Chapter 13

13

DES

T wo nights later, Alex and I have a half-hour argument about what he's wearing before we leave my apartment. He turned up in a pair of chinos and a polo shirt and, while I have a lot of respect for people's clothes choices, I didn't think he'd survive a night at Crush dressed like that. I pushed him into the shower fully clothed so he'd have to change his outfit and he stopped speaking to me. Eventually, I persuaded him into a tight black tee and ripped white shorts that I fished out of my cupboard as the most conservative thing I own. Both things hug his lean body in a way that's more than distracting, and I'm avoiding looking at him to stop myself drooling.

His steps slow as we approach the line of tricked-out guys in figure-hugging jeans and tops that show off their chests, waiting to get in. He shakes his head.

"No, Des, this is too …"

Glancing down the row, I purse my lips. "Come on. We'll have fun. I promise."

"This isn't my kind of thing," he says, peering at me from under the curls falling down on his forehead, before looking away.

"You'll enjoy it, I swear."

Shaking his head again, he chews his lip, then his hand sneaks out and his index finger tries to catch my pinkie. Fuck, he is so adorable . If I ever get to see or ravish his body, I'm going to be completely fucking overwhelmed.

"Please don't make me," he says, voice low.

I twist my fingers right through his. "Let's do a half hour, and if you hate it, we can leave. You said you wanted to branch out and experience more of the gay side of the city."

He leans forward, breath hot on my neck, lips almost touching my ear. "The man next to us is dressed in gold lamé shorts," he whispers. "Every man in this line is wearing something …" He trails off, pursing his lips.

Squinting along the row, I eye up a few metrosexual beards, earrings, a pair of rubber shorts with a harness top, and a tight chainmail T-shirt right beside us.

"I tried to dress you earlier and that's why we had a fight."

"Oh, God." He pulls back and rolls his eyes.

Two guys with open shirts and oiled chests stroll up behind us. One of them gives me a sassy grin.

"I don't know where to look," Alex mutters under his breath, staring up at the stars.

I lean into him. "At his gorgeous chest, of course," I say, smiling at the guy next to us.

"I can't. I feel inadequate."

And I love this conversation. Alex is so honest and straight .

"If I'd seen your chest, I'd be able to reassure you," I say with a grin.

His mouth turns down as a loud shriek echoes across the road from behind me, and Alex glances over my shoulder, frowning.

"Des! Oh my God! It's yooooouuu!"

"Someone is heading in our direction in … silver ? " Alex says, voice cracking.

"Desssseeeee!"

Turning around, I take in Dimitri tottering toward us in silver stilettos. A glittering vest is cut to his naval displaying all his chest hair. His shorts are indecently tight, and also silver. I want to laugh. I want to cry. A vague memory assaults me of a threesome with Dimitri in a not-so-distant past.

"Oh man, I haven't seen your gorgeous little ass in such a long time!" he cackles as he careens into us, unsteady on his heels, swooping me up in his big bear hug and spinning me around. Then he sets me down and smacks a kiss right on my lips. Oh, Jesus, what must Alex be thinking? But Dimitri's eyes have already drifted over my shoulder and are widening.

"Oh my! Who's this ?" Stepping away from me, he puts his arms out to his side like he's framing Alex's body and does a whole scan of him. "Absolutely gorgeous," he says, smirking at me as he purses his mouth. "I'd expect nothing less," he adds with a wave of his hand.

He flutters his eyelashes at Alex and steps forward, putting his hands on his shoulders, then kisses him on both cheeks.

"I'm Dimitri. Any friend of Des's is a friend of mine. Hopefully more than a friend, if you catch my drift," he adds, giving Alex an outrageous false-eyelashed wink and turning back to me.

"I'll see you inside, gorgeous." He pats my cheek as he tilts dangerously into me. "I approve," he whispers in a loud stage voice. Then he leans back and wags his finger. "I want a dance tonight, a slow one. Perhaps with you too, sweetie." He bats his eyelashes again at Alex.

Alex stares after him as he totters off down the sidewalk presumably to join a friend closer to the front of the line. "Who's he?" he says as Dimitri emits another shriek.

"Dimitri. I think I had a threesome with him once." And I wince. That was a bit of an overshare. Something about Alex's straight honesty suggests that nothing but the truth will do.

His eyes widen on me. "Wow," he says, looking at Dimitri's retreating back. "You have such a history," he mutters.

Ugh. Judgy statement or what.

"I really don't," I say. But I kind of do.

Alex stares down the line, doesn't take my hand again, and looks more and more mutinous as we approach the entrance. When we reach the door, the bouncer does a quick scan of my face.

"Dessy!" he booms. "You should have come up here! Where's that friend of yours tonight … George?"

I glance at Alex but his face is impassive, like my dreadful history isn't being dragged across the sidewalk right in front of him. I grin at Carl. "Good to see you, Carl. Didn't want to take advantage."

He gives me a wicked smile. "You can take advantage any time, along with this dreamboat here." He ruffles Alex's hair, and I can almost see him flinch. A sick bottomless feeling creeps through my gut as we head into the thumping heat and half-naked bodies. So much for showing him how great this could be—all he's seeing is debauchery. Alex looks out over the sea of humanity and his eyes widen.

"Oh my God," he yells in my ear. "This is insane."

I laugh in his face and raise my arms over my head, dancing off into the swaying mass on the dance floor. Lots of guys are shirtless. Maybe tonight will all be too much for Alex and that will be the end of … A pair of hands clamp on to my waist, and I turn my head to find Alex's face right next to mine. So I slow down and he bumps into me, breathless and laughing.

When I swivel my hips, he doesn't retreat, so I swing around and plant a kiss on his lips, and they're velvety and warm and his breath stutters, nose brushing mine as the music recedes like a wave and his eyes blink, fixed on mine. Grabbing his hand, I lean back and grin at him, dragging him further into the throng. People reach out, the usual pats and gropes hello, and Alex's face scrunches like his head is going to explode. I'll give him something to explode about .

I stretch down and strip my T-shirt over my head, letting the thump-thump of the beat flow through my body as I close my eyes and start to move. But when I open my eyes again, Alex is dancing, really moving. Hip hop, doing some complicated crossover, and the guys next to him have stepped back to make space for him. And I stop and stare. He's watching his feet but he glances up, a grin lighting up his face.

Leaning forward, he shouts in my ear, "What can I say, I loved dance classes at school. My father was very disapproving."

He's such a surprise. Every time. But we're here and the thought of meeting Alex's father, how I imagine his family to be, and how impossible this all is, sends a shudder rolling through me.

I plant a hand on his damp chest, and his eyes trip over my bare shoulder before he places his hand over mine. And my eyes go wide as he leans then jerks forward and gives me a shy kiss. My gut tightens. So sexy. So sexy. Holy hell, this guy. I'm crazy about him. I'm even coming around to taking it slow now, which is a little nuts. Because we're not diving into sex, I'm getting to know him on a deeper level and appreciate him in other ways. God knows what he thinks of me. This thing we have is throwing everything else into sharp relief, forcing me to concentrate on all the stuff that isn't sex, and I'm hot with it.

"Take your T-shirt off," I shout in his ear as I lean back into him.

Shaking his head, he grins. "Not brave enough."

I shiver as he puts his hand on my chest. It's the first time he's touched my body in a way that's at all sexual. We've had trailing hands and finger links, even a platonic hug, but nothing like a solid palm over my heart. My hand comes down on top of his as he swivels his hips, inches from mine. His fingers are like triggers, bony and tense, hair rough beneath my palm.

"I like that you took yours off, though. I get to admire this all night." He taps his thumb against my breastbone.

"If you're tempted, feel free to do anything you like to me," I say, grinning, and he laughs.

"Maybe," he says.

Later I drag Alex to The Donut for a hot chocolate, then at 3 a.m. he disappears into the night with a soft press of his lips to mine, saying he'll text me when he's coming round. And I shake my head as he vanishes into the subway. Did my attempt to show him what his life could be like make any difference? Did he love it or hate it? Does he get how much I like him? I've no idea. But a kiss is progress, right? It's going to take more than one night of fun to wheel this tanker around.