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)
“Trust me. I know a thing or two about getting drunk. I’ve had more years of practice, newbie.”
Meg scoffed but rested her head on his shoulder as they continued to his Chevy. Tara opened the door and helped him position Meg into the backseat while the rest of the girls piled in afterward.
It was a just after four on Friday morning. He needed to be at the remodel site to check on the progress of the framework by nine. Thirty minutes to get Meg and her friends back to the NJCU campus and tucked in, and another thirty to get back to his apartment. If he was lucky, he’d be in bed by five, which meant he’d get maybe three hours of sleep before he had to start his day.
But the muttered “Best night ever” as he slid into the driver’s side and started the engine made it all worth it. He could handle no sleep if it meant his sister had an awesome birthday. Even when she pestered the crap out of him.
All in all, it had been a successful night. One Meg would remember for a long time with fond memories. He’d done his brotherly duty and even earned some brownie points he could cash in later. And he would.
After that lap dance, Meg owed him big time.
He still couldn’t figure out why he’d been so uncharacteristically drawn to the dancer. Even after the guy’s performance, Fitch hadn’t been able to stop himself from watching him as he’d worked the crowd. The fire of some bizarre jealousy had twisted his gut in knots just thinking about all the other men ogling that hard body, smelling that perfume, dreaming about those lips. It had been a relief to leave, as though removing himself from the situation was the only way to stop himself from wanting to punch someone.
Stupid. He was not fucking gay.
So why had he enjoyed the sway of the dancer’s hips so much, or how he walked in those heels? The way he danced. The way he sometimes looked over his shoulder and their eyes met.
The way he fucking breathed.
He was getting hard again. Damn it. He smoothed out his jeans and flipped on the radio. When the soothing melody of a Phillip Phillips hit didn’t cool his libido, he rolled down his window and let the breeze do the work.
He absolutely would not think about the dancer anymore. No fucking more. Christ.
All he needed was a shower. Yeah, that would help. Every breath he took contained little hints of the sweet floral perfume. It was like the scent had hijacked his cock and balls—every time he sniffed, a spark shot down his shaft.
Okay, seriously. That was the last time he’d think about it.
God fucking damn it.
* * *
“Let me suck your cock.” The twink Ansel had picked up after his shift at The Vibe licked the shell of his ear. They moved together on the dance floor of another club still packed with people.
They’d stopped serving drinks about an hour ago, but it hadn’t fazed anyone, especially Ansel. He was still mostly drunk and high and feeling no pain. No pleasure either, really. He was finally numb. The hot piece grinding into his thigh probably wouldn’t like that at all. He bent to paint a kiss over the kid’s lips and squeezed his ass.
The twink wore expensive jeans and a tight tank that read Yes, Your Gaydar Is Accurate. His bleached-blond hair was cut short and spiked with product. He reeked of cologne way out of Ansel’s price range and had an air of immaturity about him. On any other night, Ansel wouldn’t have looked twice at the kid. He was too young, too privileged, and too easy. But tonight Ansel just wanted to get off, get lost, and forget.
Although so far his tactic wasn’t working. Every other second that fucking lap dance popped into his mind and made him crazy all over again.
He tugged the kid closer so he could talk into his ear. “My buzz is wearing off. One of my friends has weed.”
With a quick survey of the crowd around them, he tried to find Lirim’s rainbow or Z’s black silhouette. They’d arrived together after dolling up at The Vibe, but as soon as he’d locked eyes with the cutie still clutching his hand, he’d waved goodbye. Now, he couldn’t figure out where they’d gone. There were too many bodies and too many distractions.
Drawing Ansel’s attention again, the kid smiled and shook his head. “I’ve got something better.” He dug around in the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a dime bag with two small blue pills and two capsules filled with white powder.
With a gleeful smile, the kid opened the bag and took out one of each. He placed them both on his tongue and then pulled Ansel in for a kiss. Ansel fucking hated swallowing pills dry, but for this he’d deal. He’d never taken Molly before, mostly because he couldn’t afford it.