Chapter 16
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
ANGEL
I think I was more nervous turning up at The Bronzed Rail than I was when shooting gay porn. There was a part of me that wondered whether I should manufacture another babysitting emergency so I could beg off tonight too.
But in the end, my need to see Rhys in person, to see him dance, overruled the nerves that threatened to make me upchuck my dinner.
I held my breath while the bouncer at the door checked my ID. He kept glancing from my driver’s license to my face, to the list he had on the iPad, like he didn’t quite believe that I wanted to go into a gay nightclub. I swear it took him several minutes of double-checking before he let me in.
It’s only marginally better inside. It’s crowded, obviously, but more than that, it feels like everyone knows everyone. Guys greet each other by name and with kisses on the lips. They’re so casual and comfortable with each other, which makes me feel like I’ve got a flashing neon sign on my chest. It says, “Straight Dude. Does Not Belong Here.”
Actually, I probably don’t need a sign. I bet they can tell just from what I’m wearing. And people are definitely watching me, their gazes heavy as they scan me from head to toe.
I’m in my nice jeans and a freshly ironed button-down shirt, but I might as well be going to a business meeting compared to the other outfits in here. See-through shirts, leather pants, scraps of fabric that look almost like bras, tiny little shorts that leave half the butt hanging out.
There’s also an alarming amount of glitter everywhere and everything sparkles in the light reflecting off the disco ball hanging from the ceiling.
I gulp and wipe my clammy palms on my thighs, then head toward the bar. I need a drink, or at the very least, something to hold on to so I know what to do with my hands.
Trying to move through the space only adds to how awkward I feel. I’m so big and bulky that I keep bumping into people as I squeeze through the crowd. I get sly looks over shoulders and a few people mutter something about daddies. My stomach churns, but I can’t tell if it’s plain old nerves or the fluttering feeling I get whenever I’m around Rhys.
By the time I get to the bar, my heart is racing and my tummy is all tied up in knots.
The bartender looks bored and annoyed when he gruffly demands my drink order. I ask for a beer and he brings one over, setting it in front of me with a thud , not even sparing me a glance. He’s a little rude, to be honest, but I don’t mind—this is the most normal and familiar interaction I’ve had since walking up to the club’s front door.
There’s a little pocket of space a few steps away from the bar, behind a group of guys sitting at a table. I tuck myself into it and plaster my back to the wall. I take a long swig of beer and almost chug down the entire bottle of cold, hoppy brew, stopping with the back of my hand pressed to my lips.
If I finish the beer too quickly, I’ll have to get another. And I can’t quite brave the crowds around the bar again so soon.
I’m wondering how long I’ll have to wait for the show to get started when the house lights dim and the stage lights up. The music switches to something upbeat and electronic, almost like a game show of some kind. The people around me start shouting and cheering, adding to the noise.
Then the rainbow velvet curtains rise, and a drag queen struts out onto the stage. She’s tall and shapely, with her curves on full display in a bright blue bodysuit. The shiny material hugs her thighs, her waist, her arms, and plunges down her front to reveal ample cleavage. Her orange boots give her a few extra inches of height and extend all the way up past her knees. Giant lightning bolt earrings dangle from her ears, and her elaborate hairstyle looks like a halo around her head.
I’ve seen drag queens before—of course I have. But I’ve never seen one in person. She’s stunning and I have to remind myself to pick my jaw up off the floor.
“My darlings!” she drawls in an weird accent, like she’s from Brooklyn, but trying to pretend she’s English. “Welcome, welcome to The Bronzed Rail, where we all like to get railed.” She turns sideways and sticks out her bum.
The audience bursts into another round of shouts and catcalls.
“My name is Anna Conda and I will be your host tonight. Strap in, boys, because you are in for a show!”
I watch the people around me go wild. They’re having so much fun. They’re so immersed in the moment. There’s an energy coursing through the place that builds with every passing minute. Slowly, it tugs at the nerves that have me wound so tight. As they loosen, I find myself breathing a little easier, relaxing against the wall rather than trying to disappear into it. My lips curve into a smile and the fluttering in my tummy settles into a comfortable warmth.
The first few acts are cool. A lip-syncing drag queen duo, a burlesque dancer, and a group number.
As the group takes their bows, someone next to me shouts to his friend, “Rhys Rawlings should be up next!”
I immediately straighten, anticipation spiking as my heart thunders in my chest. Rhys. He’s next. He’s almost here.
I pull out my phone, only now realizing that I didn’t text Rhys to tell him I’m here. I do it now, shooting him a quick message. I have no idea whether he’ll see it. He’s probably already behind the curtain, ready to come on stage.
Anna Conda introduces Rhys and I swear the audience goes berserk. Louder than ever, everyone’s on their feet, clapping and shouting and stomping. It’s almost like Rhys is the headliner, like he’s the one they’ve all come to see.
The whole place goes dark, except for one circle of light directed onto the rainbow curtains. They rise, revealing Rhys, perfectly framed in the spotlight. He’s magnificent. Beyond magnificent.
He’s wearing a shimmering gold outfit that’s barely more than a few strips of fabric strategically wrapped around his body. What is there blends so well with his skin tone that it almost looks like he’s naked. Naked and glowing.
The leg openings are cut high enough to reveal his hip bones, and the fabric is pulled so tight around his crotch that the outline of his dick is visible. There’s a cutout on the left side, a large triangle that crosses from his left hip all the way to his right, leaving most of his stomach bare. Then a narrow piece of fabric stretches from his right hip up toward his left shoulder. At his sternum, the fabric splits into two, one for each shoulder, leaving both his nipples on display.
His gold boots look like weapons. There’s a good four inches under his toes and an extra three in the dangerously pointy heels. The boots extend all the way up his calves, to his knees. He’s dyed his hair blond and it falls in waves around his shoulders. Even his makeup is golden, heavy enough across his eyes that it looks like a mask.
He looks like a superhero. A shimmering, scantily clad, pole-dancing superhero. Beware of his heels.
Rhys takes a step forward, kicking his heel up behind him in an exaggerated motion. His hips and shoulders twist with the movement. The expression on his face is pure sex, pure sin, everything I shouldn’t want and yet I’ve never wanted anything more.
He looks to his right, making eye contact with people in the audience. His lips curl up in a seductive invitation as his gaze sweeps across the room.
He looks straight past me and my heart plummets to my feet. It doesn’t mean anything, obviously. It’s probably hard for him to see anything with the bright lights shining in his face like that. Besides, I’m all the way at the back of the room, tucked into a corner. It would be difficult to find me, even without the lights.
But then his gaze snaps back. It zeroes in on me. My breath catches in my chest and my feet itch to carry me forward. I pull my hand from my pocket instead, and give him a little wave.
Rhys’s smile widens, gaze still locked on me, and it feels like this whole place just got ten degrees hotter.
When he reaches the pole, he grasps it with one hand and pauses. Then my brain shuts down. There’s no thinking, no understanding, no trying to figure out why I’m responding the way I am or what it could mean. I just soak in Rhys’s performance. The way he tilts his head to show off his long neck. The way his long legs sweep through the air. The positions he contorts himself into while hanging from the pole. The way his body undulates when he’s sprawled on the floor.
He’s captivating. Mesmerizing. It’s impossible to take my eyes off him—I wouldn’t want to, even if I could.
The back of his golden outfit is practically nonexistent. The fabric disappears between his butt cheeks, and when he bends over, I’m reminded of our video, when I was taking him from behind. My dick has been stirring since the moment Rhys stepped on stage, but now it’s growing steadily plumper at the memory of how those glutes felt in my hands .
When he’s climbing the pole, all the little muscles in his back flex and stand out in sharp relief. His thighs look carved from stone and his forearms sculpted by a master artist.
He’s so freaking strong. So amazingly talented. Every move is breathtaking. Every pose staggering.
When the music fades and Rhys stands to take his bow, his gaze drifts to me. I’m not back in that little corner anymore, I realize. I’ve made my way between the tables so I’m nearly at the stage. If I reach out my arm, I could probably touch him.
He blows me a kiss and something bright and beautiful, happy and bubbly bursts open inside me. It’s cracking me open, struggling to be set free, and I’m powerless to resist.
What has Rhys done to me? What kind of spell has he cast over me? I don’t feel like myself anymore. Something’s changing inside me and I can’t stop it. I don’t recognize the person I’m becoming.
Rhys bows and disappears backstage. Anna Conda comes back out to introduce the next act.
With my heart in my throat and my lungs struggling to function, I stumble back to my dark little corner. But it’s no longer empty. Hayden’s taken my spot, arms crossed and frowning.
I haven’t seen him since that first afternoon at Rhys’s apartment— their apartment. Maybe he doesn’t remember me? Maybe that’s why he’s staring at me like I spilled my drink on his pants.
“Oh, uh, hey, I’m Angel, uh, Rhys’s friend?”
He studies me for a moment before sighing. “Yeah, I know all about you, teddy bear. ”
He uses the nickname Rhys has for me and it makes my hackles rise. Strange—it never bothers me when Rhys uses it. Why does it sound so wrong coming from Hayden?
“We weren’t sure if you would show up today,” Hayden says.
I flinch at the subtle accusation in his words. “Yeah, I’m sorry about Wednesday. My sister…” Um, how do I say she wanted to go out with her friends and didn’t bother to ask if I was free?
“Needed you to babysit, yeah, I know.” Hayden dismisses the rest of my comment.
Silence falls between us as the next performer takes the stage. Hayden keeps studying me and my ears start growing hot. Why is he looking at me like that? Why won’t he say anything? Should I say something? What should I say?
“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Hayden finally breaks the silence.
Except I have no idea what he means. “What I’m doing?”
“With Rhys,” Hayden clarifies. “He’s fun and flirty and he can let a lot of things roll off his back. But that doesn’t mean he can’t get hurt. I don’t want to see him get hurt.”
Oh. Shoot.
I nod jerkily, at a loss for words. Because I don’t know what I’m doing. I have absolutely no freaking idea. I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve never met anyone like Rhys in my life. I’ve never felt the way he makes me feel.
I’m in uncharted territory without a map. Rhys has become my North Star. All I know is I want to follow him to the ends of the earth.