He tee-heed. “That corner of Hell's keepin' it hot for ya."

I made a suck-my-dick motion.

Still giggling, he rose to his feet; then stumbled over the dirt-colored carpet before falling smack-dab on his ass.

I swiftly swept him under one arm and heaved him up. “Sit down before you break your jerk-off hand.”

Rum and Coke must be my drink, because although Cade was almost six inches taller, I managed to deposit him on the loveseat without tripping over my own feet. I squeezed next to him, minding to keep a safe distance from his loosey-goosey limbs, and snuck a pervy peek at him. Mm, he was a treat. Even when he was silly drunk, I still wanted to screw him senseless. Or let him screw me. Either way, I was game.

Crossing my legs, I asked, "When we first met, did you think I was cool?”

“I’m supposed to remember that?” Cade scoffed. “We were, like, thirteen.”

"Pfft." I pretended his offhand remark hadn't stung my pride. “If I’d made a lasting impression, you’d remember.”

His grin was mischievous. “Maybe I wasn’t impressed.”

I sucked in an unfortunately audible breath of air and leaned toward him. Dangerously I rested a hand halfway up one of his toned thighs. “Did you like me?”

His leg tensed beneath my palm. “What?”

“Did you dig my vibe?” I managed to amend, trademark poker face intact.

“You must be pretty drunk.”

Cade scooched to the edge of the loveseat and nearly tumbled off it. Smoothing his shirt, he gave an unconvincing cough. A few moments of awkward silence passed before I shifted back to the original topic.

“Are you going to answer my question?”

His eyes darted around the room. “Which was...?”

I sighed. “What was your first impression of me?”

Stiffly he shrugged. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I want to know.” Rolling my eyes, I added, “Or is curiosity against the bro code?”

“What was your first impression of me?” he countered.

Fond memories of our initial meeting flooded through me. After watching Cade play bass in the middle school talent show, I'd shyly approached him and asked if he wanted to jam with me after school. It had boggled my mind when he’d accepted my invitation, considering he was super popular, mega handsome, and sporty to the max.

"I'm waiting," he singsonged.

I tossed him an indulgent smile. Really, it was impossible not to indulge Cade. With his chiseled face, Zac Efron build, and bedroom eyes, he possessed the type of good looks that even the most homophobic of dudes could admit were a gift from God Herself (AKA Cade's milf). That being said, my friend was also known for his adorkable ditziness.

“Truth?" I finally replied. "I thought you were a dumb jock."

Cade scowled. “Thanks a lot, Ede.”

“A hot dumb jock,” I quickly amended. “But when I heard you play the bass, I realized you were a hot dumb musical jock; and when I got to know you, I found out you weren’t a dumb jock—just a common-sense challenged one.”

Frowning, he crossed his arms. “Would you still have thought I was hot if I were a girl?”

“Girl, boy, alien, whatever. Beauty is beauty.” I swallowed, realizing I was revealing too much about my thinly veiled crush. “Personality notwithstanding.”

"Ha!" His face softened. “I feel the love, asshole.”

“You get so sentimental when you’re wasted.” I chuckled.

“So do you.”

I flicked him off. “Whatever. For what’s it worth, your bass playing intrigued me more than anything else about you.”

“Why?” Uncrossing his arms, Cade looked into my eyes for the first time since I’d accidentally-on-purpose touched his thigh.

"Um, because...your bass almost sounded like a person’s voice,” I mused. “Your range is fantastic, Cade. And your technique is fucking flawless.”

“Your torch’s burning way too brightly for me right now.”

Cade stretched his arms over his head. His smile, however, couldn’t hide.

Furrowing my brow, I insisted, “Your performance in the talent show was amazing; you were so on point. So freakin' charismatic. At one point I even wondered if you were a figment of my overly active imagination.”

“Am I real?” Cade taunted, “Or are you just talking to your own drunken ass in some shitty Mickey-Mouse town hotel room?”

Slowly I shook my head, ignoring the room-spinning effect this action precipitated. “I still don’t know.”

Propping his elbow onto his knee, he rested his chin on his hand. “You are one weird dude.”

I goosed his forearm. “Yeah, you keep telling me that.”

“Ow! What the fuck did you pinch me for?” Pouting, Cade rubbed his arm.

‘‘I wanted to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.”

He let out an exasperated squawk. “That’s not how it works. You’re supposed to pinch yourself, asshole!”

“Or you could pinch my nipple like you did on St. Patrick’s Day.” I fluttered my eyelashes. “I’m not wearing green.”

Battling laughter, Cade threatened, “I could strangle you!”

“Autoerotic asphyxiation? Sounds like my kind of death.”

He put me in a mock chokehold. “I bet.”

Wheezing, I poked him in the side. “You love it when I talk dirty.”

“Trash mouth."

Cade kneeled on the couch, changing position more quickly than expected, given his total inebriation. Too late I realized where this was going.

“Don't!” My panic-stricken voice climbed two octaves.

A week ago, I’d dyed my hair fairy blue and gotten a new 'do; I wasn’t entirely confident with the change. The underside was buzzed, but the top still reached halfway down my ears. Naturally wavy and notoriously difficult to maintain, my hair was suffering under the influence of Florida’s wretched humidity.

In vain, I tried to block Cade's hands, but he successfully gave me a noogie.

“Frodo Baggins,” he gleefully pronounced, leaning on my shoulder to survey his handiwork.

Gingerly I touched my static-electric frizz and groaned. “Ballsack!”

“You had it coming. Besides, we’re not on stage. Who gives a fuck what your hair looks like?” he goaded, tapping me on the nose.

He was still leaning on me. Yum.

“You know how I feel about my hair.”

He chortled. “So what do you do when you have sex? Wear a hair net?”

Cade teasingly tugged my tresses; his face was inches away. An involuntary shiver tiptoed from the base of my skull to the bottom of my spine. My control slipped.

“Would you like to find out?” I whispered, grazing his velvety earlobe with my teeth.

Scowling, he repeated his edge-of-the-loveseat retreat. “Oh, get over yourself. Not everyone wants to screw you.” 

“No?”

“Duh.” Cade shot me a poisonous look.

Feigning indifference to his coldness, I said, “Since we’re on the subject...”

“Drop it.”

I ignored his warning. “Why don’t you want me?” Folding my arms, I added, “And don’t say it’s because you’re straight, because that has little to do with it.”

“What do you mean?” Cave huffed. “It has everything to do with it!”

“Let’s not pretend that I haven’t seduced ‘straight’ men almost more often than gay men,” I said behind the back of my hand.

“Maybe they didn’t fuck you on purpose,” Cade muttered.

“Oh, right! They just tripped on their dicks and fell into me.” Even when I’m intoxicated my sarcasm’s beyond reproach. With saintly patience, I explained, “Cade, men don’t have to be gay to sleep with other men.”

“Maybe not gay, but at least bisexual,” he argued.

Jerking a thumb at myself, I said, “Proud bisexual here. However, you do realize not all people fit neatly into boxes, right? Tons of guys—”

“I’m not having this conversation,” he interrupted. “I’m too tipsy to talk about this shit.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Afraid you’ll expose your down-low desires?”

“There’s nothing to expose.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m fucking positive.”

“Really?”

“I know this may shock your enormously inflated ego, but I don’t want to sleep with you."

“Do you mean it?”

“Why the hell would I say it if I didn’t mean it?”

“Maybe you’re playing coy,” I mused.

Cade’s composure broke.

“You can’t sh-sh-stand it, can you?” he slurred. “You hate that I don't want you.”

“I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Why? Because I’m telling the truth?!" Putting his head in his hands, he said, "You’re my friend, Ede. I like hanging out with you, but you really need to get over yourself.”

“You have no idea what I think about myself.”

“Well, maybe if you stopped fronting, I would.”

“What would be the fun in that?”

“Dude, I’m done talking about this. Just do me a favor and don’t ever question whether I want to fuck you again. It’s insulting.”

“Message received,” I retorted through gritted teeth.

Well, that couldn't have gone much worse. Seduction: failed.

“I’m gonna go. Thanks to you, I’ve completely sobered up.” He plodded through his pocket, seeking his hotel keycard even though I was pretty sure the bros’ adjoining room was unlocked.

“Cade?”

Already on his way to the door, he barked, “What?”

Despite the brutal rejection, I had no desire to see him storm out.

“Don’t be mad,” I pleaded, hanging my head like the world’s saddest puppy. My most-utilized secret weapon: the pity card. I had the hangdog look down pat.

Cade’s expression softened. He retraced his steps. Clumsily, he patted me on the shoulder. “I’m just irritated, is all. I’ll get over it.”

“Do you think you’ll be over it in time to come to the party with me after our Miami concert?”

He scrunched up his face. “What party?”

“The one throwing to kick off his new album.”

“Which cousin?”

Standing up, I said, “Paul—the one who lives in Miami.”

“New album? He hasn’t even started recording yet!”

“Eh, he’s an early celebrator.”

Cade fiddled with his keycard. “I might have plans.”

“Break them.”

“Not likely.”

“Come on, Cade. It’ll be good for us. We can do cross promo for Paul’s album and Rim Shot’s tour,” I cooed, straightening his lopsided tie in an unquestionably intimate manner.

“Like I care about publicity.”

I smoothed his shirt over his broad shoulders. “You should. A healthy dose of publicity will help us level up.”

“What’s the real reason you want me there?” His mesmerizing eyes, glazed over from too much to drink, held me fast.

“I’ll be bored beyond recognition without you. Please come, if only to save me from the monotony of it all,” I wheedled. "Besides, your social media following is bigger than mine. I need a boost."

He wore a triumphant smirk. “Ha! The truth comes out.”

“It was my last resort. You must know how desperate I am.” I captured his chin with my fingers. “Don’t make me beg.”

“But you do it so well.”

“And you like to watch me do it.”

His flushed lips parted to reveal his white teeth. “No lie.”

“Will you please come with me?” I let go of Cade’s chin and stepped backward; the heat between our bodies cooled.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally conceded.

“You’re a tease.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“You know, I never answered your question,” Cade blurted out. “The one about my first impression of you.”

“Well?” I couldn’t conceal my eagerness.

“I thought you were totally queer.”

“Oh.” My facial muscles temporarily lost control. “Unsurprising.”

Cade winced. “Dude, you’re a stellar singer no matter who you fuck. I’m glad we met, even if you are one of the most frustrating people in my contacts.”

“Whatever. I’ll bug you about Paul’s party again tomorrow.”

“Don’t trust me enough to remember our conversation on my own, huh?”

“You know what a control freak I am.”

“That’s for damn sure.” Smiling, Cade gave me a parting wave before heading out.

To stave off staggering disappointment, I relieved my built-up sexual frustration twice that night before passing out—and once more in the morning, counting my post-coital midnight wakeup. (Third time’s the charm.)