Chapter 1: Last Call, First Claim
The wall of sound hit Andy the moment he turned the key in his own front door. Thumping bass, the shriek of laughter, the muffled roar of a dozen conversations bleeding through the shared brick. Brad was having another party.
Andy sighed, dropping his work satchel by the door. His small, tidy row house felt suddenly very quiet, very still. He could picture the chaos next door: the mismatched furniture shoved against the walls, the obligatory pizza boxes, the constellation of bottle caps on the floor. He could smell it—yeasty beer and fried food—mingling with the scent of his own, cautiously prepared lemon chicken.
He ate alone at his kitchen island, scrolling through his phone, trying to ignore the pull from next door. The fantasy was a familiar, worn-in path in his mind: muscles under faded t-shirts, the possessive curl of a tattooed arm around his shoulders, the low rumble of a laugh meant only for him. It was stupid. Brad was straight. Brad, whose life was a loud, messy parade of women and weekend projects.
The noise dipped. A lull. Then a rapid, pounding knock at his own front door.
He opened it to find Brad leaning against the frame, a six-pack dangling from his fingers. He smelled of cedar and cheap lager. “Prendergast! Hiding from the fun? Get over here. We’re doing Jell-O shots and Jimmy’s about to try a backflip off the coffee table. It’s gonna be a disaster.”
“I’ve got work tomorrow, Brad.”
“So does half my crew. C’mon. You can’t just sit in here listening to the walls vibrate.” Brad’s grin was wide, effortless. His eyes, a startling blue against his summer tan, crinkled at the corners. “I need a responsible adult present. For liability.”
That’s how Andy found himself pressed against a sticky kitchen counter in Brad’s place, the townhouse next to his, with a cold beer shoved into his hand. The air was thick, humid with body heat. A girl in a sparkly top was attempting to dance on a clear patch of laminate, her movements loose and sloppy.
“See? Better than your sudoku, or whatever,” Brad shouted over the music, clapping a heavy hand on Andy’s shoulder. The contact was electric, a jolt that went straight to Andy’s spine.
Andy forced a smile. “It’s definitely louder.”
A drunk girl—maybe the one from the laminate—staggered between them, giggling as she reached for the fridge. Brad steadied her with one arm, his bicep flexing under the sleeve of his shirt. “Whoa, careful, Kelsey. Hydrate or diedrate, yeah?” He fished out a water bottle for her.
She pouted, accepted it, and weaved away.
And then it was just them, in a sudden pocket of relative quiet by the fridge. The hand on Andy’s shoulder didn’t move. Brad’s grip tightened, just a fraction. He leaned in, his breath warm against Andy’s ear, his voice dropping, cutting clean through the music’s thrum.
“You’re staying after everyone leaves.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a low, rough statement that sent a shockwave through Andy’s system. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, trapped thing. He turned his head, their faces suddenly too close. Brad’s gaze wasn’t smiling anymore. It was dark, intent, focused with a predatory simplicity that stole the air from Andy’s lungs.
Brad just looked back, held the stare for a three-count, then gave Andy’s shoulder a final, deliberate squeeze before turning away. “Another beer, Jimmy? Coming right up!” he boomed, his public persona snapping back into place like a mask.
Andy stood frozen, the cold bottle sweating in his hand. The statement replayed in his head, each time feeling more impossible, more terrifying, more undeniable. He spent the next two hours in a dizzy haze. He watched Brad move through the party—slapping backs, telling loud stories, his laugh a cannon blast of sound. But now Andy saw the flickers, the glances that would cut across the room and land on him, holding for a second too long. A silent confirmation.
The party died a slow, noisy death. Goodbyes were slurred, promises to clean up were made and instantly forgotten. Jimmy, thankfully, did not attempt the backflip. Finally, the last guest—Kelsey—was bundled into a rideshare with a friend.
The door clicked shut.
The silence was immediate and profound, ringing with the ghost of the noise. The apartment was a warzone of abandoned cups and ashtrays. Brad locked the door, thumbed the deadbolt with a solid thunk. He didn’t turn on any more lights. The single bulb over the kitchen sink painted everything in stark relief and long shadows.
He walked toward Andy, who was still standing by the counter, empty bottle in hand. Brad’s work boots were heavy on the floor. He stopped a foot away, the sheer physicality of him overwhelming in the quiet room. He smelled of sweat and smoke and man.
“You stayed,” Brad said, his voice quiet now, rough at the edges.
“You told me to.”
A faint, one-sided smile touched Brad’s mouth. “Yeah. I did.” He reached out and took the empty bottle from Andy’s numb fingers, set it on the counter with a soft clink. “You’re always watching. You know that?”
Andy’s mouth went dry. “I don’t—”
“You do.” Brad took a half-step closer, invading his space. His eyes tracked over Andy’s face. “I see it. All those little looks from over here?” He brought a hand up, calloused fingers brushing a strand of hair from Andy’s forehead. The touch was shockingly gentle. “I like it.”
This wasn’t happening. This was a fantasy, a sleep-deprived hallucination. Andy’s mind scrambled for solid ground. “Brad, I… you’re not… guys aren’t really your thing.”
Brad’s laugh was a soft huff of air. “Is that so? People are... whatever they first look like? 'First impressions'?” The skin of his rough hand settled on the side of Andy’s soft neck, thumb pressing gently against his jawline, tilting his face up. “I saw you watching tonight." He grinned. "I got excited, didn’t want you to stop.”
He leaned in. The world narrowed to the scent of him, the heat, his overwhelming muscular presence. Suddenly, his lips were a breath away from Andy’s, not touching, just hovering. A question? A challenge? An invitation?
Andy’s entire body was a live wire. Every secret thought, every hidden longing, was now standing inches from him, crowded in the space between them. This...This was... it was the moment he had to either step into the freefall of surrender, or turn and run back to his safe, quiet, lonely house.
He swallowed. In barely a whisper he answered.
“Okay.”