Page 17 of Strut

He’d looked almost... nervous. And Jesus fucking Christ, an hour in the man’s company and I was right back in that place I’d barely squirmed my way out of a year before. One flash of that wicked smile and I couldn’t seem to say no. Like it had strings attached to my dick. And that was an image I didn’t need, either.

The only upside? I’d been crystal clear that Hunter wasn’t getting me into his bed. There. I should be happy, right? But no. I’d slept all of two hours wallowing in self-recrimination for the rest. Maybe I should just... do it. Sleep with him. Get it over with. Maybe Hunter sucked in bed and I could move on, thankful for a lucky escape.

I rocked forward and banged my forehead on the mirror, twice. And maybe I’d land a campaign as the new face of Givenchy tomorrow as well.

“You all right out there?” Tim called from the stall behind me.

“Fine,” I muttered. Like it was even possible Hunter wouldn’t burn up the sheets like a fucking solar flare. I was pretty sure I’d shoot my load if the man even breathed sideways on my cock, based on the one time he’d taken me in hand. There wasn’t a strong enough word for just how mortifying that incident had been, and I could hardly blame the guy for his disappearing act. I likely oozed infatuation from every hungry pore on my body, enough to send most men running for the hills.

I jabbed a finger at my reflection and told myself to calm the fuck down. It wasn’t a date, for fuck’s sake. Just a friendly invite to catch up with the guy who’d helped launch my career. The insanely hot and eminently fuckable guy who’d I’d mooned over and fantasised about for well over a year. So yeah, there was that.

The fact he affected me this way, pissed me off more than anything else. It wasn’t as if I was a slouch in the dating department, well, if you exclude the last year. I knew I looked good, and there was an entire metropolis of willing gay men outside my door. At least a few had to be friendly, reliable guys, right? So why get hung up on a fuck ’em and leave ’em player, even if he made my balls ache. I wouldn’t date the guy if he asked now, anyway. He’d shown his colours—a big fat yellow stripe all the way down his back as he’d left me leaning against the wall after I’d come harder than I had in years.

I leaned on the basin and glared at the mirror. Get a life, Alec Williamson. You could’ve said no. Youshould’vesaid no. You’ve no one to blame but yourself if you end up in shit again. So, don’t do it.

“Did you see that guy fromNY Style Magdown the back?” Tim exited the stall, washed his hands, and then shucked Carol’s slacks to pull on yet another pair of loud Aussie board shorts of the type that consistently graced his lithe frame right up until the New York weather turned icy and he was forced into jeans. He topped it with a white T-shirt that had STREWTH in block capitals across the chest. For a model, the man had zero fashion shame, which was something I loved about him. “If he writes this up for his style column, Carol’s label will get a huge plug. It won’t be half bad for us, either. I think he liked me. He gave me his card. Told me to call.”

“Really? You’re talking about Miles Broadhurst?” I frowned.

Before I could add anything more, Tim waved his hand dismissively. “I know. I know. The man has a bit of a reputation.”

“As long as you know. Be careful.”

“I will.”

“Dammit,” I growled in frustration. “How the hell am I supposed to get out of these things?” I gave up tugging on the faux leather slacks and dropped onto the bench to peel the things off. The fuckers had all but cut off the blood supply to my dick, and I groaned with relief when I finally kicked them to the side.

Tim chuckled and glanced at my crotch. “So how are the boys faring?”

I rolled my balls, which had squished together into a single harmonious lump, and shrugged. “I may never have children, but I’ll survive. And I told you this was worth giving up a Saturday afternoon, didn’t I? Carol’s gaining traction and it doesn’t hurt to make friends with the up and coming. Not to mention her clothes rock.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Tim shot me a look, then fell back against the wall and closed his eyes. “I need to start making some decent money soon. Casting editors seem to like me at first, but there’s no follow-through. I don’t get booked. And I’m not like you. My look is on-trend, I know that.”

I threw Tim’s sweater at his chest and his eyes popped open. “You should think seriously about those acting classes.” I pulled on my jeans and grabbed my white T-shirt. “You have everything the editors are looking for. You just need a bit more confidence to sell it.” I caught his eye. “After what your fucking family did to you it’s no surprise, but if you want this, Tim, you’ve got to turn that around somehow, and classes might help.”

Tim pulled a sweater over his head and got to his feet, those big eyes brimming with emotion. “It’s money I don’t have, Alec. Fuck.” His voice broke at the end.

I reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. “I’ve been trying to lend you the money for six months.”

He snorted. “Yeah, but it’s not like you have a bunch to spare, either.”

“I had some saved before I came here. I was working, remember? Let me help.”

Tim sighed and shoved his feet into his sneakers. “I’ll think about it. So, who’s the hot date?”

I focused on getting my shoes on and avoided his gaze. “It’snota date.”Unfortunately.“Just a fellow Kiwi I ran into.”

Tim nodded sagely. “Riiight. Well, I smell a rat. In all the time we’ve lived together, I’ve seen you go out with a guy, like twice. Twice, for fuck’s sake. And I think the second time it was actually the pizza delivery guy and you were just walking him back to his bike.”

“Shut up. I’ve been out way more than that,” I argued, to which Tim merely raised a brow. “Okay, so maybe notwaymore. But it’s not like we have a ton of spare time or money to piss away in a club, is it? Besides, I work in one three nights a week.”

Tim sighed and those pretty brown eyes dulled. “Yeah, no one ever tells you about this side of the job, do they? It’s all about the cool parties and rubbing shoulders with the jet set. Not that we do much of that, either. Not unless it’s free. So until my decadent lifestyle comes knocking, I’m picking up another shift at the diner. It’s gonna eat into my casting time, but I have to earn some money, somehow.”

I studied him, not trusting myself to respond. I really liked Tim, but this industry was eating him alive. “Maybe you should think about—”

“Hello?” The familiar voice stopped the conversation and I looked around to find Hunter standing in the doorway, his gaze flicking between Tim and me, and I did my best not to swallow my tongue because, damn. He looked fucking edible in forest green slacks, a black shirt, and bomber jacket, his Moscot sunglasses perched high on his head, a green-and-grey-checked scarf wrapped around his neck, and a good thatch of scruff on that nibble-worthy jaw. “Carol said to just come back. I hope that’s okay?”

“It’s fine.” I stood and waved him over. “Hunter, this is my flatmate and fellow model, Tim. He’s an Aussie, but we try not to hold that against him. Tim, this is Hunter—”

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