Page 4 of Colin

I was stuck with Vick for the rest of the night. He touched me, though not inappropriately, merely my shoulder or hand or a bump of his hip into my side, but it felt wrong every time. Rourke’s words echoed in my head.

Desirée had been right. Rourke Lazarus was out of my league. I searched for the man throughout the night, but he was gone as if he’d walked off the dance floor and right out of the club. I would likely never see him again and only had the one dance to remember, but remember it, I would. Because that one dance had been a hundred times better than the whole night with Vick.

The only thing positive about the night at the club was that it got us, Andy and I, invited to a pool party the next day at Vick’s place. Only in Florida would a pool party be a thing in December. But the weather was still nice, and pools could be heated.

I should have spent Sunday looking for a new place, but I couldn’t bring myself to continue the futile search when such arichevent was at my fingertips. Not that I was materialistic. I certainly wasn’t. I only wanted someone to take care of me—take this burden from my shoulders. Also, Andy agreed that even if I turned Vick down, there would be other eligible targets there.

“Targets?” I pulled a faded T-shirt over my head.

“You’re not wearing that, are you?” Andy sneered. “And what else are we calling them?Potential sugar daddiesis a mouthful.”

“How about, I don’t know,dates. And what’s wrong with this?” Along with the shirt, I put on a pair of orange swim trunks.

“You have to dress the part. I thought you figured that out. You’re not attracting anyone who wants that.” He gestured toward me, or rather my casual attire. “Come on. Let’s go to myplace. I have some things you can wear.” Andy sighed, leaving me feeling like a charity case.

“Maybe if I look needy, they’ll feel sorry for me?”

“I don’t think so. The trick is to look sexy, desirable. And you really need to do some squats, Turtle.”

His words might have been a little mean, but they came from a good place. Andy squeezed the fat around my middle. He wasn’t entirely wrong.

We piled into Andy’s little economy car and went to his place, where he shared an apartment with two other guys. I envied him.Hemade decent money at Koffee Kraze, but he also attended the University of Tampa, working on his MBA. Andy had a future. What did I have? If I didn’t find a daddy soon, I wouldn’t have anything. I would be living on the streets. Although, I kind of doubted my uncle would really put me out like that. I would have to give up my room and maybe sleep on the couch until Uncle Edgar got tired of that. No, better to stay on track and let Andy dress me up and pimp me out. How bad could it be?

The answer was a pair of red briefs—if they could be called that. They barely covered my ass and rode low on my hips. Hell, a bandana was made from more material. Andy paired that with a light blue tank top that fit snugly across the chest. “I don’t know about this.”

“Right. Pink would probably be better.”

“What?”

“For playing boy. Come on, Turtle. If you don’t get into the role, you’re going to be dumpster diving in no time.” I appreciated Andy’s concern, to a point. Regardless, I donned the tight clothes and a pair of black flip-flops, though I stuck with the blue tank, and off we went to the party.

Davis Island was Tampa’s elite playground for the rich. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that much, but I hadn’t expectedsuch a large house and right on the bay. We pulled into the driveway made from colored pavers and were immediately stopped by a team of valet attendants. They took over Andy’s car with a smile and showed us the path to the front door that wound around a small fountain surrounded by lush landscaping and up to a wide wall of windows. The front door was elaborate glass and decorative wood and probably cost ten times as much as I made in a year. Or more. The house was a typical Florida structure, squat cinderblock ranch style, all on one floor, but not typical with all that glass and how it sprawled out toward the neighbors on either side. Those properties were blocked by brick walls pretending to be fences, constructed in the same palette as the drive.

Even only seeing that part of the house still told me something more about Vick. He obviously had more money than I thought, but how much did that matter? I didn’t have to have the wealthiest daddy on the block, only one who could support me, and preferably one who I liked. And I didn’t much like Vick, but maybe I should take Andy’s advice and treat this event like a shopping trip.Daddies galore, Andy said.

Holding on to that thought, we made our way through the house. Uncle Edgar’s house could fit in the front room alone four times over. Spacious was an understatement. Most of the house had beadboard on the ceiling, interspersed with white beams that made it feel like a beach house. In fact, everything was white. Floors, walls, ceiling, and even the kitchen, where plaster ceilings gleamed.

The entire back wall of the house was also glass, and it overlooked the pool area where people were already congregating. When we slid one of the back window panels open, soft music and a low rumble of male voices wafted over us.

I grumbled a complaint under my breath. Most of the men were scantily clad, so Andy had been right about that, but theproblem was that they all looked really good. Fit. I was going to walk out there looking like that old, fat man wandering a beach in aSpeedothat everyone disdained and pointed at. “I don’t think I want to do this.”

“Stop it. We’re already here. Go.” Andy shoved me forward.

A waiter wearing skimpy black shorts, cuffs, a bowtie, and nothing else offered us a drink. My eyes trailed down the sexy chest and six-pack abs. He had vees jutting out from his hips and pointing to his groin. There were four guys dressed, or rather un-dressed, in the same manner, circulating around, offering drinks and snacks to guests.

Andy took two drinks from his tray and handed one to me.

“What is it?” I took a sip of the pink drink in a tall glass that had both a cherry and an orange slice for garnishes.

“That’s a Singapore Sling,” the waiter’s baritone answered.

“Thanks.” Thankfully, it wasn’t very strong.

Andy hummed his approval. “Sip it slowly and stick to that. I love the color with your eyes.”

“What?”

“Makes them seem a little more blue, less green.” My eyes were hazel and tended to change based on what I wore. I suspected their blueness was more from my shirt than the drink, but I shrugged rather than argue.

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