Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
He wanted to twist the fuck out of normal and leave the world baffled in his wake.
Chapter Three
Thursday nights at The Vibe were usually pretty quiet and though the dance floor and bar were crowded, it wasn’t as packed as it would be on the weekend. Ansel took note of a few potential sex partners. He didn’t usually pick up guys at work because it was a little tacky and besides, everyone who watched him perform already knew what he had between his legs. Where was the fun in that?
Last night he’d gone home with a jock. He’d been wearing his pretty purple suede, four-inch Jessica Simpson rip-offs and matching eye shadow. When the guys on the court whistled their appreciation, he wasn’t surprised. It happened all the time.
With his feminine features and liberal use of nail polish and makeup, people always assumed he was a girl. It wasn’t his job to convince them of his gender, one way or the other. Was it his fault people let their assumptions get them into trouble? It’s not like he was going to wear a sign on his head that said Warning. Cock Attached.
He wore what he liked and to hell with what other people thought. Though, okay, maybe he did add a little swish to his walk when cute guys were watching.
Still, maybe tonight he’d settle for something quick and easy.
Or maybe not...
Lirim, Z, and Tam branched off to work the room and earn their cash, but he headed to the bar. He was so sober, he was trembling as he leaned against the brass edge and smiled at the bartender.
“What can I get you, beautiful?” Terry winked.
“How about a double shot for now? Just need to loosen up a bit.” He had to shout over the music, but Terry was well practiced at taking his order.
“You got it, dollface.”
Terry was in his mid-forties, balding, and pudgy around the middle. He’d worked at the club for twenty years. The Vibe was his second home and he was a spectacular bartender, sweet and nonthreatening. Not so pretty to look at, which meant he wasn’t competition. The customers wouldn’t choose him over the dancers always on offer. Terry poured the double shot of dark whiskey and served it with a friendly smile.
“Thanks, hun.” Ansel tossed the contents back in a practiced swallow. It was the good shit. Terry always gave him the good shit. The warmth bloomed in his chest, and his arm steadied as the alcohol made its way into his bloodstream.
Letting the tranquility wash over him, he scanned the room for his first trick of the night. The strobe lights and beams swirled with dizzying effect, reflecting off glass and bared skin as the pulse of bass throbbed just like a heart, vibrating every surface. This was his church, and he reveled in the steady familiar pounding. One of his regulars was in the usual spot, but Ansel didn’t acknowledge him. He liked to make them wait. The jealousy always led to bigger tips.
Across the room Tam was grinding the lap of a happy woman with a bridal veil on her head, her blush almost as red as his own lipstick. Bridal showers were great. Brides were so much fun to tease. Near the center of the room, on the edge of the dance floor, a gaggle of girls was waving money in his direction. Their bright laughing faces were inviting and harmless, so he headed their way.
“Evening, ladies,” he purred loudly so they could hear him as he approached their table. The girl in the middle had her dark hair cut in an attractive bob, and she wore one of those fake tiaras you got from the dollar store. Only hers had a giant pink 21 perched in the middle.
“Oh my God, you’re so pretty, even up close,” one of the girls said.
He smiled and batted his eyelashes. She hadn’t meant her comment to be a backhanded insult, so he swallowed the retort on the tip of his tongue. Throwing shade at the customers was a bad idea. Plus, these girls looked fun and a little too naive to understand his particular brand of sarcasm.
“Aw, aren’t you sweet.”
There was one empty chair, so he spun it to the side and draped himself over it, crossing his legs in a dainty move he’d long ago perfected. “Are you girls having fun tonight?” One quick sweep of the group and he pinned them down—birthday party, a few lesbians, all over twenty-one but none over twenty-five. Lesbians and birthday parties were almost as much fun as bridal showers.
“It’s awesome. You guys were so good.”
“Thanks, sugar. I love your necklace, where’d you get it?” He nodded at the long silver chain with a black bow tie at the end.
As expected, the girl smiled and touched the piece. “Thanks, um. I think it was at a kiosk in the mall.”