Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
RHYS
“What are you doing?”
I jump clear out of my skin, yelping loudly as I spin around. Hayden is behind me, wearing a smirk that is partially amused and partially concerned.
“Nothing,” I answer, stepping away from the stage curtains I was peeking around, trying to get a view of the club’s front of house.
Hayden knows me too well for me to fool him. “You’re looking for Angel, aren’t you?”
I cross my arms over my chest and lift my chin. “No.”
Hayden lifts an eyebrow at me.
“Okay, fine, I was,” I huff, stomping past him and back toward the dressing room.
He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel the disappointment rolling off him as he follows close behind.
The dressing room isn’t empty, thank god. The second the other performers spot Hayden, they drag him into the middle of their circle for a little flirting. It gives me a minute to sort myself the fuck out.
I smooth out a few flyaways in my hair, then hit them with a blast of hairspray. Then I add a coat of sparkly lip gloss over the color I applied earlier. All the while, my attention is glued to my phone, as if I can will the screen to light up with a notification from Angel.
When Hayden finally extricates himself from his admirers and drops into the chair next to mine, I ignore him. He doesn’t speak, just watches and waits, knowing I’ll crack sooner rather than later.
And I do. “I don’t know what you have against Angel. He’s a literal angel.”
“I don’t have anything against him. He seems like a really nice guy.”
I shoot Hayden a sidelong glance. “So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is you.” He nudges my foot with his.
“What’s wrong with being his friend? I’m allowed to have other friends, Denny.”
Hurt flashes across Hayden’s face, quick enough that anyone who didn’t know him as well as I do would’ve missed it. Hayden’s the golden retriever of our group of friends. He’s always sunshine and smiles, and hardly anything ever gets to him. Sometimes, when I’m being terrible, I forget that he’s got soft, vulnerable spots too.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” I reach across the space between us and take his hand. “You’re my bestie and I love you.”
Hayden quirks a smile. “I know. I love you too.”
I wait for the unspoken “but” that hangs in the air between us. I can see it in his eyes, in the tightness at the edges of his smile.
“What is it?” I say with a resigned sigh. There’s no point in turning away or denying it. I can’t keep fending him off with unfriendly jabs.
“I’m worried about you.”
I pull my hands back and study my nails. The pink ombre is a couple days old now and still looking good. But my nails are a lot safer than letting Hayden see how much I’m worried about myself too.
I double and triple-checked with Angel that he was still coming tonight. And even now, I’m low-key anxious that he’ll cancel last minute again. Honestly, what is up with that? Why do I care whether this random guy from the old neighborhood shows up at the club?
So we’ve been chatting and it’s been fun. So we did a video together and that was fun too. We’re just friends. We can’t be anything more. Why am I acting like a teenager getting all flustered over a first crush?
“I don’t like him,” I say, voice small. “He’s straight.”
“That’s never stopped a gay boy from falling for a straight boy.”
He’s right, obviously. It wouldn’t even be the first time it’s happened to me. Except none of my previous crushes or infatuations have ever felt like this. Those were fleeting, fun, a dizzying high that fizzled quickly. This is… something else entirely.
It’s not only that I can’t stop thinking about Angel. It’s more like I crave him. There’s been an ache lodged in the middle of my chest since we filmed our video and the ache’s only grown bigger and stronger with each passing day .
I want to see him. I want to touch him. I want to sit in his lap and bury myself in him. But I’d settle for just being in the same damn room as him. Anything to ease this thing sitting on my chest and making it difficult to breathe.
It doesn’t help that Sebastian sent me a rough cut of the video. I might have spent most of yesterday watching it on repeat.
The look on Angel’s face during the blowjob scene is utterly priceless. So much obvious pleasure tempered by confusion. The conflicting emotions etched into every twitch of muscle, every deep groan, every heated glance.
If I close my eyes, I can still taste him on my tongue. I can still feel the stretch of my jaw and the way he hit the back of my throat.
Then at the end, when he was fucking me from behind… I hadn’t been able to see his face when we were doing it, and that was probably a good thing. I would’ve come prematurely a second time if I’d seen that look of reverence while he had his massive cock inside me. Like it wasn’t just fucking, not just dick in hole. Angel looked like he was going through a religious experience, one that shook him to the core.
I’ve been telling myself that none of it was real. It was a video and our job is to pretend we’re enjoying ourselves, even if we aren’t. But if I know anything about Angel, it’s that he’s not much of an actor. I seriously doubt he could fake that kind of reaction. No, I’m pretty sure what the camera captured was exactly what was going through his mind at that moment.
How can I not be “smitten” with him, as Anna so delightfully pointed out the other day? Angel is the epitome of smitt-able. It’s a wonder he isn’t already taken. The girls in the old neighborhood obviously don’t know a good man when they see one.
Hayden nudges me with his foot again when I’ve been silent for too long. “The thing is, I’m not convinced he’s as straight as he claims.”
My heart clenches so tightly it hurts. I haven’t let myself consider that possibility. But Hayden is right, damn the man, because the more I chat with Angel, the more my gaydar needle inches upward.
Hayden continues, “If he keeps saying he’s not gay, he might just be really deep in the closet. And honestly? That’s almost worse than falling for a straight boy.”
My head drops back as Hayden goes and drops one truth bomb after another. “I know,” I groan. “It is.” Because yeah, been there and done that too. Fuck.
“And yeah, you’re not super close to your parents, so maybe meeting his family isn’t that big a deal. But like, you deserve better than that, babe. You deserve someone who wants to parade you around on his arm. Someone who wants to show everyone he knows how much he loves you.”
Tears prickle my eyes and I frantically wave my hands in front of my face. I’ve just gotten my makeup on and I don’t have time to redo it all. “Denny! You’re gonna make me cry!”
Hayden chuckles and shifts to the front of his chair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Come here.”
“Bitch,” I say, with more affection than heat, and let him pull me into a hug.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt. ”
I sniffle and blink back the moisture in my eyes. “I know. Thanks for always looking out for me.”
He gives me a squeeze. “Always.”
Anna appears in the doorway of the dressing room. “Rhys, baby girl, you’re up.”
I give Hayden a light kiss on the cheek before pulling away. I double-check my hair, my face, and my outfit, then take one last glance at my phone. Nothing. Sigh. Maybe something came up after all. I won’t be disappointed. I won’t. We’re just friends. If we’re even that. It’s fine. I’m fine.
I’m already turning away when the screen suddenly lights up again. And there it is in all its blue bubble glory.
Teddy Bear
I’m here! Near the bar. I overheard someone say you’re performing next. Break a leg!
My heart thunders as I read the message. He’s here. He actually made it. He’s in the audience. Waiting for me.
I gulp as I’m attacked by an unexpected burst of nerves. It’s not the typical excitement of going on stage—I get that all the time. This is different. This makes me want to hide in the dressing room.
What if I fall? What if I make a fool of myself in front of Angel? What if he thinks I’m a bad dancer? That I’ve been exaggerating how good I am? That I’m pathetic?
“Rhys,” Hayden steps in between me and the dressing room table, blocking my view of my phone. He takes me by the shoulders and gently turns me toward the door. “It’s time to go.”
He directs me out to the stage and it’s a good thing I’m an expert in walking in these platform boots, because I can’t really feel my feet at the moment. I’m basically floating, staying upright by sheer muscle memory.
“You’ve got this.” Hayden plants a quick kiss on my temple before disappearing through the door that leads to the front of house.
Anna gives me a concerned once-over. “You okay, baby girl? You’re not gonna hurl, are ya?”
I grab for one of the water bottles we keep stocked back here, twist the top off and take a quick sip. The water isn’t cold, but it’s enough to shock me back into some semblance of normalcy.
I can do this. I’ve done it hundreds of times before. It’s just a more pronounced case of stage fright. Once I get out there, my body will remember what to do, and it’ll all go off without a hitch.
There’s a buzzing in my ears as Anna heads out to announce me. It’s so loud I barely hear the music when it starts playing. The curtains rise, the spotlight zeroes in on me, and the audience goes wild.
With the lights shining in my face, it’s difficult to look past the edge of the stage, but that doesn’t matter. It’s like I’ve got a homing beacon on Angel and my eyes immediately seek him out in the crowd. He’s by the bar, tucked into a corner, holding a pint of beer, with his free hand stuffed into his jeans pocket. He pulls it out when he realizes I’m looking at him and gives me a little wave. It takes everything inside me not to wave back.
How terrible would it be if I jumped off the stage right now and ran into Angel’s arms? Pretty terrible, I think. I’d never hear the end of it from Anna. Angel will have to wait. But that doesn’t mean I can’t dance for him. I can dance the fuck out of it for him.
Deep breath. Here we go.
The strains of Sia’s “Chandelier” courses through me, jump-starting each cell as I start to move. Every sweep of my arms feels larger, every kick of my legs feels higher, every twist and turn is more pronounced as I dance to the very tip of every finger. I pour myself into the performance, into every twerk of my ass, every flick of my hair.
The buzzing in my ears turns into a roar, though I can’t tell if it’s from the thumping of my heart or the excitement of the crowd. It fuels me, though, the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I lift myself up onto the pole and spin.
I lean my shoulder against the pole, feet planted a few feet away, and slide down, letting my body arch with my groin pushed out. The skimpy fabric of my thong leaves very little to the imagination and the audience shows its appreciation with wolf whistles.
When the song finally ends, I’m in my final pose, hanging off the pole. I unfold myself and rise to my feet to take my bow. My gaze immediately flits to where Angel was standing. Except he’s not there anymore.
During my performance, he moved closer to the stage, skirting around a couple tables like he wanted to get a better view. From the look of awe on his face, I’m pretty sure he saw plenty.
I take my bow, then holding Angel’s gaze, I blow him a kiss.
Anna’s already on stage, shooing me off so she can introduce the next performer. I scurry off and rush back to the dressing room for my robe. I’ve been out front in my practically nonexistent dance outfits before, but I often get waylaid by handsy guys who want to cop a feel. After several years of performing, I’ve accepted that it’s a part of the job.
But I don’t want to get sidetracked today. I’m making a beeline for Angel because his hands are the only ones I want on me.