Page 28 of From Coast to Coast
“You look good,” Zolkov tells Remy, before turning his head to address me. “And you look like we are collecting bail bonds this night.”
Remy hoots with laughter while Z sniggers and I try tomaintain a serious expression. Z pats my shoulder in a conciliatory manner and sits back in his seat.
“I look good!” I argue, and Remy gives a small nod. I don’t look over at him even though I can feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of my face. Zolkov sighs.
“Yes. Because good is what all the gay men want to dance with.”
“For fuck’s sake, Z,” I mumble, pulling to a slow stop at a red light. “I’m not going to be dancing. I don’t dance and I’m not going to start anywhere in the vicinity of your cell phone.”
Remy laughs, turning in his seat so that he can look at Zolkov in the back. “Actually, Gray is doing me a favor. We’re going to the club tonight so I can try and pick up a guy.”
I glance up at the rearview mirror in time to see Zolkov’s eyebrows rise. Remy, not sounding the least bit concerned with discussing his sexuality, continues in a smooth, even tone. I feel a pang of envy. I’d known I was gay at a very young age, and struggled with it far more than Remy is thus far.
“You will have no trouble,” Zolkov says. “Everyone love the beach bum look. Very sexy.”
“Beach babe,” I correct, grinning. “Although, if that hair gets any shaggier, bum might not be far from the truth.”
“All I’m hearing is that I’m sexy,” Remy says, raising a hand and running it through the gold strands. He is sexy, but I keep that opinion to myself.Just friends, Gray, don’t think about the dick pics.
“We shall find you a man,” Zolkov agrees, waving a hand dismissively. “Easy.”
“Well, I don’t necessarily want to ‘find a man’…maybe just dance with one and we’ll go from there,” Remy answers, laughing a touch nervously. “I’m just testing the waters a bit, that’s all. I just got divorced and, well, yeah.”
He shrugs, but Zolkov needs no further explanation. At the mention of divorce, he was already nodding along in solidarity, mouth twisted into a grimace.
“Yes, perfect time to…” He pauses, working through his internal English dictionary before settling on: “Explore.”
“Exactly.” Remy sits back in his seat, facing forward with his head turned to look out the passenger window. “The perfect time.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Remy
The club is packedand fulfills every single one of my assumptions of what a gay nightclub would be. The music is pumping, colored lights swooping over the dance floor, which is packed with bodies. The clothing ranges from exotic to barely there—I’ve noticed at least two people who are less covered than some beachgoers—but nobody is wearing as much as Grayson. Zolkov, scanning the room, grins and elbows him.
“You see?” he asks. Grayson looks at him, eyes narrowed as though he already knows where this is going. “You fit right in with all the tax men who are here.”
“Look,” Grayson replies, pointing to his chest. “I’m unbuttoned. What more do you want from me?”
I laugh even though my cheeks are a little hot and Grayson’s finger is drawing my attention back to where his chest hair is peeking out. The fact that it’s distracting is blowing my mind. I want to run my hand from his neckdown to his belly button. I want to know how it feels to touch him. Instead, I turn away from them under the pretense of scanning the dance floor. Grayson and Zolkov continue to bicker until we’re interrupted by a man wearing a sparkly shirt and leather shorts. His hair is so white blond it is practically glowing in the dark room.
“Hello,” he purrs, extending the O into a lazy drawl. He’s sidled up to Zolkov who grins but shakes his head.
“My friend—” he starts, pointing at Grayson. The man sighs and interrupts him.
“Is not my type.”
And just like that, he’s gone. I almost laugh—Grayson looks like he can’t decide whether to be relieved or offended. He settles on an expression that looks like he might be constipated instead. I put a hand on his shoulder.
“Drink?”
“Christ, yes.” He sighs. I look over at Zolkov, but he shakes his head and looks down at his phone.
“I will meet you. Natalia is arriving.”
“You’re meeting a girl here?” Grayson asks, and then scowls as something else occurs to him. “Why couldn’t you have ridden in with her?”
“Because you would have missed me,” Zolkov answers, in a tone that conveys he is speaking an obvious truth. He doesn’t wait for a reply from Grayson, but melts into the crowd on his way to the entrance. I put a hand on Grayson’s elbow, not wanting to lose him in the crowd as we head for the bar. Of course, losing him would be nearly impossible seeing as he is a good four inches taller than every person in here, but still I don’t let go of his arm.