Page 13 of Hot Summer's Prey

TERESA

After a few hours of dancing with and without my friends, my good time gets much better suddenly. The bar isn’t very packed—a modest crowd for a Monday night.

“You look good with clothes on,” I call over to Hottie-with-the-Dog.

The dog is in his arms. He looks a little perplexed—the hottie, not the dog.

The dog is the cutest freaking thing I’ve ever seen. It reminds me of Ruff from Ruffing Around, the dog from my first paid gig as a dancer. Back when I was ten, working on a dog show was the shit. At least it was until all the production team kept yelling at us. ‘Kids and animals!’ they’d repeat. Now I know what it means—it’s a hell of a lot more work to have one on set, let alone both. Anyway, one of the other dancers got hurt in the middle of production so I got put front and center. That also meant I got to pet the cute as all hell bichon frise during the breaks. Her trainer was really sweet, even snuck me into her trailer after one producer made me cry. Those tiny little white fur balls have been my favorite ever since.

“Not used to hearing that,” the hottie murmurs under his breath.

“Because you’re usually naked?” I ask before thinking.

He lets out a little laugh and a surprised smile. His whole face lights up. He might be the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

“Because people forget about me after they sleep with me,” he says, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “You know, after they’ve seen me naked.”

This time it’s my turn to laugh. “Oh yeah, okay, sure.”

He shrugs.

“Is the dog part of your pickup game?” I ask, still trying to make sense of this strange man.

“He doesn’t usually come along,” the hottie says.

“You can’t leave him at home? Even the neediest dogs are usually okay with owners being gone a few hours.”

“It’s… under construction.”

The dramatic pause seems unnecessary.

“You wanna set him down? Loosen up a little? I can buy you a drink,” I offer.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” he asks.

“Boy, at this point I’m so thrown off by your whole vibe I don’t know what I’m trying. Are we flirting or not?”

I should be better at this, but honestly I feel like my life is so stressful, I’ve been very up front about my expectations in the last few years. At least in my personal life. In my work life, I’m a catty bitch who’s nice to every one of those assholes who mocks me behind my back.

“Direct,” he muses.

“That’s not an answer,” I grumble.

“Do you have a name?” he asks.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, do you?”

“Pacari,” he offers, extending a hand out from under his dog.

I tilt my head, furrow my brow, but take the hand anyway.

“Teresa.”

His hand is soft, like he moisturizes constantly. Maybe this is my problem. Am I hitting on a gay guy? Wouldn’t be the first time. I’m not really into macho men, and I spend all my time around pretty-boy dancers who make it very obvious whatever their sexuality is, so I don’t know how to fare in the world outside of dance. Not that all gay guys moisturize. He could be bi, for all I know. Or even straight. God, sometimes the socialized homophobia really rears its head.

He sets the dog down and stretches out his arms. My eyes follow the ripple of muscle along them—not too thick, just defined. Maybe a swimmer—or wouldn’t that be hilarious, a dancer? Given the surrounding area, my bet’s on the former.

“You buying me that drink?” he asks, leaning into the bar.

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