by Riley Hart
“Thanks. Same to you.”
He shakes Gary’s hand next. Raymond sits in one of the chairs across from Steven and then Gary takes the other so I sit down beside him on the couch.
“Let’s see where you are,” he says. Gary and Raymond pull their seats closer, so we can all see well, while I pull out the papers and start going over all the details with him.
Every so often, Gary will jump in with a thought or an idea. At one point, his cheeks flush, and he apologizes as if he doesn’t have the right. Reaching over, I squeeze his knee. “No, it’s fine. I couldn’t have made it this far without you. I value your opinion.” Which is the God’s honest truth. Gary has likely saved my ass in more ways than one recently.
Steven and Raymond both seem impressed with all the things Gary and I have to say. Once we’re done going over everything for next week, we head into their dining room where Steven brings out the lasagna he made for dinner.
The conversation flows well. There are laughs and not many lulls, especially when Raymond and Gary start going off about musicals again. The night has a strange vibe to it that’s unlike anything I ever thought I would experience. It reminds me of dinner parties my parents used to have with other couples, only no one here is an asshole, except likely me.
When the evening is over, Gary and Raymond are talking as I walk with Steven toward the door. He stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, son. You and Gary have taken this idea and run with it. I’m excited to see what other work we can do together in the future. Once we’re finished with the fundraiser, let’s have a meeting so we can further discuss working together.”
“Thank you…I…thank you.” I can’t find words other than those. My heart pounds, jumps, as my head spins. That means he wants to work with me, right? It’s not a guarantee, but it sounds pretty fucking close.
I can hardly contain myself as we get into the car and pull away. The second we’re out of sight from the house, I pull off to the side of the road, grab Gary, and yank him into a tight hug. “I think we did it. Thank you, Gary. Thank you. Thank you.” Again, they’re the only words that seem to come to me.
23
Gary
Flirt is packed with hotties. Not just the guys who signed up to take off their clothes. It’s hotties and friends of hotties and friends of friends of hotties. All that social media promotion the volunteers worked on clearly paid off.
Despite the successful turnout, I’m stressed as fuck. While Travis rallies up the participating boys, I scramble around to finalize some last-minute preparations. Putting out fires. The ice machine broke down, so I had to make an emergency run to the nearest QT to pick up enough bags of ice to last the bartenders through the night. And the guy who was supposed to collect donations at the door backed out ten minutes before we needed him, so I had to find a replacement while I manned the booth. As soon as I found a friend who was willing to help out, Miss Laurie Firebomb—AKA my primary care physician, Dr. Martin Crawley, who’ll be hosting the event—accosted me. Evidently, the DJ didn’t have any of the songs she wanted to use in his playlist, so Laurie Firebomb needed me to fetch a CD from her car. As she said to me when I tried to get out of it, “These boots aren’t made for walking!”
After I hand her the CD, I start looking for Travis to make sure he’s gotten to all the guys. I fight my way through the crowd.
Someone grabs my arm and pulls me to the bar.
It’s Hayden, who I haven’t seen since the pool party. He wears his pinned-on #6 badge, indicating his place in the lineup for tonight. Travis and I made the badges a few nights ago, taking occasional breaks for BJs and buttsex.
“You look stressed as fuck,” he says as he adjusts his glasses. He studies my expression.
“Look at you,” I say. “In a little short-sleeved button-up and jeans. Guys are going to lose their shit when you get up there. I’m surprised your man wouldn’t do it.”
“Oh, God no. He’s weird about stuff like this. He’s even uncomfortable about me doing it. Hell, even when I went to the pool party, he was uneasy about me wearing a stupid speedo.”
Funny his boyfriend would be that way. Hayden is the quiet one, and Lance is the loud, fun-loving guy who’s always looking for attention. But when I asked them, it was Hayden whose eyes lit up like this was a great opportunity to unleash the secret exhibitionist within.
“He seemed kind of mad about it earlier,” Hayden continues.
“He’ll be fine,” I say. And I certainly can’t blame Lance for being uneasy about Hayden participating, considering I’m not sure how I feel about Travis removing his clothes in front of everyone. Not that I have a right to be bothered by it. I’m just glad I’ve had enough things to keep me busy that I haven’t really had time to focus on it.
Hayden spins back and calls out, “Derek!”
Derek is just a few guys away from us, wearing his #9 badge as he texts someone on his phone. He has a concerned expression on his face. Like something’s wrong. It reminds me of the conversation I had with Eric about the guy Derek’s supposedly been seeing in secret. I’m a crappy friend. We haven’t hung out much since Travis and this fundraiser started taking up all my free time. Although Derek hasn’t reached out to hang either—likely because he’s been just as busy with his secret relationship.
“Derek!” Hayden calls again. “You want shots?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Derek replies.
Hayden orders three tequila shots from the bartender. Hayden and I drink ours right away.
“Hey, you,” says a voice behind me. I spin around. Travis grins, looking charming as ever in an indigo-colored polo. He runs his hand through his dark brown hair, and I notice it falls right back into place like there isn’t a goddamn thing he can do to make himself appear less attractive.
We stand there, gazing into each other’s eyes. But I don’t want to stop.
He breaks the silence with, “So I don’t want to spoil your night, but Peter and Evan just got here.” He points them out.
The rectangular bar takes up most of the room—obviously designed so that no matter where you are in the space, you can order a drink. We’re in one corner beside the restrooms, while Peter and Evan sit on stools in the opposite corner, in front of the platforms we’ve set up to create a stage. The area’s typically where everyone dances as soon as they’ve had enough drinks to forget that life is sad and hard.
Seeing Peter with his man, at an event where I’m about to totally expose myself to everyone in town, makes the blood in my face drain.
I snatch Derek’s shot off the bar and down it.
“Hey!” Derek exclaims. I turn to see his arm stretched out like he was reaching for it.
“Peter and Evan are here,” Hayden explains to him.
I finish the shot and set it back down.
“Can we not broadcast it to everyone?” I ask.
He wasn’t loud enough for anyone to hear. I’m just on edge about it.
Hayden orders another shot.
“Don’t I have enough on my mind as it is?” I add.
“You okay?” Travis asks, his expression filled with concern. He reaches out and rubs his hand up and down my back.
“Yeah. Just freaking out a bit.”
“Don’t look at them. Don’t even think about them. They’re nobodies, okay?”
But Peter’s not a nobody. He was the first guy I let in. The first guy I opened my heart up to. The first guy who ripped it out of my chest and shattered it to pieces.
“This’ll take your mind off them,” Travis says, handing me my badge. I check and see that it says #1.
“What the fuck?”
“It was the last one I had.”
I glare at him before snatching his badge from him.
“Okay. Deal,” he says.
I check it. “Number two? You were planning this all along!”
He arches his brows and smiles. “Not gonna let you chicken out of this.”
The bartender sets
down Derek’s shot. I steal it, throw my head back, and pour it down the hatch. I swallow quickly, cringing as I pray to God some of this alcohol will kick in soon.
“Seriously?” Derek asks.
“Get another, Number Nine,” I say.
Travis chuckles. I should punch that cocky grin off his face.
“It’s Raining Men” starts playing, and as Miss Laurie Firebomb takes the stage, I know it’s too fucking late for me to back out now.
Travis grins. “Guess I got a show to put on.”
He grabs my waist and pulls me to him, kissing me hard. That same energy I always experience with him is even more powerful in this moment, possibly because it’s mixed with my uneasiness about what we’re going to do.
Standing beneath our official Boxers and Briefs Strip-Off banner and flanked by helium balloons tied to either side of the stage, Miss Laurie Firebomb delivers her spiel about the fundraiser and the cause before setting a bucket for tips on a chair in front of the stage and saying, “The boy who collects the most tips for Seconds Chances is declared the winner of the Boxers and Briefs Strip-Off and receives a thousand dollar bar tab from our sponsor tonight, Flirt!”
The packed bar cheers and applauds. Even Hayden and Derek are clamoring with excitement. My legs are tense, as though they’re saying, You can try to get to the stage all you want, but we won’t be helping you.
I’m totally getting fewer tips than Travis. I fucking know it. And it’s going to be embarrassing when I get up there and totally wig out.
I want to back out, especially now that I know Peter and Evan will be watching me front and center.
“Please welcome our first boy to the stage,” Miss Laurie Firebomb says.
The music changes abruptly to Britney’s “Toxic.”
Everyone goes crazy as Travis steps onto the stage, totally owning his strut. The guys in the bar gawk at him. They must know by how his polo fits that whatever he’s about to show them is gonna look good.
Travis moves to the beat like he’s a fucking stripper. And an incredible one at that.
He grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it off over his head, displaying the physique I’ve gotten to enjoy again and again these past few weeks. He whirls the shirt around his head before tossing it into the audience. A hand reaches up and snatches it. He’s never seeing that polo again.
He undoes his belt and zipper and turns around, lowering his jeans enough to reveal a neon pink jockstrap beneath them.
“Holy shit,” Derek says.
Clever bastard.
He didn’t warn me about that.
A crowd of guys rush to the edge of the stage, pulling out dollar bills and holding them out eagerly for Travis, who pulls down his pants slowly as he kicks off his shoes and then tosses the jeans to the guys before him.
I’d be worried about how he was going to get home without his clothes, but my face is red with what I know is jealousy. Up until now, I’ve had him all to myself. And now here everyone else is, getting to enjoy that beautiful body. I wish I didn’t feel this way. He’s not even mine.
He turns back to the audience, who can now fully enjoy the bulge in the jockstrap, and that feeling that everyone else is enjoying that massive cock puts me even more on edge.
The crowd grows as more people join in, and Travis goes all Magic Mike, getting on his knees at the edge of the stage and moving his body to the beat in the way that best displays his abs, his chest…his fucking everything. Everyone’s shoving cash into his jockstrap, and in a matter of moments, I know he’s already made at least a hundred dollars.
The music finally stops and Miss Laurie Firebomb walks up the two steps that lead up to the stage. “Oh, I see you liked the little warm-up,” she says into her microphone. “This is a preview of what we’ve got for you tonight, boys.” She makes a big production of collecting the money from Travis and putting it in the tip bucket that no one bothered to use for Travis’s performance.
I’m going to be the laughingstock of Midtown for the next year, if not longer.
“I’m so glad I’m not going next,” Hayden says.
I glare at him. “Sorry, dude,” he adds.
I pin my badge onto my shirt, and as I glance around to gauge the audience, I notice Peter looking at me from the opposite side of the bar. His expression makes me think he pities me. Like he’s sure I’m gonna get up there and make a complete idiot out of myself…and I might. He doesn’t think I can do this. But between his skepticism and a competitive spirit that’s risen from Travis’s performance—not to mention the jealous feelings that rage within me—I’m determined not to go down without a fight.
I still have a pair of scissors in my pocket from when I was putting up decorations this afternoon. I pull them out and cut a slit vertically down the center of my shirt collar.
“If he wants to play strippers, then let’s play strippers,” I say, setting the scissors onto the bar.
Hayden and Derek look at me like I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have…or maybe the tequila is starting to kick in. Whatever the reason, I’m giving this my all…putting the beast that comes out in the sack into motion on stage.
Miss Laurie Firebomb chats up a bit while Travis hops down from the stage and turns back to me, winking. It’s like he knows nothing I can do could top his performance.
“So, let’s get this going with another boy, shall we?” Miss Laurie Firebomb says before announcing me.
I head for the stage as Nicki Minaj’s “Super Bass” starts up.
I bob to the beat, and I kick off my shoes and start up the steps.
I offer a little tease, pulling up my shirt, and the guys, clearly hyped up because of Travis, scream out for more.
I notice a guy right at the edge of the stage. He has dark hair, nearly as dark as Travis’s. His bright blue eyes are lit up with interest. And the look in his eyes gives me an idea. I’m not Travis. I can’t take on this whole audience like he did, but I can work it with a guy who’s into me. Travis has taught me that much, at least.
I grab the tip bucket and the chair in front of the stage. I place the bucket on the edge of the stage and the chair in the middle.
I turn back to the guy who can’t keep his eyes off me, approach him, and beckon him with my forefinger.
He glances around, obviously surprised that I singled him out.
When I reach the edge of the stage, I squat down and grab him by the collar of his polo.
I pull him onto the stage and guide him to the chair, which he sits in.
I face the audience and spread my legs, squat down, and give him a lap dance. I move my ass in circles on his pelvis. Show everyone how I work this Superass.
The guys and girls in the audience lose their shit, throwing their dollar bills onto the stage as I grab my shirt collar and rip so it tears down the middle.
I check Travis’s expression, wide-eyed. He appears impressed, and now I feel like I’m putting on this show for him more than anyone else.
I pull out of the sleeves of my ripped shirt and toss it into the audience before turning around and working my ass against my volunteer’s lap, continuing my dance.
His expression is all the reassurance I need, as he looks me up and down, feeling lucky as fuck to be here right now. Like Travis makes me feel when we’re together.
I unbutton my jeans and unzip my fly before standing up, turning around, and stepping back so my ass is right in the guy’s face. Squatting, I reach behind me, grab his hands, and hook his fingers in either side of my jeans before urging him to pull them down.
He slides them down halfway. I stand and let them fall to my ankles, revealing my gold-banded black Calvins. I slide my feet out of my jeans and give him another lap dance, facing the audience. I place his hands on my torso, encouraging him to feel me up, which is driving everyone insane.
The dollar bills are flying onto the stage, and I lean back, keeping my balance as I grip the bottom of the chair. I turn to him, our lips inches from each other. I c
an tell he’d kiss me in a heartbeat, but the tease is what’s driving the audience insane.
He starts moving in like he’s going to, so I turn my head, but continue to let him enjoy groping me, fondling me.
This is so freeing. So liberating.
And as the dollars continue collecting on the stage, I can tell I’ve made more than my share of cash.
“Well, wasn’t that steamy?” Miss Laurie Firebomb says, but she can hardly be heard over the applause.
The music cuts off, and I turn to the guy who’s been helping me, thanking him for participating. He seems eager for more, but I thank him again and step off the opposite side of the stage Travis is on. Clearly, the tequila’s hit my system now. And I’m overwhelmed by what a frenzy everyone’s still causing over my silly little scene.
Peter and Evan are standing in my path to Travis.
“Hey, boys,” I say as I reach them. I grab Evan’s cocktail and take a sip before returning it to him. “Sorry,” I say. “Was that yours?”
The expression on Evan’s face, not conceited or annoyed, but sad, makes me think I may have taken out my frustration on the wrong guy. He didn’t cheat on me. Peter did.
I smile at Peter before moving along, the guys in the crowd parting for me like I’m fucking royalty.
Travis stands on the other end of the stage, still in only the pink jockstrap, his eyes wide like he’s impressed.
24
Travis
A burst of pride swells in my chest, an unfamiliar feeling since it’s not myself I’m proud of right now. It’s also not the only foreign emotion twisting at my insides, but it’s a whole hell of a lot easier to deal with. Because as proud as I’d been watching Gary up there, seeing him fucking shine full of the confidence his sexy ass deserves, there had been a point where I wanted to rush the stage. That I’d felt anger that it hadn’t been me getting a lap dance from him. That a room full of other men had seen Gary let loose and be free in a way he typically only does with me.