Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 51803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
“What’s the worst that could happen?” Valenti asked reasonably. “He won’t deal with us. Right?”
“Wrong.” Twonnie said flatly. He sat up straighter in his chair and tugged at the hem of his too-tight T-shirt. “I guess nobody told you this, but a couple of years back a rival drug lord sent in a couple of his lieutenants to try and shanghai Conrad. But see, they were straight, and they acted it. Conrad was on them like a duck on a junebug when he found out the truth -- which, by the way, didn’t take him long. That night those two boys had a visit from some very scary leather daddies. I heard they could barely sit still on the nice plush seats of the limo Conrad sent them home in.”
“Wasn’t he worried about starting a war?” O’Brian asked, frowning.
“You think those two admitted what happened to them?” Twonnie demanded. “Why, that might damage their precious manhood. No, they just told their boss Conrad was on to them and they were sent back as a message -- next time, somebody dies. Nobody’s tried anything hinky with Master Conrad since. Word gets around, honey. Believe me, it does.”
“So you’re sayin’ if Valenti and I don’t act the part, we could be in deep shit,” O’Brian said bluntly.
“That’s putting it mildly, sweetie,” Twonnie said. “And from what Turk said, you’ve only got a week to practice your act, so you better get to it.” He gestured at both of them.
“What, right now?” Valenti asked, feeling slightly panicked.
“What do you want us to do, kiss?” O’Brian asked, a lot more coolly than Valenti would have believed possible. What had gotten into his partner lately? Valenti would have bet even money that if someone had suggested that Sean O’Brian was willing to kiss another man -- even his partner and best friend -- O’Brian would have punched the chump in the mouth. But now here he was suggesting it himself.
Twonnie looked amused. “No, honey,” he told O’Brian. “You’ll have to work up to that, I think. But why don’t you take tall, dark, and beautiful here out for a spin on the dance floor?”
“What, here?” Valenti asked, knowing that he sounded like a broken record, but unable to help himself.
“Where else did you have in mind, honey, Grand Central Station? Of course here. Don’t get that panicked look on your face; I’m not asking you to throw your partner facedown on the table and screw him. I just said dance.” Twonnie looked disgusted with them. “If you can’t even dance with each other, then you might as well forget it -- you may have to do a lot more than that to pass at the RamJack.”
“We can do it,” O’Brian said defiantly. “C’mon, Nicky, I’ll even let you lead.” He stood up from the rickety table and grabbed Valenti’s hand, pulling him reluctantly to his feet.
“Now try to blend in -- as much as you can in those clothes, anyway,” Twonnie instructed with a sniff, clearly disapproving of their plain jeans and T-shirts. “Watch the other couples around you and just play follow the leader. But if they lead you into the men’s room -- watch out!” He giggled at his own joke and made shooing motions at the pair of them. “Go on, I’ll watch from here and give you a full critique when you get back.”
“C’mon, Nick,” O’Brian said again, pulling him toward the dance floor. Valenti realized that his partner was still holding his hand and that their fingers were entwined. It was the way you held hands with your lover, not your best friend.
“Okay,” he said stupidly, stumbling along behind O’Brian, who was always so graceful.
Once out on the dance floor, it wasn’t so bad. “Disco Inferno” was playing, and O’Brian dropped his hand to dance to the lively beat. Valenti had nothing to do but admire his partner’s lithe gyrations and try to copy them. Although he wasn’t nearly the dancer O’Brian was, he thought he wasn’t half bad, and he was even beginning to enjoy himself a little until the music changed.
“Here’s something for all you lovers on the floor tonight,” the DJ announced, and something soft and romantic began playing. Valenti looked around him; everywhere, men were holding each other in pairs, swaying gently to the slow beat. Some were making out right on the dimly lit dance floor. Valenti tried to keep from imagining doing that with his partner, but he kept seeing himself taking that beloved face in his hands and leaning closer and closer until he could taste those soft lips. He was about to bolt back to the table when he felt O’Brian’s hand on his arm, and then he was being pulled into a warm embrace.
“C’mon, babe, dance with me,” O’Brian whispered in his ear, and then they were dancing, touching in a way they had never touched before, swaying to the music chest to chest and crotch to crotch. Valenti felt like his universe was turning inside out. He and his best friend had always been close, but he’d never dreamed they’d ever be close enough for O’Brian to feel comfortable slow dancing with him. But even though it was utterly bizarre, it was also typical O’Brian -- his partner never did anything halfway.