Page 83 of Left on Read

River did a backflip like it was nothing. With a wink to the crowd, he tore the front of his tank right down the middle and shimmied out of it. Instead of tossing it aside like he had with his hat and vest, he used the shirt like a lasso of sorts, swinging it around and rubbing it against his body and between his legs teasingly.

More people rushed the stage to throw tips on it. He tossed the shirt into the crowd. I didn’t bother looking to see where it landed.

His energy was as infectious as the song and his moves, but something was off when he turned his attention back to the crowd after another impressive flip combo that left me breathless.

Squinting, I leaned forward and looked closer at his face.

Outwardly he seemed like he was having the time of his life, grinding along to the music and teasing the audience, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. He was putting on a show and wasn’t as into it as he was pretending.

I sat back in my chair, the last of my lingering jealousy fading.

This really was just a job to him. He didn’t get any sort of pleasure from it beyond performing and getting paid.

I sat with that for the rest of his set, trying to sort out my emotions and get rid of my stupid jealousy. This was his job, a job he was damn good at. He was a born performer. I was the one who couldn’t separate his work from his everyday life.

River finished the song in a pair of tiny red briefs, his gorgeous body on full display. I watched closely as he headed toward the crush of women vying for their chance to get up on the little platform and give him money.

Like Gray, he smiled and flirted with the customers, but he kept things professional and politely discouraged people who pushed the boundaries of the club rules.

River was good at covering his emotions when he wanted to, but I’d learned how to read him, and it was plain as day that he was just going through the motions.

I looked away.

“You okay?” Ryan asked when River was off stage.

“Yeah.” I stood. “I think it’s time to go.”

Ryan didn’t say anything. He just followed me out of the club.

“I messed up bringing you here, didn’t I?” Ryan asked when we were in his car.

“You didn’t.” I started the engine. “I had a completely different picture of what happened here in my head. I’m glad I saw how things actually work.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Never.” I tossed him a smile. “I trust the process.”

He smiled in relief. “How do you feel about things now?”

“Better.” I pulled out of the parking spot.

That wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth. I felt better now that I understood his job, but I wasn’t comfortable with the amount of jealousy I’d felt seeing women fawn over him.

The worst part was that I knew I wouldn’t have been jealous if River was gay and not bi. I hated that I was thinking that at all.

I’d never been that guy. I wasn’t the type to assume bisexual people were inherently more likely to cheat or that they couldn’t be faithful to one partner just because they happened to be attracted to multiple genders.

And I knew River. He’d never cheat on someone or even consider looking for attention outside of a relationship. But we weren’t in a relationship.

We were friends who fucked. That was it. I had no right to be mad or jealous of anything. But I was, and that wasn’t fair to him.

My issues had nothing to do with River and everything to do with me and my stupid feelings and fears. I needed to step back from things and figure out a way to still be his friend without projecting my issues on him before I ruined things between us.

Thankfully we didn’t have plans tomorrow since he and some guys from the club were spending the day helping Quinn with some stuff at his new house. That gave me another day to sort myself out before we met up again.

A week of just texting and silly conversations should be enough to get over my feelings and go back to thinking about River as a friend I sometimes got off with.

I could do that.

---