Page 29 of A Sip of Sin

“Adair?”

Hollen nodded, locking the door behind him and sliding his keys into his pocket. Luckily, George quieted, seeming to retreat to that part of his chest that he always did when he was pouting. Months together and Hollen was finally starting to figure him out. He would come around…eventually.

“What would happen if I decided to be with Munro?” Hollen squinted at the sun as he shuffled through the main door, the light cutting straight across the sidewalk and into his eyes. The warmth of it was soothing after so much time indoors either sleeping or working.

George pulled out of the depths, itching under Hollen’s skin. “I don’t think we should have this conversation.”

Hollen lowered his head when he spotted his landlord leaned against the front of the apartment building. He was smoking cigarettes and scrolling through his phone, his saggy eyestrained on the device. He was balding, with a potbelly that snuck out from under his shirt. His fingers were tainted yellow, and holes were spotted along the front of his shirt where ashes had fallen.

Hollen shuddered, turning away. There had been a time when he was almost desperate enough to offer the guy a blow job in exchange for rent. Luckily, George had stopped him with a stern talk about STDs.

“Now who’s avoiding the topic?” asked Hollen, ducking around a corner before he could be noticed. The dance studio was across town somewhere, and he was already tired from the short walk downstairs, sweat prickling over his skin.I must be coming down with something.

“I don’t want to scare you,” said George.

Hollen snorted. The bus was at the stop, a few people in line and slowly starting to get on. “That didn’t stop you when you explained the pros and cons of medieval torture methods.” He scanned his pass when it was his turn, finding a spot at the very back.

Over the rumble of the engine, he could barely hear his own voice, so he didn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing his little chat. If they did, it didn’t matter. There was a guy halfway up the bus staring at the pole and muttering under his breath, while one lady held an actual chicken in her lap. Its head stuck out of the bag slung over her shoulder, its comb wobbling as it looked around, clucking.

“That was different,” said George. “If you really want to know, I’ll tell you, but I have to warn you first. Munro is not who he seems to be.”

Hollen nodded at the person who decided to sit next to him, turning his face to the window and shuffling to the side. “So, he’s not a vampire?”

“He is.” George’s voice dropped, thickening as his presence strengthened.

“Then he doesn’t own a tea shop?”

“He does—but.”

Hollen cut him off, thudding his own head against the solid glass. He wasn’t sure if it bothered George or not, but he fell blessedly silent in response. “Then he’s what he seems. I don’t know much about him other than that. If there’s anything else, then he’s probably just waiting for me to find out.”

“He’s not a good man.”

Hollen let his eyes fall shut, the roads passing so slowly. “Are any of us?” The man beside him shifted away before standing and heading for another seat. He couldn’t bring himself to care—not this time. “I broke my best friend’s heart, and I haven’t made it up to him in weeks. I’ll crash this competition by being there, and that probably just makes me selfish. Just…don’t interfere.” Hollen took a deep breath to steady himself. “Any other time I wouldn’t care, but Munro—? I like him. It’s okay if you don’t understand, because this is a decision I’ve made on my own. Let me have that.”

George didn’t answer. He didn’t even respond as Hollen signaled for his stop and made his way to the front. He was the only one getting off, barely hitting the sidewalk before the driver closed the bus doors and headed down the street.

“You should know something—”

“George, don’t.” Hollen cut him off again, nearly stumbling on the street. There were a few people dotted around, but no one spared him a glance.

George didn’t grumble or put up any of his usual fuss. “If you’re sure.”

Hollen nodded. “I am. I’m so, so sure”—he glanced up at the studio—“about everything except for where we are. Is this the right place?”

Adair had described it so many times before as looming and black—an old office building that had been turned into an upscale school and studio. Hollen still hadn’t expected…this.

It was three stories of solid black brick that seemed to ooze the color. If Hollen was a betting man, he would have waged a hundred bucks that it wasn’t painted at all but made of some sort of lava brick. The windows of the main floor were shuttered and dark, while the floors above were thrown wide open to let the sun and air of the city in. Music filtered out with a steady beat.

Huge block numbers at the entrance were nearly taller than Hollen, guarding the entry where a group of young women were slipping inside. They were pulling bags behind them that were only a slightly smaller version of hockey bags, chattering away as they disappeared through the door.

“I like it,” said George, seeming to perk up. “It’s so rare to see such a nice design in buildings nowadays. Why haven’t we been here before?”

“It’s out of our price range.” Hollen stuck his hands on his hips. “Adair can really only afford to go here because of all those scholarships. He’s the best dancer I’ve ever seen. He’s invited me a few times to open houses, but I’m always working.”

George scoffed. “We need to get you out in the world. Your little friend has nothing on the way the ancient Egyptians used to dance. Their gods themselves couldn’t have done better.”

“You just keep thinking that.” Hollen lowered his voice as he stepped inside. It seemed even bigger in here, his voice carrying further than he intended against the stark walls. “You’ve never seen Adair dance.”

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