I’m on my way, cub.
7
SIMON
T he bass throbs low, like a heartbeat you could grind against. Red light washes over the stage in pulses, casting shadows
sharp enough to slice skin. The two dancers' bodies on stage move in the haze of smoke and light, some guys are watching,
some of them pretending not to be starved. Eager to touch.
I lean against the back wall behind Lev’s reserved table. He’s working in the office tonight while I hang out here. Watching with the others, but not quite focusing. I can’t. Mainly because Carlos walked in ten minutes ago and has placed himself at a table across from me. Dressed all in black tonight, his black shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his buttons open a little lower than last time, so more of his chest is exposed with the way he is leaning back in his chair, his arms spread across the seat. His multiple chains glisten against his chest and its so fucking hard to concentrate and remain angry.
That doesn’t last long.
My mood quickly shifts to anger when I look at his face. Cold. Smirking. It's like he knows all my secrets and is toying with me. Watching me with that maddening detached amusement, as if he knows the whole game between us and doesn’t care if he wins or loses—because he runs the show.
I down the drink in my hand. Bourbon. I’m not officially working tonight and needed the burn of alcohol. But it's not enough. Nothing is enough. I need to take control, show him he can’t play with me like he thinks. As if hearing my thoughts, one of the girls, Kyra, sidles up next to me. We’ve fooled around a couple of times. Her long black hair covers her barely covered ass, her breasts are spilling out of the sparkling bra she is wearing, her glistening skin a temptation to most men. Hips to die for.
I let my mouth curve into a grin I don’t feel as I reach out and brush my fingers against her waist. She leans in willingly, smiling with a set of perfect white teeth. I make a show of it. Whisper words of praise in her ears, laughing at her quick wit, letting my hand linger a little too long on her voluptuous hips. Then I build myself up to look back over at Carlos.
The prick hasn’t moved an inch. Still leaning back in his chair like he is the king of this club watching his peasants play. Still smiling that fucking smile—cool, detached, unreadable as to whether it’s genuine amusement or a psychotic grin that promises revenge.
It makes my blood simmer.
My inner dickhead takes over and I dismiss Kyra, who walks away with a shrug, approaching another table of customers. I cross the room and sit across from Carlos like a storm rolling in. Before I know it, the words come out like projectile vomit.
“Jealous?” I hiss at him. Hoping to hit a nerve or something. Carlos raises an eyebrow.
“Of what? That performance?” he says before letting his gaze flick down my body and back up again—slowly and mocking.
“You’ve done better.”
“You’re a fucking asshole. Why are you here? Stalking me now?” I say as Carlos leans forward over the table. I’m leaning in too, and I forget where I am. It's like we’re in our own bubble.
“You’re so transparent. I think deep down you desperately want me to hunt you down, and it's killing you that I’m not reacting,” he murmurs, eyes locked onto mine.
My breathing hitches and Carlos notices, his smile sharpening in an almost cruel way. Hungry.
“You touch other people like I'm supposed to care. But you won’t touch me. Why is that?” he says, and his voice is like velvet over knives.
I don’t answer. All I can hear is my own heart pounding in my ears. Without thought, I grab him by the collar, yanking him over the table, bringing him closer until our mouths are a breath apart.
Shared heat. Shared fury. Shared want.
“You gonna kiss me, Simon?” he whispers, dark delight dancing in his voice. “Or are you just going to keep pretending that you hate me enough to stay away?”
My grip trembles on his shirt, trying to control my actions as if someone else has taken control of my body. Our lips are so close, close enough to taste danger and lust. But I don’t close the gap. Instead, I push him back. How the hell did that happen? Nearly kissing a guy in the open.
“Go to hell, Carlos,” I growl, and he chuckles.
“Already there, little lion. Are you joining me?”
“Don’t fucking call me that!”
I get out of my seat and gasp for air, needing to get away from him. With my hands shaking, body trembling, I storm out the back of the club and don’t look back.
When I get outside, panic sets in. The lack of control with Carlos is not like me. I stand with my back against the wall next to the fire exit and try to compose myself. Memories of Leo spring to the forefront of my mind, the fear of being caught. Why the fuck after all these years, am I thinking about him?
