I was not having fun.

Sure, the artwork on display was cool, though I didn’t understand half of what people said about the strokes used or whatever. The music was eclectic, and I liked some of it, but could do without electronica. And some of the spoken word was downright weird ... I didn’t need to know that much information about the performer’s yearning for sex -- and the graphic descriptions -- as told in such a public forum. Was that a thing?

Marco had insisted that I not embarrass him and wear something other than a T-shirt and old, frayed, washed out blue jeans -- my attire of choice, usually -- which meant I was now wearing black jeans and a purple short-sleeved shirt that I’d forgotten I owned, since my brother had dug into the back of my closet to find these items. Both articles of clothing were snug, and as the room was stifling with all the bodies around me -- I ran hot, anyway -- I was sweating through everything.

It didn’t help that some of these folks were eyeing me like I was a Lamborghini Veneno. I hadn’t come here to get laid, but I had enough offers for a quickie to last a week, if I were so inclined. And I wasn’t, unless a certain someone offered, which was the road to bad decisions.

Speaking of the host, I hadn’t spoken to Wayne since he’d greeted me at the front door after Marco and Brian had barreled past us and disappeared upstairs to do God knew what. Marco was spending the weekend here and would return home on Monday night as he had to work on Tuesday morning, bright and early.

Wayne had been dressed in a dark red shirt made of a slinky material that seemed to shimmer in the light. It had clung to his body as he moved, and I had to will myself not stare at the part of his chest that was bared, since the top two buttons were undone. His pants were black leather and hugged his legs in distracting ways. The eyeliner and sparkly eyeshadow around his gray eyes made them shine, and his smile had punched me in the gut. Again. The whole package left me off-kilter for the rest of the evening, and it had been downhill from there.

And now, I was drinking a soda and forcing myself to be pleasant and not smack the daylights out of the fool standing in front of me with his hands on my arm, uninvited.

“So, what do you do, tall, dark and handsome? I bet it’s something really hot and sweaty, huh?” Seriously? This was pickup material?

I removed the “leech” from my arm, none too gently. “I’m a mechanic.”

“Oooh, I have a broken tailpipe I bet you could fix right up.” He patted his ass and leered. God, no.

I stared at the dude, who was almost my height and wearing a baby blue Lycra-type material bodysuit that was a perfect match to his hair, and sighed.

“That’s not my specialty, sorry.” Take a hint, doofus.

The guy gave an affected laugh. “Oh, you. You know what I mean. There’s a bedroom upstairs with our names on it.”

“Not. Interested.”