Liam tried just about everything.

     Deep breaths. Shutting his eyes tight and opening them again. Thinking pleasant thoughts. Imagining that everyone in the building ahead would be buck-ass naked.

     But he couldn't, for the life of him, shake his nerves. Now, his time to ease his internal panic had run out; his grumpy uber driver had just parked, and to stay longer would lead to some very aggravated grumbling that would only heighten his anxiety.

     So, his mind still swimming with doubts, he mustered enough courage to at least step out of the car. He had hardly shut the door when it sped off, leaving him utterly alone on the sidewalk.

     Of course, he wasn't really alone. It was half-past ten and the night was alive with bodies that walked past him without a glance. Some continued further down along the sidewalk. Others approached the entrance of the exact building that Liam watched with dread, as if it would swallow him alive if he neared. This was the city, and it would be hours before it fell asleep.

     There was a short line of men and women waiting to pass through the brick walls of the one-story lot, laughing along with their friends as they quickly grew nearer and nearer to the awaiting doors. As Liam gazed around nervously, looking like a child who'd lost his parent at Disneyland, he noticed that everybody around him was in pairs and trios. Everybody had come with someone, whether a date or a group of friends. Nobody was by themselves. Nobody but him.

    And the bouncer, if he counted.

    Liam stared anxiously at his feet, forcing them to move one step at a time until he was taking up the rear of the line, right behind a man in skin-tight jeans who was engaged in animated, high-pitched conversation with a girl who's hair was short-cut and a violent shade of purple. He watched them discreetly as they inched closer to the doors. They would fit right in. They knew who they were and they were comfortable with that. They could walk through those doors and strike up conversations with strangers, or drink if they wanted to, or dance like no one was watching.

     But Liam wasn't comfortable. He wanted the experience -- wanted it so bad, he'd made the rash, dumb-ass decision to bring himself here -- but there were a million things that could go wrong. The worst of which, if he was seen by somebody who recognized him . . .

     That couldn't happen, though. He was fifty minutes from home. And besides, nobody he knew would ever be caught dead inside a place like this.

    Then again, those people he knew probably thought the same about him.

    "ID."

    Liam jumped at the gruff, impatient voice. He was at the front of the line; there was a gap between him and the bouncer where the pair of friends had stood. The bouncer looked rather annoyed, and Liam fumbled to quickly pull out the fake ID his sister had given him, courtesy of her college friends. The bouncer hardly glanced at it before nodding toward the door, and Liam wondered to himself if he could have offered an ID with a picture of the purple-haired girl and still been let in.

     Realizing that his cue to enter had come, and that there was no way for him to put it off any longer, he stepped inside.

     Liam had been to his fair share of clubs and bars. None of them compared to Vagabonds.

     The music came from all sides, its base pulsing so harshly that it seemed to take over his body, replacing his heartbeat with something far less rhythmic. He only had to walk a few paces to feel himself bathed in neon. It was a dark room, but it was filled with enough colorful stars to create its own version of a bright night -- the lights, the decorations, the people. Vibrant shirts, sequins, and hair-dye ambushed Liam's eyes no matter where he looked.

   As colorful as clothing was, Liam noticed an even more distinct lack thereof. For every man in a shirt, there seemed to be one without. The people here spoke with their bodies, and the stories they created were lustful and reckless and written in bright red ink. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

     Liam found the seemingly most peaceful spot to be the bar itself. There, people were waving erratically for drinks and talking loudly, but at least there was more breathing room than on the crowded floor, where bodies were dancing so intimately that Liam wondered if they were really dancing at all, or doing other things for everyone to see. So he made his escape to a bar-stool at the counter, instantly requesting the a shot of the strongest stuff they had. It looked like he would need a lot of liquid courage to get through the night.

     It wasn't that he didn't like the place. If he wasn't so damn nervous, he'd find it awesome. He wasn't unfamiliar with the party scene. This had to be the most exciting club he'd ever gone to, and he knew he could have a great time here. But only if he could rid his pessimistic mind of the fear it had caught like a stubborn cold; that he'd get caught, that this was a horrible idea. And to do that, he would need alcohol. Quite a bit of it.

     So he drank. And he drank and he drank and he drank, telling himself each time that the next shot of vodka or sip of beer would prepare him, only to shrink again at the thought of getting up and finding someone, resigning himself to some more "preparation" time.

     It was when he was way past tipsy -- when standing on the bar and running up to dance with the gogo boys on stage were starting to seem like fucking awesome ideas, and he was wondering why he was sitting there being a loner when there was a whole arena of sexy guys waiting for him out there -- that he found he didn't need to search anyone out, because someone came to him first.

     It wasn't quite the type of someone he'd have wanted, though.

     No, the man who sat next to Liam at the counter, his intentions clear in his eyes, wasn't at all the attention Liam wanted. He was large, clearly hammered, at least forty, and had a bushy beard that was sparkling with droplets of strong-smelling alcohol.

    "Hey," he said in a raspy voice with a grin that made Liam shudder. "You're looking lonely."

     Liam may have been drunk, but no amount of alcohol could convince him that this guy was a good idea. So he offered a polite smile and said nothing.

     "Not your scene?" the man pressed on. "You've just gotta loosen up and get out there a bit."

    Liam nodded tightly.

     "Here," the man said, and Liam watched suspiciously as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of pills, taking one in his hand. "This ought to help. You interested?"

     "No thank you," Liam said at once, hearing a slight slur in his own words. Still definitely not drunk enough for that kind of next-level bullshit.

     The man chuckled. "Come on, don't be shy, now. My name's Freddy. Have you ever heard of a Freddy doing anything bad?"

     Liam's thoughts instantly went to Freddy Krueger.

     "Just take one," insisted Freddy. "Your night will get ten times better, I swear."

     "I said no thank you," Liam repeated, a little firmer. Freddy rolled his eyes.

     "Don't be difficult, now," Freddy said, a slight edge of annoyance breaking through his friendly display. Liam could have sworn he saw the man's burly arm twitch just the slightest bit toward Liam's drink. Subtlety wasn't Freddy's best trait, clearly. "I promise you'll wanna --"

     "Alright, Fredster, I think you've had enough for tonight!"

     Freddy and Liam looked up at the same time at the voice that sounded above them, turning to see a boy who couldn't possibly have been old enough to be there standing behind Freddy's stool. His hands were on his hips and a playful smile was on his face. Liam thought for a moment that he looked familiar, but his wasted ass was too stupid to think twice on that.

     "I think it's about time you stumble home to the wifey," the boy continued, giggling to himself in a tipsy sort of way. "And leave my date alone, yeah?"

     "Your date?" Freddy sputtered, glancing back and forth between Liam and the boy who, the longer Liam looked at him, seemed more and more familiar. "Bullshit. You're lying; you're just trying to ruin my fun."

    The boy's smile faltered. "You got me," he said dryly, raising his eyebrows in a challenge as if to say, what are you going to do about it? "As fun as date-rape is," his voice had suddenly gone steely, "I'm gonna have to call it off for tonight. Now, instead of finding some other underage boy to try and take advantage of, how about you leave so I don't have to call Dom to come kick you out again?"

     Freddy opened and closed his mouth, falling short of a smart remark. He and this kid had clearly gone through this process before. With a grudging huff and a lingering glare, Freddy stood, turned, and was soon consumed in the mass of bodies around him, hopefully heading for the exit.

     With a sigh, the boy took what had been Freddy's stool and asked for two shots of tequila. Turning to Liam with a sheepish grin, he said, "I said I'd cut myself off after the last one, but I think we need it after that. I'm Jamie, by the way." He held out his hand.

     Now that Jamie had relaxed, it was obvious in his voice that he was fairly drunk, too, and Liam found it pretty damn impressive that he'd managed to stand his ground so well. Shaking Jamie's hand, Liam smiled and said, "I think you've earned it. Thanks for that."

    "No problem," Jamie smiled back, then handed Liam one of the shots. "To not letting that cum-dumpster touch us."

   Laughing, Liam downed the shot, hardly cringing at the burn in his throat. "To be fair, though, I'm not underage," he said absentmindedly, hardly realizing he was speaking at all.

    Jamie snorted. "So what Freddy was doing was only half illegal? So much better!" he said sarcastically. "You eighteen?"

     Liam glanced nervously at the barman, but he either wasn't listening or didn't care. Jamie caught his attention again by waving a dismissive hand. "Don't worry. As long as you're paying, they really don't care."

    Liam couldn't say he was surprised, but the confirmation was at least reassuring. Nodding, he said, "Yeah, I'm eighteen."

    "Can't say the same about myself," Jamie admitted, pursing his lips playfully. "Sixteen for a couple more months."

     Liam couldn't help it, his eyes rounded in surprise. Sixteen seemed so . . . young, for a place like this.

    Jamie looked like he could be Liam's age, seventeen at the youngest. It had nothing to do with size -- he was an average height, and from what Liam could see, rather skinny. But there was something mature in his face, bathed white and pink in the club lights. In his eyes, mostly.

     His eyes. They were incredible. The right one was blue, the left hazel. Liam had never seen somebody like that before.

     Except he had. More than ever, he was struck by the familiarity of the boy next to him. He'd seen the attractive face, the white-blonde hair, and the different-colored eyes before.

    He didn't let himself focus on that, though, because he was enjoying talking to Jamie, and enjoying looking at him even more. And because he was a drunken idiot, of course.

     "So, you've been here before?" Liam asked, wanting to keep the conversation going.

     "More often than I'd like to admit," Jamie laughed airily. "What can I say? I'm just trying to live it up while I can."

     Live it up while I can. Exactly the reason Liam had come tonight. "I love that," he said, keeping his voice as soft as he could without being drowned out by the music.

     Jamie bit his lip, and Liam realized with an excited jerk in his chest that there was something flirty in his calm smile. "That, and I'm a sucker for the guys this place brings in."

    He looked deliberately at Liam as he said it.

     "I think . . ." Liam said, returning the grin, "I'm starting to see the appeal."

     "First time, then?" Liam nodded, and Jamie scoffed. "Won't be your last."

     If he would find boys like Jamie every time he came, this most certainly would not be his last.

     "So," Jamie mused, "am I ever gonna get your name?"

      Had he not said it yet? Smooth as fuck. "Liam," said Liam.

     Jamie furrowed his eyebrows and, pointing to his ear, said, "What?"

     "Liam," he repeated, louder this time to avoid being masked by the music. Still, however, it seemed that Jamie couldn't hear, because he beckoned Liam closer. Liam leaned forward and said his name a third time. It was when Jamie said "What?" again, and Liam caught sight of a teasing smile, that he realized what Jamie was doing.

     He decided to play along, leaning in so that his lips were right by Jamie's ear, and repeated his name one more time.

     "Ah," Jamie said as if he hadn't heard the first time, leaning back just far enough to look into Liam's eyes. "Liam. Got it." Something about the way he said the name sent a shiver down Liam's spine, and Jamie seemed to notice, because he was laughing slightly when he lifted his fingers to fix the collar of Liam's shirt.

     "What a tease," Liam muttered playfully, allowing one of his hands to rest on Jamie's knee as the latter chuckled, looking up at him under dark eyelashes. They stayed there on those stools for a while, leaning close as they made light conversation, flirting relentlessly, Liam's hand slowly inching higher.

     "So, you tired of hanging around the bar yet?" Jamie asked eventually, nodding his head toward the packed floor. And, unlike Freddy, Liam could tell that Jamie most certainly was a good idea, so he said,

     "Absolutely."

     Flashing that flirty smile again, Jamie took Liam's hand and they made their way from the bar together into the throng of bodies. Now that Liam had let go entirely, intoxicated by alcohol and by the boy in front of him, his fears lost in the heat coursing throughout his body at the thought of where tonight could go, he was completely in his element. Dancing was something he was good at, something he enjoyed. It was clearly something Jamie was good at, too, because he looked effortlessly comfortable, and it wasn't long before his arms were laced around Liam's neck, their bodies pressed together.

    And it was hot. Liam felt flushed all over. It seemed impossible to get enough; try as he might've to keep his hands, holding Jamie's lower back, from slipping further, he found himself giving in quickly, and was gratified when he did by Jamie pressing his body even closer. This was what it was like. To be with someone he wanted to be with, so much that he couldn't think of anything else; someone who was crazy sexy and seemed to know exactly how to drive Liam off the fucking walls with nothing but his body. This was not having to fake a thing. This was everything Liam had wanted coming into tonight, and he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to look at a boy the same way after finding out what this was really like.

     It was when Jamie turned around that Liam really lost it. He needed more contact; gripping Jamie's hips, he dipped his head down and pressed his mouth against the exposed skin at the crook of Jamie's neck. That seemed to be it for Jamie, too, because he turned right back around and shoved his hands into Liam's hair and pushed their lips together.

     Liam had to hold back a moan at what felt like years of tension built up and finally, finally released. There he was, making out with an insanely hot guy after too many failed attempts with girls to count. And it confirmed everything he'd already known.

    Liam kissed along Jamie's jaw to his ear, where he muttered the words, "Wanna get out of here?"

     All Jamie did was nod and take Liam's hand, dragging him away from the crowd and out through the exit. "There's a hotel really nearby . . ."

    He led the way, clearly having done this in the past. Before Liam knew it, they'd gotten a single room, made out in the elevator, stumbled down the hall, and fallen into bed. They were shredding clothes so fast, Liam didn't even notice until he was leaning over the bedside to pull a condom packet from his jeans pocket. Then Jamie, the beautiful stranger he'd met not even two hours ago, was beneath him, and . . .

. . . And Liam woke up with a groan.

    Not because of the throbbing pain he felt in his head. He'd been hungover enough times to be used to that. No, he was groaning at the fact that he knew he'd had sex with a super hot guy last night, and that it had been fucking incredible, and he couldn't remember a thing.

    He just remembered that it had been the best sex of his life, because it was sex he'd actually wanted to have. And that the guy, whoever he was, had been really nice and fun to be around. God, he couldn't even remember his name.

     A few features clung in his mind, darting in and out of his memory as though trying to frustrate him. White-blonde hair that felt as nice as it looked. Rosy, unbelievably soft lips. Long, dark eyelashes. A tattoo of a wilting daisy that started between his shoulder blades and continued down to his waist, where it ended in a cluster of shriveled petals. Seriously, he could remember the guy's tattoo in perfect fucking detail, but not what it was like to have sex with him?

     There was another feature he recalled, too. Two eyes of different shades.

     Liam froze where he lay. White-blonde hair. Different-colored eyes. Finally, his brain pieced together what he had been too drunk to care about the night before, and a sense of dread settled in his stomach. It couldn't be.

    Yeah, actually, it really, really could.

    He searched and searched for the name in his head, hoping against hope that it wouldn't be . . .

     Jamie.

    "Holy shit," Liam cursed under his breath, sitting up so fast that he accidentally elbowed the body he hadn't realized was right beside his. The other boy awoke with a start, staring at Liam as if he was crazy.

    "Dude, what the actual fuck was . . . ?" But he broke off as recognition entered his eyes. Quite unlike Liam, who was verging on panic, Jamie laughed disbelievingly, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back into the pillows lazily. "Damn, was I that drunk?"

     Liam ran his hands anxiously through his curly hair, wondering what on Earth he could do to get himself out of this. But there was nothing. He'd gone and given himself away already. "You don't . . . you didn't recognize me? Last night?" he asked tentatively, his panic leaking into his voice.

     "No," Jamie said simply. "Don't think so, at least. I don't remember much. Shame, 'cause I'm pretty sure it was really good."

     "How can you be so casual right now?" Liam couldn't help but blurt, his voice growing shrill. "This is . . . this wasn't supposed to happen!"

    "Sorry to disappoint," Jamie grumbled, and his voice made it clear that he didn't care about whatever crisis was going on in Liam's head. Of course, why would he? He was Jamie fucking Alexander.

    "I -- I have to go," Liam stuttered. He rose quickly from the bed and began pulling his clothes on, all the while asking himself how he could have been such a goddamn idiot.

     The one thing he'd been scared of was seeing somebody from school, somebody who would then have access to the secret he was dying to keep. And what had he done? Gone and fucking slept with someone who he saw every damn day in his calculus class.

    James Alexander wasn't known for being nice. He sure as hell wasn't a person Liam would want to depend on to keep his mouth shut.

     He had to try, though. If the kid had half a conscience in him, maybe there was a chance. "Hey," Liam said hesitantly, turning to look at Jamie, who had shut his eyes. "Please . . . please don't tell anyone about this. I can't . . . please, just keep it between us."

    If Jamie had heard anything, he didn't show it. He just kept sleeping -- or, more accurately, pretending to do so.