“I’ll have another one of those,” Oliver said. He angled his head toward the empty margarita glass on the table in front of him.
“Rocks and salt?” The waitress had to yell to be heard over the music.
Oliver nodded, and she scooped up his empty before hurrying away.
He let his gaze wander the crowded club. All the nearby tables were full. Couples, many of them male, leaned in toward each other, laughing and talking, as they yelled directly into each other’s ears to be heard over the music blaring from giant speakers on either side of the stage.
As Oliver watched, a blond kid who didn’t look old enough to order a beer legally leaned in and laid a smacking kiss on the lips of his silver-haired companion. It was no little peck either, but an extended lip-lock that brought heat to Oliver’s cheeks and a rush of envy so strong he had to turn away.
That should be Jonathan and him, sitting together all cozied up at one of the round tables, exchanging stolen kisses and covert gropes. If Jonathan hadn’t turned out to be such a lying, cheating bastard.
The waitress appeared with his fresh margarita. She slid the glass in front of him and leaned in. “You want to run a tab?”
Did he? Was he going to be here long enough for that?
What the hell?
“Sure,” Oliver shouted over the techno-dancified version of “Venus” currently blasting through the club. But as the waitress turned, he waved to get her attention. She lifted one dark brow. “What time is the show?”
She pointed to her watch. “Soon.”
Oliver’s attention was drawn back to the couple at the next table. The angle was just right for him to see the older guy’s hand slip into Blondie’s lap. And the smile curving the younger man’s lips told him precisely what that hand must be doing.
The older guy looked sort of like Jonathan, or the way Jonathan might look in twenty years. But in Oliver’s opinion, the twink didn’t resemble himself at all. Actually, he looked kind of like Jonathan’s twink, the kid Jon had supposedly been tutoring.
Yeah, tutoring, sure. And what was worse, he had believed that lame-ass lie.
Oliver picked up his glass and glugged down a huge swallow. He was not going to think about that asshole anymore. He was in beautiful Key West, the Mecca of gay spring breakers everywhere, and damn it, he was going to enjoy himself. And if he was lucky and his interviews went well, he would be leaving at the end of the week with the promise of a job after graduation.
“Here’s to me,” Oliver said and raised his glass in a solitary toast just as the lights came up on the stage and the music changed.
The woman...man...drag queen who slinked onto the stage was tall and slender with a mass of wildly curling hair spilling down her back. Her dress was made of some red shimmery stuff and clung to her lithe body. She sashayed to the microphone, picked it up, and purred in a sexy contralto, “How y’all doing tonight?”
The audience went crazy. Whistles, catcalls, and applause grew in volume until they nearly drowned out the music.
What the heck was he doing here, in a drag bar watching this gender-bending beauty -- because she was a beauty -- flirt and flash long bare leg and seduce the crowd of primarily gay men? He wasn’t into drag queens or cross-dressers. He should go to the strip club across the street and watch the boys dance while he got trashed.
Except Dante, the guy who worked at the guesthouse where he was staying, had said Mango Mango was the hottest club in town, the place to go for good drinks, a good show, and maybe even a hook-up.
And there was something about that sequin-clad figure up on stage that drew his eye, something that made it hard to look away.
The drag queen, Faith Cummings -- Oliver let out a snort of laughter at that -- had begun to dance to an ancient Cher song that sounded like Cher and not like Cher, since it wasn’t actually Cher doing the singing, only a Cher sound-alike. But Faith wasn’t singing either, only lip-synching the words as she slithered and pranced around the stage. Hell, she probably couldn’t sing at all. She probably had a voice like a bullfrog despite the beautiful face and killer body.
Still, Oliver didn’t get up and leave. Still his attention remained riveted on the sexy queen as she swirled her skirt and flashed leg through the thigh-high slits.
He remained that way, essentially mesmerized, through her entire routine. As she moved from one song to the next, Oliver found himself leaning forward, his drink forgotten on the table as he hung on her every gesture.
She was so glamorous, so sexy, so...fascinating.
“Now don’t y’all forget to tip your waiters and waitresses,” Faith sang out. She strutted to the stage steps that would bring her down into the audience right beside Oliver’s table. “And your gratuities are always appreciated by the entertainers. That would be me.”
As she floated down the steps on her high skinny heels, Oliver grabbed a dollar from the scattering of change left on the table from his first drink. He picked up the pen lying next to the e-mail sign-up card, and without stopping to think too hard about what he was doing or what it might mean, he scribbled his number on the back of the dollar and held it up where she would be sure to see.
She did and danced over to him. But rather than lean in so he could slide the bill into her fake cleavage as she’d done with other patrons, Faith swung one long, gorgeous leg across Oliver’s lap and straddled him.
The people at the tables around them hooted and whistled and cheered as the drag queen rocked forward, bringing the two of them crotch to crotch.
Oliver inhaled. Under her perfume, her scent was a little hot, a little sweaty, and more than a little male.
Oliver’s face flushed hot, his heart began to pound, and his dick twitched and began to fill.
Faith leaned forward, wrapped her arms around him, and pressed her scarlet mouth to his. As she parted his lips with her tongue, she rocked against him, letting him feel the hard length of what was most definitely a nice-sized cock. She ground their hips together, creating the most delicious friction of cock against cock.
Oliver groaned into her -- no, his -- mouth and tried to pull that amazing body closer and keep the contact going.
But the fantasy in his arms drew back and smiled at him with red-smeared lips before sliding off his lap and fading into the crowd, leaving him there with an aching hard-on and a dollar with his own phone number clutched in his hand.