At this rate Rowan’s pretty sure his blush is going to be permanently imprinted on his skin. He might have to change his hair color so it doesn’t clash. Something dark, maybe.

“Wouldn’t you be?”

Jeremiah laughs, the movement causing the thin golden chains dangling from his ears to catch in the light in a way that reminds Rowan of Camilla’s glittering eyeshadow. Now that Rowan takes him in properly, it almost looks like they coordinated outfits, Jeremiah wearing black slacks and a black button-up with the top three buttons undone, revealing a glimpse of sculpted abs. Once again, Rowan wonders if he would have hooked up with him had he not gotten into the gangbang.

“I meant what I said last time—that Malcolm’s a one-and-done type guy,” Jeremiah says.

Recognition trickles through Rowan slowly at first, then all at once like a deluge. That must mean….

“You actually hooked up with him?”

“Looong time ago, but yes.”

That gets Rowan’s brain whirring. How long ago? Who initiated? Who topped, if anyone? Was it kinky or vanilla? Why did it only happen once?

The litany of questions must be written all over Rowan’s face, because it elicits another chuckle from Jeremiah.

“Don’t think too hard about it. We were tipsy and bitchin’ about how we hadn’t had any good dick recently.”

Yeah, Rowan’s definitely gonna think hard about that. Despite all the burning, invasive questions flitting through his mind, the main one he wants an answer to is, “Was it good?”

A flash of brilliantly white teeth accompanies Jeremiah’s answer. “Very.”

He’s gonna think about that really hard.

“Blue Ribbon, right?” Jeremiah asks after a beat.

It’s really a wonder how everyone here seems so nonchalant about wreaking havoc on Rowan’s imagination. But he really should have expected as much from a sex club.

He blinks, willing away images of strong thighs wrapped around a taut waist, and feels himself nodding, too distracted to feel embarrassed by his drink choice. “Yeah, thanks.”

Jeremiah nods, retrieves a bottle from a fridge under the counter and uncaps it in one smooth motion. He places a cocktail napkin and glass on the bar top, then expertly tilts the glass and pours the beer so the foam reaches the rim without spilling over. It reminds Rowan of his own bartending stint, however brief, the memory less than fond. He shoves the thoughts away, not wanting to taint his night with memories of his past.

Rowan nurses his drink rather than downing it like he’s tempted to and risk losing his faculties. He swivels on his stool and takes in the club properly for the first time tonight.