Chapter 11 LENNIX
My fingers are trembling.
Flexing them for the hundredth time, I reach for the offered beer bottle and avoid making eye contact with Sarra.
“This took way too long to get. I even fluffed up my cleavage.”
Swallowing hard, my darting gaze lands there on instinct.
I immediately look away.
“Sorry,“
I mutter, though I doubt she heard me over the blaring music. Or caught my anxious flittering. It’s just so fucking loud in here.
“This looks like a gay bar,“
Sarra continues with too much mirth and my spine snaps straight so fast, I choke on the swig of beer that floods my mouth before I’m ready for it.
Sarra is quick to pat my back and once I’m done dying by asphyxiation, I meet her soft gaze. I drop it before she can read my answer on my face.
“I wouldn’t know.”
She scoffs lightly and rubs a comforting hand in circles between my shoulder blades. Part of me hates it, but a larger part is relieved that she’s not running for the hills, screaming my secret for all of the public to consume it.
“I wouldn’t care if you did, hun.”
I cringe, not because of her but more so to do with her being one step closer to realizing it.
My truth.
The real reason I’ve been obsessing over a man I met once.
I’m attracted to him. To men. But him in particular.
And I want … more.
“I’m gonna ask around.”
Not waiting for a reply, I leave my best friend in my dust as I jet across the dance floor, through the growing throng of bodies.
They’re all glittery, like him.
Sparkling in the flashing strobe lights.
Smiling and dancing.
I want that.
Sucking back a deep breath of sweat and men’s cologne, I slam into the bar a little harder than I intended. It knocks the damn wind out of me.
“What can I get cha, handsome?”
It takes me a full minute of blinking at the man behind the bar before I find enough of my voice to speak.
“Is Marlo working tonight?”
If he’s not, I’m making a run for it. Sarra will have to catch up.
“Oh, Merlot? His fine ass goes on in—“
he checks his watch, the band flashing rows of rainbows, even in the dimmed lighting, and my stomach knots, “—about three minutes.”
“Thanks,“
I mutter, tapping the bar and easing back into the crowd until it swallows me.
The next few minutes feel like an eternity as I lose myself in the motion of bodies swaying and the beat changing. Lights flash around me, warping everything from faces to lips, tongues against others, muscles coiling. All of it filters down like a kaleidoscope of grinding bodies and wandering hands.
Women openly kiss.
Men, too.
Sarra was right.
I scan the room in an attempt to find her, to right my compass with something familiar in this unending unknown and come up empty. She’s gone from our standing wall table, her drink left behind on its surface and my chest cinches tight.
I shouldn’t have left her alone.
“Oh, fuck.”
Searching the crowd, I weave between bouncing dancers until a flash of bright red hair catches my eye.
My next breath is all temporary relief and stolen just as fast when the lights dim. The song changes. And a single beam illuminates a pole in the center of the dance floor.
Sweat beads at my temples as I stare at the stage surrounding it, waiting for …
I don’t know what.
The show? The dancer? The lights to change once again and the crowd to swallow me whole?
And then it all stops at once when he emerges.
Chills race across my heated skin as Marlo struts his way to the center stage, each step a match to the beat that vibrates in my chest.
He’s just as glittery, vibrant in the purple lighting, and wearing nothing but a small patch covering his junk.
Then he grips the pole, strong hands lifting himself easily into the air where he flips, legs spread straight out, and flashes us the thong string between his cheeks.
Sound erupts around me and I jump, startled back into reality with my pulse pounding hard. My breaths come in pants, and I whip my gaze around.
No one is staring at me.
No one is watching me.
They’re all looking at him.
Swallowing hard, I shove my trembling hands into my pockets and find him again.
He’s twirling now, showing off the muscles that hold him up like the steel in his grip is a piece of him.
I can’t help but admire him even more. The dexterity. His flexibility. The strength and confidence it takes to do what he’s doing.
Him kneeling on the stage, undulating his body to the thump of bass as his hand travels south over his abs, has my mouth filling with saliva.
He grabs his crotch, the material covering him barely containing his length, and I jerk behind my zipper.
Fuck, it’s like he reached out a grabbed me from the stage.
I’m so entrapped in his performance, slowly inching closer, that I don’t recognize the heat at my side matching my steps until she speaks.
“Please tell me that’s him.”
I jolt, spell broken, and jerk my head to the side so fast, the room spins.
“Wh-what?“
I gulp and meet Sarra’s heated gaze.
“If that’s him … whew.“
She fans herself, dark lips spread into a huge grin. “He’s a cutie.”
My throat sticks on another swallow.
“Y-yeah,“
I managed to rasp out, though I know deep down I’m agreeing to both statements and she pats my chest.
“Then don’t look now, boo, but he’s watching you.”