Richie and I make eye contact, those huge round eyes of his blinking at me, all-innocent-like.

Like he wasn't just humping my ass to the beat of whatever Dua Lipa remix was just playing.

Like there isn't a good reason I avoided him whenever he came to visit Angie after she and I stopped living together. Once seeing him became optional.

He's grown up since the last time I saw him—what, three years ago? His skin is flawless, his face has filled out, and he's grown into that nose of his. The gangly limbs I remember are now covered in muscle.

Angie's baby brother is all grown up.

I glance over at Angie, and she's laughing. Whether it's at us or something else, I can't tell. It's too loud to ask, so I just cock a brow in her direction. She shakes her head, still smiling, bemusement plastered on her face.

I lean in close to Richie's ear, my voice low. "Hey, Dick," I say, using my old nickname for him. "I never thought I'd see you in a gay bar."

A familiar smirk spreads across Richie's lips, the same one I'd seen a thousand times before, back when he used to crash on our couch every other weekend.

"They call me Big Dick now," he says, leaning in, his breath warm against my ear.

"Do they?" I ask, sarcasm dripping as my lips brush against his ear. "Because I felt you against my ass, and it didn't feel that big."

He laughs, and our bodies are close enough that I can feel the rumble in his chest. "Since when are you a dick expert?"

"Since when are you gay?" I retort, ignoring how the hints of cedar in his cologne make me want to lean in even closer.

He shrugs. "You and Angie don't talk about me?" He places his palm on his chest. A mockery of hurt.

I force myself to take a step back and I shift over to Angie. "Why didn't you tell me your homophobic little shit of brother is now into cock?" I yell above the music.

"Ew. Graphic." Angie pushes my shoulder as she continues to dance. "Didn't I tell you when he came out?"

"No." I shake my head, then turn back to Richie. "And here I thought you were a prick because you were jealous of all the pussy I got."

Richie's breath tickles my ear. "I was jealous."

Before I can think of a response, I glimpse Angie's face—her bemused expression has shifted. As her eyes flick between me and her brother, they narrow slightly. Her smile tightens.

"Hey, Dylan," she calls over the music, her voice just a little too sharp, "why don't we grab a drink at the bar?" She's not exactly asking.

Looking over at Richie, I see his grin has widened. That one dimple in his left cheek highlights how much he is enjoying the moment. But I know better than to ignore Angie when she's giving me that look.

I take the hint and nod, following Angie as she pushes her way through the crowd. We squeeze past bodies drenched in sweat, the beat of the music still pulsing all around us. Richie stays behind, and as soon as the distance grows between us, I can feel the tension in my body ease. But I hate that I'm still aware of him somewhere behind me.

Angie stops at the bar, leaning against it as the bartender passes by. She waves him down with a flick of her wrist. "Two shots of tequila, please," she shouts over the noise, not even asking what I want.

I stand beside her, and for a second, we just let the thrum of the music fill the space between us. She doesn't say anything at first, and I wonder if she's annoyed or just trying to gather her words.

"So... what was that back there?" she finally asks, not looking at me, but straight ahead. Her voice is calm, but there's an edge to it.

I shrug, trying to play dumb. "What are you talking about?"

"Hmm." She gives me a sidelong glance. "I thought you couldn't stand my brother."

I can't help but laugh, but it comes out awkward. "Who said I could stand him?"

She turns to face me fully, her eyes searching mine. "He's grown up a lot since you last saw him. But he's still my little brother, Dylan. Don't..." She trails off, her expression softening. "Just don't mess with him, okay?"

Involuntarily, I glance back to the dance floor. Richie has made his way to the edge of the crowd now. He's next to some guy in a tank top, but his eyes flick back to me like he knew I'd be looking.

Before I can respond, the bartender slides the shots in front of us. Angie grabs hers and tosses it back without waiting.

"I'm just saying," she continues, her voice softer now, "He's still figuring his shit out, you know?"

I nod. Tonight's about celebrating Angie—my best friend—not looking for hook-ups. Especially not with her brother. The dickhead who used to make homophobic jokes just to rile me up.

I throw back the shot; the alcohol burning its way down. "Of course," I say, forcing the word out.

Angie watches me for a moment, then tilts her head. "And since when have you been into guys? I feel like that's something you would've shared."

I shake my head, maybe a bit too fast. "It's a gay bar. And, when in Rome, right?" I grin.

"You're an idiot," she mutters, though a small smile tugs at her lips. "Just don't make things weird. I know what you're like after too many drinks."

I can't even say anything. She's known me too long. Been there through too many of my mistakes. So I just nod, relieved the moment has passed.

But something gnaws at me. I can't deny how my body reacted to Richie. I tell myself it's the mix of Jack and beer and now tequila, but no amount of alcohol has ever made me so... aware of a man.

Shifting uncomfortably, I scan the room for a distraction. Where are all the women? The lesbians? The bi girls? The Carrie Bradshaws?

As Angie orders another round, I feel the tequila warm my throat and chest, numbing the edges of everything. The heat settles low in my belly, a slow burn that makes the entire club feel hazy, unreal.

"Remember how much time we used to spend here?" Angie nudges my arm as she waits for the bartender to pour our shots.

"I do," I say. "The vibe used to be less... masculine."

"Your vibe used to be less masculine, too." She laughs, but it doesn't feel like a joke.

The next two shots of tequila arrive, and I pull out my wallet to pay. "Happy birthday," I toast, holding up the shot before slinging it back.

Just as Angie's about to say something, Gina appears at our side, her hand grabbing Angie's arm. "Oh, my god! Our song just came on! Come on!" Gina's voice is high-pitched with excitement, her other hand waving us back toward the dance floor.

Angie rolls her eyes, but I can tell she's smiling. "Of course it did," she mutters under her breath before throwing back her shot and following Gina. "You coming?" she asks, looking back at me.

I shrug. "Why not?"

Back on the dance floor, Heather and Katie are already spinning, arms in the air, belting out the lyrics to some Taylor Swift song. The nostalgia hits me, and I can't help but smile. Between the booze and the music, for a split second, everything has fallen into place.

Angie grabs my hand, spinning me around as the chorus hits. I let myself get lost in it—the pounding bass, the flashing lights, the heat of the crowd. It's like we're back in college again, back before we had adult bills to pay, separate career paths, different schedules.

One of Angie's coworkers, a cute brunette woman, flashes me a smile. But before I can think to smile back, I see Richie from the corner of my eye.

I turn, and he is already next to me. His fingers on my elbow.

I should step away. Tell him to give it a rest.

But the alcohol has dulled my resistance, and instead of pulling away, I lean towards him, letting my body follow his.

He's behind me.  His thighs against mine. Hands on my waist. Chest brushing my back.

The pressure of him hits some part of me I don't have a name for.

Before I can stop myself, I turn my head. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Dancing," he says back, his breath hot as his lips brush against my earlobe.

My body reacts before my brain catches up. He grinds closer, his hands becoming more exploratory. And I don't stop him.

"What did you mean earlier?" I ask, my voice barely audible over the music.

"When?" he asks, giving his hips a thrust that sends a spike of heat through me.

"About being jealous?" As we continue to dance, I turn to face him. His knee slips between my legs, and before I can think better of it, I'm straddling his knee, grinding myself against him.

Richie's grip tightens as he leans in again. "I'll let you figure that out yourself."

I furrow my brows, trying to read between the lines.

All those years, all those times he teased me, made off-colored remarks, I thought it was just typical younger brother bullshit. But obviously I was reading him wrong the whole time.

What else did I miss?

"I've had too many drinks to play this game," I admit.

Richie shrugs as his body continues to move with mine, the music vibrating through us. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, more serious. "Didn't you ever wonder why I acted like such an asshole?"

I pull away, just slightly, trying to figure out what he's saying. "I mean, yeah. I just thought you were a dickhead, Dick."

Instead of correcting me, he gets closer, his nose grazing my ear, his lips nearly on my neck.

I glance at Angie, who's still dancing with the others, her back to me. The alcohol has probably relaxed her, too. But I can't shake the feeling that she might turn around any second. See us.

The last thing I want is to fight with Angie.

This has to end.

"I—uh, I need to hit the bathroom," I say abruptly, stepping away from Richie, needing air, needing to think.

Without waiting for a response, I weave my way through the crowd, heading toward the back of the club. The flashing lights and pounding bass make it hard to focus. Faces blur together, bodies press too close.

Why is my body reacting so strongly to Richie? Even if he wasn't my best-friend's brother, all those homophobic jokes he used to make... it should be unforgivable. Even if that was his own screwed-up way of burying whatever he didn't want anyone noticing.

I tell myself I just need a minute to breathe, but there's something more. Something I don't want to admit. About how easily I leaned into Richie, about how comfortable it felt.

I push open the bathroom door, and walk to the sink to confront my image in the mirror. Maybe my reflection will explain what the fuck is going on.