Seized by love

Luca Wyland walked up to the door of the nightclub. The sign out front was simple, a neon light that read, simply, “Haze.” He stepped in and found a large room with a black-and-white checkered floor. His heart was hammering in his chest. It was midday, and the sunlight trickled in through the high windows from the upper floor. The stark light highlighted the space’s slightly dingy appearance. Dust motes floated down from the exposed beams above, remnants of the building’s industrial past. Now, it had been transformed into a den of sin and wonder. He shoved his trembling hands into his pockets and tried to steady his nerves with a long breath.

Inside, a solitary man stood behind the bar—though not the one Luca had come to meet. He had been expecting a short, older man with a graying beard and somewhat familiar eyes, so the sight before him was jarring. Luca glanced around, taking in the space that was, technically, his legacy. After a few silent moments, he cleared his throat and spoke.

“Hello,” he managed to say softly, surprised at how shaky his voice sounded even to his own ears. He couldn’t remember ever being this nervous.

Get it together, Luca, he thought to himself as his hands continued to shake.

The bartender jerked upright, startled. He let out a nervous laugh. “Shit, you fucking scared me,” he said, but he flashed Luca a wide, cocky smirk that made Luca’s insides flip. He was even more handsome than Luca could have imagined.

He looked to be around Luca’s age, maybe a little older, with broad shoulders and a tangle of sandy blond hair. He wore no shirt, just jeans and a tool belt, muscles flexing as he worked on something beneath the counter. He looked so perfect, almost like a carved Greek statue, except for his tattoos. His arms were covered in striking black ink—a sleeve on one, a bold tattoo of Roman numerals and a bird on the other. Luca’s gaze lingered, embarrassment prickling his cheeks.

Just because you’re gay, Luca, doesn’t mean he is, he reminded himself, forcing his eyes back to the man’s face. It wasn’t easy; the guy was one of the most beautiful people he had ever seen.

Not that Luca was truly out anyway. His mother and father did not know he preferred men, and he wasn’t sure how they would feel about it. They had strong ambitions for him, as the eldest, though adopted, heir of the Wyland family; he carried many responsibilities. There was a reason he was attending graduate school at Columbia in the fall. He often worried that being gay didn’t fit his parents’ vision for his future. They definitely planned for him to marry Emily Cortland, his lifelong best friend and the daughter of a prominent politician. She was one of the only people who knew he was gay, which made the prospect of marriage even more complicated.

The bartender’s frown deepened as Luca stepped closer. “Sorry, sir, but we’re closed until five. Unless you’ve got business, you should come back then.” He sounded wary, half-crouched as he tightened a wrench. His muscles bulged with each twist of the wrench, and Luca had to struggle not to stare.

“I’m actually looking for Tucker Hanson,” Luca said, taking another step closer. His ears thundered with the sound of his own heartbeat. He hadn’t really thought he’d ever say the name Tucker Hanson out loud—it felt strange on his tongue. He was supposed to hate Tucker.

The man’s expression flickered with confusion and irritation. “He’s the owner, but he’s not in right now. If you’re selling something, you can talk to me.”

Luca bristled, looking down at his designer suit, a little offended that this guy thought he was a traveling salesman. The suit was custom-made, designed just for him—one of a kind. No traveling salesperson would wear something like this. “I’m not selling anything; I need to speak with him about a personal matter.”

“Well, I’m not sure he’ll even be in today. Can I leave him a message?” the man offered. “I usually handle most of the club’s business.”

“No, that’s fine. I can wait for him.” Luca crossed his arms and sat indignantly at the bar. He glanced down at his phone, hoping to find a specific time from Tucker. There wasn’t one—the message read, “See you tomorrow afternoon.” That made Luca even more nervous.

“Sorry, I can’t greet you properly, but I’m trying to fix a broken beer tap,” the man said with a wide grin. “I’m Hardy Wallace, the manager.”

Even this man’s name is sexy, Luca thought. He hated that he had to meet such a gorgeous guy in this tense moment. He’d always dreamed of a rom-com meet-cute. Something like being rescued by a guy, or reaching for the same pastry in a coffee shop. Instead, he was stuck with this tense, awkward introduction and a burly bartender who was nothing like the fantasy.

“I really think you ought to let me take that message. I truly don’t expect Tucker. He rarely stops in.” Hardy was clearly getting more frustrated with the broken tap, though he was doing his best to stay polite. Luca wondered idly about the club’s financial situation. Could they afford the repair? Did Hardy just like fixing things himself?

“I’m Luca Wyland,” he said. His voice still sounded strange to him.

Hardy’s eyes widened in surprise; recognition flickered across his face before he quickly masked it. Clearly, Tucker had spoken about him, which only made the whole encounter even more awkward.

“I can tell by your expression that you know who I am,” Luca added.

“Oh, well, yeah, I… I thought you’d be different,” he explained nervously. Hardy’s eyes travelled up and down Luca’s body now, studying him more closely than before. “Tucker mentioned you. I didn’t realize this was happening today. Honestly, I’m surprised—he told me he’d be busy all evening. His girlfriend’s in town.”

Luca blanched, surprised that Tucker would say that, especially after their conversation the night before. They had talked for over an hour, and both had seemed nervous, even a little excited, about meeting.

“I spoke with him last night,” Luca said, and his heart was pounding even harder. For a moment, he worried he might pass out. Tucker couldn’t possibly have forgotten their meeting. It just didn’t make sense.

Hardy cringed, but Luca went on, hoping he was wrong about Tucker. “He actually told me he would meet me here this afternoon.”

“He didn’t say anything to me.” Hardy looked worried. “Your… Tucker can be forgetful. Do you want me to call him?”

Luca debated for several seconds, then took a long breath. He pulled his shaking hands from his pockets and quickly typed out a message: “What time should I expect you?”

“I’m probably just early,” Luca admitted aloud to Hardy.

Hardy nodded, intensely focused on his task. He clearly wasn’t as interested in looking at Luca as Luca was in looking at him.

“I’m nervous. He didn’t give me a time—just said ‘late tomorrow afternoon.’”

Hardy studied him with an odd expression, then stepped away from the wrench and walked over to the counter in front of Luca. He let out a long sigh before finally speaking. “Knowing Tucker, that could be midnight,” he said sympathetically.

“Would you like a beer or something, kid?” Hardy asked.

Luca shot him an affronted look. That was a step too far, even for someone as handsome as Hardy. He leaned forward, getting directly in Hardy’s face. The other man fought back a laugh.

“Kid, really? You aren’t even much older than me,” Luca said indignantly, studying him again. He couldn’t be thirty. “I’m twenty-four. What are you, twenty-six or twenty-seven?”

“I’m twenty-nine, actually,” Hardy replied, looking smug. “People usually guess older, so I should be flattered.”

Luca laughed awkwardly, suddenly aware of how close Hardy truly was. Only the bar separated them; their faces— their mouths—were just inches apart. Luca found himself torn between slapping Hardy for calling him a child and leaning in to kiss him.

“Still, you are only five years older than me,” Luca shot back, pulling away slightly to break the tension. “In the grand scheme of things, that’s nothing.”

He fidgeted with his hands, suddenly worried Hardy might think he was hitting on him—which was not his intention at all. He didn’t know anything about this man, and he’d always found it wrong to hit on straight men. Luca had been around Hardy for less than ten minutes, but something about him got under his skin in a way he’d never experienced. The man was so attractive, yet his indifference—and apparent ignorance of who Luca was—made him infuriating. Luca had spent his life surrounded by people who, upon hearing his last name, practically bowed to him. This guy didn’t even seem to notice his designer suit.

“Five years is a lifetime… trust me,” Hardy added, oddly serious. He turned back to the wrench again, bending over the bar to work on the tap. Luca couldn’t help but stare at his ass. Hardy’s tight jeans and belt left little to the imagination. He looked really fucking good. Hardy turned the wrench again, trying to tighten whatever he was trying to fix.

“FUCK!” Hardy suddenly screamed. The next few seconds unfolded in slow motion. The wrench clattered to the ground with a deafening thud, and the tap burst free, spraying wildly as it flailed through the air. A high-pressure jet of beer hit Luca straight on, drenching him and his designer suit in seconds.

“Oh my god!” Luca screamed, now soaked and looking like a drowned rat. He sputtered as the taste of cheap light beer flooded his mouth, then spat it out and glanced at his reflection in the club’s mirrored back wall. “This is disgusting.”

“Wow,” Hardy cried, eyes widening. His face was contorted, and he was clearly trying not to laugh at the absurd situation. “I am so sorry.”

“This is not funny.” He cried, but his own body soon exploded with unbidden laughter. He knew he looked ridiculous, and objectively, the situation was hysterical.

“You should have warned me!” Luca’s tone shifted back to fury. “This is a three-thousand-dollar suit!”

“I’m sorry, your majesty,” Hardy replied, the nickname dripping with sarcasm. This made Luca even angrier. He wasn’t some pompous brat. “I didn’t know it would do that.”

“Well, it’s ruined my clothes!” Beer dripped off Luca, making a large puddle on the checkered floor of the club. “Who is paying the dry cleaning bill?” Panic welled up inside him, and his anger quickly faded.

“I don’t even care.” He admitted voice shaking. “I just... I was already so nervous, and I look like this.” Tears pricked his eyes as he looked at Hardy, a mix of frustration and embarrassment on his face.

“I should have known. It soaked my shirt earlier, but I never imagined there’d be that much pressure.” Hardy looked genuinely concerned as he finally shut off the rogue tap. “I’m calling a real repair guy now.”

“I guess I’ll have to head back to my hotel and change,” Luca said sadly. He wasn’t sure he could face Tucker a second time—after all, Tucker was the father who had abandoned him and his mother twenty-three years ago.

“Let’s get you dried off,” Hardy said gently. “Come on, I think I have some spare clothes.”