CHAPTER NINE
Stepping into Swerve on Friday night felt like navigating a minefield.
Cameron had been to the club dozens of times, but he’d never arrived with Asher. Maybe it was his imagination, but he swore every head in the place swiveled toward them, all eyes locked on their intertwined hands.
“Everyone is staring,” he muttered.
“So? Let them stare.” With a wicked grin, Asher jerked him forward and planted a kiss on him that curled his toes. “Now, they have something to talk about, too.”
“You’re insane.” Still, he laughed, and some of the tension eased out of his shoulders. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”
After the movie, Asher had walked him back to his guest suite, kissed him chastely, then left.
With anyone else, he would have been relieved to take things slowly, but nothing about his new relationship with the writer was usual.
Disappointed and horny, he’d climbed into bed—which had been just as comfortable as he’d imagined—and drifted off quickly.
He’d hoped to wake up the next morning to the smell of freshly brewed coffee, but instead, he’d been roused quite rudely by the harsh blare of a smoke detector. So much for Asher making him breakfast.
After that, the rest of the day had been a blur.
They’d gone out for breakfast at a cute little diner in Asher’s neighborhood, then he’d been whisked downtown to the Galleria for a shopping trip that still made his head spin when he thought about it.
In the middle of it all, he’d apparently lost his damn mind, because by the time they’d left the mall, he’d had half a dozen bags of new clothes he never would have bought on his own.
Still, it had been a good day. He’d laughed more than he had in years, and while they’d done no more than kiss and hold hands, he couldn’t get enough of Asher. He was just so…alive, and everything with him felt like an adventure, even trying on ridiculously overpriced sunglasses.
The only blight on the day had happened when he’d asked a salesclerk for the price on a sterling silver watch that hadn’t been marked.
When she’d sneered at him and told him that if he had to ask then he probably couldn’t afford it, he’d wanted to sink under the nearest chair and disappear.
Asher, however, hadn’t been impressed with her snooty attitude.
“Oh, honey, I can definitely afford it,” he’d told her. “And do you know why I can afford it? Because I don’t overpay for flashy trinkets.” Then, he had looked her up and down like something found on the bottom of his shoe. “Or cheap service.”
It had been the sexiest thing ever, and Cameron had been hard for the rest of the day.
Oh, and he’d gotten the watch at a forty-percent discount.
“Relax,” Asher breathed next to his ear as he squeezed his hand. “You look amazing.”
Cameron didn’t respond, nor did he relax, but he did manage a tight smile.
The artfully ripped jeans Asher had chosen for him molded to his thighs and cupped his balls.
He still had no idea how he’d been convinced to spend so much money on a pair of jeans with holes in them, but he had to admit they made his ass look amazing.
The shirt he wore was another matter entirely.
The pale blue V-neck flattered his complexion, and brought out the color of his eyes, but he could have gotten the same thing at Target instead of paying almost two-hundred dollars because of the designer label on it.
Asher had been insistent, though. So much in fact, he’d paid for the shirt himself when Cameron rejected the idea of wasting that kind of money on one article of clothing.
“I’m still going to pay you back.” They’d had a heated argument about it over lunch that had ended in Asher kissing him until he’d forgotten why he’d been angry in the first place. The charmer couldn’t distract him forever.
“Okay,” Asher answered easily, but there was a glint of challenge in his eyes. “Dance or drink?”
“I don’t dance.”
“Don’t or can’t?”
“Don’t.” It didn’t really take much skill to grind on someone. He’d just always been too self-conscious to dance with strangers that way.
Asher smirked, then leaned in close to ghost his lips over the hollow just behind his ear. “You do tonight.”
Cameron shivered. He could say no, but with Asher’s mouth on him, he couldn’t really think of a good reason why. “In that case, I’m going to need a drink first. Maybe three.”
~
“Oh, I love this song!” Springing off his barstool, Cameron grabbed Asher’s hand and pulled him toward the dance floor. “Let’s dance.”
Drunk Cameron was fucking cute as hell, and his excitement proved too contagious to ignore. Honestly, Asher hadn’t thought the guy had it in him to let loose and have fun. It had taken two hours and six shots of tequila, but the results were well worth the wait.
If the man wanted to dance, he wasn’t about to argue .
Finding an empty spot on the dance floor, Cameron wrapped around him, pressing as close as he could get, and rotated his hips. “Mm? Like this? I’m not sure I’m doing it right.”
Fucking flirt .
Lucky for him, Asher had no problem playing dirty. With one arm locked around Cameron’s waist, he slid a leg between Cameron’s thighs and rocked into him. “Just like that.”
Just when he thought he had the upper hand, Cameron pushed away and spun around, lifting his arms up and back to encircle Asher’s neck.
Peeking up at him through those long, thick lashes, he began a sensual grind, his lithe body moving like liquid sex, every roll of his hips pushing his tight ass against Asher’s aching cock.
The music pulsed. The atmosphere became electric. Heat poured from the hundreds of bodies packed into the club, but Asher had eyes for just one.
Gripping Cameron’s hips, he jerked him flush against his chest and leaned down to nip at his earlobe. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re playing with fire.”
“Is that why I feel so hot?”
The wide eyes and innocent tone cooled some of Asher’s ardor, and he pressed his forehead to Cameron’s temple with a strained chuckle. “I think that’s probably the tequila. ”
Cameron made a little humming sound in the back of his throat as he tangled his fingers through Asher’s hair and pulled him into a sloppy, drunken kiss. “Whatever,” he murmured. “Just touch me.”
Jesus, fuck.
He’d heard those words uttered countless times in dozens of ways, but never had they affected him like they did now. Coming from Cameron, “touch me” sounded a whole lot like “fuck me,” and his dick responded with a hard jerk and a valiant attempt to bust through his zipper.
Sliding his hands under the hem of Cameron’s shirt, he groaned when his fingers encountered taut muscles encased in soft, warm skin.
His restraint had never been great, not even on his best day, but if Cameron kept moving like that and making those enticing little noises, he wouldn’t be held responsible for his reaction.
When Cameron arched against him and tilted his head back for another kiss, nipping his bottom lip between his teeth, Asher hissed with pleasure.
They needed to move this party somewhere private, or they were both going to end up arrested, because he would have Cameron right there, and damn anyone who wanted to watch.
“Home,” he growled, no longer capable of complete or coherent sentences. “Now.”
“Too far,” Cameron complained, but he dropped his arms and let Asher take his hand .
“We can make out like teenagers in the back of the cab.” He said it jokingly, but the minute the words left his mouth, Cameron lit up like a summer sky.
Halfway to the exit, Asher suddenly found his way blocked by none other than the blond gossip blogger who had sent his life into a tailspin.
Landon stepped right in front of him and smiled, bold as brass.
His expression said he knew—or could at least guess—the violent thoughts sliding through Asher’s mind, and he was taunting him to do something about them.
“Hey,” Cameron yelled, pointing his finger right in the guy’s face. “I know you.”
Landon arched an eyebrow and gave Cameron a pouty grin. “I told you that you’d like it.” His attention snapped to Asher, and his smile kicked up a notch. “Your little show on the dance floor was fucking hot. Now, I’m all worked up with no one to take me home.”
Asher wanted nothing more than to throttle the douchebag, but the last thing he needed was another headline—or a lawsuit. “Fuck. You.”
“Aw, don’t be that way. Everyone has to make a living, right?”
Asher wasn’t about to have the conversation in the middle of the club, but he did have one question. “How did you figure out who I am? ”
“It’s amazing the things you can find online, like property tax records. All you have to do is just pop the address into the County Assessor’s website, and bingo.”
“Why would you do that?” Acutely aware of Cameron watching them, Asher purposely kept his questions vague.
Of course, Cameron recognized the guy, and even in his drunken state, he recalled Asher had slept with him. As far as the blog, however, Cameron didn’t seem to know anything about it. He wanted to keep it that for as long as he could.
“Oh, come on. Big house. Big lot. Expensive furniture. Security gate. I knew you had to be someone important.” He gave Asher a cheeky grin. “I was right.”
“Again. Fuck. You.” Unfortunately, there wasn’t shit he could do about it. Best to just keep walking before he ended up doing something both he and his agent would regret.
“Asher? What’s he talking about? Why is he looking up your property taxes?”
Shit.
Nudging the blogger aside, Asher grabbed Cameron by the wrist and practically dragged him toward the exit. “I’ll tell you later.”
“Okay,” he answered easily. “Oh, hey, those guys are waving at us.”
Asher groaned and hurried his steps. He had the distinct feeling that if he didn’t get them out of there soon, his kindhearted, tipsy Cameron was going to do something absurd—like offer to share their cab with the next guy who smiled at him.
He wasn’t innocent or na?ve exactly. He just honestly seemed to have no idea the effect he had on people.
All night long, Asher had watched men covet what was his, some from afar, some bold enough to approach Cameron with Asher sitting right beside him at the bar.
The first time it had happened, he’d been…
jealous. Yeah, he’d been fucking green with it, especially when Cameron had smiled and nodded, chatting with the asshole like they were long, lost friends.
Then, halfway through the conversation, after a particularly salacious comment that oozed with innuendo, his jealousy had shifted and settled.
Not because he didn’t care, but because it had been obvious that Cameron had no idea the guy was coming on to him.
When his would-be suitor finally gave up and walked away, Cameron had just smiled and offered some comment about him being “nice.”
The second guy to approach struck out in much the same manner.
The third had either watched and learned, or he was just more brazen by nature, because he hadn’t been subtle about his intentions.
Cameron had blushed so red Asher had worried he might have a stroke, but he’d just smiled and thanked the guy before leaning into Asher for a heated kiss .
Subtle? Not really. Effective? Absolutely.
“I want hash browns,” Cameron said, completely out of the blue. “Oh, and biscuits. Bacon.” He groaned, and his eyes rolled back in his head. “I fucking love bacon.”
“We are not getting hash browns or bacon.”
“Waffles! We should totally get waffles. Or pancakes. Oh, my god, French toast. Yes .”
Asher didn’t know what the hell had just happened, but somewhere between Landon and the exit, his saucy little flirt had apparently become obsessed with breakfast. Here he was, about to come in his jeans like a goddamn sixteen-year-old boy, and Cameron’s version of drunken horniness had turned him into a food whore.
Just fucking great.
Grumbling in defeat, he pushed Cameron through the doors ahead of him, then led him to an idling cab on the curb in front of the club. “It’s a good thing you’re cute.”
God, that grin made everything worth it. “Does that mean we’re getting hash browns?”
Sliding in beside him in the backseat of the cab, he kissed Cameron’s forehead with a choked laugh. “Yeah, sweetheart. We’re going to get hash browns.”