Three beers later, Van has scooted his bar stool closer and turned his knees out so his hip rests alongside Colby’s. The distance between them is gone; Colby’s hand now rests high up on Van’s thigh and he toys with the frayed fringe on Van’s pocket, his fingers dangerously close to Van’s crotch. Every now and then his pinkie finger touches the bulge at the front of Van’s jeans, which looks like nothing more than the curve of his zipper, but Colby feels the hardness sheathed there and knows he isn’t the only one sporting wood.
Van leans back against the bar, his cheek resting on his shoulder as he laughs at something Colby says. Bar lights flash in his eyes like stars and his lips glisten where he’s licked them a time or two. His bangs fall casually to the side. His laughter ignites the ni
