Page 1 of Flare

PROLOGUE

Rhys

“Have fun.”The bouncer winked and handed back our fake IDs, moving on to the next hopefuls in the line that snaked around the block of Auckland’s hottest new gay bar. Geranium was hitting all the right headlines and I’d been itching to get inside ever since I’d seen the social media photos of opening night—gorgeous clothes, stunning guys, a veritable who’s who of the Auckland fashion scene, and more glitz and glamour than any style-hungry gay teen could possibly wish for.

And finally, we were here.

“Told you we’d get in.” I grabbed Toby’s hand and pulled him through the bright pink doors. We’d come prepared, wearing shiny neon booty shorts that I’d thrown together on Mum’s sewing machine a few days before, and I’d mixed them up with a couple of different tops. Toby’s was a red mesh number, while I wore a black silk and lace beauty that I’d cobbled together from an old dress Mum had donated to my fabric collection. I’d made sure to push my winter coat aside just as the bouncer approached, and he’d taken one look and pulled both of us shivering from the queue.

Toby yanked his hand free. “Do you really think it’s okay? I can’t believe we look eighteen.”

I widened my eyes and glanced around, but no one seemed to have heard. “Shh. We got in, didn’t we? Quit worrying. We look good, right?” I grabbed his wrist and tugged him into the crowded bar, the music slamming into my head like a freight train—a pumping beat dialled up to a dissolve-your-fucking-eardrums level.

It was awesome.

I found us a corner out of the way and pushed Toby into it. “Stay here. I’ll get us a drink.” I shoved my way to the bar, ducking and diving between tables and groups of men until I made the front of the queue. The barman caught my eye, asked to see my ID, looked at me again, and then grinned and took my order.

I’d practiced at home and ordered four shots of Jack with as much confidence as I could muster. He winked, like he knew I was too young, but poured me the order anyway, and I juggled the handful of small glasses back to where Toby was waiting, wide eyes darting around the crowded club like a deer caught in the headlights.

I handed Toby his two glasses and shouted above the noise, “Let’s get somewhere we can see better.” I picked a free spot at the far end of the room and steered Toby that way. It was impossible to miss the heated looks our skimpy outfits earned, and my skin tingled from the occasional hand that grazed my arse as we passed. I was smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. Finally, somewhere I fitted in.

We made it to the spot, downed our first shots, and settled in to watch the show.

The room opened out before us, bodies surging on the dancefloor, slick and steaming, thighs between thighs, cocks pressed tight. Singles, couples, groups—every one of them lost in the music and the flesh they were currently wrapped around.

My heart thumped against the wall of my chest. I needed to be out there more than I could breathe, right in the midst of it all.

“Wow.” Toby’s eyes bugged. “Holy shit, this is amazing. Look at that couple.” He pointed to a slender young man in stunning black leather trousers with rips running the length of his thighs and a silver mesh vest that glittered under the spinning lights. His partner was a huge shirtless guy, muscular chest covered in thick, dark hair, with abs for miles and his hand shoved down the back of silver boy’s trousers. How they managed to keep any rhythm was beyond me.

“Is it wrong that I’m getting hard?” I laughed in Toby’s ear. “Now drink that second shot so we can dance.” I hip-checked him. “You ready?”

He stared at the dancefloor and chewed his lip, looking anything but. “I guess. But we stick together, right? If we lose each other, we meet back here, agreed?”

I gave a sharp nod. “Agreed.”

We threw back our shots, took a couple of deep breaths, and threaded our way through the pulsing crowd. As soon as we hit the chequerboard tiles of the dancefloor, we started moving, edging our way into the middle of the sea of surging bodies, the groans floating around us a reminder that dancing wasn’t the only thing happening.

I grabbed Toby around the waist and spun him so we were groin to groin, and he laughed. More than a few sets of eyes landed on us in appreciation. We’d never been more than friends, but I knew we looked great together.

Toby was a good-looking guy—tall and built like the rugby lock he was, but kind and gentle and gay as a fucking Easter hat. And I wasn’t mincemeat either—dark olive skin from my half-Malaysian mother along with her pretty bone structure, thick black hair styled into the latest asymmetrical cut, and a body made to dance. It was heady, intoxicating stuff, and my heart was fucking flying.

A couple of handsome guys in their twenties sidled alongside, making no bones about eyeing us up.

“How about a dance?” The blond one stared straight at me.

I glanced to Toby who shrugged and then nodded. Blondie immediately pulled me close with an arm around my waist, his cock hard as nails against my thigh. I startled and glanced around to check on Toby, but he seemed okay, grinning like a loon as his partner twirled him across the floor.

Blondie spun me around, putting Toby out of sight, and I frowned up at him. “Don’t worry, my friend’s a good guy. I’m Peter, by the way.”

Toby’s laugh sang across the crowd and I relaxed. He was having fun. I should too. I’d give it ten minutes, then go find him.

Peter dropped his head to my shoulder and ground lightly against me. Nothing too rough, just a little fun. Okay, I could do this. I let out a slow breath, dropped my forehead to his chest, and allowed myself to enjoy it. I was dancing with a good-looking guy in the best club in the city, for fuck’s sake. It didn’t get any better than that.

Three songs later, Toby and his guy sidled alongside, and Toby shot me a wink. He nodded when I shouted if he was okay and then danced off again. Peter grabbed us both another shot of Jack and then we were back on the dancefloor—Peter dipping me old style, spinning me out and back into his arms like we’d danced together for years. Sweat poured from my face like a river, the club a furnace of undulating bodies.

I looked for the bar to grab some water, but somehow we’d danced our way to the other side of the room, and when I searched for Toby, I couldn’t see him through the sea of dancers that were starting to blur at the edges.

I shoved at Peter’s chest. “I need to go. I have to find my friend.”

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