Page 13 of Billion Dollar Love: Manlove Edition

Carlos recoils from my silence.

Maybe that’s all I need. To say nothing. Yeah. I’m a nice guy who got ambushed by Carlos and his emotions. I don’t think of him that way. I’m totally flabbergasted and also not interested. He’s definitely not my type.

Because my type is stupid rich, dominant, and might kill one or both of us if he witnessed this conversation.

Carlos cringes and smiles at the same time, which melts my damned heart. “Well now, that’s about the most awkward way to say it, huh?”

“Then take it again from the top, Sweetness.” I slip before I can stop that warmth bubbling in my chest from spilling out. Alarmed at my own unguarded response, I quickly add. “After the holidays.”

After the holidays. After the run. I’ll know what Ito wants then. Get me a script to reject Carlos kindly.

Right now, though, he struggles to contain an irrepressible joy. His grin blinds me when he looks up again, pure as a middle-schooler. “So, you do like me, too?”

Good God, I do. I want to tear that innocence right out of him and trap it in a cage. Drag him into the filthy little alley behind Froth and stick my tongue down his throat and my hand down his pants until he discovers an adult language for his lust.

“Oh, that wasn’t obvious?”

Stop flirting! Tell him “no” firmly and with believable conviction!

“Okay, so after the show closes … we could…” He doesn’t know what to say.

I suggest. “Grab a coffee. If it’s too weird, we’ll have a couple weeks before the summer camp planning starts up.”

“Yeah.” He looks relieved. “Good plan, you’re much better at this than me.”

I open the door to Froth, swallowing my own giddy delight. This is not how I should feel. Not how I should act. Not what I should have said. Should have told him I was seeing someone. Should have laughed in his face as if he was unworthy of me. Neither of those scenes would play with that same genuine spark, but they would better serve the narrative of my dance.

“I’ll order the coffee.” He walks up to the counter, floating a bit.

Whoever is talking to Mr. Ito is bound to notice. My heart sinks. I’m gonna get in trouble for this.

****

Since I closed down the theater, I’m not terribly surprised Mr. Ito is waiting for me.

He sits cross-legged in the window-seat, bathed in red lights, the Kindle on the sill beside him. A strange image because he’s wearing his mask and a mostly open black silk robe. Stern and forceful, glaring at me like a warlord from a Kurosawa film, except that’s New York City stretching behind him.

Christ, that’s real anger. I’ve fucked this whole thing. I set the satchel down and take off my shoes. How much can he really know?

“Hey, boss.” I charm him. “Didn’t know I had a curfew.”

“You don’t.” No trace of movement in the dim red lights. “You have one rule, and you broke it.”

My casualness crumbles. “Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I work with the guy. Conversations are gonna—”

He lifts one hand. “Come here.”

Like a trained animal, I go. “Please, Ito-sama—”

“If you’re going to beg, do it right.”

I drop to my knees, a fluid falling. Even if he choreographed it, the grace of my buckling surprises him. His lips part, his jaw slackens with lust. I crawl toward him. Christ, I’m already rock solid. I want him so bad.

“Ito-sama, please. I didn’t tell him anything.”

He doesn’t move a muscle.

He towers over me in his window ledge perch, the night sky like a shroud behind him. He grabs my hair and tugs, dragging me to my feet, so he can take my chin in his other hand. Then he holds me still, studying my face while he squeezes my jaw.

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