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 shoved Connelly’s shoulder again. “Hey. No sleeping, Hot Fudge.”
Connelly grumbled, rolled to his side facing Z and slipped an arm around his waist. “Shh.”
Z trembled. It wasn’t real. It would never be more than a delusion. But it was warm. It was safe. It was more than a one-night stand. This wasn’t what he’d planned when he’d brought Connelly up to his apartment, but he couldn’t fight it anymore. He was just a man after all, he couldn’t fight forever. Not when the pull to give in was so goddamn strong.
He scooted down until he was resting beside Connelly, staring at his sleeping face, so peaceful and still. There was so much life written in the tiny wrinkles and subtle scars, Z wanted to trace each one but held back. It wouldn’t do to wake him. He deserved a good nap. He had made Z see stars, after all.
Before he knew it, his hand was curled into Connelly’s and he was fast asleep.
* * *
Z whipped out his arm to smack his clock but the alarm didn’t turn off. He grumbled and blinked open his eyes. Crap. It wasn’t the alarm. His phone was ringing and it was all the way across the room on his dresser. He swore and dragged himself out of bed to pick it up.
“What?” His eyes settled on his reflection in the full-length mirror on the wall and the first thing he noticed were the bruises. His blood heated, remembering just how he’d gotten each of them, especially the bite mark on his neck. His cock twitched and he pressed a palm to it.
“Damn, were you still sleeping? It’s almost eleven. Get your ass to the club. We moved up rehearsal, remember?”
Z glanced at the time on his cell. Shit, it was 10:46. “Sorry. I guess I forgot to set the alarm last night.”
Ansel’s laugh made him wince and Z had the urge to strangle him.
“Does that have anything to do with the reason you were off your game last night?” Ansel asked.
“Fuck off.” Z rubbed his eyes. He still had his makeup on, and a strip of fake lashes came off on his hand. He flicked it into the trash and peeled off the matching piece from his other eye.
“I knew it.”
At the triumph in Ansel’s voice Z’s stomach twisted. He flicked a glance to the rumpled bedsheets. Connelly must have left early because there wasn’t a trace of the man anywhere. Stupidly, Z was disappointed.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Z clicked off before tossing the cell onto the dresser.
It took less than twenty minutes to shower and get dressed. He didn’t shave or put on his face, which meant he sported a patchy five o’clock shadow that made him look like a teenager. He hated it, but he didn’t want to be even later. He could shave at the club before his shift at the diner.
With sneakers on so he could jog if needed and his heels in a bag, he headed out to catch the bus. He got off at the station a block from the club and hoofed it the rest of the way.
“You’re late,” Tam said.
“Be happy I showed up.”
“About fucking time, Sleeping Beauty.” Ansel, the ass, wore his customary smirk.
“If I’m Sleeping Beauty you’re fucking Goldilocks.”
“Hell no.”
“Yep, little bitch sleeps with all the bears until she finds one that’s just right.”
“Fuck off. Goldilocks was a goddamn brat. I want to be a princess. I’m Cinderella.”
Z sat on the edge of the stage to change his shoes. “I’m the only princess in the room. Envy me, bitches.”
Tam laughed while Ansel and Lirim smiled.
“Someone is in an awfully good mood.” Ansel’s tone was smug.
Z hid his face behind a wall of hair as he slipped on his practice heels.
“Holy shit, what is that, a hickey?” Tam asked.
Fuck. He’d forgotten about the bite mark.
“Who was it? I want all the details.” Ansel was entirely too chipper this morning.
“Why? Fitch not satisfying you?”
“Oh, he does just fine. Don’t try to distract me.”
“I’m not going into details, you perv. Go have sex with your boyfriend instead of worrying about who’s fucking me.”
“Was he hot?” Lirim asked.
“Definitely.”
“How hot are we talking? Spank-bank hot?” Ansel asked.
Z pictured the stern face and the oddly warm hazel eyes and felt his belly flutter. He kicked himself for the involuntary reaction.
“What-dreams-are-made-of hot. One-taste-and-you’ll-never-be-the-same hot.”
“Damn.”
His thoughts exactly. Too bad it’d been a onetime thing.
Chapter Twelve
“Where’s your better half?” Poised at the edge of the table ready to take Connelly’s order, Azariah was, once again, dressed as an ordinary person. His hair was pulled back in a tight bun and his face was makeup-free. But all Connelly could see was the rock star who’d owned the stage with a freedom he wished he possessed.
The same man who’d fallen apart in his arms, begging to hear his name over and over again. The same man who tasted like heaven and whose cock was a work of art. Every nerve seemed to be reaching out to Azariah across the empty space, like they would wither without contact. Connelly fought it by flipping his phone around in his hand.