Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
That sundae was the best damn thing he’d tasted in years. He enjoyed every bit of it and when he was finished he folded the napkin and tucked it into his pocket, glaring at his partner and daring him to comment. He didn’t, which was the only reason he was still breathing.
When the bill came and his entire meal was comped, he wasn’t surprised. It seemed that Azariah had a soft side and Connelly liked it—a lot. Too much, so much that he had to fight the urge to track him down and thank him with another kiss. This time, preferably, up against a wall somewhere private where Azariah could wrap his legs around his waist and their groins could rub together.
His dick began to fill and he ground his molars together to keep from squirming, annoyed at himself. He wasn’t into femmes.
Every boyfriend he’d ever had was masculine and discreet. Normal. They didn’t shout their sexuality to everyone who listened because they were usually trying to keep a low profile too. And why hadn’t he felt such a strong pull before he’d seen Azariah dressed like...like...like sin.
The real Azariah was a fucking supernova shining so bright everyone and everything around him dimmed in comparison. Was that why he couldn’t seem to get his stupid traitorous cock under control? Was it that confidence?
Christ, he didn’t know. And honestly, it didn’t matter.
He was still determined not to do anything about it even if it meant soaking his nethers in an ice bath twice a day.
Chapter Five
“We’re bringing in the biggest crowds so two performances a night would increase your profits. We already deserve a raise, but we’re not just asking for more money. We’re also asking for more work,” Tam said.
The meeting had already taken way too long in Z’s opinion. He wanted a fucking cigarette so bad his fingers itched. Trying to convince Castor to give them more time onstage was like trying to talk honey from a bear. It put him on edge and the lack of nicotine didn’t help.
He couldn’t understand why they were even trying, but Tam thought they should and when Tam wanted something the rest of them moved hell and earth to make it happen.
So the four of them crammed themselves into the ridiculously uncomfortable seats in front of Castor’s gigantic desk—overcompensating much?—and did their best to tame their inner bitches.
Castor loved it when they begged.
Just being in the same room as the bastard gave Z the urge to punch something or scratch the shit out of it with his sharp nails. It wasn’t like this would solve any of his current problems.
Even if they were able to magically convince Castor to let them do two sets a night that wasn’t going to earn him enough cash to pay Landon’s half of the rent before his landlady came knocking.
It was probably time he started looking for alternatives—even if moving felt a lot like giving up.
Castor scratched his belly and scowled. “I won’t give you a raise. You drink half the stock, and Ansel isn’t even doing the aftershow anymore.”
“Hey, the aftershow shit has nothing to do with what we’re worth. You don’t see any of that money anyway,” Ansel said.
Ever since he’d moved in with Fitch, Ansel had stopped working the crowd for tips after their performance each night. Z wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t need the extra cash now that his rent was lower or because Fitch had asked him to stop. Either way, Ansel seemed happier these days than Z could ever remember. After everything Ansel had been through, he really deserved a little fucking happy.
They all did. Wasn’t that why he’d taken a leap and written his number on the back of Hot Fudge’s napkin? An act so out of character it had felt like he’d been possessed. But that kiss...
If he could get more, he’d be the happiest son-of-a-bitch on earth. Even for just a few minutes.
He might not be naive enough to expect a relationship out of it, but good sex...well, what could be better? Ignoring the guy’s issues wouldn’t be too difficult if the orgasm was as amazing as he thought it would be.
Across the desk Castor shrugged. “Once your regulars got sick of waiting for you they stopped coming. That’s one hell of a loss of profits for me, darling.”
A subtle little shudder ran through Ansel’s slender frame at Castor’s pet name. Ansel had been feeling guilty enough already for what he’d put them all through when his drinking had spiraled out of control. The last thing he needed was Castor adding more to his burden.
But Z should have known his friend was too strong to let an asshole like Castor get to him.
“That’s not on me,” Ansel said with a glare. “If you offered anything other than ancient-ass pop music and cheap alcohol, maybe you could have kept their attention.”