Page 46 of Pieces of Me

Over my dead fucking body, Rylan thought, but he managed a bright smile. “That sounds great, Sloan,” he replied, injecting every ounce of sincerity he could muster into his tone. Kiss his ass until you get your money.

God, being broke sucked.

✩✩✩

“So good, Scotty. So fucking good.”

Lance gave a final shudder, his face buried in Scott’s neck. He let go of Scott’s knees and rolled to the side, both of them trying to catch their breath as Lance dabbled his fingers through the come streaking Scott’s belly.

“Did you like that?” Lance’s lips curved in a smile.

“Yeah,” Scott grunted. “You know I did.” He crossed his arms behind his head and settled back more firmly against the pillows, drawing one knee up to prevent Lance from cuddling against him. A wounded expression crossed Lance’s face, but he didn’t push it, settling for propping himself up on his elbow to look down at Scott.

“I’ll miss you,” he said, his voice tentative. “I really wanted to do the Pride booth with you this weekend, but―”

“Duty calls.” Scott shrugged. “Hanging out at a Pride booth or getting to fuck two guys at once? I know what I’d choose.”

“I’d rather be here with you than in Vegas any day―” Lance began, subsiding when Scott huffed out a scornful laugh.

“That’s ridiculous, Lance.” He pushed off the bed and headed for the bathroom, grabbing his toothbrush while he waited for the shower to heat. After a moment Lance came in and wordlessly flushed the condom before standing there with his arms crossed as Scott spit and rinsed.

“Why is it ridiculous?” he asked at last, and Scott gave him an incredulous look before climbing into the shower and yanking the curtain closed.

“Come on. You’re getting paid to fuck hot men…in Vegas,” Scott replied, scrubbing at his hair and body under the hot spray. “You can’t tell me standing around in underwear all day at a Pride booth is better than that.”

He slammed the faucets off and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist as he stepped out and reached for his deodorant. Lance hadn’t moved.

“You can take a shower if you want, before you go,” Scott offered. “Help yourself.” He capped the deodorant and tossed it aside before walking back into his bedroom to rummage in a drawer.

He was pulling a jockstrap up his legs when Lance came into the room a few minutes later and rummaged for his own clothes.

“No shower?” Scott asked, and Lance shook his head.

“No.” He pulled his T-shirt over his head. “I’d better get on the road. Five-hour drive ahead of me, and we didn’t get much sleep last night. I’ll shower when I get there.”

He finished getting dressed, and as he grabbed his keys and wallet from the dresser, he looked at Scott.

“Standing around at a Pride booth is better.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. “How do you figure?”

“Because you’d be there.” He waited, and when Scott didn’t reply, said, “Right. Well, I’ll call you when I get back, okay?”

“Sure.” Scott turned away and busied himself with his clothes as the front door to the apartment closed softly in the other room. He blew out a breath.

His cell phone suddenly vibrated on the dresser, startling him. He grabbed it up, half expecting some sort of needy message from Lance, but instead it was Pete, one of the go-go dancers Scott worked with at the club.

Here at the booth, and it’s busy as fuck. Where are you?

Shit. Scott glanced at the time and winced, thumbing in a quick response. Sorry man, lost track of time. There in 15. He yanked on his club logo tank top and a pair of fitted sweatpants, sliding them down low over his hips and letting the waistband of his designer jockstrap peek out over the top.

No worries. See you when you get here. But hurry up, bitch! A smiley emoji followed, and Scott grinned. Pete was a good guy, as easygoing and friendly as they come, and Scott was looking forward to the next several hours.

After all, it was Pride season, baby.

CHAPTER 11

Rylan’s face hurt from smiling. His lips were sticky and gross from sucking. His feet were sore from walking. All in all he felt like utter and complete shit. What a long-ass fucking day.