Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
But the urge didn’t stop the irrational fear he’d been fighting since their kiss. Hell, before that even, since the moment he saw that face. With his stomach in knots, he tried to reason it out, repeating Meg’s lectures. Attraction was a chemical reaction in his brain, gender wasn’t binary, and sexuality could be fluid. There was no reason to freak out just because he suddenly found himself drawn to another man.
The logical arguments helped, a little.
Leaning against the bar, he watched them dance. Even without the lights, the makeup, and the costumes, it was still hot. No one else was around except the four guys onstage. They were so talented, the way they moved, precisely hitting every note for extra emphasis.
And his dancer, wow.
Shit. When had he started to think of the guy as his dancer?
He didn’t even know the blond’s name.
His dancer looked over his shoulder and Fitch swallowed. Christ, he was in trouble.
For a beat, he debated walking out and never looking back, but he couldn’t seem to get his feet unglued from the floor. Something unnerving surged through his veins along with the repeated mantra. He wasn’t gay.
I’m not gay.
Really? Then why was his entire body pushing him toward this guy? If he had the same urge about a girl, he wouldn’t hesitate to make a move. Granted, it was weird as fuck because he’d never been into men before, but gender wasn’t the only deciding factor in attraction. Thanks to Meg, he had a greater understanding of the world outside his hetero-view. Maybe he was bi, though that didn’t seem right. But who really cared which label he used?
The attraction to his dancer was too strong to ignore. He’d made a promise to himself when Sara left him. He was tired of living for everyone else, tired of pleasing people just to dodge some discomfort. Christ, he’d wasted six months with Sara because he couldn’t tell her goodbye for fear she’d be crushed. And in the end, she’d left him because he refused to force his father into retirement and take over the company.
No. No more letting life happen to him. It was time he started participating, taking action. And there was definitely a craving under all this angst. Did it matter that the person he craved had male parts?
He wished like hell he had a cigarette. No such luck. He’d quit smoking two years ago when Meg brought home her research paper on lung cancer and begged him to stop. It had helped that his girlfriend at the time refused to kiss him after he’d smoked. Quitting had been the easy choice.
He took a breath and consciously relaxed his shoulders. He’d just ask the guy’s name and introduce himself properly. Maybe, if things went smoothly, he’d offer his number. ’Cause that was what he’d do if it were a girl.
But his dancer wasn’t a girl.
Which was why his heart jackhammered. When the song ended, the blond flipped his hair out of his face and met Fitch’s gaze. The heat in Fitch’s groin shot up to his wild heart and back down to his toes. It was not the flirtatious look a woman might send a man. It was a direct, in-your-face, dominating glare. It said What the fuck do you want? and When can we get naked? all at the same time.
Fitch tried not to fidget but failed. His pesky cock was bent at a painful angle and he had to adjust his pants. The dancer noticed. His precise blond brows rose and that arrogant smirk from last night returned. Half tease, half challenge, and it was just as mind-blowing without the lipstick. Was this how guys flirted with other guys? Usually, he played it light and nonchalant, because he was a big guy and women got nervous around him when he went full-on macho. Instinct told him another guy wouldn’t react the same. Especially since he was still held in an indecipherable stare.
“Just give me a sec. I’ll be right back.” The dancer’s sultry, melodic voice sent shivers down Fitch’s spine and he had to force his heart not to sprout wings and fly away.
He smoothed out his jeans and watched his obsession strut down the stairs and prowl toward him. The dude was not coy or demure, not with his walk or the direct eye contact.
“The club is closed. You shouldn’t be here.” He’d lowered his voice so it became an angry half whisper.
“The door was open.” He studied the guy and noted the differences from the night before. The scent was a big one. His dancer wasn’t wearing the perfume Fitch hadn’t been able to escape. Nor was he wearing makeup, and the small bit of scruff on his jaw was disconcerting when paired with the feminine lips and long eyelashes. Confusing but not repulsive. In fact, part of him actually found this unarmored version more appealing.