Page 17 of Fire Me Up
“I think your cat is jealous,” Dylan said.
I nipped his bottom lip, unable to resist. “Nah. He likes you.”
Dylan stepped back, discreetly adjusting himself, and the sight made me ache. “So… tonight?”
“Tonight?” My brain was foggy with want.
“The club.” He grinned. “Nine. I’ll text you the address. Your number’s the one on registration, right?”
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “That’s it.”
“Good.” His grin turned wicked as he backed toward the door. “Wear something sexy. And leave the cat at home.”
Then he was gone, leaving me in a stranger’s office with an annoyed cat, a throbbing shoulder, and a hard-on that wasn’t going away anytime soon. I stared at my reflection in the window—hair a mess, lips swollen, looking wrecked. Wanting more. Always more.
Chapter 6
Dylan
Ichecked my phone for the fifth time in two minutes, which was absolutely not pathetic at all—just diligent. Responsible, even. Gael would be here any minute, assuming he didn’t chicken out.
Fuck, why was I so nervous? This wasn’t even a date. This was me being a good friend, showing Liv’s brother the ropes, helping him figure out his sexuality. Community service, really.
The fact that I’d spent twenty minutes picking out these painted-on jeans and this muscle tank that showed off my tattoos was purely coincidental. And jerking off in the shower thinking about his hands on my body—well, that was just… preparation. Getting it out of my system so I could think clearly tonight.
“Dylan!” A cheerful voice made me spin around. “What are you doing lurking outside like a creep?”
I spotted my friend Mike bouncing up to me, a blur of glitter and enthusiasm in a sparkly purple jumpsuit that would’vebeen ridiculous anywhere else. He looked like a disco ball had exploded on a very attractive blonde twink.
“Not lurking,” I said, grateful for the distraction. “Waiting for someone.”
“Ooh, a date?” Mike clapped his hands.
I rolled my eyes. Mike had been trying to jumpstart my love life since we’d met at Pride three years ago. “It’s not a date. I’m just showing a friend around.”
“Uh-huh. Hence the ‘fuck me’ jeans.”
“This is just how I dress.”
“Honey, you dress like a straight man in a biker bar. This is you trying to get laid. So who’s this friend you’re waiting for?” Mike asked, pulling out a compact mirror to check his lip gloss. “Anyone I know?”
“Doubt it. He’s never been to a gay bar before.”
Mike gasped dramatically, snapping the compact shut. “A baby gay! How delicious. Is he cute?”
“He’s…” I started, then stopped. How did I even begin to describe Gael? Hot as fuck? Built like a goddamn superhero? “He’s alright.”
“Liar. You’re blushing.”
“I don’t blush.”
“You’re doing it right now!” Mike bounced on his toes, practically vibrating with excitement. “This is perfect. You have a crush!”
“Fuck off.” I checked my phone again. “And keep it down. The whole point is to help him feel comfortable, not scare him away with your… you.”
“My charming personality is an asset, thank you very much.”
I looked up, and my breath caught. Gael was walking our way, and he looked incredible. He wasn’t dressed for the clubs, not really, but his jeans were dark-wash and perfectly fitted, showcasing his long legs and the curve of his ass. His T-shirtwas simple black cotton, but it stretched across his broad chest and shoulders in a way that made my mouth water. His hair was slightly mussed, like he’d run his fingers through it.
