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I can’t control the grin or the warmth erupting in my body. He’s been thinking about me. Talking about me with this person named Fynn. This person who is free to waltz into Nandy’s apartment unannounced and without knocking. They were discussing me. Before last night. Before I showed up.
I stand and grab Fynn’s outstretched hand. His eyes grow even wider and then fill with a devilish look as he takes in my full height. I recognize him.
“Oh my,” he says, barely audible.
He turns to Nandy. “Well, your night was clearly way better than mine.”
Nandy shakes his head. I’m prepared for the denial, the nothing happened, nothing is going on protest.
“Yep,” Nandy takes a swallow of his coffee. “I’m pretty sure this room is the only one we didn’t have sex in, and we were getting there before you busted in…. I thought I taught you how to knock.”
I grin at Nandy, and he looks my way and winks. I laugh and shake my head.
Fynn looks disappointed. That blatant lie Nandy just told revealed the entire truth to Fynn. More than an actual denial of sex would have. Nice move. It also makes clear Nandy will say nothing more on the subject.
“Well, I just wanted to make sure you were home safe. I heard they cut the concert short, and some people didn’t make it home. The hotels were overrun, and people slept in the lobbies.”
He turns back to me and sits at the table, places his chin in hands and looks at me again. I sit back down.
I meet his green eyes and take in his face. Dark eyeliner still completely lines those eyes. The lids covered with a dark shadow, both of which make those green eyes pop. The photo I saw. This is the man Nandy was kissing. The only man I’ve ever been able to find Nandy photographed with, other than his manager. His makeup is barely smudged, though fatigue has tinged his eyes red…the long night, the storm.
Stuck at the club, he had said. I wonder if he is a dancer. The makeup is excessive, like someone who is on stage would wear. Heavier than Nandy wears, but he wears makeup on stage too. The thought makes me look Nandy’s way again. That’s what is different this morning. He removed all of his makeup and now he is dressed similar to me, wearing a long sleeve t-shirt and sweats. His dreads are pulled back into a ponytail. God, he is beautiful.
As I look at those blond-dipped dreads and then back at Fynn, whose thick, short hair is spiked atop his head. The jet-black roots set off the blond tips he has, and I see the two of them doing this together. Another pang of something hits my belly again. What the fuck is this? It’s disconcerting. I don’t like it.
Fynn’s skin looks creamy, flawless, and his lips are full and pouty. He was probably clean-shaven last night. He isn’t now. Morning stubble graces his firm jaw, and I find it even more intriguing with all the makeup. He’s pretty. He’s sexy. Like, really, really sexy. And he is all man. Sex appeal is oozing out of him…. I’m curious what the man beneath the mask of makeup really looks like. He enjoys being looked at. I can see that by the twinkle in his eyes.
I have never been attracted to a man before Nandy. I know a good-looking man when I see one. I’ve never balked at that. Nandy stirs things inside of me I’ve never felt before. And now Fynn, this man I’ve never laid eyes on before, who has likely fucked and may well be fucking the man I want, is also making me see things in a different light.
“So, what brings the hockey God to town?” he asks, and I grin again, the reminder they have been discussing me.
Nandy steps over and places a mug of coffee in front of Fynn.
“He was here for the concert.” Nandy says, trying to control the discussion, although I’m not sure why.
“How long are you here?” Fynn gazes up at Nandy. “Oooooh, bring him to the club tonight?”
“No.”
The no is emphatic.
“Are you a dancer?” I ask Fynn and he turns those eyes back to me and, in a flash, they turn dark and wicked. “At times.” He coos.
I furrow my brow.
“I own a sex club.”
I nod. Before I can ask another question, my phone buzzes. I look down, click the text. And all thoughts of sex and dancing and clubs and beautiful men wearing makeup vanish.
“Planes are moving,” I say to Nandy. “I have to get over there.”
“I’ll call you a car.”
I nod and then head toward the guest room to splash water on my face and brush my teeth with the toothbrush I spotted in there earlier. My sweat-drenched suit is missing, though.
“My suit?”
“I already sent it down to be cleaned. I’ll get it back to you.”
