Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
I swirled the burgundy liquid in my glass, dragging my teeth over my bottom lip as the imagery came at me like a firestorm. Me on my knees, my hands tied, my mouth on his cock, and— Oh, geez. Chubby alert. I crossed my legs and shifted on the barstool, suddenly aware of Gray’s amused stare.
“What?”
He raised his brows. “You tell me. You’ve got a funny smile on your face like you’re dreaming up a scene you know will make your director crazy. Want to share?”
No fucking way.
“It’s nothing,” I bluffed.
I sipped my Pinot as I stared out at the blue lights of the pool and LA cityscape visible from the backyard of Gray and Justin’s steel-and-glass contemporary home. A warm May breeze wafted through the open bank of glass windows. I supposed I’d shamelessly copied the same indoor-outdoor setup at my own house.
My view was skewed toward the Getty on one side and a fringe of the Pacific on the other, but there were lights everywhere. It made me feel connected to the city…in tune with the pulse somehow. That was something I knew Gray understood.
The rhythm and friction of flashing lights and whirling traffic were like signposts for countless stories of love, loss, adventure, mayhem. It was ugly and dirty…yet surprisingly beautiful sometimes. Like tonight. Twilight divided the sky in shades of the darkest blues to pale pinks and oranges.
I gestured to the horizon to comment on the impressive swath of color, but Gray beat me to it.
“Fine. Have it your way.” He took a bite and continued around a mouthful of pizza. “I hope the weather stays mellow this weekend. Charlie commissioned a vodka ice sculpture for the engagement party. He’s been freaking out over where to put it in your yard. Apparently, it’s huge.”
Oh…I didn’t want to talk about the engagement party. It was going to be hell. Literally.
“Sounds about right. Go big or go home.” I lifted my glass in a mock toast and took a healthy gulp.
“Mmm. You know, just to clear the air…he told me he hired that actor as a bodyguard or something like that.”
And that was where I almost choked to death.
I set my wine down and covered my mouth before I sprayed it all over my pizza and Gray’s. Then for reasons unknown, I fell into an old ugly habit…and lied.
“I’m the one who told you about the actor.”
“No, it was Charlie.”
“It was me. And I’m sure I mentioned Char’s bodyguard idea,” I said, clearing my throat. “He went overboard for sure. Actors and producers have drinks all the time.”
Gray widened his eyes, a sure sign he was about to call bullshit. “Sure, but I think he was more concerned about the perception that you might be in a relationship with the guy your director fired.”
“We had sex, Gray. There’s no relationship.”
“Why are you so defensive?”
“I’m not defensive.” But I sounded like a petulant teenager to my own ears, so I added, “It happened weeks ago and it was never a big deal, but Charlie—”
“Stop.” Gray fixed me with a cold stare. “Don’t lie to me. There’s no reason for it. I don’t care if you’re in a relationship with an actor, a magician, or a garbageman. In fact, I would love that for you.”
“That’s nice, but I’ll remind you that you didn’t say that about Giorgio.”
Wow. I had no idea why I brought up Giorgio. And neither did Gray. He frowned, shaking his head in dismay or disgust.
“Giorgio was a fucking idiot and a user.”
“True. But he was hot.”
“He had an unattractive personality,” Gray snorted. “You deserve better than that.”
“Hmph.” I peered at him over the rim of my wineglass, willing myself not to get maudlin. “Thanks, but I’m not in the market for a relationship. They’re too much work, and I don’t have the time. Besides, I’m at a point…the almost-fifty point…where the men I might be interested in want my money and my connections. I’m Methuselah in gay years. Guys our age or older want to compare baggage for kicks and giggles. I don’t want to hear about anyone else’s tawdry past or their terrible exes. It no longer amuses me.”
Gray burst into his trademark contagious laughter. I smiled, though I knew he was laughing at me. I didn’t mind. I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. Fuck, it was so easy to be with him. I’d give anything to go back in time and—
“Hey, boys.”
Screech! Fantasy over.
Justin Cuevas, rock star, international heartthrob, Grammy-award-winning songwriter, People magazine’s Sexiest Man of the Year, and my ex’s fiancé, waltzed into the kitchen.
Things to know about Justin: He was a sinfully handsome man—lean and sinewy with olive skin, longish brown hair, and a now-famous mischievous grin. Fans swooned at the sight of him, threw their thongs onstage, and sang along to every line of his songs with tears streaming down their faces. More significantly, in my opinion anyway…he was the man Gray wanted to spend the rest of his life with.