Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
“No…no, I want to go with you.” Cillian’s arms abruptly slid around him—startlingly fierce, tight, holding on to Brendan as Cillian pressed himself into him. “We’re supposed to be getting more comfortable with each other to make this work, aren’t we? And I want to see what you wanted to show me.”
For a frozen moment, Brendan held his arms out from his sides, not quite sure what to do with them. But after a breath passed he slowly settled them around Cillian, pulling him in and knotting his hands together against the small of Cillian’s back.
“If you’re sure that’s what you want,” he murmured.
“I’m sure.” Cillian tilted his head up, looking up at Brendan with an awkwardly one-sided smile that made one corner of his crooked nose scrunch. “So show me.”
Instead Brendan held fast for several moments, if only because…he couldn’t quite move. Not when something about the way the light fell across that elfin face caught him, held him; something about the way creamy-pale brown eyes turned soft when Cillian looked at him that way. A tightness rose in Brendan’s chest; a thing that pulsed with a rhythm as red as the shy curve of Cillian’s lips. The urge to kiss Cillian just because, he—
He wasn’t about to get attached when this was a matter of sexual convenience.
And so, gently, he pried Cillian’s arms from around him, but kept one of Cillian’s hands for himself as he stepped back—enough for a buffer between them, enough to let his body forget the feeling of Cillian’s imprinted against his own.
“C’mon,” he said, and smiled. “It’s just around the corner.”
l
JUST AROUND THE CORNER, CILLIAN found, was a massive department store building—the lights down save for a few subtle spots in the display windows, but Brendan pulled him along the side of the building and a cramped alleyway—where a concrete staircase descended below street level to a battered wooden door covered by a gaudy patterned pink and orange awning. No windows, but he could make out hints of loud music seeping under the door, wailing saxophones and brassy trumpets.
He couldn’t help laughing as Brendan led him down the stairs. “What is this place? Some kind of underground club?”
“Not quite.” Brendan pushed the door open—and sound exploded over them, jazzy ragtime music bursting out into the night in cheerful, jaunty notes, paired with the sounds of conversation from what had to be a fairly large crowd. Grinning, something mischievous in his eyes, Brendan tugged at Cillian’s hand. “Come see.”
Cillian couldn’t resist that smile, and let himself be pulled the rest of the way down the stairs and through the door—into a much larger space than he’d expected. A massive ballroom opened up in front of him, the gleaming interlocking tiles of teakwood flooring shining underneath spinning spangles of silvery gold light falling down from the high reaches of an arched, soaring ceiling. Multiple tables draped in white cloth had been arranged all throughout the room in clusters that left large circles of the floor open. A live band played on the stage at the far end, frenetic energy rising from them in waves as they threw themselves into fast-paced, infectiously bright music. Hundreds of people milled at the refreshment tables along one wall, or stood about in idle social groups chatting, or lounged at the tables nibbling at appetizers.
“We’re not too late,” Brendan said, his voice pitched over the noise, and led Cillian toward the refreshment tables. “Get whatever you’d like. It’s usually open buffet on competition nights.”
“…competition?” Cillian looked over his shoulder, watching a few people who looked like they were limbering up…in waistcoats and poodle skirts and polished shoes. He reached by touch to snag a plate, following Brendan, never taking his eyes off the crowd. “What kind of competition?”
“Swing dancing,” Brendan said, and dropped a napkin on Cillian’s plate. “So let’s find a good seat. I don’t want to miss the beginning.”
Cillian blinked.
Brendan…went to live swing dancing competitions.
That was…unexpected.
Cillian filled his plate quickly. He had a love-hate relationship with American food, but he found a few things he knew he’d like and piled them on before following Brendan to an empty table close to the edge of the largest empty circle in the room. As they settled down opposite each other, Cillian stole a glance at Brendan across the table, then peeked around at the crowds.
“…no one knows who you are here…?”
“I’m sure enough of them do, but…in places like this, people tend to leave each other alone and let them enjoy themselves.” Brendan leaned one fine-honed arm against the table, body settled in a long and lazy slouch of caged energy; dark eyes flicked across the table to Cillian. “We’re here to be seen, but no one will bother us.”
…right. Here to be seen. Cillian lowered his eyes to his plate and plucked at a cracker covered in some kind of peppery soft cheese. “Do you come here often?”