Love on the Rocks (Bar Tenders) Page 5

  Justin swallowed, drinking it all. He milked Yena dry, until his body stopped shaking and his cries turned to labored breathing. In the back of his mind, Justin noted—and loved—how responsive Yena had been to him.

  “Oh,” Yena sighed. “Oh, fuck.” He whimpered when Justin pulled away. “Hey… what about you?”

  Justin had already settled in beside him, burying his face in the soft pillow. “’M fine,” he murmured. He blinked his eyes open, managing to see Yena’s face once more before sleep claimed him.

  Flushed cheeks looked good on him, Justin thought. Very pretty.

  NAUSEA ROLLED in his belly before Justin opened his eyes. Oh… shit. He cracked open first one eye, then another, trying to squint against the bright light of the room. His head throbbed and his stomach lurched. In short, he felt like death.

  Well, that’s just great.

  Justin looked up at an unfamiliar light fixture on the ceiling, and walls he didn’t recognize. A large drape of material was hung over one wall, like one of those hand-sewn, hippie throws his mother was fond of. This one was red, gold, and black. A white cupboard loomed beyond, covered in pictures, posters, and strange knickknacks. Justin couldn’t focus that far into the room.

  His throat was dry, and the prospect of guzzling cold water from a bathroom tap was the most sensible option. Best get up. Justin carefully sat up, meeting with a swirl of dizziness. Bloody wine. Never again. He glanced down at his bed partner, still sound asleep. Yena had his back to him, curled up into his pillow. His skin was smooth and flawless, the color of honey. His long dark curls were sleep-mussed and laid out on the pillow, black against the pale cream of the bedspread. Justin had an overwhelming urge to lean over Yena and kiss his neck, fold his naked body into his… but as the nausea rolled again in his belly, he knew that wouldn’t be an option.

  Either he had to get out now, or he had to find the bathroom.

  Feeling clumsy and delicate, Justin extracted himself from the bed. Yena didn’t stir, and Justin was relieved. He picked up the clothes that were his, pulling on one sock and his shirt, then clutching the rest to him as he staggered off to find somewhere to be sick.

  Saliva was already filling his mouth by the time he found the bathroom. He shut himself inside, hoping that no one would hear, dropped all his clothes to the floor, and knelt down in front of the porcelain god.

  Never again, he repeated to himself, as he hurled his guts up. All that wine, last night’s dinner… what a waste. He hadn’t actually puked in ages.

  Considering he felt so atrocious, there wasn’t actually that much in the toilet bowl to show for it. Only horrible colored liquid. Before he could study it too intensely, Justin flushed it away and pulled himself up to the sink. He washed his face, drank desperately from the cold tap, and finally looked at himself in the mirror.

  Shit.

  Yena couldn’t see him like this. Justin wouldn’t want his own mother to see him like this, though she had in the past, on many occasions. Maybe… a brisk walk outside. Get some fresh air.

  That thought in mind, Justin pulled on the rest of his clothes and snuck out of the bathroom with all the grace of one still drunk.

  Either Yena was a deep sleeper or he was letting Justin make a dignified exit. Justin let himself out, tripping over the welcome mat on his way. Okay, maybe not quite so dignified. He’d definitely had better mornings.

  Get some fresh air, he thought. It’ll all feel better then. He looked around the unfamiliar hall wondering how the hell he was supposed to get out. Wasn’t there a lift? Justin wandered around, lurching like a zombie.

  He eventually found the lift, but when it juddered its way down, Justin felt the sickness rise again. He had a minipuke in the lift, no hope for it as he had nowhere else to aim except the wall. When he reached the bottom he hurried out of the tower block and the gate, finding his way onto a street he didn’t recognize.

  Where the fuck was he again? Clapham, was it?

  Argh.

  He started walking. Just keep moving, Justin. Walk it off.

  Sometime later, Justin wasn’t feeling much better, but the sickness had passed. He had to be thankful for small mercies. Except now that he’d walked around, he didn’t know where he was. He spotted a bus—the beautiful sight of the familiar red double-decker bearing a destination he knew. It stopped at a bus stop on the opposite side of the road, which meant there’d be more coming soon. If Justin got on a bus to Victoria, he could easily get another bus or the tube from there.

  But… what about Yena? It was a bit rude to just take off, Justin supposed. He should at least send a parting text. Justin patted himself down, checking his pockets. Keys, wallet, phone. He pulled out his phone, intending to make his excuse-text, then make a getaway home.

  The phone he held in his hand wasn’t his phone. In fact, as Justin stared at it, he realized it wasn’t even a phone, it was a white remote control.

  What the…?

  He stared at it in confusion for several minutes. Had he picked this up from Yena’s bedroom? What the hell was it for? And where was his phone? Not still in Yena’s place?

  Justin winced and cursed under his breath. Well, that was just the icing on the cake. But there wasn’t much point trudging around Clapham, hoping he stumbled upon the right road and the right tower block before knocking on doors hoping to find Yena again. No, he’d either have to write that phone off altogether, or….

  Or he’d have to visit Yena again at the bar. Justin groaned and then trudged off for his bus.

  Chapter Five

  WITHOUT HIS phone—which also held his calendar, personal planner, and pretty much everything he relied upon—Justin only just managed to make his Friday night gig in time. Tam was furious when he arrived late.

  “I’m sorry,” Justin said, breathless, as he hurried to get changed.

  “I’ll bitch-slap you later,” Tam told him. “Just hurry the fuck up and get changed. We’re on in less than half an hour.”

  “Right.”

  Used to quick changes, Justin went from street clothes to shiny Lycra and platform boots in record time. It was a miracle he didn’t tear the already tight costume. After zipping himself in, Tam helped him with the feathered plumage that fixed around their shoulders and handed him his microphone.

  “Don’t forget to turn it on,” Tam hissed, as they lined up near the stage door.

  Justin nodded, and then someone caught his eye—a petite, tattooed girl with long blonde curls, carrying several sparkly Hula-Hoops past them. It was Chi Chi, a performer Justin knew. She was dressed in a miniature sailor’s outfit, and she smiled at Justin.

  Justin lifted his hand in a wave, but the bustle of backstage didn’t allow them time to chat.

  Maybe that was a good thing, Justin thought, as his cheeks heated.

  “This is us.” Tam nudged him, catching Justin in his ribs.

  Focusing on where they were going, Justin followed Tam, clomping as quietly as he could in six-inch platform boots. The emcee’s voice carried through the venue, amplified through the PA. As the last of a raucous joke died down, she announced the next act, encouraging the audience to applaud.

  “Give it up for Dancing Queens!”

  Through the applause, the lights quickly dimmed. Justin followed Tam onto the stage, as the emcee flitted off from the other side. They got into position, facing the audience but remaining still. Even in the dark, their costumes sparkled. Justin fixed on a point in front of him and concentrated.

  As the first, almost quiet notes of the song’s percussion started, a few whoops hollered out through the audience. Hen parties were out in force, then. They always loved a double act.

  Justin remembered to flick his mic on. The song started, and he waited for his cue. The deep voice on the song sang the first line, and Justin and Tam lifted their mics in sync and sang together. The house lights went up, making their costumes sparkle. The song was Daddy Cool, a new opener for them. A great cheer went up from the audience,
especially from the hen parties, once they saw it was men performing.

  Justin grinned easily, moving perfectly in time with Tam as they began the dance. It started off standing in place; hip thrust, sing, and point to the audience. Wink, smile. Piece of cake. The women went crazy. One woman near the front, wearing a pink feather boa, was literally screaming. Justin hoped she’d remain seated; while he didn’t mind crowd interaction too much, he knew it annoyed Tam.

  They danced their way through the song, tapping the stage with their heels. The feathers got on Justin’s nerves a bit. He’d have to ask Tam to trim them back, or something. Swiveling and turning, dancing past each other, Justin spotted a few faces watching from the side of the stage. The stage manager, a woman, and a man in a suit he didn’t recognize. Justin hoped it was a booker and he liked what he saw.

  He put extra gusto into his performance. When his next cue came, he twirled into position and dropped to one knee in front of Tam. He looked up at his partner, trailing his free hand down his thigh as his face became level with his crotch. “Oh, daddy,” he declared, all breathy and overacted.

  The hen parties were screaming their heads off. Good. Justin hoped the booker, or whoever he was, noticed. Tam’s fingers threaded through Justin’s hair, but not enough to wreck it. They’d practiced this move so much. After a bit more tease and some sultry looks, Tam hauled Justin back up by his hand, turning him around. Now came the grinding together part. It was really quite comical, especially with the Oh, my goodness! expression Justin set in place. The act was supposed to be humorous, with a dash of raunch.

  On cue, when the music changed, they broke apart with a smile to continue the chorus again. The audience was clapping along now, totally won over. The woman with the pink boa was on her feet, waving it in the air. When their act finished, the applause was enthusiastic.

  For a London crowd, that was often the best one could hope for.

  Tam and Justin took a bow, then trooped offstage as the emcee returned. Backstage, the stage manager was pleased with them. “I like you two,” she said with a smile. “No props to place, nothing to pick up either. And the audience love you. Wonderful.”

  “We try our best,” Tam declared, favoring her with a smile.

  Justin grinned and then noticed the suited man approach. “Tam. And Justin, was it? Outstanding show.” He complimented them on their performance, but his eyes strayed down their bodies.

  Oh, Justin thought. One of those. Whoever he was—booker, agent, who gave a monkey’s?—he was clearly eager to try his luck first. Usually those sorts of guys bought them plenty of drinks, said a lot of sweet things, and rarely did it go anywhere. Justin couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm tonight.

  “I’d like to hear more about your act,” the guy said. “I’ll be at the bar after the show.”

  Tam was all over this one. Justin recognized his flirt mode activated; touches on the arm, posing on the spot. “Sounds perfect!” he said, beaming a smile at him.

  Justin forced himself to smile.

  They had another two acts to do yet, so there wasn’t time to hang around and chitchat. For that, Justin was relieved. The suited man slipped away, and Tam dragged Justin off to a quiet corner of the dressing room. “Oh fuck!” Tam hissed excitedly. “Do you know who that is?”

  “No,” Justin replied. “Should I?”

  “Justin, honestly.” Tam quickly removed his feathered ruff, and reached out to help Justin with his. “That’s Mark Malone. He’s a big name booker in burlesque, not to mention drop-dead gorgeous.”

  Reaching up to help Tam with the feathers, Justin quirked a brow. “Are we burlesque?”

  “We’re boylesque.”

  “I thought we were cabaret?”

  “Same difference, darling. It doesn’t fucking matter as long as it pays.”

  “Uh, okay.” Justin finally removed his feathers and handed them off to Tam. The next song would be their ABBA medley and required the ruffles added to the costume. They had it down to about a five-minute changeover, if they were quick. Tonight, they had about fifteen minutes.

  Tam must have sensed his mood. “What’s up? You’re brooding.”

  “I-I’m just tired.”

  “Mm hm.” Tam shot him a look but didn’t press. “If you don’t want to hang out afterwards, that’s cool. I’m more than happy to flirt my arse off with that devilishly handsome man if he’ll book us for more shows.”

  Justin had to laugh. “All right. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “That doesn’t leave a lot, darling.”

  Rolling his eyes, Justin let the comment slide. Tam was right; he was brooding tonight. He had something—someone—weighing on his mind, and he knew he wouldn’t feel better until he’d addressed the issue.

  JUSTIN’S HEART beat wildly as he walked down the little street to Foxy’s. Why was he so nervous? For all he knew Yena wouldn’t even be working, and he was getting himself in a tizz for nothing.

  This couldn’t be any more embarrassing.

  He patted his jacket pocket, feeling the remote control there. Well, he might as well get it over with. Taking a deep breath, Justin approached the glass doors and opened them. It was only Monday evening and clearly not very busy. Only a few couples dotted around the cocktail bar. The music wasn’t as loud, playing something poppy and chilled.

  Oh, god, he’s here.

  Justin spotted Yena behind the bar, and his immediate reaction was to want to turn and flee. He told himself to buck up and go over there. A steadying breath, then another, and Justin walked as casually as he was able up to the bar. Yena saw him and held his gaze. And damn, Yena looked good, eyes all big and dark. The dark shirt he wore complimented his skin tone and made his brown curls look almost black. Justin felt like all the breath had been knocked out of him.

  “Er, hey,” he said, planting himself in front of Yena and wondering what on earth he could say next. A glance down showed Yena had been chopping limes on the counter behind the bar. Justin chewed his lip, willing Yena to say something. An excruciating silence followed, and Yena turned away.

  Panicking, Justin called out, “Yena, wait—”

  But Yena only went to the nearby tills, and came back holding something in his hand. “I believe this is yours, Justin.” He waved the mobile phone.

  “Oh!” Relief swamped him, and Justin dug in his pocket. “I’ve, umm… I took this by mistake, I think.” He pulled out the remote and offered it to Yena, who stared at it in surprise.

  “Oh. Yeah, I wondered where that’d gone.” He looked up, catching Justin’s eye. His lips quirked in a half smile. “Smooth, Justin.”

  A nervous laugh bubbled out of him. “Smooth is my middle name.”

  They exchanged electronics. Justin noted his phone was off, and Yena muttered, “I had to switch it off, it wouldn’t stop beeping.”

  “Sorry.” Justin winced. “I’m glad I didn’t lose it, though. I can’t afford a new one.”

  “Well, no worries,” Yena said stiffly. He placed his returned remote behind the bar, and looked ready to continue chopping his limes. Justin hovered, and Yena paused with the knife, looking up at him. “Did you want a drink, or something?”

  “Er….” No, I can’t afford it. “Not really.” Justin floundered. Did Yena want him to leave? Should he leave and maybe send a text later? Assuming Yena hadn’t gone in Justin’s phone and deleted his own number, of course. Nerves seized Justin in a way he’d never really experienced before. He wasn’t sure what to make of it all, but he pulled his wits about him enough to ride the nervous high and blurt out, “I had fun… the other night. Being with you, I mean. Did you, umm… want to do it again?” He winced. “I mean, not like that. I mean, did you want to meet up again?”

  Yena studied him closely. His dark eyes looked very intense. “Meet up?” he repeated.

  “Yes.” Justin felt light-headed. “I promise not to get drunk.”

  “We were both drunk,” Yena pointed out.

 
; “I know, right,” Justin said with a laugh, trying to hide his nerves. “Is that the only reason you took me home?”

  At this, Yena looked a little embarrassed. “Look, Justin, I….” He shifted awkwardly, staring down at his chopping board. “I don’t do this often, okay? I hadn’t planned on…. Well, I was drunk that night, and….”

  Justin frowned, noticing the color appear on Yena’s cheeks. Was he blushing? “Okay,” Justin said carefully. “I’ll ask again. Is that the only reason you took me home?”

  “No,” Yena said firmly, starting to sound annoyed. He sighed, putting down his knife. “No, okay?” He added softly, “But I didn’t want to do it that soon.”

  “But you did want to do it?” Justin had to ask. The way Yena stared at him in surprise made him worry. When he didn’t respond, Justin prompted, “Is that a yes, or…?”

  “Oh, my god,” Yena exclaimed quietly, starting to look upset. “Yes, all right? Yes, of course I wanted to. I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to have sex with you, but that doesn’t mean I should have jumped into bed with you on the first date.”

  Justin digested that, confused by the outburst and Yena’s obvious frustration. What was so complicated? He didn’t get it. “Er, so…. Does this mean if we have a second date, I shouldn’t be expecting more sex?”

  Yena blinked at him. “You want a second date?”

  “Sure.” Justin swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Don’t you?”

  To Justin’s dismay, Yena shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Justin.”

  “Why not?” he demanded, starting to feel desperate. “That’s how it works, right? You keep having more dates. Stuff… happens.”

  “Look, I….” Yena glanced down the bar, and it was then Justin noticed a female bartender watching them curiously. “I need a cigarette,” Yena muttered, moving away.