Page 65 of A Breath of Life
“You want to know about my acting days. Now. Here.” It was more of a statement than a question. “Okaaay.”
“I want to have a normal conversation, Tallus. I want to learn more about my boyfriend.” An idea occurred to me, and I added, “It’s one of your strengths. The ability to act can be beneficial in our line of work. It’s come in handy before.”
God help me. I wished I had an ounce of skill.
Tallus sat taller at the compliment, his scrutiny vanishing as the cocky, effervescent man I knew and loved returned. It was the right thing to say.
“Well, I’m not nearly as amazing as you think. In high school, I dreamed of making a career in acting. Not Hollywood. I wanted to rule the stage. Broadway style. I’d have moved to New York in a heartbeat. I mean, not now, but back then, definitely. Performing in front of an audience gives you a high unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. Forget drugs. I craved the spotlight.”
“It suits you.”
His bashful smile hit me in the chest. “Always the flatterer.”
“So why didn’t you follow that dream?”
Tallus rotated his water glass and shrugged. “Too many ticks against me.”
“Your father?” His was as bad as mine. Words could be as powerful as fists, and they, too, left lasting marks.
Tallus rolled his eyes and huffed. “I didn’t give a shit how many times that sperm donor called me a faggot for loving the stage. It only made me want it more. Costumes. Glitter. I ate it up just to piss him off sometimes. You didn’t have to have much skill in high school. You could suck and still get cast in a lead role so long as you had stage presence. I had that in spades. However, I soon realized that I had no talent for singing or dancing. Both are huge assets when it comes to professional theater. Without those skills, your opportunities are basically cut in half.”
“You dance like a dream, Tallus. I’ve seen you.” The words were out before I could clamp my teeth and stop them.
Tallus’s brows rose, a wicked grin overtaking him. “Ohhh? And when did you see me dance, Guns?”
A flush raced up the back of my neck and burned my cheeks. “I… at Gasoline. When I used to…”
“Stalk me?”
Shamefully, I nodded. After twice witnessing his erotic moves on the dance floor with other horny men who couldn’t keep their hands off him, I’d learned to wait in the parking lot for Tallus’s nights to end lest I commit violent acts that would land me in prison. Tallus’s hold on me was powerful, even back then, and those gyrating moves, the fluidity of his sexy body, was imprinted into my mind in bold Technicolor. I’d jerked off to the memory more times than I could count, wishing those strangers were me.
Tallus leaned over the table and lowered his voice. “PS. That’s not dancing, Guns. I mean, not truly. That’s a bump and grind. It’s foreplay and takes zero skill. Not exactly what I would put on a resume when auditioning forLes Mis, but that’s not the point anymore. You watched me?” He slowly perused my body. “Did it turn you on?”
“It made me fucking homicidal. I wanted to tear those other men off you and break every one of their goddamn fingers for daring to touch you.”
“Aww. My sweet and ferocious cuddle bear.” His smile lit me up inside, erasing the shadow of remembered jealousy. “You could have joined me. I’d have ditched whatever guy had my attention for you in a heartbeat.”
“I don’t dance.”
“I told you. It’s not dancing.” He bit his lower lip seductively. “I could teach you.”
I snorted. “Not a chance. Gasoline isn’t my thing.”
“Our living room would work for a tutorial.”
“No.” The single word didn’t carry much conviction.
“Come on, Guns. It feels good rubbing up against a compact, willing body. Are you afraid you might enjoy yourself?”
Images of Tallus’s sultry, sweaty frame on the dance floor at Gasoline came roaring back. How many times had I fantasized about putting my arms around him in place of those random strangers? Feeling his damp skin under my palms, his torso hot against me. Guiding his hips as he ground his ass over my cock. Rubbing his erection through his pants. Dipping a hand beneath the waistband and discovering hard flesh. Stroking… Moaning my desires into his ear… Fucking him in the bathroom.
“D?”
I blinked back to reality as the waitress set a platter in the middle of the table. My cheeks flamed, and the front of my jeans grew tight. I shifted, alleviating pressure.
God fucking dammit.
Tallus hummed salaciously the instant the waitress left us alone. “I think we’re addingdancingto our to-do list.” He added unnecessary air quotes in case I needed a reminder that dancing was a euphemism for his bump-and-grind foreplay.
