by E M Lindsey
Amit ran his hand down his shirt—plain black, but smooth as butter to the touch. He knew Nick wasn’t going to approve of his bland choice. White, distressed jeans and the simple top wasn’t anywhere near what Nick considered clubwear.
‘No.’ Nick reached out and tugged on the end of the shirt, shaking his head for emphasis.
Amit rolled his eyes and stepped out of his grasp. ‘Yes. I like this. It feels nice.’
‘No one is going to take you home and pound that cute little ass of yours if you wear this,’ Nick told him. He tried to tug the shirt off Amit who squawked and darted out of reach.
‘I don’t want my ass pounded,’ he told him.
Nick smirked. ‘Yes, you do. That’s why you agreed to come out tonight. That’s why you have those cute blue panties on.’
Amit felt his entire body go white-hot, then ice cold. He was sitting on the edge of the bed before he was aware of it, and his vison was suddenly filled with Nick’s face.
‘Hey,’ Nick signed, his motions slow. He touched the side of Amit’s face until his breathing calmed. ‘What did I say?’
‘How did you know,’ Amit’s shaking hands asked.
Nick scoffed. ‘I can see them when you bend over.’
Amit’s eyes went wide and his hand flew behind his back. He lifted his shirt, and sure enough, he could feel the top edge of the lace over the hem of his jeans. “Oh my god,” he breathed aloud.
Nick touched his arm, regaining his attention. ‘I thought you wanted people to see. You had red ones on the other night.’
Amit shook his head, the force of it making him a little dizzy, and he swallowed through his urge to stand up, panic, and run. ‘No. I don’t…I’ve never…’ His signs were shaky and stuttered, and he stopped when Nick closed his fingers around both of his wrists and squeezed.
‘No one else knows, if that helps,’ Nick signed after letting go. He sat back on his haunches, giving Amit a little more space. ‘Is it new?’
Licking his lips, he grimaced at how dry his mouth was, but without Nick jumping to conclusions, without him making a big deal, he was able to calm down. ‘No. Yes,’ he corrected, then shrugged and sighed, his breath flowing heavy from his lungs. ‘I don’t know. I’ve always liked the idea. I have some…I’ve had some for a long time, but the other night was the first time I was ever brave enough. I didn’t think anyone would understand.’
Nick’s mouth quirked up in a half smile, and Amit braced himself for his friend to berate him a little for assuming the worst of them. Instead, Nick cupped his cheek and leaned in to press a chaste kiss on his lips. ‘I do. I like skirts sometimes, and I’ve done a couple of drag shows. It’s not really my thing, but you know I love glitter.’
Amit couldn’t stop his laugh, because he did. ‘Yes.’
‘Can I ask you something?’
At Nick’s wide-eyed request for honesty, Amit slid from the bed to the floor and stretched his legs out. He waited for Nick to settle in next to him, then he lifted his fist and nodded it. ‘Yes.’
‘Is it more than just the panties?’
Amit’s cheeks burned, and he found himself grateful that the tone of his skin often hid his blush. ‘I…sometimes,’ he started, not quite sure where to begin, because honestly, he never quite let himself get this far. ‘Sometimes I wonder how dresses might feel. Or skirts. Or…makeup,’ he added, his hand fluttering nervously.
Nick cocked his head to the side. ‘Do you want to try?’ When Amit gave him a panicked look, Nick touched his thigh with one hand, signing with the other, ‘Something small. Lipstick. Gloss, maybe? Mascara?’
Amit’s eyes drifted closed for just a second, indulging in that brief moment of being allowed to have this thing—of knowing it wouldn’t get him disowned or hated or beaten. When he looked up again, Nick hadn’t broken their gaze. ‘Something small,’ Nick repeated.
Amit nodded, and his breath felt tight in his chest as Nick rose to his vanity, and returned with an eyeshadow pallet, a tube of tinted gloss, and something else that shimmered in the glow of his lamp. ‘All of that?’
‘Trust me,’ Nick told him. ‘If you hate it, it’ll wash off. But let me try this and see how you feel. We’re going to a club anyway, it’ll be too dark for anyone to really notice.’
That was a small comfort, and Amit decided he was tired of being petrified of his wants—of his desires. With his friend at least, he could be brave, even if it was just for the one night. He’d felt briefly foolish that morning when he pulled on the blue panties. His moment at the supermarket with Miguel had both terrified and emboldened him. He was startled by his own courage when he got dressed for the night out, and even now, he felt both more and less like himself than he ever had.
‘Close your eyes,’ Nick signed, and Amit obeyed.
His world sank into dull, muted hearing, and oversensitive touch. Every stroke of the brush over his eyelid, every puff of air from Nick’s mouth, sent shivers up his spine. He’d thought about it for so long—letting himself do this, indulge in the forbidden, and god, it was so much more than he thought it would be.
Nick’s thumb touched his chin and tugged, and he parted his lips slowly. The applicator sponge dragged over the curves of his mouth, and he briefly let himself think about Miguel and how a kiss from him might feel, how the sweep of Miguel’s tongue over his own would send him reeling.
And maybe that wouldn’t be the case. Maybe it would happen and it would be terrible—they’d be incompatible and conflicting. But something told him that wasn’t true.
Shit.
A tap on his shoulder signaled Nick was done, and he opened his eyes. He could see the glint of something shiny, and he realized Nick was holding a mirror. He couldn’t bring himself to look right then. His gaze fixated on the blinged out, glitter-painted processors of Nick’s cochlear implants nestled in his blonde hair. He traced the way his hair curled over it, the way it shone in the light.
Another tap brought him out of it, and he sighed before shifting his gaze and letting Nick hold the mirror up in front of him. For a second, Amit didn’t recognize himself. Not because he looked different, but because the body he was in had never been this brave. And yet, there he was. His reflection wasn’t lying to him. His eyes were gently traced in dark shadow, the mascara making his irises pop, the highlighter on his cheeks and the tip of his nose standing out and accentuating the curves of his face. His lips pouted with the shine, just a hint of pink—a barely there peek that promised he could have more, if he dared.
He swallowed thickly and saw the smug curve of Nick’s smile from behind the edge of the mirror. “Well?” Nick asked aloud.
Amit grazed his cheekbones with the tips of his fingers. “I’m really going to do this.”
Nick dropped the mirror and took Amit’s hand in his, signing with his other. ‘No one will care. Or if they do, it’ll be because you’re somehow even more beautiful as yourself.’
As yourself.
He had never truly let himself consider it that way, even if he knew. He looked at his hand in Nick’s, then took another breath. ‘Can you paint them?’
Nick’s smile went wide, blindingly brilliant, and he nodded. ‘Whatever color you want. But on one condition.’
Amit raised a brow. ‘What’s that?’
Nick’s smile went a little feral. ‘You let me burn this boring fucking shirt.’
Amit was thrumming with nervous energy as they reached the club. Eddie had showed up ten minutes after Amit’s nails had dried and spent the first ten minutes kissing his boyfriend, then the next ten praising Amit for how good he looked.
Nick hadn’t gone over the top—had chosen a body-hugging button up with a faded floral print for Amit to wear over his jeans. It was far more flamboyant than Amit ever was, but more subtle than Nick dressed for their nights out, and somehow it worked. Amit spent half an hour staring at himself, unsure this was really him, unsure if he was really brave enough to leave the house like that.
But Nick and Eddie both spent several minutes convincing him that he wouldn’t stick out, that no one would think of him differently. They’d be proud, and happy for him, and he’d probably get at least a dozen numbers that night.
Not that he wanted them. He wanted one number—the one he had, but he wanted permission to text Miguel for things other than the ink on his skin. He tried to imagine what it would be like if Miguel was out that night. What would he think if he ran into Amit? Would it be like the supermarket? Would he notice the changes?
He couldn’t get over Miguel’s parting words, because he knew what the other man meant. It was a show of support, without outing him, and it had stayed deep inside Amit’s chest since that night.
He was falling hard and fast for a man he didn’t really know, and that in itself was terrifying.
‘You’re coming, right?’ Eddie asked, smacking Amit on the arm for his attention.
Amit pulled away, but nodded. ‘I need a drink.’
‘It’s all going on Chris’ tab tonight,’ Nick reminded them. ‘He just passed the bar and his dad gave him like twenty-grand as a gift.’
Amit felt like an ass for having not paid attention to his friends in so damn long. With his sister’s wedding, and his mother getting older and looking more and more frail by the day, he’d been so consumed with worry he’d let things slip through. His work schedule had been murder, and then Amit had sat in the chair of a brooding tattoo artist and suddenly things that were important before ceased to matter.
So yeah, he was kind of a dick. But he could make it up to his friends tonight.
He followed Nick and Eddie through the door, getting his wristband, which allowed him to drink, and then they stepped inside. Ahead of him, Nick removed his processors, and Amit didn’t blame him. The music was intense, thrumming through his feet, straight into his chest. The beat was heavy enough he could hear most of it, but with his aids in, it would have been agony. This way, he could enjoy it, the steady pulsing through his limbs that begged him to dance.
The trio walked up to the bar, and Eddie leaned in to let the bartender know they were on Chris’ tab. Amit saw his friend already a little tipsy, his pale cheeks flushed with his cocktails, his shirt half untucked, eyes glazed over. Chris offered them a smile and a wave, signing, ‘Drink up,’ over the heads of the dancing crowd.
Amit laughed, rolling his eyes, but ordered a gin and tonic. He hadn’t eaten much, so it would go to work on him right away and he was looking forward to getting lost in a little buzz and a lot of beat. It had been too long since he let go.
The first sip of the alcohol was soothing, warm as it went down. The lime was sharp, the tonic fizzy, and he felt instantly relaxed. His friends had started to gather at the edge of the dance floor, and he wanted to get a bit more drink in him before he was ready to face them all. He wanted to believe he wasn’t a new person, just embracing who he truly was. Small changes were not nothing, but they weren’t everything.
A hand on his arm startled him, and he turned, his eyes widening when he saw Mat and Wyatt standing there smiling at him. “What are you doing here?” he asked, not sure how well his voice was moderating in the noise.
Mat squinted as he presumably read Amit’s lips over the music. “It’s my birthday,” he said back. “Didn’t the guys invite you?”
Amit flushed, realizing he had a host of texts from several people he hadn’t read—one of them was from Sam, but he assumed it was about a tattoo appointment, so he’d put it off. Leaning forward, he dragged Mat into a hug. “Happy Birthday,” he said into his ear. “Sam texted me, but I forgot to reply. My friend Chris just passed the bar exam.”
Mat’s eyes widened. “Hell yeah! Tell him congrats from us!”
Amit nodded and as he started to pull away, his gaze caught on the group of guys from the shop, and to his utter shock, Miguel was there. He had seemed like such a recluse, and he’d even been able to eavesdrop on Derek and Sage mentioning that Miguel had been keeping his distance from them. But there he was, looking like walking sex in tight jeans and a white t-shirt.
Miguel was engaged in a heavy conversation with James, but at that second—almost like fate forced their hands—he looked up and directly at Amit. Amit saw the moment recognition hit him, the way his cheeks pinked, the way his eyes widened and mouth parted. Whatever he was saying stuttered to a halt on his lips, and Amit felt like the whole room was staring at him when James glanced over and smiled.
Mat seemed to notice too, leaning over to speak in Wyatt’s ear before touching Amit on the arm. “You should hang with us tonight before you take off.”
Amit couldn’t do anything besides nod, too afraid to look away, but too afraid to move. Eventually, Miguel broke the eye contact, gulping down what was left in his glass before pushing through the crowd. Amit couldn’t pretend like it hadn’t gutted him, but he pasted on a smile as he looked back to Mat whose expression gave away everything. They had all noticed.
“You look good tonight,” Mat said, and Amit took a moment to process what he’d seen on Mat’s lips. Mat reached out and brushed a thumb over Amit’s cheekbones. “Really good. See you in a bit?”
Amit nodded, still unable to speak, and he turned to where his friends waited. By some miracle, none of them had noticed the interaction. He at least had a sanctuary away from the public and vicious rejection of the one man whose eye he’d wanted to catch in years. He gulped down more gin, squeezed into the circle of friends, then lifted his hands to tell Chris just how damn proud of him he was.
Chapter Ten
Miguel gripped the sink with one shaking hand, the other pushing his hair back from his face. His forehead had broken out into a thick sweat, and he felt the edges of panic tugging at his spine. Maybe it was the fact that he was in a club with the smell of sweat, bodies, and alcohol that dragged him back to Kyle’s predatory smile and deceptive words, or maybe it was the fear of letting himself reach for something, but his brain started to go into overdrive.
He stared at himself in the mirror until he no longer looked human, just a mass of shapes with dark eyes looking back at him, and then he started to calm. His fingers trembled as he turned on the tap, and he carefully wet his face down, watching as some of the water rinsed away the marker he’d left from Maisy’s artwork that afternoon.
The door creaked open, and he looked over to see the edge of a white cane. Wyatt. His chest unknotted a little because for whatever reason, Wyatt was a soft, soothing person to talk to. Miguel hadn’t gotten to know him as well as he’d have liked, but his presence was almost always welcome.
“Miguel, you in here?” Wyatt asked.
Miguel cleared his throat. “Yeah. Just taking a breather.”
“Mat said you ran out like a bat out of hell. He was a little worried,” Wyatt said. He leaned his cane on the wall by the door, then felt for the sink and propped his hip against it. Miguel couldn’t see his eyes behind his glasses, but his brows rose above the rims—more concerned than judgmental. “You want to talk, or should I leave?”
“I’m fine,” Miguel said. He cleared his throat again, then reached for a paper towel to mop his forehead dry. “I don’t really do that great in clubs.”
“You and me both,” Wyatt said with a small grin. “But sometimes it’s nice, if you need to be overwhelmed.”
Miguel couldn’t think of a single time he’d needed to feel like this, but maybe it wasn’t the same for everyone. “Sorry to ruin Mat’s night.”
“You didn’t,” Wyatt insisted. He pushed away and took another step closer. “We were talking to Amit.” There was something in his tone that told Miguel the pair had caught on to what he was feeling. Or at the very least, the tension he felt when Amit came up. “Did you two have a bad session?”
“No,” Miguel breathed out. He looked up at himself once more and was surprised to see he still looked fairly put together, even if his eyes were a little wide and wild. “No, he was great. He always sits great, I think.”
&nbs
p; “But there’s something,” Wyatt pressed.
It was almost like Miguel had no choice, like no matter what he did, he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. “I like him. I uh…I don’t really like people. I had a pretty shitty time when it came to dating you know? So I avoid it, but he’s…fuck. He got under my skin.”
“I understand,” Wyatt said with a low chuckle.
“How?” Miguel blurted, then felt like a real asshole, but he still meant it. “You’re gorgeous. You can’t tell me you get it.”
Wyatt’s eyebrows rose even higher. “The blind man with the weird eyes?” he said, his tone teasing. But then his expression fell a little. “I was married for a lot of years to a man who wasn’t the person I thought. He used me, then tried to destroy my life. When I met Mat, I wasn’t ready to trust anyone, but something about him…” Wyatt let out a small sigh. “I couldn’t stay away, no matter how hard I tried. I thought he was straight, and not interested, and completely out of reach. And now I’m happier than I ever thought possible. It’s about taking a leap.”
“I’ve leapt,” Miguel said, not bothering to hide his bitterness. “I leapt into bed with a man who was dared to get me into bed because he wanted to see if my dick had burned off with the rest of me. I thought…” The words choked him and he let out a shaking sigh. “For a minute, I let myself think I could have more than what my life was right then.”
“There are terrible people in the world,” Wyatt said. Before Miguel could say something rude, Wyatt went on. “My husband fucked a student, then told the board I had ordered him to—that I got off on it. I lost my job, my reputation, and my family. They took his side.”
Miguel sucked in a breath and took a step back. “Shit.”
Wyatt laughed. “Exactly. It was shit. I had every reason not to trust another man, but I’m glad I did. And I think you know that Amit’s interest in you has nothing to do with a dare, or morbid curiosity.”
“I don’t see how it could be anything else,” Miguel muttered.