Stage Fright (2 page)

Val figured the meet and greet was part public relations, part cash grab. He bet plenty of women wanted to meet the dancers after the show, and there wasn’t anywhere to stand and chat in the theater. And this way, even if the women hadn’t bought a photo or a memento from the gift shop on their way out, they might spend a few more dollars on another drink or two while chatting with the dancers.

He’d been curious about what to expect his first night on the job, but the revue was pretty tame. It was closer to a boy band dancing in their underwear than the raunchy romp he’d imagined.

Surprisingly the members of the audience were the wild ones, screaming and whistling and grabbing for any dancer within reach throughout the show. While the women waited for the men to arrive at the meet and greet, they reapplied lipstick, casually adjusted their push-up bras for maximum cleavage, and discussed the various dancers’ attributes, speculating on penis sizes and listing which dancers they’d like to sleep with. One woman, as she leaned against the bar waiting for Val to mix her drink, joked with her friend about having a date with her vibrator later.

When the first dancers arrived, hair still damp and smelling of soap or cologne, the women batted their lashes and flirted, emboldened by alcohol and one another’s encouragement.

Val served a woman a Cuba libre, ignoring the appraising once-over she gave him. She was drunk, but not to the point where he’d have to cut her off. She tipped him too much and lurched away after spilling half her drink down the front of his bar.

“Goddamn it,” Val cursed under his breath as he mopped up the sticky mess. He’d never had much patience for sloppy drunks. Tonight had been an eye-opener. The way these women behaved during the show was outrageous. He was surprised the management or the dancers allowed it.

For a short time he’d tended bar at a female strip club. There the men in the audience had maintained a respectful distance. If anyone tried to touch one of the girls, they were bounced out on their asses. Hard.

Taking this second job had been a mistake, even if it was only for a couple of hours a night. Sure, he’d be able to replace his dying laptop that much sooner, but he could have used this time for writing. Or more realistically, for staring at a blank screen. Lately his writing had been sporadic and mediocre at best. He threw the bar rag in the sink with more force than required. It was only his first night, and already the audience’s behavior irritated him.

Plus he was mad at himself. What the hell had he been thinking? Six nights a week he’d have hot, sexy guys strutting around and getting naked—well, almost naked— right under his nose. Torture for a gay man, even before the lithe blond had caught his eye.

The MC had introduced him as Jesse, but Val wondered if that was just his stage name. The blond didn’t look like he’d been in Vegas long. He didn’t have that tough Vegas veneer. In fact he looked too young and fresh-faced to be shucking his clothes for a bunch of randy women, though that was probably all part of his stage persona as the youngest and newest revue member.

It was clear from the group numbers than some of the men had been hired for their physiques rather than their dancing abilities, but Jesse—if that was his name—was not one of them.

During Jesse’s firefighter routine Val had been unable to look away. Jesse’s body was smooth and lightly muscled. He moved with an erotic fluidity, working a wooden ladder as if he were pole dancing—or performing a gymnastics routine. The two activities had more in common than Val would have thought before he’d tended bar at a strip club.

Jesse was stronger than his slim build would suggest and incredibly flexible. Val couldn’t help wondering just how flexible. Jesse’s attractive face and sleek body delivered a one-two punch combo that weakened Val’s self-control and let his libido run unchecked. He’d been half-hard all through Jesse’s routine.

Movement at the entrance to the bar caught his eye, and he glanced up to see Jesse arrive as if conjured up by his desire. Fully clothed in jeans and a loose T-shirt, he looked every bit as sexy as he had in the skimpy black thong.

Arousal made Val’s groin tingle. He wanted to touch Jesse. Not like the drunken women groping and grabbing and slapping. He wanted to worship that sleek musculature. To run his fingertips over that smooth chest, those pink nipples and feel them harden under his touch. He wanted to see Jesse’s eyes flutter closed with pleasure.

Val swallowed. It was a bad idea. The guy was probably straight, and besides, anyone that insanely hot had to be an egotistical asshole, right? Val wiped at an already clean counter. It was better to keep his distance. He wasn’t going to let some hotshot dancer get under his skin. He was a writer. He didn’t act on his feelings; he wrote about them.

He couldn’t help glancing toward Jesse, just in time to see a woman grab a handful of that beautiful, sexy ass. Jesse’s facial expression flickered, too fast for Val to interpret, and then he was smiling again even as he slipped out of her reach. Val scowled. The liberties these women took were unbelievable.

Shit. Jesse was heading over. Val schooled his features. It wasn’t a good idea to get caught checking out the dancers. He didn’t know which of them, if any, were homophobic, and there was no point in making his new job harder than it had to be. He sure as hell wasn’t going to pretend to be something he wasn’t, though. He understood on an intellectual level that sometimes there were good reasons for being in the closet, but it felt like taking the easy path, like deceit.

He stood impassive as the sexy blond dancer approached. He half hoped Jesse
was
an asshole. Then maybe he’d stop thinking about dipping his tongue into the guy’s belly button and ripping off that annoying thong with his teeth.

JESSE’S FEET MOVED automatically as if he were pulled in by a tractor beam. The bartender watched his approach, a polite, neutral expression on his face.
“Hi. Can I have a club soda, please?” Jesse smiled at him.

The bartender’s brown hair was actually a warm auburn, and his eyes were a brown-gold hazel, though they didn’t look particularly friendly. He was cute in a keepyour-distance sort of way.

“Sure.”

Jesse watched as he filled a glass with ice. He had beautiful hands with long, graceful fingers. His nails were clipped short, the nail beds a delicate pink with perfect half-moons at each cuticle. He could have been a pianist or a surgeon with hands like that.

“I’m Jesse.” “I know,” the bartender said. “Jesse, the newest member, the baby of the group.”

His voice and face were expressionless.
“Well, you don’t have to card me. I’m twenty-three,” Jesse joked. This guy wasn’t
much older, a couple of years at most.

“Congratulations.” His delivery held about as much warmth as the ice cubes he was scooping.
Jesse frowned. Was there something about him that pissed off bartenders? He hadn’t expected a warm welcome, not after Mike’s permafrost comment, but there was no need to be so unfriendly. They’d be working together every night.
Behind him there were shrieks and giggles. Jesse turned and saw Chaz was sitting at a table and had two women on his lap. The woman who had copped a feel of his ass was running her hand up and down another dancer’s biceps. Maybe she had a thing for muscles, because she was petting Brad, the most muscular dancer. Brad smiled politely and flexed for her as she made encouraging noises.
Or maybe she had a thing for asses. Jesse watched as Ms. Touchy-Feely slid her hand over Brad’s shoulder and down his back to grab a handful of well-developed glute. Brad’s head came up, and his blue eyes widened as if he’d been goosed. Jesse fought a smile.
Been there, done that.

He turned back to the bartender and tried one last time. Maybe he was seeing hostility where none was intended. “So you’re going to be working with us now?”

“Looks like it.” The bartender put the glass on the counter and glanced at the giggling group. “Better get over there.”
Jesse recoiled, stung by the rebuff. “Right. Nice talking to you.” Asshole.

Chapter Two

The next night Jesse met Mike for dinner before the show. Jesse got to the restaurant first, and as soon as Mike sat down, he leered and asked Jesse how his night went.

“The same as every other night,” Jesse told him.

 

Mike’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

 

Mike shouldn’t have been surprised that Jesse had spent the night in his own bed. He’d only hooked up sporadically in the six months since he’d moved to Vegas.

“I’m hungry. Let’s order,” Jesse complained. “Then we’ll talk about something else.”
“Sure,” Mike agreed.

Jesse knew better. Mike was a terrier. He wouldn’t let this go until he’d heard every sorry detail. At least he managed to wait till their food arrived before bringing it up again.

“Did you talk to him?”
“Tried to.” Jesse examined his grilled chicken currently wilting a bed of mixed greens. He told himself he wasn’t jealous as Mike bit into his giant bacon cheeseburger. It looked much better than the chicken, but he couldn’t eat something like that so close to doing the show.

Mike swallowed a mouthful of beer and eyed him sympathetically. “What happened? You froze up? I guess he is a little intimidating.”
“I didn’t freeze. I smiled. I introduced myself. He gave me my drink and sent me on my way. End of story.” Jesse speared his chicken.
Mike rolled his eyes. “That’s all?” He leaned closer. “Did you even let him know you’re into him? I know you’re in the closet, but if you want to hook up, you’ve got to let someone know you’re gay.”
Jesse put down his fork. “Mike. I introduced myself, and he looked at me like I was dirt on his shoe. And for the record, I never said I was into him.”
“Maybe he was having a bad night.”
“Yeah, maybe somebody pissed him off by using cheesy pickup lines on him.”

Mike laughed. “I didn’t get far enough to use cheesy pickup lines on him. He wouldn’t even give me his name. Anyway, I thought you’d flash those baby blues, then slip in under his radar and disable his defenses while he was still dazzled.”

“He’s not interested, and neither am I,” Jesse lied. He swiped a fry from Mike’s plate.

“The way he was looking at you, I thought for sure you’d be going home together.”
“You need to get your eyes checked.”

Maybe it was just as well it hadn’t worked out. It probably wasn’t a good idea to get involved with someone he worked with anyway. No matter how hot the guy was.

 

“That’s a shame,” Mike said. He brightened. “So. You gonna try again?” Jesse shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
* * * *

That night after the show, Jesse was in no hurry to get another dose of the same treatment. He ignored the bar and its attractive keeper and headed straight for the women. He tried to avoid Chaz too, choosing to approach the ladies currently talking to Brad and a couple of other dancers rather than mingle with Chaz and his group of admirers, but Lady Luck wasn’t with him.

“Hey, Jesse.” Chaz grinned from his seat a few tables away, and his black eyes flashed. “We’ve got a couple of Vegas virgins tonight. Come and say hi.”

“Sure.” He smiled gamely, Chaz’s message to get his butt over there and make nice received loud and clear. He changed direction and made his way over to the table where Chaz sat holding court. “Hi, ladies. Did you enjoy the show?”

Yes, they had. One woman told him just how much she’d enjoyed his solo number as her hand brushed his ass.
“You still wearing that sexy thong?” She trailed her fingers up the curve of his ass. When they dipped into the waistband of his jeans, Jesse twisted away and gave her a wouldn’t-you-like-to-know grin. Maybe it was time to get a drink.
The bartender saw him coming. He busied himself with something under the counter below Jesse’s line of sight, and as Jesse approached to place his order, the bartender slid a cocktail napkin onto the bar’s shiny surface. He squared the napkin with the edges of the counter and deposited a glass of club soda in the center of the napkin.
“Thanks,” Jesse said shortly. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. Last night’s message had been pretty clear. The guy didn’t want any new friends.

“Val.”

 

Jesse turned back. “Sorry?”

The bartender’s chin jutted out. “Name’s Val.” He looked at Jesse as if he thought Jesse might take revenge for the previous night’s slight. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

Jesse recognized a peace offering when he saw one. Even if the guy holding out the olive branch looked like he expected to get clubbed with it.
Jesse had already worked with one bartender who couldn’t stand him. He didn’t need to antagonize another.
He smiled. Not his stage smile. This was his family-and-friends and I’d-like-to-getto-know-you smile. “Hi, Val. It’s nice to meet you.”

Val met and held his gaze. Slowly he smiled back.
* * * *

Monday was their dark day when the theater was closed. Jesse did his daily yoga routine and spent the rest of the day doing laundry and chores. Since his roommate Chris had cooked—well, he’d heated a frozen lasagna, but technically it was still cooking—Jesse was on cleanup detail.

After the kitchen was sorted, he dropped onto the couch as Chris idly flipped through the TV channels. Chris, who liked to watch the kind of shows that put Jesse to sleep, stopped on some kind of auction. Jesse watched for a moment. He didn’t understand the auctioneer’s machine-gun-fire delivery or most of the televised commentary.

“What is this?”

 

Chris shot him an amused look. “Dude, it’s the Barrett-Jackson Collector Car Auction.”

Jesse wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond, but clearly he should know what the hell that was. “Huh.”
He settled in, but the shiny old cars and the nonsensical drone of the TV couldn’t hold his attention. His mind drifted to Val. He wanted to know more about the pokerfaced bartender—what he did when he wasn’t working, if he really was gay, if he only dated guys who were out.
Chris’s moan interrupted his thoughts. “Man, that’s one sweet Shelby GT 500 fastback.”

Jesse looked up at the TV screen. His eyes widened, and he leaned forward. Chris grinned. “You like?”
Jesse didn’t care about the car. He gaped at the blank-faced employee standing off