Cast Off (8 page)

Which left him on his own again. Hardly any different from before he’d come out, really, except that should he meet someone special he could bring him home to meet the family. That didn’t solve one damned thing right now.

“Hey, there aren’t any more seats. Mind if I sit here?”

Ian looked up to find a slim man with shaggy brown hair wearing a black T-shirt and khaki cargo pants, midtwenties perhaps.

“Sure. Have a seat.”

At this point, any company was a welcome distraction from his boring book and his unsettling thoughts.

“I’m Leon Barlow.” After plopping his tray on the table, Leon extended his hand and Ian offered his.

“Ian O’Donnell.” Ian frowned. “Didn’t I see you up on the twelfth floor?”

“Oh, yeah, probably. I’m a new graphics designer for
Errant
.”

The online celebrity scandal magazine that combined gossip with the weirdness of the now-defunct
Weekly World News
had been Ian’s professional home for the past five years.

“No kidding? I’m a senior account manager for
Errant
.”

Leon gave him a smile that made Ian revise his initial age estimation down a few years. This guy didn’t look much over twenty. But then, graphic designers were cheapest when they were right out of school and Hector Ramos,
Errant
’s owner, always had an eye on the bottom line. Ian’s own substantial salary would have made him a candidate for
redundancies
if it weren’t for the fact he brought in his salary several times over in ad revenue.

“Oh. Will we be working together, then?”

“Sure, on some projects. Some of our advertisers don’t have agencies or in-house talent to create ads, so the account managers will requisition ads from your department.”

“Then I’m extra glad I asked to sit here.” Leon stuffed a forkful of salad in his mouth and chewed.

Ian set his book down. A complete stranger just asking for use of half his table? In his current mood, he’d probably keep reading, although he didn’t mind chatting with strangers. But a new coworker? Continuing to read would be extremely rude.

“Good book?” Leon pointed with his fork.

“Not sure yet.” Unlikely, given the topic, but he hadn’t been able to read enough to be sure.

Their conversation returned to
Errant
mostly, but Ian was surprised, even discussing work, how quickly the time passed.

“We should be getting back upstairs.”

Leon didn’t argue, just began gathering his lunch detritus. “Ian, you’re from around here, aren’t you?”

“Uh.” That was a rather ambiguous question. His condo—not far from the office—was within spitting distance of Boystown, so it rather amazed him no one had figured out he’d made that choice deliberately. Was Leon asking if he was gay? Because Ian was rather sure Leon was.

In a fraction of a second, Ian’s shoulders tensed up. He’d outed himself to people he cared about, and obviously every one of his random fucks knew he was gay, but it had never occurred to him that he could very easily experience a twinge of anxiety every time he considered admitting it.

“I mean, from Toronto. I just moved here from Winnipeg a couple of months ago and I don’t know many people in the city. Maybe we could hang out sometime.”

Ian let out a breath as his muscles relaxed, and he realized the majority of his anxiety had resulted from fear Leon was asking him out. The guy was way too young for him to date, and he wasn’t about to have a one-nighter with someone he worked with. That was trouble waiting to happen. But if Leon just wanted to be friends, Ian could do that. He could use a friend without too much personal baggage.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

T
HE
pulsating beat settled deep in Rick’s stomach as he swiveled his hips to the vaguely familiar song. All around him, bodies writhed, the tang of musk and beer strong in his nose. Many of the men around him had already removed sweaty shirts and the humidity in the air was laced with sexual tension.

Rick breathed deeply, nostalgia sweeping him. At thirty-five, he’d done a lot of clubbing in his life, and while the venues, clothes, and booze du jour might have changed, the scent of dancing, horny men never did.

Closing his eyes, he let his other senses guide him, partly because he wasn’t keen on comparing his slowly aging body with the strong young forms around him. Not that he’d gone completely to seed, but it took more effort to keep himself tight and toned than it did ten years ago. Hell, even two years ago his metabolism made his friends jealous.

Then he let his eyelids flip open, because he was also partly here for the scenery. If he had to be here, dancing and sightseeing were part of the agenda. Getting laid wouldn’t hurt either, but he wished he had one of his fuck buddies with him for guaranteed sex. He’d already seen one too many pitying looks by Anaconda’s clientele, which definitely skewed much younger than he was.

It didn’t make any sense, but older twinks weren’t as acceptable as older bears. It wasn’t like he had a choice in the matter. He was five-nine, slim, and blond. At twenty, he’d been mobbed at clubs. At thirty-five, he still enjoyed the sensual mood of a club, but he usually frequented venues that catered to his age group. Probably be a million times worse if he was looking for a partner or husband, instead of a quick hand job in the bathroom or a blow job in the parking lot.

Then again, if he’d wanted something serious, Oscar would undoubtedly be waiting. Rick pursed his lips. It sucked when he had to break up with one of his fuck buddies. Most times, Rick was the one “dumped” when one of his guys decided they wanted something more and found it with someone else. Oscar’s decision that they should move in together had taken Rick by surprise, but it wasn’t the first time someone had suddenly transformed into a keeper without any warning, wanting strings and emotions and full disclosure. Not in a million years was he signing up for that.

Nevertheless, the attrition of serious relationships had his rotation down to none, and he had a strong suspicion that Ivan, his police detective and possible backup, had found a guy he was getting serious about.

Rick certainly didn’t expect to find anything tonight. He wasn’t here for sex, but if some found him in this sea of hard male flesh, he sure as shit wouldn’t say no.

The song changed to one with a slower beat. If he’d had any serious prospects, he’d have taken the opportunity to grind up against a groin or ass. Touch palms to pecs or the sweaty curve of a lower back. Perhaps even slide a finger under a waistband, seeking haven between taut, muscular buttocks.

Instead, he chose to indulge another craving and headed to the bar.

The bartender appeared in front of him in a gratifyingly short time.

“What’ll you have?” The man smiled appreciatively, but Rick had learned long ago not to trust the interest of either bartenders or strippers. Not when they were on the clock.

What would he have? Beer, beer or beer? Rick waved at the amber bottle his neighbor was drinking from.

“That will be fine.”

“He certainly is fine.” The bartender winked. “Oooh. The beer. Got it.”

A comedian. A bad one. Rick barely suppressed an eye roll and placed some cash on the bar. He picked up the beer and moved away to stand by the wall.

He grimaced after a sip. Beer wasn’t his drink at all, but given the average age of the young men dancing, he didn’t imagine the wine cellar at Anaconda would be worth trying to expand his wine palate.

Probably should have gotten water.

“Rick!”

Turning, he saw Jon walking toward him, all fetished up in his leather harness and skintight leather pants. Pants he suspected most of the clientele would have to subsist on ramen for a month to be able to afford. A far cry from the tailored suits Jon wore to work every day, and Rick couldn’t decide which one made his friend look hotter.

“Yummy.” Rick ran a finger across Jon’s abs. “You look amazing. Just as good as when we met.”

Jon preened and Rick didn’t blame him. Jon was a year older than he was, but when Rick had first met him, he’d been stripping at the same club where Rick had been bartending. Neither of them was a waifish skinny twink; both were built more like competitive swimmers. With similar height, build, haircut and color, they looked enough alike that the owner had tried to convince them to do a regular show together to capitalize on the whole twincest thing, but Rick had never wanted to strip. Even without stripping, he and Jon had played up the resemblance enough to entertain the clients. The tips had been… healthy.

Strangely enough, it was their resemblance that had cemented their friendship, because Jon hadn’t wanted to fuck his “twin” and neither had Rick. Without any real lust for each other to complicate matters, Jon had become the first real friend Rick had had when he moved away from home.

“What are you doing drinking beer? I made sure they ordered in the supplies for your mangoritas.”

He pouted. Mangos were awesome, especially when they were used in margaritas. “I’m sort of off tequila right now. But that was very sweet of you, honey.” He kissed Jon’s cheek and got an armful of half-naked Jon hugging him.

They both pretended the sudden stir of interest in the area had nothing to do with them. Rick grinned at Jon before licking a broad, slow stripe from the rounded curve of Jon’s shoulder to his earlobe. Jon shivered and several guys groaned. As the air thickened with pheromones, a couple of the onlookers pressed hands to their groins as other things thickened too. Men. All the same.

“Naughty, naughty,” Jon whispered in his ear, looking for all the world like he was nibbling at Rick’s ear. Warm breath coasting over the sensitive skin just under his ear gave Rick a little shiver of his own, and even in the moist humidity of the club, his nipples peaked.

“This isn’t why you invited me?” Contrary to appearances, Jon wasn’t at Anaconda to troll for guys. He’d recently invested in the club and had asked him and a few other friends to stop by and check the place out. Well, he’d also asked the rest of their group of friends, when they’d been painting Davy’s place last weekend, but Davy and Kurt were still recovering from a lot of shit. Rick didn’t think Kurt had ever been to a gay club, and he so wanted to be able to observe Kurt’s first time.

“Well, it doesn’t hurt.” Jon winked.

Yeah, if someone started a rumor that one of the new owners was…. Rick laughed. He didn’t mind Jon indulging in a little harmless promo.

“You here alone? What about Davy and Kurt?” Jon peered around as he asked, like more people would suddenly materialize behind Rick.

“You didn’t think I’d bring a date, did you, darling? You know I don’t do that. And the lovebirds are engrossed in the new release of some game.”

Kurt probably wasn’t much of a clubber anyway, and Davy was more than happy to stay home and suck his dick while Kurt played
Call of Duty
or whatever was the current geek special. Not that Rick wasn’t geeky, but his own brand of geek didn’t often involve video games.

“Of course. Doesn’t matter. You’re the most important one.”

He was? “I am?”

“Yeah, idiot. You’ve been in more clubs than anyone I know. You’re the one I trust to assess this place, see if I need to change anything.”

Rick laughed. It was rare anyone wanted him in clubs for anything besides his hand job proficiency. “What kind of remuneration can I expect?”

“What? I can’t hear you over the music.” Jon cupped his ear.

“Bullshit.” But Rick laughed anyway. He’d only been teasing about recompense.

One of the bartenders made a beeline for them, and from the pinched look on his face, Rick didn’t think they’d just run out of maraschino cherries. “Looks like you gotta work. I’ll look around, catch up with you later.”

He smacked Jon on the ass, a satisfying thwack with leather-amplified sound. Jon squeaked, glaring at him before putting on his “I’m respectable and in charge” face and slipping through the ring of observers that had surrounded them.

“Show’s over, kids. Come back at midnight.” Rick shooed them away, even the few that took a step toward him, lustful promises on their faces. As beautiful as they were, he’d spent the last week thinking far too often about Ian. The man knew his way around a dick. Several times he considered asking Davy for Ian’s number, but even if Ian wasn’t a keeper, he didn’t think getting involved with Kurt’s brother would do wonders for the group dynamic. Kurt fit in with their friends, despite his jockish tendencies, but if something went wrong between him and Ian, Rick didn’t want to fuck up his friendships. He had no family and never intended to have a relationship. His friends were it.

Rick slipped away from the group who’d been hoping he and Jon were going to strip and go at it right there on Anaconda’s floor. If he were going to screw someone tonight, he’d rather not
know
they were picturing him and Jon together.

On the other side of the dance floor, he leaned against the wall to finish his beer. There was a time when he’d head out onto the dance floor with a drink, but he wasn’t going to add a potential safety liability to Jon’s new investment. The view from this side was just as good, but irritatingly he found himself searching for dark hair and light eyes. There was no call for that sort of emotional nonsense.

He made room for a couple seeking the shadows beside him. In his peripheral vision, he noticed one of them drop to his knees and in moments, even over the deafening din of music and shouted conversation, the guy’s moans were audible. In fact, Rick could easily pretend he heard a wet sucking, and his pants constricted. Enough of this wallowing. He’d never had a problem finding someone to get him off and tonight he’d prove that to himself.

After downing the last of his beer, he set it on a nearby ledge, whipped off his shirt, and dove back into the undulating throng.

R
ICK
smiled up at a large red-haired guy. Muscular, sexy, and judging by the hard length pushing against his stomach, hung. Some guys didn’t like the gingers, but Rick was an equal opportunity player. He rubbed up against the guy, but wasn’t quite tempted to leave the dance floor to find a secluded area.