Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
He crumpled the form in his hand without thinking. No one should be touching Azariah.
No one but him.
Jesus. Enough!
He pushed away from his desk and stood but in his haste he scattered his papers and tipped over the bottle of water.
“Shit.” As fast as he could, he moved the forms out of the way of the growing spill, shaking the wet papers off in an effort to dry them faster. He needed paper towels or tissues but there were none nearby. Then he remembered he’d shoved the napkin from lunch into his pocket. He pulled it out, but just as he was about to dab at the stain he saw writing scribbled on the back.
A phone number.
Suddenly, his fingers grew numb and his mouth dried. Only one person could have written their number on his napkin.
Azariah.
Connelly’s pulse thundered in his ears, all the events of the day rushing past in the blur of color and emotion, but he was only left with one thing.
His desire.
Knowing it was probably the stupidest thing he’d ever do, he logged into the police database and did a search of the number. Within minutes Azariah’s information popped up on the screen, along with his current address.
Maybe it was risky. Maybe it was foolish. But Connelly wanted, for once, to do something for himself. Something that filled him with excitement, gave him a rush that proved he was alive.
He was fucking alive.
It was time to start living.
Chapter Nine
It was close to three in the morning by the time Z stumbled into his apartment building. He’d worked over as many of the customers as he could. Earned a fat wad of tips too, thank God.
The stupid cloud of disappointment that had settled over him when Hot Fudge disappeared had stuck with him for the rest of the night. He hadn’t been able to shake it, not even when he’d had a crisp fifty pressed into his palm from a guy in a sharp suit. Only years of practice at hiding his true feelings had let him get through the night successfully.
On the train ride home, he’d called himself all kinds of names—dumbass being at the top of the list. That giddy feeling he’d tried to ignore during the performance had nothing on the ache of loss and the heat of embarrassment. What had he expected? Hot Fudge was a fucking straight-acting detective. There was no way in hell he’d be interested in Z with his over-the-top style and flamboyant gestures.
The guy was way too conventional and uptight. Just seeing Connelly at the club had been shocking. He’d stuck out more than a drag queen at a brit milah.
Z shouldn’t have been surprised when the detective left. Obviously, the kiss they’d shared hadn’t meant a damn thing. He wouldn’t be hearing from Hot Fudge and regretted ever giving him his number.
But as he pushed through the doors and spotted the tall, slim figure leaning against the wall, he stalled just inside.
Connelly looked up and gave a weak wave. “I promise I’m not stalking you.”
“How’d you know where I live?”
One corner of that Cupid’s bow mouth tipped up. “Detective.”
“Right.” Z scrunched his face. “What are you doing here?”
“To tell you the truth, I have no fucking clue.”
Something twisted in Z’s chest and he took a step closer. “I saw you there tonight.” Z let that hang to see where Connelly would take it.
Connelly sighed and it sounded half-filled with longing. “Raoul’s plan to get me laid on my birthday.”
“But you left.”
He brought a palm over one side of his face. “Couldn’t stand to see you with other men. I’m an idiot.”
The confession unlocked dreams in Z he hadn’t even realized were sealed away and the majority of his reservations disintegrated.
He frowned. “I’m not the guy you want if you’re the jealous sort.”
The laugh Connelly let out was kind of bitter. “I’m not sure I have a choice in the matter.”
“So what are you asking for, Hot Fudge?” Z held his breath and waited.
“Anything you’ll give me.”
For the first time in forever, Z wanted something he couldn’t have, something more than his usual fuck and run. But he didn’t do relationships. And for good reason, he wouldn’t let anyone have that much control over him. He remembered all too well what love had done for his mother. Not a damn thing.
But sex? Yeah, sex he could do.
It didn’t matter that he’d been resigned to forgetting Connelly’s existence. He hadn’t counted on the guy showing up on his doorstep looking so hot.
Plastering on a smile he still didn’t feel, Z sauntered forward. He prayed the light caught the spikes on his heels and his makeup hadn’t melted.
“I’m not going to be your dirty little secret.”
“I know.” His gaze swept Z from head to toe. “You look amazing.”
The compliment fluttered in his belly, but Z ignored it. “I’m on the third floor. Come on.”