Page 59 of Choke Up

I open my phone and look at the picture again, telling myself I need a reminder of what outfit to look for, even though it's emblazoned in my psyche. His hair is up in a topknot, with curled tendrils falling around his face. His electric blue eyes are hooded, brighter with a line of black rimming his lashes, lost to whatever music was playing when the picture was taken. His arms are up in the air, head thrown back, a playful grin tugging at one side of his mouth. I'm pleased to see he opted against the satin not-shorts, but it doesn't really matter. He could wear anything and look like sex on two legs. He's wearing black skinny jeans that look painted on his body, showing off the sensual curve of his ass. They're cut low on his hips, low enough that I can see he's wearing one of my presents. He's wearing another one of those god-forsaken crop tops, one that he might as well not be wearing at all, considering its fucking mesh. I can see everything through it, light glinting off the silver barbell through his right nipple.

The caption below the photo says, "I took his phone away. Let him have this."

I should stay away. If I were a better person, I would.

But I'm not. The moment that picture hit my screen, I stood up and excused myself. I didn't even say goodbye or wait for the cake to be served. If Antoni thought for a second that he could send me this picture, with Ellis looking like that, and expect me to leave him alone, he's dumber than he looks. And he strikes me as a particularly smart guy. Sharp. Attentive. But he's on something if he thinks that's going to work.

A mixture of desire and possessiveness has me combing the dance floor. It's intermittently dark and too bright, a strobe making everything look like a stop-motion video. I push through bodies, separating more than one pretty dark-haired boy from his partner, and earning myself my fair share of dirty looks. Eventually there's a tap on my shoulder, and I turn around, expecting to find the bouncer ready to kick me out for disturbing the grinding couples. My gaze falls to a much smaller man with a self-satisfied, knowing smirk on his face. I have to lean down close to hear him.

"Upstairs, lover boy." Antoni points to a railing that overlooks the dance floor. There's an entire second level. And there, leaning with his back against the railing, is Ellis.

There's a guy talking to him. An older guy wearing an expensive-looking suit and a big fancy watch. He's handing Ellis a glass of something pink with a fucking umbrella in it. Antoni grabs my shoulders and pushes me toward the direction of the stairs, which I'd been frantically searching for between panicked glimpses of the interaction.

I have to cross the packed dance floor of writhing bodies, pushing through the densely packed crowd, to make it through to the stairs. The thumping bass of dubstep music rattles my clenched teeth. I finally make it up to the top of the steps, but I get disoriented and can't find the spot I saw Ellis in for several minutes. The lights flash with the beat of the music, my pulse thudding along in time, stopping when the beat drops. In that one second of silent pause, I spot him. Alone. He's facing the railing now, leaning on it and watching the crowd. Another douchebag approaches him, this one younger and more what I would expect Ellis' type to be. He's wearing jeans, but they look expensive and well fitted, and his t-shirt is molded to his chiseled pecs and abs. The slicked back hair is stupid, but even I can admit he has a nice smile. He leans in so he can speak close to his ear, and I wonder if Ellis can feel his stubble against his jaw. He loves that when I do it. Would he love it from anyone else?

Ellis gives him a dazzling smile that has me blinking dumbly from over twenty feet away. He's smiling but shaking his head. The guy moves in close again, and my eyes notice the way he lays his hand on Ellis' waist like a heat-seeking missile. Ellis laughs and pats his arm, clearly giving the guy a friendly signal. Since I'm watching so closely, I can see the way the guy's fingers press into Ellis' flesh, attempting to pull him close again to say something else. Ellis is still smiling, but it looks strained. His mouth apologizes while he tries to dislodge the guy's hand. As I move closer, I hear the guy say something about just wanting to ask him a question, but I don't give a fuck what he just wants.

"Fuck off, he's with me," I growl, gripping his wrist hard enough to threaten injury. His fingers splay out, releasing Ellis' waist, and I drop the guy's arm like discarded trash. I move in front of Ellis protectively.

"What the hell, man? He didn't say he was with anyone!" The douchebag whines. I glare at him until he turns to leave.

When I spin back around, Ellis isn't behind me. His back is to me as he walks through the people mingling. I rush after him, trying to call his name, but it's still too loud. He'd probably ignore me, anyway.

I follow Ellis past a seating area and onto a less densely populated, darker dance floor. He's still walking toward a glowing red exit sign.

Finally, I catch up to him, reaching to grab his elbow. He turns to face me but shirks out of my touch.

"What are you doing here?!" he shouts.

"Apparently, I came to watch you get hit on and manhandled." It's meant to be a joke, but because I'm shouting over the music, it comes out sounding angry. Accusatory, even.

"Maybe I was enjoying getting hit on and manhandled," he snaps. My anger and jealousy flare and my face heats. "What, you don't like that?" His eyes narrow, and I tamp back my reaction. He has a right to his anger.

Angry as he is, he doesn't move away from my touch when my fingertips graze over the skin of his hip. I swear I can see the marks of the other guy's hand. My hand slides around his waist, settling on the small of his back. He allows me to pull him closer.

"No, I didn't like it," I say against the shell of his ear.

"How was your date?"

"What date?"

Ellis rolls his eyes as I tip his head back. My thumb wipes below his eye where the eyeliner has smudged a bit. It doesn't take away from the appeal, though.

"God, you're so beautiful."

Stooping to pull Ellis closer, molding his body against me, I lower my mouth to his. My lips coax his open before I slip my tongue between them, licking into his mouth until I find his tongue to tangle with. We kiss deeply, hungrily, and I forget entirely that we're in a public place.

CHAPTER 25

ELLIS

If Gabe wasn't such a good kisser, I wouldn't be in this position. I wouldn't be so fucking far gone that I'm willing to risk my health and happiness just to have one more taste.

I kiss him like my life depends on it, until I'm dizzy from lack of oxygen and an overabundance of arousal.

I'm in over my head, and I can't decide if maybe I should have taken my friends up on their offers for drinks, or if I'm better off. I wouldn't call this clear-headed, though. I'm drunk on him.

My back hits a wall, and I gasp at the impact. It seems to draw us both out of our stupor. I'm not quite sure how we managed to move against the wall, but we're mostly hidden in shadow and it's not helping my resolve. Gabe looks down at me, pupils blown like a predator who caught the scent of his prey.

---