Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
His heart hammered so loud it threatened to drown out Liam’s response. As he waited for Liam to shake his hand, he speared him with the most imploring look he could muster. His entire life came down to this one moment. Liam could either make or break him—literally. If Liam outed him, Randy would tear him in two, brothers or not.
A fucking dance teacher, of course. It jived perfectly with everything he’d learned about the man on Saturday.
“Uh, sure.” Liam pressed his lips together as he assessed Tate. Finally, after Tate’s arm started to cramp, Liam grasped his hand. “Thanks for coming.”
Randy’s eyes bugged out as their hands met.
Tate cleared his throat, drawing Liam’s attention away from his idiot brother. “I’m Tate, and this is Randy. If you can show us the space and tell us your vision, we’ll get started on measurements and get you a quote so we can get out of your hair.”
A flash of sadness crossed Liam’s face, but he cleared it before saying, “Sure, follow me.”
Nothing remained of the open, hungry man Tate had met—touched, tasted—Saturday night. He kept his face neutral as he walked them toward the first locker room area.
His nerves hadn’t eased even though it seemed, for now, Liam wouldn’t spill his secret. Keeping his eyes off Liam’s ass as he followed him through the studio proved a near-impossible task. Could his damn shorts be any tighter or shorter? And that shirt? For fuck’s sake, the workout tank might as well have been painted on his sleek body.
The definition in those arms…
Tate couldn't help but wonder how it’d feel to run his tongue over the satiny skin housing those muscles.
A sharp elbow to his side had him stumbling. “What the fuck?” he mouthed to Randy.
Randy jerked his head in Liam’s direction before rubbing his hands together as though cleaning them. “Wash your hands,” he mouthed without making a sound.
For fuck’s sake.
He flipped Randy off.
Wash his hands? This was his older brother. The person he’d grown up with his entire life. The person he was closest to despite how often Randy pissed him off. And the person who couldn’t shake a gay man’s hand and worried Tate should wash his hands after touching Liam.
This was his life.
Was it any wonder he lived in the deepest, darkest closet?
“Hey, Rand, I think I left my tape measure in the car. Could you grab it for me?”
Randy frowned. The outline of the tape measure was obvious as hell in Tate’s back pocket. “I think it’s right th—”
“In the trunk? Yeah, I think so.” He slapped Randy’s shoulder—hard. “Thanks, man.”
Randy’s eyes narrowed, then popped wide. A grin crossed his face. “Oh, shit, yeah, you’re right. It is in the trunk. I’ll just, uh, go get it,” he said as he walked backward toward the door. Before leaving, the idiot turned. “Thanks, bro.”
Tate shut his eyes.
“Smooth.” Liam leaned against the locker room door, folding his arms across his smooth chest. “Let me guess, he’s relieved to get the hell out of here so he doesn’t catch the gay.” He fluttered his hands up by his head.
Sick as he felt, Tate couldn’t help but snort a laugh. “Something like that.”
Liam grunted. “Lovely. Who doesn’t love a little homophobia first thing in the morning?”
“Listen, Lux… Liam, I, uh…”
“So, I take it you’re not out.”
Tate pressed his lips together. Not out. Those words made it sound so simple when the reality was much more complicated.
“Okay.” Liam pushed off the wall. “I get it.” He walked like a panther, with smooth, shifting muscles and animal heat. Without a flicker of unease or nerves, he stepped into Tate’s personal space. They were practically chest to chest.
Tate stiffened. His heart rate skyrocketed, and he flicked a reflexive glance out the window. Randy stood at the car, smoking and staring into the distance, facing away from the studio.
“Hey.”
He looked back at Liam. The man stood too close. He was too hot, too sexy, too everything. Tate’s dick thickened.
Shit.
He thought of the dead possum he’d seen outside his trailer last night. It’d smelled of rot and had maggots crawling all over it.
Even that wasn’t enough to keep his cock from getting excited. Liam stood too damn close.
“Hey,” Liam said again. “You’re really freaked out.”
Scowling, Tate shook his head. “I’m not. I’m good.”
The studio owner frowned. “I won’t out you, Tate. I would never out you or anyone.”
He met Liam’s gaze, and the empathy reflected on him had him swallowing a hard lump in his throat. “This town…”
A sad smile crossed Liam’s face. “I know.”
“No, you don’t. My boss told me you had just moved here. This town is not friendly to people like… us, say us… you.” He couldn’t even claim his sexuality in front of another gay man.
“I’m not scared.” Liam straightened to his full height, maybe five inches shorter than Tate.