Free What It Takes by Jude Sierra Page B

throbs.
    “Excuse me,” a voice shouts directly behind Andrew, scaring him out of whatever the fuck that moment was. “I’m Mike.” He holds his hand out for Andrew to shake, and, caught off guard, Andrew does. Mike squeezes it for a beat too long; his lips are quirked as if he’s got the best secret. As if he knows Andrew’s secrets.
    “Uh, um. Andrew,” he finally says. He gestures to Milo. “Milo.”
    Milo waves awkwardly; Mike barely spares him a glance. There’s a long moment when nothing happens.
    “So you wanna dance or what?” Mike finally says.
    “Oh.” Andrew bites his lip, unsure. “I don’t—”
    Andrew looks at Milo for a clue; other than looking Mike over carefully, he betrays nothing. What might have been a thread stretching between them, maybe too taut and sudden, starts to shred.
    “Unless your boyfriend minds?” Mike slides a smile toward Milo that’s not entirely kind.
    “ Not his boyfriend,” Milo says. “Go ahead; have fun.”
    Milo gives a one-shouldered shrug that reads indifferent and dismissive. It’s not. Andrew knows it’s not and for a second he’s really quite blindingly furious. That shrug is all he needs to confirm that Milo felt exactly what was happening between them a moment ago. That’s his pretend I don’t give a fuck shrug. That’s a shrug for everyone else. That’s the shrug that sheds his father’s words and hurt, dismisses expectations, gives the finger to things Milo might have to care about but isn’t up to coping with.
    Andrew isn’t sure if Milo was toying with him, if he’s being jerked around, or if Milo’s fears are speaking louder than the undercurrents Andrew is sure he felt. But that other undercurrent Andrew’s been dismissing since Milo came out to him and friend-zoned him clumsily flares up, too. Fine. Fine . Milo can fuck off. Andrew sends him the bitchiest, most obviously annoyed smile he can. Milo’s not stupid. It’s incredible, the two-gesture conversation they’ve had that no one else in the world would understand.
    Andrew turns to Mike, puts on the most innocent air he can, bites his lip in a totally different way, and nods. “I’ve never done this before,” he says into his ear. “You’ll be gentle, right?”
    Mike laughs, a shocked little noise, and pulls Andrew onto the dance floor with two hands around his waist. “Only if you really want me to be, honey.”
    °
    Milo tries not to watch, but for the first torturous thirty minutes, he does anyway. Andrew dances with Mike, and with another man, although still with them both; he’s boyish and awkward angles, but also so much pent up sensuality Milo hadn’t expected that it’s impossible to tear his eyes away. Every now and then their eyes meet and Andrew’s lips press into that little fuck you smile he gets, and it twists hard into Milo’s gut.
    He comes back with Mike and they all do another round of shots. Milo and Andrew do a marvelous and simultaneously shitty job of ignoring every bit of subtext. Milo sets his glass down on the damp table and breathes through the burn. Mike and Andrew do another, despite the look Milo gives Andrew, and then Andrew’s face flashes into a falsely, dazzlingly coy smile, looking right at Mike, letting himself be led back onto the floor. It’s definitely more crowded now, and they’re quickly swallowed by the throng of bodies. Milo tries to track them over the heads of the crowd, but it’s hard in this light. He checks his phone. The bar closes in an hour or so. He’ll check in on Andrew in twenty minutes.
    “Not having a good time, honey?” A tiny slip of man sidles up next to him. There’s no doubt he’s old enough to have earned that man title, despite being about two-thirds of Milo’s size. He doesn’t seem to be hitting on him—not that Milo would know if he were. At the very least, it didn’t look a thing like that guy Mike’s blatant approach.
    “Not especially,” he admits.
    “Saw you with that boy,” the