20. Echo

20

Echo

E ven if only Shilo and Byrd will ever understand why, it's already turning into my favorite birthday ever.

I'm pretty sure everyone else was cheering more for the kiss than for the pirouette switch, but between the two, I'm so giddy that I don't even need the beer that's pressed into my hands or the shots that follow. Who needs tequila when I can be drunk on triumph and Byrd? Of course, everyone still wants their turn at a drink with the birthday boy.

Apparently, parties at Big Top involve a lot of talented people mixing risk and alcohol, because the next game turns out to be knife throwing. Shilo and Hals have an act they do every year in the show, and they seem to think it's hilarious to coerce the other troupe members into joining the fun.

Hals invites me to give it a try, but I'm nursing a pretty solid buzz at this point and decide I've pushed my luck enough for one night with the switch. In the end, it's Shilo and Hals, the two jugglers, Josha, and Byrd dragging the large wooden target to the back of the stage.

"You can throw knives?" I ask, nibbling at his short beard and taking the plastic cup he hands me. "That's really hot. "

"You wait," he says, turning his head to catch my mouth in a brief, searing kiss.

I've never seen him like this—oozing confidence and swagger. He's still Byrd—the core control never wavers—but there's an edge to it that borders on reckless, and the unexpected contrast has my cock at half-mast.

Watching the way he handles the knives, casual in his fingers, followed by the startling grace of the throw and the visceral thunk of inexorable contact, is doing seriously unholy things to my body. He's almost as good as Shilo and Hals.

Shockingly, Josha is even better. The quiet, steady redhead never misses a throw, his methodical competence turned to prowling finesse with the wicked-looking knives in his hands.

"They should put you in the show," I tell him when he joins me on my bench to take a swig of his beer. For the last round, they've pulled down one of the ropes still rigged above the stage and are taking turns trying to sink the target mid-swing. Josha grins and shakes his head.

"They've tried. I like my job offstage. Less chance of fucking up under a spotlight."

I tear my eyes away from Byrd—he's put his shirt back on, but his hair is still loose and tangled—to glance at my friend. Josha is staring past me, and if I turn to look, I know who I'll see.

"So that's Gemiah, huh?"

He blushes. "Have you met him yet?"

"Shilo introduced us outside after you bailed, remember?"

"Right. What did you think?" He asks it almost shyly, and I'm charmed that he gives a shit about my opinion.

"About as expected, based on what you've hinted. Cocky. Friendly in a snarky way. Hot as fuck." I punch him gently in the arm. "Not my type anymore." The look he gives me is unbearably grateful, so I change the subject. "Shilo seems pretty proud of him, even if she's not one hundred percent happy with his current choices."

"Studying at ENC, yeah. It was a total coup when he applied." His voice goes wistful. "But he doesn't have any interest in getting saddled with the family business and stuck in his hometown."

"Fair enough."

"I know." He still sounds so glum, I can't help feeling bad for him.

"Cirque hires riggers and engineers too, you know."

"Those people have professional training. I'm just a guy who's good at fixing things."

"And throwing knives."

"And throwing knives." He smiles slightly. "But I'm not gonna be the pathetic guy who follows his hopeless crush around."

"It could be a teen drama," I tease, trying to lighten his mood. "Secretly lusting after the boss's son."

"The boss's straight son."

I finally glance over at the guy in question and catch him watching us. As soon as he sees me looking, he turns back to the chick at his side.

"Maybe."

"I'm pretty sure."

"I bet I have better gaydar than you." That makes him laugh, but he still sounds defeated. Unrequited longing's a bitch. Thank fucking god I'm past that phase. Actually … "You know how I finally got Byrd to make a move?"

He raises his eyebrows. "How?"

"Flirting with you." Well, and having an epic emotional meltdown , but I don't share that part. Now he laughs for real .

"Too bad there's no one here for me to flirt with."

"That's not entirely true. Is he watching us right now?"

His eyes flick over my shoulder.

"Yes." Surprise coats his voice.

I glance at Byrd laughing with Hals while Shilo tries to coax Milla onstage. He's not looking my way, but I know he's aware of me, the way I'm always aware of him.

I am going to be in so much trouble. A shiver runs through me at the thought.

"Okay, I'm gonna kiss you now." I start to reach for Josha, pausing at his wide-eyed expression. "You have kissed a guy before, right? I don't want to…fuck it up if you want your first to be special or something."

He rolls his eyes.

"Fuck you. Yes, I've kissed a guy before. I'm not a total noob."

"Sure," I snicker. Josha has "virgin" written all over him. "He still watching?"

"Yeah…"

Let's see how straight you really are, Mr. "I like tits and ass."

Without warning Josha again, I cup the back of his neck and bring his mouth to mine. His lips are soft and tentative, and I brush my tongue across the seam between them until they part with a small rush of breath, before pulling back to find large, liquid brown eyes staring at me.

"Don't fall in love with me now," I warn, which makes him snort, thank god . "Did he see?"

"I think so."

"How does he look?"

Before he can answer, I catch Byrd watching me from the edge of the stage, lethal heat in his eyes.

Yup. So much trouble.

When I toss him a wink, he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes narrowing.

"I gotta go." I stand abruptly, adjusting my thickening cock. "Good luck."

Josha glances from me to Byrd, and his lips twitch. "You too."

Byrd vaults off the stage and stalks toward me, not even a little unsteady, although I could swear he's had as much to drink as I have. I should probably meet him halfway, mitigate the damage, but watching him move through the small crowd like a hunting cat has me glued in place. With one last sympathetic look, Josha flees, rocking the iron bench in his haste to escape.

How Byrd can loom over me with only two extra inches of height, I have no idea, but he does, and I practically swoon. He's close enough to smell the whiskey on his breath and the clean tang of his sweat, and I sway into him, caught in his tether.

He curls his hand around the back of my neck and squeezes, the blunt bite of his nails along my pulse sending it skittering.

"What was that about?" he asks, voice deep and dangerous and oh so fucking hot. I slide my arms around his waist.

"An experiment."

"An experiment. Did it have the desired effect?"

"One of them." I bat my eyelashes as he brings his other hand up to cup my jaw, holding my head trapped between his rough fingers.

"Put your hands in my pockets," he commands, and I try to grin against his grip, slipping my fingers into the layers of denim hugging his ass.

They brush the unmistakable shape of a foil-wrapped ring, and all the strength leaves my body.

"You brought condoms," I breathe, heat rocketing through me .

He bends his head and runs his scruff along the shell of my ear.

"I think it's time for you to ride my cock until you paint my chest with your cum."

There's that swoon.

"That was only the first half of my fantasy," I manage to gasp out. His chuckle is a vibration I feel all the way to my toes.

"Don't press your luck, altar boy."

"Are you safe to drive?" I ask, fighting sudden panic. "I really don't want to die in a ditch right before I finally achieve my life's dream." I'm also not sure I'll survive the forty-minute drive back to the cabin without jumping his bones, but he shakes his head, grabbing my hand and tugging me toward the exit.

"I got a room in town."

Thank fucking god.