Chapter 1
JAMES
It was going to be my lucky weekend. I just knew it.
I knew it the second I left the bank, packed a bag, and piled into Duncan’s minivan with my three best friends. Quinton rambled on like a horny college boy about a sorority of hot babes who came to his coffee shop, excitedly sweeping his dark curls of hair out of his eyes five times a sentence. Duncan, pale and tall as a stick of chalk, but cynical as a lump of coal, actually cracked a joke (instead of biting our heads off) about his arch nemesis from the snobby private school he taught at. Even Officer Lewis, a stoic, mustached black man who was the main security guard at my bank I worked at, was telling us something funny his wife said with a smile on his face—and he never smiled.
Maybe we all needed to get out of town. We’d had a shitty past month since our last weekend together and were desperate to kick back, guzzle beer, and gamble ourselves silly.
And it was going to be my lucky weekend, damn it.
“Don’t you feel it?” I finally let out on the car ride into the city, unable to keep my thrill bottled in a second longer. “One of us is going to hit it big.”
“You say that every weekend we go,” Lewis mumbled from the passenger seat.
“True,” I conceded, “but this time, I really feel it. Just today, I sold four loans, three credit cards, and got old Ms. Olive to open not one, but two savings accounts.”
“Is that supposed to be a lot?” asked Lewis teasingly.
“Yes. It means good things are coming,” I stated. “It’s a sign.”
“A sign from Satan?” cut in Duncan at the wheel, peeking at me in the back seat through the rearview. “A sign that capitalism is the truest manmade evil next to war, poverty, oatmeal raisin cookies, and season six of Game of Thrones?”
“Says the underpaid teacher at a prestigious private school,” I threw back, “who spends his weekdays spoon-feeding arithmetic to spoiled rich kids.”
“Only in the literal sense,” he returned, braking as the traffic came to a standstill ahead of us. “Oh, look. Look at all these good things that are coming for us. An eighteen-wheeler straight ahead, blocking our view. Five miles of ass-to-face traffic.”
“I like ass-to-face,” murmured Quinton thoughtfully.
I was too excited to let mere traffic bother me. Something big was going to happen. Hell, it didn’t even have to be me who made the lucky pull of the lever on a slot machine, or had the winning card flipped by the dealer, or watched my number get landed on at the roulette table. One of us was going to hit it big.
This weekend was ours. Nothing can stop us.
Hours later when we finally arrived at our usual hotel, the beautiful woman at the front desk smiled as she slapped the room keys onto the counter. “We hope you enjoy your stay here at the Royal Flush Hotel & Suites. You’re in the Spades Tower. You will find cards in your rooms preloaded with a courtesy $5 useable at any of the connecting casinos—”
“Are you new?” sang Quinton sweetly as he leaned against the counter, eyeing the woman. “I haven’t seen you here before, and my buddies and I are here at least twice a month. Though, last time, I’m pretty sure we were at the Clubs Tower instead.”
If Quinton wasn’t flirting with someone, he was dead.
“Quinton, man, don’t shit where you eat,” mumbled Lewis.
“No one’s doing any defecating of any kind,” Quinton threw over his shoulder. “I’m just getting to know our brand new hotel receptionist.”
To that, the pretty blonde’s lips curled. “Mr. Small,” she cooed right back at him, saccharine sweet. “I’ve been here for five years, and saw you the last three times you were here.” She chuckled as she leaned on the counter. “You’ve got quite the reputation. Made an impression on a lot of girls in town, I’ve heard.”
Quinton flashed a smile. “Oh, yeah? Have I?”
“Yep.” She tilted her head, her blonde curls bouncing. “The reason you never noticed me before—you big hot shot—is because your eyes are always too buried in my best friend Rebecca’s cleavage to see anyone else.”
Quinton flinched. “Rebecca? Who?”
“The waitress at your favorite Italian place across the street.”
It took him a second to remember. “Oh, the one who always plays hard-to-get?” Quinton wiggled his eyebrows knowingly at us as Duncan sighed and Lewis shook his head.
“She plays hard-to-get,” answered the receptionist, “because she’s already gotten—by the female gender. She’s gay. Like, hella gay. When a horny boob-starer like you hits on her, she tells me after closing, and we laugh about it over a bowl of fettuccini.”
“Ouch,” grunted Duncan. Lewis chuckled dryly behind him.
Quinton’s eyes turned into two pebbles. Then, just as quickly, he nodded back at me. “Hey, we’ve got a gay with us. We’re cool with the gays. Aren’t we, James?”
I screwed up my forehead. “A gay? Really? You’ve got ‘a gay’?”
“As a matter of gay fact, my big brother is married to James’s sister. So James here is even my family. Besides … to be honest …” Quinton went on, grinning, “it kinda turns me on, hearing that two hot chicks are laughing at my expense. Wait.” He lifted his chin. “Are you a lesbian? You only said she was one.”
Duncan put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Better quit while you’re ahead, buddy. Get your room key. We’ve got a casino to hit up and ten rounds of drinks to desperately be had, and the line behind us is growing.”
I glanced back at the less-than-patient faces waiting in the check-in line. For a Friday evening, you’d think they’d have more than just two people working the front desk.
My gaze, however, drifted past the lines. By the front glass doors of the lobby, I saw a young man leaning against the wall.
Correction: a young demigod.
This man had a face that was so beautiful, my heart jumped in place as if it knew at once that I would never see anyone more beautiful again. He had high, statuesque cheekbones and a firmly squared jaw that exuded strength. His cheeks were lightly flushed with a generous dusting of facial hair.
And his lips. Fuck me mid-cartwheel with a banana in each hand. His lips were plush and perfectly pouty. They had to be the most kissable lips I’d ever seen.
From halfway across a busy hotel lobby, that is.
With his hands shoved in his pockets, he leaned against the wall in a pair of loose blue jeans that hung low on his hips, which pulled my mind into every dirty thought imaginable. His tight white tank top hugged two firm pecs and his lithe, slender shape. I just knew he was ripped. I didn’t need to be any closer to know that for sure. Atop his head of short blond hair was a cocked black cap, his bangs sticking out from underneath, and a black backpack hung from his muscled arm. He stared pensively into the sky like he was waiting for someone, his forehead wrinkled up cutely and his eyes as fierce and intense as the night sky itself.
It was no exaggeration; even from that far away, I knew what caliber beauty I was beholding. And that work of art right there … that was grade-A perfection.
The next minute, Lewis slapped a hand to my back so hard, I almost fell forward. “You coming?”
I didn’t want to answer him. I knew that answering meant leaving, and leaving meant depriving myself of the heart-crushing sight before me. “Yeah,” I muttered anyway, distractedly, hefting my duffel bag off the ground and languidly following my friends, my eyes fastened to the guy by the front glass doors as long as I possibly could before slipping out of view.
Looking at him was as painful as it was pleasurable. And while my friends were gabbing with one another the whole elevator ride up, I stared at the wall blankly, my mind still clinging to the image of that perfect young man in the lobby.
I counted my heartbeats instead of the floors as we ascended.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven …
Ding.
Duncan and I shared a room while security-guard Lewis and my brother-in-law’s proud boob-starer little brother Quinton took the neighboring one. The rooms had an adjoining door, which was promptly opened the second we got inside. The next ten minutes were spent claiming beds, making fun of Duncan for overpacking a whole suitcase of unnecessary clothing, and arguing over which of the attached casinos to hit up first. Lewis really wanted to go to the Elysian for its cheap and tasty drinks while the bar wasn’t too busy. Duncan was adamant about going to the Talisman before it got too late and all the obnoxious college crowd rolled in from the local campus. Quinton practically made a five-point presentation on why we should go to the Ebon Oasis first.
As they argued, all I did was think about the beautiful guy by the front glass doors and wonder why I was sitting there and not trying to hurry back to the lobby to see him again.
Are you kidding yourself? What do you expect to happen?
There was something about this place—the casinos, the hotel, the reckless gambling, the escapism—that made me feel like I was on the cusp of changing my life. I felt it every time a Friday rolled by that the boys and I had one of our weekend getaways planned.
Every time, I went home on Sunday, and nothing changed.
I wondered how long it had been since I even let another guy touch me. When was the last time someone kissed me? I couldn’t even remember when I’d bothered going on a date. My dating profiles had probably lapsed, closed down, been hacked, or had otherwise atrophied over the years. Don’t even ask me to recall my passwords and login info. You might as well ask what my AOL screen name was two decades ago.
The only thing my life seemed to be full of was other people’s money, the sulky faces of customers as I ran credit checks, and the pallid, tired look on my thirty-something face every night in the mirror after I brushed my teeth and commenced a staring contest with my own sunken eyes. Neither I nor my reflection won.
Oddly, my heart was still racing. And it had nothing to do with my friends arguing about casinos and cheap booze in front of me. My eyes were drifting, my mind still stuck in the lobby and my lips pursed in thought.
All of that crushing lonesomeness flooded my chest just from the sight of that hot guy in the tank top and jeans. Maybe that was why I was so affected by him—my crushing lonesomeness that I had kept at bay with all my might, ignoring it as I drowned myself in hours at the bank, in bringing work home, in my little hobbies, and in these weekend getaways with my friends.
I never wanted to face how lonely I really was underneath all the cheeriness.
Then, as suddenly as the wave of emotion came, I shook it all away with a shrug. With gambling, I won’t have to face any of those emotions; just give me a handful of chips, a tall drink, and a good time.
“Guys, it doesn’t matter which damned casino we hit up first,” I blurted, cutting them all off. “We’re here. We’re away from our sucky jobs. You,” I said, nodding at stoic Lewis, “don’t have to wear your damned security guard uniform the whole weekend. And you, Duncan, don’t have to pander to snobby teenagers with more in their savings account than you’ll make in your lifetime.”
“Rub it in,” he mumbled with a roll of his eyes.
“And Quinton, my tragically horny friend, the last thing you’ll be smelling or hearing is another order for a Venti, non-fat, sugar free syrup, four-pump caramel macchiato upside-down … which, let’s face it, is pretty much like ordering a Diet Coke to go with your triple patty heart-attack cheeseburger.”
“Preach,” grunted Lewis, to which Quinton bumped his fist.
“We are here. Away from all of that noise. In the end, it doesn’t matter if it’s an Ebon Oasis chair cradling our overworked butts, or a Talisman chair, or even the fancy ones at Elysium that look like thrones—or toilets, depending on the angle. Personally, the casino I prefer is the Crystal Dragon, but that’s because I’m a sucker for their spring rolls and pad thai.” I shot each of them a look. “But I’m not over here whining like a bitch about which craps table I can pitch a pair of dice at, now am I?”
Lewis folded his arms. Quinton hid an amused chuckle behind his big hand as he glanced between Lewis and Duncan. After a while, Duncan just shrugged and said, “Fine. Ebon Oasis first up, then Elysian for the drinks, then the Dragon for a sober-up bite of Asianese. We can hit the Talisman tomorrow when all the college brats are hung over in their hotel rooms.”
“Fuck yeah!” cried out Quinton like he just won a hand, but likely he still had lesbian boobs on his mind.
I wouldn’t blame him. I had someone else’s perfect face, tight bod, and pouty lips on mine.
A moment later found us sitting around a blackjack table at the Ebon Oasis with drinks in our fists. Smoke drifted in a wispy haze over the casino’s signature black marble countertops, and the noise of thumping music, riotous laughter, and repetitive slot machine tunes flooded my ears.
“So you sold four loans today, huh?” inquired Duncan after we broke away from the table together to take a leak.
“Yep. It’s actually a lot for our bank on a Friday,” I felt I had to explain, “believe it or not.”
We reached the bathroom. Someone was grunting in one of the stalls, and it did not sound like a normal bathroom function. Ignoring it, Duncan and I took the only two available urinals.
“Hey, whenever you deal with people’s money,” Duncan asked over the small black partition between us, “does it ever …”
His voice trailed off. I quirked an eyebrow and half-turned my head toward him. “Does it ever …?”
“Does it ever bother you?” he finished.
I wrinkled up my face. “What do you mean?”
“Seeing all of this wealth and money and riches just … sitting there in other peoples’ accounts? Money saved up waiting to be wasted on Daddy’s midlife-crisis Lamborghini, or a third vacation house in Palm Springs, or little spoiled Johnny’s college fund you know he’s going to blow on high-dollar weed?”
“Jeez, Duncan. Way to go dark there.”
“Doesn’t it get to you?” he pushed on. “Ass-kissing America’s greediest and staring at six-and-seven-figure salaries?”
“Not everyone I help is filthy rich.”
The grunting intensified at our backs, graduating to a series of breathy, staccato moans. An old man in a sweater vest at the sink glanced worriedly over his shoulder as he washed his hands.
Duncan snorted. “You work in the same part of town that I do. Every student I teach has ‘privileged young twat’ stamped on their foreheads. Maybe I’m just projecting my own bitterness onto you.”
“One day, you may have nothing to be bitter about,” I pointed out. “You could get that huge promotion to assistant principal.”
“So that’s what we’re doing with our lives? Biding our time as we suffer the endless grind of clocking in, clocking out, coming here every other weekend, and waiting to get lucky?”
Something loud kicked into the back of the stall door. The elongated howl that ensued afterwards lifted every hair on the back of my neck.
“Sounds like someone just got lucky,” I noted with a wince as I finished and zipped up, then headed for the sink.
I never answered his question.
By the time we finished with the first casino, none of us felt up to going to the second. We were at least up to our knees in the proverbial pool of intoxication, and none of us were as young as we mentally pretended to be.
It wasn’t long before we were sitting at a small table in the Crystal Dragon food court that served midnight eggrolls and pad thai from a nearby kiosk. All of our wallets were lighter, and not because of the food and drinks. None of us had a lick of winnings to show for our crazy night, unless you counted Duncan scoring five dollars off the penny slots.
Our spot in the front corner of the food court had a perfect view of the whole casino. And as we sat there chowing down and listening to Lewis complain about something to do with his wife driving him crazy—“She messages me ten times an hour when she knows dang well what weekend this is!”—I spotted him through the coil of steam rising off my plate of food.
I stopped eating at once. The sight of him alone cast a spell of paralysis over me.
I blinked the blurriness from my eyes several times, as if to be sure I was seeing what I was seeing. For a second, I wasn’t sure if it was the same guy. I mean, he was gorgeous like him. He wore the same clothes—tight white tank top, blue jeans, and a black cap—but he had a hoodie tied around his waist now, and he looked considerably younger than he did before, even with the facial hair.
Just when I thought my system had returned to normal, there went my insides turning over again. A weight of expectation sat right on my chest the longer I watched him as he strolled slowly through the casino like he had nowhere to be.
Really, he looked lost. It was easy to tell that he was headed nowhere in particular with the slow, uncalculated way in which he moseyed about. Also, he was with no one. He buried his hands in his pockets and stiffened up, which did something quite appealing to his arm muscles, making them look flexed, sinewy, and taut. His shoulders were hunched ever so slightly, giving him a guarded air. Was he on the lookout for someone? Was he on the run?
It was unclear whether he was in danger—or was the danger. The victim … or the criminal.
That ambiguity, I’m ashamed to say, turned me on.
A lot.
“I think it’s … uh … about time to call it a nighty-nighty-night, fellas,” Duncan announced as he staggered to his feet.
Lewis scoffed at him. “Shit, man, it’s barely midnight.”
“And I had a day … a day full of … of entitled teenagers talking to me like I was their f-freakin’ butt butler.” Duncan coughed and wiped his face with a clumsy hand. “I meant to just say ‘butler’.”
Quinton chortled. “I liked butt butler better.”
“I’m drunk,” complained Duncan. “I need a bed.”
“Me too, butt butler.”
Lewis eyed the two of them. “You two wanna share a room instead? Sounds like you’re about plastered enough to fuck each other at this point.” He shot me a look. “No offense, bro.”
I was still watching the moving marble statue of a man across the casino. I didn’t want to lose track of him again. He had stopped by one of the big, flashy slot machines, staring at its shimmering logos and staying put. For now. “You do realize,” I murmured distractedly, “that you don’t have to say that every time you make a gay joke. I promise I’m not offended.”
“Oh, oh, I got a gay joke,” blurted Quinton, slumping over the table clumsily. “So this gay guy, Morticia Addams, and Captain Jack Sparrow walk into a bar …”
“Nope.” Duncan rose from the table and pulled a protesting Quinton to his feet with him. “You’re cut off, buddy. And so am—” He let out a belch. “So am I. Let’s get us to our rooms.”
“But it was a good one!” Quinton promised as he was dragged off. “The punchline is: ‘Argh, it’s in me bum!’ C’mon, man!” But after a few more seconds, the two of them were out of sight.
Lewis nudged me. “I don’t know how you put up with him.”
“Who? Quinton?” I shrugged. “He’s not all frat-boy horn-dog. Hell, it was my idea to set my sister up with his—”
“With his brother, I know. I’ve heard the damned corny-ass story of how their first date was in Quinton’s coffee shop.”
“Yep.” My eyes were still locked on that certain someone by the big slot machine. Just looking at him, my heart raced up to my throat, trying to choke my words. “And now they’re married.”
“With no damned kids, God willing.” Lewis eyed me. “You ever think about getting married?”
I pressed my lips together. I couldn’t peel my eyes away from that beauty. “No,” I answered lamely. “Considering how long I’ve been alone, it’s literally the last thought on my mind. I’m pretty sure I’m too late to make the marriage train.”
“No such thing as too late, man.” He stretched, let out a loud yawn, then grunted, “I’m gonna turn in. You coming?”
I pointed at my noodles. “I’m … going to finish up here. You go on ahead. I’m sober enough to make it back on my own.”
Lewis slapped my back—nearly planting my face in my pad thai—then rose from the table. “Don’t get into trouble, McKinney.”
I smiled tightly and gave him a nod before he sauntered off. Since Lewis worked as the security guard at my bank, I was used to him calling me by my last name: McKinney. For a moment, it put me totally at ease and had me forgetting my emotional dilemma.
But not for long. The second my eyes snapped back to the slot machine and its loyal companion, my heart thumped rapidly all over again. There was no way I was finishing my last bite of eggroll or the rest of my pad thai, which I barely touched. My appetite fled as fast as my three friends did, and the only thing I knew was a piercing desire that struck through my chest, pinning me to the chair—a desire that could only be satisfied with the one upon which my eyes were desperately feasting.
What exactly was I expecting? Was I just going to walk right up to that guy and introduce myself? Say hello? Admire his days at the gym? Ask where he lives and get his number? For all I knew, he was ten years younger than me. Some cocky twenty-something who would never have eyes for the likes of me.
“Would you like it to go?”
I jumped so far, I was nearly to my feet at the intrusive sound of her voice. It was our sweet server. After taking a breath—and a moment to realize what the hell she was asking—I finally nodded.
“I’ll be back with a container.” Then she was off.
I glanced back at the slot machine, then felt my heart sink through the floor when I realized he was gone. My eyes shot to the left, then to the right. I spun around to look behind me, searching.
He was nowhere to be found.
The server returned quickly with a small container in which my food went. I could barely smile, distracted as I was, but I still tipped her before making my leave, since we paid for the food upfront. I scanned the casino urgently. No matter where I looked, only strange faces met mine.
I couldn’t believe that I lost him again.
Like, again-again.
There was no sense keeping myself up another handful of hours searching for him like a sad dog from trashcan to trashcan in pursuit of a bone. I took the elevator back up to my room. My container of noodles went right into the mini-fridge, and I fell onto the bed. Duncan was passed out already with his laptop open next to him and a set of white earbuds shoved in his ears.
I shut my eyes to put an end to my day.
Then I proceeded to toss and turn all night.
That was my punishment for being single too long: obsessing over any young thing I encountered. Suddenly I wondered where he was from. I was curious if he had any friends. I wondered if his voice was as sexy as he looked. I reimagined over and over a scenario in my head of the two of us meeting—what he might say, what I might say back, what we might do. They weren’t even sexual, my scenarios. They were more emotional, full of the ripe excitement of first meeting someone, of the frantic pit-pat in my chest, of the sweat on my palms when I’d reach to take his hand, of the look in his eyes when I’d tell him I had feelings for him.
I hoped I wasn’t the only idiot who tortured himself this way every time he saw a beautiful guy he wished he could have.
Then went to his hotel room—alone—and sulked in his bed.
Then cursed every missed opportunity and chance he might have had to interact with him, no matter how big or small it was.
Then agonized the entire night, dreaming of all that could have happened.
Good night, James McKinney, you big unlucky loser.
* * *
We spent the next day at the Talisman, which was a lavish casino decorated with what I took to be Egyptian hieroglyphics, exotic art pieces, and beautiful flora. Regrettably, it looked tacky and offputting during daylight hours.
And even as we gabbed about our Friday night and Duncan nursed a headache, I still sat there at our table with my eyes scanning the casino, like my guy was just going to show up around the corner at any point. Somehow, I figured he was only there for one night—maybe on vacation with some buddies he had ditched halfway through the night. Sunday would come around before I knew it, I’d be headed home, and I’d never see him again.
If Lady Luck was really a thing, I was certain that Lonely Loser was her bitchy gay brother, and he was damned determined not to let me enjoy the rest of my weekend.
That night was a blur of slot machines, sweet unassuming cocktails, and no sexy young men in sight—and yes, I looked. After every sip of my drink, after every joke Quinton blurted out over the smoke of Lewis’s cigarettes, after every frustrated smack of Duncan’s palm against the table when he lost, I twisted my neck left, craned my neck right, and saw no sign of him.
He was gone. My brain knew it, but my heart wouldn’t listen.
After wasting even more of our hard-earned money at every table in the four casinos—and winning nothing—everyone still somehow managed to look like we had fun as we dragged our half-drunken asses back to our adjoining rooms and ate pizza until two in the morning. Quinton fell asleep on the floor with a pizza box in his lap. Lewis’s night ended with him sprawled over the wrong bed on his stomach, snoring. Trusty Duncan slept propped up by all the pillows from both his bed and mine and his mouth hanging open, the TV remote resting in his palm.
And I couldn’t be farther from asleep. Instead, I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows staring down at the street and counting my last hours of freedom as they dwindled. Seven stories up, I felt so weirdly detached from the masses of people still ambling about on a Saturday night. Well, two in the morning, more accurately. It looked like a fairly substantial amount of people, to be fair. Come tomorrow, we’d be packing our bags and driving home with mild headaches and an impending nightmare of what miserable work would find us Monday. I was sure the others were already fast dreaming of our next adventure to the casinos.
But it wouldn’t be for two more weeks. Fourteen days of the grind stood between us and the casinos, the only place we all seemed to feel alive.
Maybe Duncan was right. The process of urinating together granted him timely wisdom. Maybe we were all just biding our time, sleepwalking through life, and waiting for that golden bolt of fortune to cast down from the sky and shatter our lives apart in the best way possible.
I blinked, then leaned forward. Wait a minute …
Was that him?
I leaned forward more. My forehead bumped the glass and I hardly noticed, staring down at the street, wide-eyed.
That’s him, I realized with a jerk of excitement to my heart. Even seven stories up, I knew that was his shape leaning against the wall of the Italian restaurant across the street. That has to be him. That totally fucking has to be the guy.
No, I wasn’t sure.
No, I didn’t care.
Then in an instant, a boom of distant thunder shook the glass, and the sky began to flash with spiderwebs of lightning. Shit. The pit-pat of raindrops began slapping the window right away, and I realized that my guy wasn’t going to be down there on the street in the oncoming rain for much longer.
I had to go.
And I had to go now.
My three comrades snoring, grunting, and breathing deeply, I swiped my wallet and phone, stuffed them into my pockets, and slipped out of the door. The elevator came so fast, it might as well have been waiting for me. Down I went. I mashed my thumb into the lobby button thirteen times, as if that’d hurry it up.
Another boom of thunder caused the elevator to shudder.
I clenched shut my eyes.
Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up.
The second the doors slid open, I burst out from them like a liberated cat from a pet taxi. I cut across the lobby as casually as I could manage while keeping my pace brisk. I didn’t want to full-on run, but still needed to be fast. I wasn’t going to lose him.
Not again-again-again.
Am I crazy? Have I lost my damned mind?
When I pushed through the front glass doors, a blast of cool wind slapped me in the face as the rain poured down. I peered across the street at the Italian restaurant.
The wall was vacant.
Damn it.
Did I imagine him? Were Lady Luck and Lonely Loser laughing their asses off at my expense right now? Was it a smudge on the hotel window that, through the lens of my own crippling lack, manifested itself into what I wanted it to be?
The rain thrashed around me, the wind howling as it pushed and squeezed its way through the narrow streets and alleyways. Now and then, everything flashed like a photographer’s bulb as the sky erupted with bursts of lightning that cracked and boomed.
I closed my eyes and took a deep, deep breath.
I spun around to head back inside.
My body crashed into what I could only describe as a brick wall made of flesh and warm breath, then I toppled backwards. The pavement rushed up to meet me, and I landed hard on my ass and elbow. A groan of anguish shot out of me while pain lanced its way up and down my arm.
When I opened my eyes, I found it wasn’t a wall at all that I’d crashed into.
It was him.
“The fuck?” he mumbled from his full, plush, wet lips.
Jesus. I just ran into the guy, fell hard on my ass, might have just broken my elbow, and the first thing I noticed were how pretty his lips were?
But that was the closest I’d ever been to him. In an instant, I was aware of nothing at all except for the chiseled, handsome face staring down at me—the face of a cocky, messy-haired young man. His eyes, brown and muddy like the puddle of God-knows-what I just fell into, shimmered through the tears of rain that blasted all around us. Just looking at him, my pain became nothing but little pinches of invisible fingers that tested whether I was back up in my hotel room dreaming or not. Dreamy … If I had to reduce this gorgeous young man to one word, it would be dreamy.
Then, in an authoritative tone ignited with young and cocky masculinity, he said, “Watch where you’re walkin’.”
I blinked up at him, my wound forgotten. My heart jumped at the sound of his command. “E-Excuse me?”
He was still clad in blue jeans and a tight white tank top, but now he wore a tight-fitting hoodie over it, which seemed to glue itself skintight to every single round ripple of his toned, sinewy body underneath.
It was very distracting. And inviting.
Even if he was being a rude little shit to me.
His eyebrows furrowed, and in that same dominant tone, he spat back, “I said to watch where you’re walkin’.”
I stumbled clumsily back to my feet, aware instantly of the cold wetness that now dressed my back and side. I didn’t even feel the pain in my elbow yet—at least, not truly.
For some reason, my reaction to this strong-willed, puffed-up piece of meat wasn’t the same as it was in my fantasies. Instead, I felt a need to connect to him. A persuasive, unshakeable need.
“I was watching,” I insisted, my voice light. “It started to—”
“Obviously not,” he spat back.
Quite suddenly, the throbbing in my arm was replaced with something else entirely: a surge of indignance. “I was walking just fine,” I retorted, stiffening my spine. “Your ass ran into me.”
He gave me a quick once-over, sizing me up. Then he met my eyes, and his gaze turned as hard as granite.
I had never been looked at in that way. Not once. Not ever.
The look he gave me was all animal. It made my heart jerk in my chest. It was a particularly … hungry sort of look. The whites of his eyes flashed against the backdrop of rain falling all around us.
I had his full attention, his full aggression, his full everything.
Why was he staring at me like that? I couldn’t tell whether he wanted to kick my ass, fuck me, or devour me whole.
Is that crazy? To see all of that with just a single glare?
You’re imagining it all, James. You’re reading way too much into it. You’re projecting your own horny desires onto him. This young punk who is literally dripping with sex couldn’t possibly want you.
“Oh yeah?” he finally challenged me, after far, far too long of a staring contest that had my heart thrashing against my ribcage. “You think I ran into you? Really?”
The more he went at me, the harder I went at him. It was like we were having sex with words. The rough kind. “It’s … It’s raining freaking—fucking cats and dogs out here.” I puffed up my chest. “Maybe instead of bursting out onto the street and yelling at—”
“I have just as much a right to be here on this street as you do.” He took a step toward me. I took a step back. “You better step down unless you want the other side of your face bruised, too.”
The words startled me. The other side of my face? I brought a hand up to my cheek, then flinched when it smarted. I must have hit my face too when I landed—and it must have been a hard landing.
Real talk. This kid was gorgeous, there was no doubt. But he was clearly also a total dick. I couldn’t believe I wasted my whole weekend pining after this indignant little—“Punk,” I finally spat out, turning my thoughts into words. “You’re just a punk asshole.”
“And who the hell are you?” he came right back with.
“A soaking wet man,” I answered, “who needs to get the hell out of this rain and back up to his hotel room where—”
“Perfect,” he cut me off, his flushed face mere inches from mine. “That just makes my day perfect. Yet another entitled rich dude with a big fancy hotel room and three meals a day, telling me how rude I am after he runs into me.”
His words stopped me. Or maybe it was the red in his cheeks I noticed, how boyish it made his face look even with the beard. Or maybe it was the way his breath came out in tufts of mist before his young, plush lips that were so frustratingly kissable and perfect, it was almost an effort to hate him. Or maybe it was how beautiful his eyes looked when they gleamed with anger.
“R-Rich dude?” I sputtered. “You think I’m—?”
“Everyone’s richer than me.” He got right up in my face. This time, I stood my ground and let him. “It’s all just a matter of which side of the street you’re standing on, isn’t it?”
I won’t lie. Standing there with that gorgeous young man spitting words that close to my face was more erotic to me than anything that had happened in the privacy of my bedroom for the past ten years, solid.
And those words of his also cut deep. All the steam I thought I had was knocked right out of my chest in that moment.
“Is it so much to ask,” he went on, his voice low, “to get just a scrap of fucking compassion in this city? Or is everyone really so consumed with shoving their weight around and pissing all over my day? As if I haven’t been through enough.”
My words were stuck in my throat. I had so many questions that all wanted answering at once. Was it an apology I was trying to form? Or a declaration of sympathy?
Or did I just want to kiss him?
“Guys like you,” he then said, “have been trying to control guys like me my whole life. And I’m done with it.” He leaned toward me so close, I could’ve kissed him right then—my lips to his gorgeous, pouty, perfect ones. “So how about you take your entitled, comfy, fortunate hotel-room self and get the fuck out of my pathetic, dirty, street-rat face?”
I fed on his intensity like a vampire—and felt his pain. Maybe it was the look in his eyes that so mirrored the real wound inside me, the one that no amount of trips to these casinos could heal.
We couldn’t be more different, yet in this small moment of time, I felt like we were the same person.
Maybe that’s where my words came from. “You … don’t seem pathetic and … and dirty to me at all.”
The hardness in his eyes softened at once. I think he was taken aback by my words. Genuinely.
I doubt that in a hundred thousand years he would have expected the response I just gave him.
Then, as quickly as a flash of lightning above our heads, he turned hard again. “Just leave me alone, man,” he grunted, his mouth so close to my face that his mere words stirred the tangled, wet bangs on my forehead.
And with that, the beauty I’d emotionally chased all weekend turned away and drew his hood up, tightening it. Then I watched his gorgeous, muscled, tapered backside as he disappeared down the road and around the corner of the hotel, his unlaced high-top Converse slapping in the puddles as he trudged away.
I couldn’t stop staring. I didn’t move, feeling the ghosts of his words as they passed through me over and over again. They drew circles around my body like the wisps of rain that spat in my face with every errant gust of wind.
Holy shit.
What just happened?
Even long after that moment ended and I was back up in my lofty, air-conditioned hotel room in the Spades Tower, my elbow bandaged up and throbbing as I was curled up on my huge bed without pillows, I still felt the heat of his intense stare on me as if he never walked away.
Whenever I blinked, I saw his gorgeous, muddy brown eyes.
Whenever my heart beat, I felt his body slam against mine all over again.
I felt like my body had memorized the feel of his the instant we crashed into each other.
His pecs.
His abs.
His shoulders and big arms … and almost his face.
Almost his face.
Something in me knew for a fact that it wasn’t going to be the last time I saw him.