, yeah?” He stares at Chance until I grab him by the shoulders and point him toward the door. Spencer follows.
Outside, the October night is cool enough to bring the temperature on this situation down a notch. Anthony paces ahead of us, hands on his hips.
Spencer leans on Jen’s car parked nearby. “Damn, Anthony,” he says, adjusting his perfectly placed dark hair for the twentieth time since I met him fifteen minutes ago. “Who was that tattooed god? And are you sure you can’t fix him?”
I shoot him a look. “Dude. No.”
His lips curl. “Aww, don’t be jealous, ball boy. You’re a smoke show too.”
My pulse jumps. Spencer is attracted to men. I won’t assume how he actually identifies, but that much is evident.
He shifts against the car, crossing his legs. The move situates his thighs so they’re on full display. They’re making a spectacle of themselves.
God. It’s obscene, really. Those things could pin someone in place. My brain unhelpfully supplies images. Me, face down ona bed. Ass-up. Strong hands pushing my head into the pillow. Thighs squeezing my legs.
Fuck.
Shakingthatscene from my head, I clear my throat.
“Bro,” I mutter. “Read the room.”
He smirks. “You can read?”
I frown. “Insulting the jock’s intelligence. How original.”
He laughs, devilishly. “Relax, QB1. Just trying to lighten the mood. I’m good in a courtroom, but not at… whatever this is.”
Thankfully, the door opens, a helpful distraction. Except it’s not helpful for my bro, because Chance has exited the bar and he doesn’t look like he’s going to give up trying to talk to Anthony.
