Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
He glanced at his watch. It was nearly nine o’clock. He hadn’t had any dinner but he didn’t feel hungry. He felt numb. And angry. Where the fuck was Jack?
His cell phone rang and Will’s heart flip-flopped. Without looking at the Caller ID, he answered. “Hello? Jack?”
“No,” the person on the other end said slowly. “Who is Jack? Is he the one you had plans with tonight, eh?”
Will recognized Paul’s voice. Embarrassed, he admitted, “Yeah.”
“Well, maybe you can bring him too. Francois has four tickets. I thought I’d give you another chance. God knows when you’ll get another one. Want to come to Torch with us? You can bring your new boy toy, I promise I won’t be jealous.” Paul laughed, a long, musical trill along a scale.
“No. No thanks,” Will said dejectedly.
“If you change your mind, we aren’t leaving for another half hour or so. Francois is dying to meet you, darling.” Again the musical peal of laughter and then Paul rang off.
Will tried once more, pushing the speed dial for Jack’s number. After the fourth ring it went to voice mail. The bastard, he thought, anger rising at last to obliterate the sadness. He could at least call me. Let me know what the hell is going on. He owes me at least that.
Anger felt better than sorrow, a lot better. Grabbing onto the emotion like a lifeline, Will again flipped open his phone. “Paul? If it’s not too late, I’d like to take you up on that invitation. Just me, though. Jack can’t make it.”
Chapter 13
The room pulsed with a techno beat, colored lights flashing in time to the music. The place was packed—wall-to-wall men, most clad in denim, silk or leather, some with no shirts, showing off their hard bodies to any and all who cared to ogle them.
Will felt at once at home and entirely alien. Had it really only been a few weeks since Jack had entered his life, capturing his emotions and stealing his heart? There was nothing particularly special about this club, except that it was the hot spot this week or this month.
Next month a new place would crop up, or an old place would be recycled and all these beautiful people would stampede off in that direction, eager to be on the cutting edge of the latest trend.
Paul was wending his way toward Will, his hands held high, some kind of fruity martini in each. Francois was just behind him. Francois was swarthy, his hair dark and cut long, his eyes nearly black in an olive-toned face. He was good-looking, in a desultory, dangerous sort of way, his mouth twisted in a perennial sneer some might regard as sexy.
They stood together, watching the crowd as they sipped their drinks. “Francois and I are going to check out the pit in a while. Want to come?” Paul laughed, adding, “No pun intended.”
Will managed a smile, though he didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he was in the mood for random sex with strangers. On the other hand, maybe it was just what the doctor ordered. He downed his drink and said, “Next round is on me. More of the same?”
“No more for us, thanks,” Francois interjected, his accent rich and pleasing. Paul looked at him with adoration as he continued, “Paul and I want to savor the moment, you understand, cher. To keep our blood free from too much alcohol, if you comprehend me.”
“What he means,” Paul said with a sly grin, “is we want to be able to get it up, eh, Francois?” He nudged Francois in the ribs with his elbow. Francois looked momentarily confused but then smiled and nodded.
“Exactement.” He cupped the crotch of Paul’s tan leather pants.
Paul pressed against his hand, speaking in a loud stage whisper into Will’s ear, “Isn’t he simply fantastique?”
“You two go ahead. Maybe I’ll join you later,” Will said. “I’m going to get another drink.”
He pushed his way to the bar and raised a finger to catch the bartender’s attention. While waiting for his second martini, a man beside him spoke. “I know this sounds like a line, but you have the most beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen.”
Will turned toward the voice, which was low and sensual, the accent British. The man had dark auburn hair and a luxuriant curling red mustache beneath a long, slightly hooked nose. He was probably in his late thirties and wore a tailored jacket of raw pale blue silk over a black silk T-shirt. His eyes were periwinkle blue beneath heavy brows.
“Thanks.” Will smiled. “I love your accent.” The bartender set his drink before him and Will took a sip. How familiar this felt—the old pick-up routine. They’d chat a while about what they did, who they knew, where they’d been. The talk would become increasingly filled with innuendo and sly hints that carried the promise of sex.