8 Aubie
THE GLASS SHATTERS INTO A million pieces, scattering across the tile floor at my feet. On instinct I jump back and get a piece stuck in my foot.
“Fuck!”
My eyes are focused on the wreckage on the floor, but my mind is suddenly far away.
Chaos.
Broken glass.
Blood.
So much blood.
“Bryce? Bryce wake up!”
Silence.
“Baby don’t move.” Jimi’s voice pulls me out of my spiraling head. “Where’s your broom?”
I blink to clear my thoughts and glance across the island at him, thankful right now that he chose to stay last night.
He called when I was on my way home from the club, suggested he could use some company.
With us that’s code for I’m horny and don’t feel like making the effort to score.
Because he’s a friend, I don’t have a problem with him overstaying his welcome.
As it turns out, we overslept. Or at least he did, since he’s the one who has to work today.
What did he ask me? Oh yeah, broom.
“Utility closet. Around the corner.”
Jimi gets the glass swept up then makes me sit down on one of the barstools to look at my foot.
“Luckily it’s a big piece of glass,” he says as he yanks it out of my foot.
“Ow. Damn, warn a person.”
He grins and grabs the dishtowel off the counter. “Here, press this against it to stop the bleeding.”
I take the offering and do as he says. “You’d make a lousy doctor.”
“Maybe you should have let Steph spend the night.”
“She lacks a dick.”
He bends over to give me a peck on the cheek. “Well, lover, this dick needs to get dressed and get out of here.” He heads to the bedroom humming to himself while I nurse my sore foot.
I eye the carton of orange juice on the counter and consider the logistics of retrieving another glass, but my phone interrupts me. I glance down at the caller ID and see it’s Daryl. What does he want?
“Morning, Daryl. Or is it afternoon?”
“Must’ve been a good night if you don’t know,” Daryl quips. “I have a favor to ask of you.”
Something tells me I’m not going to like this. “You can ask.”
“I’m in kind of a bind. I’m down two men and could really use you at the club tonight.”
“Sucks to be you.”
As usual, he isn’t deterred. “Come on, what’s one Friday night? I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”
I smirk to myself. I’m just curious enough to know how he intends to do that. “You have no idea what you’re setting yourself up for.”
He snorts. “I can imagine. But I’m desperate. You can have your regular time slot.”
Jimi appears, fully dressed, and points toward the phone, cocking his brow.
“Daryl,” I mouth.
He grins. “What’s that all about?”
I hit mute on the phone. “He’s negotiating with me.”
“For what?”
“Tonight.”
“Ah,” he nods. “I’ll leave you to it.” He brushes his lips across mine and heads for the door. “Later, babe.”
Might be truer than you think. I know I like to keep Fridays open, but I really don’t have any plans for tonight. Might be fun to tap into some of that weekend energy. I unmute the phone. “Fine, you can stop groveling. I just so happen to have tonight open.”
I hear him sigh. “Thank fuck.”
“Be careful what you wish for. I’m holding you to that favor at a time of my choosing.”
“Within reason.”
My chuckle is downright evil. “Not how this works, Daryl. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to come up with a routine for tonight.”
“Just use the one you did last night. You killed it.”
“You know I don’t do repeats.”
“I don’t care what you do, as long as it’s on my stage. See you later, Aubie.”
Like I said, be careful what you wish for, Daryl. I can think of a lot of things I could do on your stage you might not find so agreeable.
? ? ?
One thing today taught me is I have to go shopping for clothes. Something designer and outrageous because I’m running out of costume ideas. I finally put something together and decide on a piece of music before throwing it all in the car and leaving for the club.
While the guest parking lot in front of Eros is jammed, the back is quiet and somewhat sparse. Either Daryl is missing more than two men or everyone is waiting until the last minute to show up.
I grab my bag and head inside, running into Izzy as soon as I get through the door.
“Oh, thank Christ,” she says. “Now Daryl can stop freaking out.”
“I told him I was coming.”
“You guys aren’t known for being the most reliable.”
Okay, I admit I can occasionally be a little flaky, depending on the circumstances, but I’m pretty good about keeping my commitments. What few of them I make.
I pucker my lips in an air kiss. “Your savior has arrived.”
She rolls her eyes. “Just get ready. You go on in twenty minutes.”
I push past her to go see Reggie the DJ, ducking around the corner to the short staircase up to his stage when I plow headlong to a solid body. I look up and meet Cutter’s dark eyes.
Considering how I left things with him last night, the look on his face is priceless. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so flustered.
“My bad,” I say, patting his chest. “Just have to drop off my music.”
“You–” He clears his throat. “You’re dancing tonight?”
“Wow, can’t get anything past you,” I smirk.
His eyes narrow, and just for a minute, I regret the barb. “Apparently Daryl has a manpower shortage,” I amend.
He nods and moves aside for me to pass. I start up the stairs, then stop and call over my shoulder in my most sultry voice, “Hope you can catch my act.”
I know I’m pushing it, but I can’t resist. Fucking with him is just too much fun.
The part that’s frustrating is how much time I’ve been devoting to imagining actually fucking him.
Or letting him fuck me.
I’m down for either way.
I channel that frustration into my routine and come away with one of my raunchiest performances to date. The only thing that would have made it better is if he had been in audience, but there’s no sign of him lurking in the shadows along the back wall. Could it be I scared him off?
I know this is a pointless exercise. I have my rules and he slots perfectly in the off limits category, but I can’t seem to help myself. Maybe I’m just addicted to the ego boost it gives me to be the cause of those ripples in his otherwise calm exterior.
Then again, maybe I’m just a brat.
He’d probably agree with that.
Since it’s still early, I have time to find some kind of trouble to get into. I text Jerome when I get back to the dressing room to see if he’s doing anything, getting an answer almost right away.
JEROME:
We’re at the Oracle. Come on by.
Who’s we, I don’t ask. Knowing Jerome, it’s his latest flavor of the week. What I do know is the Oracle is on the other side of town.
ME:
Give me an hour.
I make small talk with Daniel while I get dressed. He’s beyond excited because he’s going to perform with the revue for the first time tonight as a stand-in for Ronaldo, who’s apparently suffering the effects of some bad fish.
“You missed an epic party last night,” he tells me.
I shrug. “Had a better offer come up.”
“Hope he was worth it.”
I think about the three times Jimi and I fucked and smile. “Always is.”
I hang out for a few minutes after the review goes on to watch Daniel perform on the in-house feed, then shoulder my bag and head out.
I’m halfway to my car when a truck comes screeching around the corner to stop in front of me. It’s a monstrous piece of mud-spattered machinery; one of those jacked up dick substitutes with oversized tires and a massive lightbar that could transform the darkest alley into the Vegas strip.
The guy who jumps out is as jacked as his truck and a full head taller than me.
Judging by the way he’s listing on his feet, he’s also more than a little drunk.
I stop and watch him approach despite my survival instinct screaming at me to run.
Run where? Even if he is drunk, something tells me he’d beat me to my car. After that it’s anybody’s guess.
“You,” he growls, his fists clenched at his sides. “I should pound your little fairy ass into the ground.”
One of those. I’ve been dealing with assholes like him half my life.
I don’t know what crawled up this one’s ass or why he’s taking it out on me, but I refuse to be intimidated.
Yeah, maybe I’m a little crazy like that, but I am a Gauthier, and despite not giving a shit about my family name, there are aspects that are hardwired into my DNA.
I shift the bag on my shoulder and meet his eyes without blinking. “Can I help you?”
“The fuck?” He looks confused for a second but quickly recovers. “You’re the one she told me about. Fucking stripper.”
He glares at me like I murdered someone. I don’t know who the ‘she’ is in this story or what he’s even doing here. He’s obviously not a customer.
“Stay away from my girl.”
I flash my most condescending smile. “Honey, I’m no more interested in your girlfriend than you are in me.”
His eyes narrow. “Are you calling me a faggot?”
Oh goody, we’re going there. “No, I would never do that,” I assure him, though I can see it’s not penetrating his thick skull.
He steps closer and shows me his fist. “I’ll teach you…”
I flinch as he pulls back his arm…
“You land that punch and you’ll be spending the night in jail.”
We both turn as Cutter comes strolling across the parking lot casual as you please. Where the hell did he come from?
He truly is his namesake. My knight in shining armor.
And looking intimidating as hell–muscles bulging against the black suit jacket, eyes a menacing black in the dim light. He bristles with a controlled chaos that I can’t help but want to unleash. In that minute I realize he may have–temporarily–become my personal god.
He certainly looks like a god. An athlete’s perfect form.
Square jaw under a neat beard. Aristocratic nose.
The only evidence that he’s actually human is the rebellious dark curl that always seems to fall across his forehead.
I want to wrap it around my finger and use it to pull his throat to my teeth.
I take a moment to assess how I’m feeling right now.
My dick is hard.
And I’m almost certain I’m feral for this man.
That could only mean trouble.