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)
“Oh cool, Manhattan?” Tourists then? No one shopped at the Mall unless they didn’t know any better.
The girl scrunched her face. “No, Hudson. We’re from the other side of the river.”
“Jersey girls? What are you doing all the way out here?”
At this, the birthday girl laughed. “To see the Sassy Boyz, of course. You’re famous.”
He warmed at their attention. “I hadn’t realized our reputation reached so far. I’m flattered.” He batted his lashes and waved a hand in a girlish gesture that made the group laugh. He joined them. They were fun and easygoing, but as much as he’d love to sit and gossip with them all night, he needed to pay his rent.
“So who wants to go first?” He slipped the bills off the table and surreptitiously counted them before tucking the pile into the waist of his shorts.
They all giggled. The birthday girl’s eyes darted up to focus on something behind Ansel.
“Hey, big bro,” she said.
“Meg.” The deep timbre shivered down Ansel’s spine.
The warning was so clear in that one single syllable. But the birthday girl didn’t seem to care. Her smile widened, and she looked into Ansel’s eyes with sly calculation.
“He’s first.”
Ansel lifted himself out of the chair in what he hoped was a tantalizing motion and flicked his hair over his shoulder as he spun to face the newcomer.
His breath hitched. Damn, the guy was hot.
A big bear with a strong, square, scruffy jaw and deep-set dark eyes. Older, maybe thirty, but sexy in a way that would only increase with age. He was tall, maybe even taller than Ansel—when he wasn’t wearing heels. He had big shoulders and arms and was clearly fit. He had on a worn blue T-shirt that clung to his upper body and made Ansel’s mouth water.
Most clearly of all, he was not happy about the situation. His mouth was a grim line as he stared down at his sister.
“Hello, handsome,” Ansel said, trying to draw his attention. “Why don’t you sit down?” He gestured to the empty chair.
Their eyes met and his heart stalled.
Normally he loved the thrill of reeling in the straight ones, of never knowing if you’d end up flat on your ass or bent over moaning. But he suddenly felt like he’d just collided with the most dangerous man in the world—and he didn’t like it one bit.
In fact, he was fighting the urge to run for cover. Then the man glanced at Ansel’s mouth and his nostrils flared.
Holy hell.
The temptation to flee morphed into one hot ball of fuck-me-now, and Ansel almost stumbled back with the force of it. Before he could do or say anything, the stranger clenched his jaw and looked back at his sister.
“No.” The stranger’s voice was deep and gravelly like sandpaper, and it sent goose bumps over Ansel’s skin.
“Come on, Fitch. It will be fun, and it’s my birthday,” Meg said.
“Damn it, Meg.”
“Seriously, it’s just a lap dance. It’s not like I’m asking you to kill a puppy.”
“A lap dance—from a guy.”
At his tone, both Ansel’s and Meg’s eyebrows lifted almost like they were connected by some invisible string.
“What, are you suddenly homophobic? Is my only brother a bigot and I somehow missed it for the last seven years?”
Fitch turned a bright shade of red and rubbed his palms over his scruffy jaw. “No, Jesus. I just, ah, fuck.”
“It’s not a big deal,” she countered. “When I came out, you said—”
“Yeah, yeah, okay. Doesn’t have a damn thing to do with this situation, though.” He sighed and pushed a hand through the mess of dark hair atop his head.
“It’s just a dance, for fun. Please?” Meg continued begging.
“Christ, you’re going to make a good lawyer.”
At his words, Meg grinned. “Love you too.”
Tall, Dark, and Grumpy finally sat in the empty chair, but he didn’t relax. His shoulders remained tense as boulders and he gripped the bottom of the chair so hard his knuckles whitened. Ansel almost laughed because, seriously, the guy acted like he was going to the fucking guillotine. It’s not like Ansel had special powers of persuasion to turn straight men gay—at least not if they didn’t secretly want to be turned. And it wasn’t like he’d bite—unless asked.
Was he really so frightening? This guy could probably lift him over his head and toss him away like a rag doll.
He took a step closer. The man’s eyes locked on to his boot and followed his leg up, up, pausing at his crotch for a fraction of a second, then rising until their eyes locked. Then Fitch’s tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip, and laughing was the last thing on Ansel’s mind.
Maybe the guy wasn’t afraid of him. Maybe Fitch was afraid of himself.
Wasn’t that interesting?
Ansel smirked. Holding eye contact, he gave Dag the signal. The music changed to a familiar thudding cadence and Britney’s breathy moan. He let himself sway to the new beat, moving his hips and raising his arms to lift his hair off the back of his neck.