Drawing the shortest straw, Fin sets out to prove his theory; polyamory is genetic. He has the genetic anomaly already, so why was he so nervous? He has everything working for him to make his dreams come true.
Monty, Drake and Gabe think they could be the men Fin needs to complete the task. Of course convincing him of that could be a little hard.
All they have to do is show their little science nerd what he's been missing.
What the fuck am I doing here? Fin made his way into the club, barely fitting between the two muscle-bound bouncers. Oh yeah, that’s right; I’m taking one for the team. Biting the bullet. And every other term and cliché he could think of.
He drew the short stick.
The rules of the experiment were clear. Go inside Naughty Nights, find some of the biggest men, since that was what Fin desired most, and get laid. It was all in the name of science. Or, well, that’s what he told himself.
Fin had just received his first grant in genetic research. With the help of three of his best friends, Fin wanted to prove polyamory existed. That it was ingrained in the genetics of some people.
So why am I at this club, again?
Of all of their friends, he was the one mostly likely to fit the criteria. It was a long shot. He admitted as much. The idea that some people had the proclivity of needing more than one partner to fulfill them was a daunting concept.
So here he was.
Standing in a club.
Lost and nervous.
“Hey, sweet thang. You looking to party?” a woman asked, trailing her finger across his shoulders as she circled around him.
Fin cleared his throat and swallowed roughly. The woman was repulsive. He was sure she was old enough to be someone’s grandmother. Between her smoke-addled voice and her gaudy make-up, it’d take more than one pair of beer goggles to fuck her.
“Sorry ma’am. Not my type,” he said, trying to be as polite as possible.
“Not your type? Sugar,” she leaned in. The smell of stale cigarettes and alcohol made his stomach lurch. “I’m everyone’s type. Why don’t you buy me a drink, and we’ll talk some.”
“I don’t think so. Thanks anyway.” Fin tried to move away from the wretched woman.
“Wait, Sugar.” She grabbed his hand.
“Mabel.” A deep, seductive voice filled the too-small space between the woman and Fin. “What are you doing in here? I thought we told you never to come back.” The owner of the voice, tall, dark, and yummy, unhooked her hand from Fin’s. Two men, just as big and just as delicious, stood on either side of his rescuer.
Fin sucked in a breath.
His dick hardened.
Biting his lip, Fin held back the groan threatening to spill out. They had to be the hottest guys he’d ever seen.
Stepping back from everyone, he watched as two of the men walked the persistent woman out of the club. The man who had spoken stepped toward him, holding out his hand. “Sorry about that. Mabel is a few cans short of a six-pack. Can I buy you a drink?”
Fin took his hand. His grip was strong, confident. “Thanks. I’d, um, I’d like that,” he said, licking his parched lips.
“Great.” His new friend smiled. “My name is Monty. The other two guys are Drake and Gabe.”
“My name is Fin.” He was nervous. His palms were sweating now. His heart pounded. “So, uh, she do that often?”
Monty laughed. The sound was deep and rumbled in Fin’s chest. His dick jumped against the front of his pants.