Chapter One

“A toast, to our own connoisseur of men, Johnny Bethman. May your bed always be full,” He smirked as he rose his beer bottle to met that of his friends’.

“Thanks Eddie,” I smiled and shook my head.

“I’ve gotta admit,” said Joe. “When you told us you were going out with Harry Potter—”

“I did not tell you I was going out with Harry Potter!” I objected.

“Either way, when you first told me about him, I first thought ‘oh no way is he going out with that!’ But time has shown that with your special brand of, shall we say, tutelage, he has blossomed into a grade A stud.”

“Tell us, Johnny,” Brian said. “Tell us how you do it,” He said and uproarus laughter followed.

“So, whose next?” Greg asked.

“You guys, it’s only been like a day,” I tried to point out, getting stares back from all of my friends.

“And?” Eddie inquired.

“It’s too soon, duh.” A silence fell over the group before another round of laughter engulfed everyone. “I’m just kidding, I’m just kidding. But I’ve got to make my apartment mine again. Probably tomorrow night,” I admitted. “I’ll start looking then.”

“As usual,” Brian groaned.

“Another round?” Eddie asked, getting murmurs of declinations. “On me?” That perked us up.

“Yeah, man,” Greg answered.

“I’m game,” Brian said.

“Sure,” Joe answered and they all turned to me. Whoever said peer pressure ended with high school was horribly wrong, unless they were taking into consideration the completely true phrase “high school never ends.” I shrugged, enough to suffice as a yes.

Truthfully I hadn’t wanted it, but by the time that bottle was passed down to me my throat was dry with thirst again. It’s funny how things work out. Maybe it was the atmosphere. Seeing all of the bodies on the dancefloor move to the pulsing beat of the music was enough to make anyone thirsty—even if it was only a for a beer.

“Oh God, he’s thinking again. What are you thinking about?” Greg asked me. He wasn’t at a bar stool like the rest of us, rather standing, moving inbetween us to get the advantage of hearing everything. He was so nosy sometimes.

“Have you ever wondered how phallic of an object a beer bottle is?” I asked aloud, holding it up to the dimly lit bar lights before shifting it over to the flashing lights of the club area.

“As a matter of fact,” Eddie started, elicitng a groan from the rest of us.

“Eddie,” Brian began. “With all of your sexual exploits, are you sure you haven’t just stuck one up your ass already.”

“Someone hasn’t been getting any lately,” Eddie shot back. “And I haven’t for your information, but I know it’s possible.”

“I don’t want to know how you know,” Joe commented staley. He was now eyeing his half-drinken beer uneasily, trying to decide if he even wanted to finish it.

“Hey, I’ll drink it if you don’t want it, buddy,” Greg said, winking at Joe. Joe rolled his eyes and relinquished his beer.

“Yeah, whatever. I’m not that thirsty anymore,” Joe said, though Greg’s face still screamed victory. “Hey, Johnny?”

“Yeah?” I looked at him expectedly.

“You want a ride or something?”

“Sure, but in maybe twenty minutes,” I said, knowing he saw me glance longingly at the dancefloor.

“Aww, you guys are leaving already?” Eddie asked.

Joe gave him a swift nod, before telling me he’d be outside smoking. “’Bye,” Brian said. Joe waved back as he left.

“Thinking about dancing?” Greg asked, turning back to me.

“Kinda,” I answered before downing the rest of my drink.

“Come on then,” He said, pulling me out of my seat and out into the sea of convulsing bodies, all sliding against another, hands splayed every which way. Understood chaos, just what I loved about clubs. I’ve always had a thing for crowds--the very reason why I moved to the city—and with a city this big there were many clubs to choose from, so many fresh faces. There was always a chance to meet someone else or to lose yourself in the excitement of it all, and tonight I was going to enjoy the latter.

Greg was a talented dancer, outshining me so much that three guys had tried to cut in between us—all of them getting harshly turned down. Then again, part of what made Greg an appealing dancer was his looks; he had beautiful green eyes and expertly cropped black hair with tufts of blue that really only stuck out in the club lights and direct sunlight. They, all ugly, didn’t stand a chance, but once the next handsome guy who showed interest flashed a smile, he’d get a new necklace named Greg. He was fickle like that.

“I’d keep dancing with you,” He’ll say. “But I just saw this guym and he’s so my type.” His type being tall blondes with nice builds and solid facial structures. He would stay with me, but dark brown hair and hazel eyes that lean more to the brown side are too common for him. He pefers his men to come out of bottles, expertly made just for him—until someone less shallow comes around.

It was then that something caught my eye—a flash of red in the strobe lights. “I’ll be right back,” I told Greg, pushing past him to investigate. I, like a crow, am easy to distract; something shiny flickers by and I’m on it like a dart. Nine times out of ten it ended up to be someone with a flashy shirt, someone who I complimented, danced with, and then took home depending on whether or not my current “project” was living with me or not. Now that I was completely single I could really go in for the kill, even take a break from showing all these new twinks the ropes because, let’s face it, everyone has got to have a break some time.

Gliding past all everyone dancing and grinding, getting random body parts pressed against me only served to make me more determined. It seemed the more guys that asked me to dance or shot me a look made me want the one wanted the one who was wearing that stunning red shirt.

It took forever, weaving in and out of people’s way, until I finally cam to the brick wall that the boy I was after was leaning against. He really threw me off kilter at first. He was standing there, looking slightly exhausted, yet he had an air of confidence about him—a contrast to the shy smile he gave me, yet complimenting the lustful look in his eye. His shirt, like his pants, was completely black with the first few buttons undone, showing off a chain that dove downwards. His clothes were like coal and his hair was like fire—the most vibrant shade of red I’ve ever seen that seemed to shimmer in the club lights. He flashed a grin and I gravitated towards him.

“So,” He spoke in my ear over the music. “What’s your name?” I could hear his tone perfectly, so sure of himself.

I smirked. “Johnny. Yours?” I cocked an eyebrow. I don’t know why I’d asked him, I was sure not to remember it. We walked by the bar where I could just slightly hear my friends conversing.

“I can’t believe him! He left me, right on the dancefloor!” This was Greg, I knew.

“Oh get over it,” Brian said. “Like you haven’t flaked on him a million times.”

“Yeah, plus there’s plenty of other men out there,” Eddie said optimistically right before I exited the room, this boy on my arm. I nodded to Joe, telling him that I wasn’t going to be taking him up on that ride home after all.