Carson sighed as he made the walk of shame across the club, glancing back at the table where his friends were practically vibrating with excitement. They were waving him forward, some of them already recording on their phones like vultures waiting for the kill.

Get yourself friends like this, they’d said.

Carson was starting to think that might’ve been terrible advice.

His twenty–first birthday had apparently been declared The Day of Firsts. From seven in the morning until now he’d done more reckless things than he had in the last twenty-one years combined. First time riding a motorcycle. First tattoo. First piercings—yes, plural, thanks to a very enthusiastic friend. First time dyeing his hair black, which was probably permanent considering how dark it looked. First time in a club.

A gay club.

And now his first time drinking.

He was… definitely feeling it.

Being the youngest in the group meant he was also the easiest target, which was exactly how he’d ended up losing a game of truth or dare he absolutely should not have agreed to play.

Which led him here.

Flirting with the bartender everyone had been quietly drooling over all night.

Carson rubbed his hands together nervously as he approached the bar. “Cool, Carson, cool,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re funny, you’re hot, and you’re gonna get his number.”

He repeated it like a mantra, far too focused on psyching himself up to actually watch where he was going.

His hip clipped a bar stool.

The stool tipped.

Then clattered loudly to the floor.

Carson froze for half a second before immediately bending down to grab it. “Ah—I’m so sorry!” he blurted out to no one in particular as he quickly set it back upright.

Great.

Fantastic.

He hadn’t even said hello yet and he’d already made a scene.

This was supposed to be smooth. Confident. Seductive even.

Instead he looked like a baby deer that had wandered into a nightclub.

When he finally straightened up, the bartender was looking at him.

Carson’s brain short-circuited.

“H-hey, uh…”

Brilliant start.

He swallowed, suddenly hyper aware of the music thumping through the floor and the faint heat creeping up the back of his neck. This had been a horrible idea. The man behind the bar was clearly older than him. More experienced. What if he looked at Carson and only saw a kid?

What if he rejected him immediately?

What if he kicked him out?

“Cool, Carson. Cool.”

He inhaled slowly before forcing himself to meet the bartender’s gaze again.

“Can I… sit here?”

The words left his mouth and he immediately regretted them.

Of course he could sit there.

It was literally a bar.

Carson resisted the urge to slam his forehead against the counter as he quickly slid onto the stool anyway. Smooth. Very smooth. Truly the peak of flirting.

God, he was fumbling this so badly.

His friends were probably watching from across the room right now, waiting to see him crash and burn.

He rested his elbows on the counter, trying to look relaxed despite the chaos happening inside his head. C’mon. Say something cool. Something charming.

Anything.

“Uh… so you here often?”

Carson winced the second the words escaped him.

He slowly dragged a hand down his face.

“Wow,” he muttered under his breath. “That was… that was really bad.”

He glanced back up, offering what he hoped was a charming smile but was probably closer to a nervous grimace.

“Ok, to be honest,” he added quickly, gesturing vaguely toward the crowded club behind him, “it’s my birthday and my friends dared me to come talk to you.”

He paused.

Then sighed.

“Okay, technically the dare was to flirt with you,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But... I guess you can tell I'm not doing a great job at that."

Carson straightened slightly on the stool, trying to recover what little dignity he had left.

“But things always seem to get worse before the get better.” He flashed his best hopeful smile.

“So... Any chance you're into younger guys?"