Javier got to watch Bowie’s pupils blow wide, lips parting as his pink tongue darted out to wet his lower lip before he said, “Swoon.”
Bowie ran a hand along his suit jacket, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. When Sylvia had gifted the suit to him, he’d instantly fallen in love. The champagne-colored brocade Sebastian Cruz jacket was stunning, fit him like a glove, and made his otherwise drab black pants and button down shirt look chic. He’d known from the second he’d opened it that it likely cost more than his rent, but Javier told him it would be rude not to take it, had sworn on hisBisabuelaAraceli, that the price tag meant nothing to Sylvia but his refusal would mean everything.
Of course, Bowie had accepted. What choice did he have? But also because he loved it. Loved the fabric beneath his fingers, the way it framed his body and made him feel like he belonged. He looked far more confident than he felt. Sylvia and Angelo were intent on introducing him to others at the ballet, were so proud of him and his meager accomplishments. He didn’t know how to tell them that he probably didn’t even have a job anymore.
Bowie jumped when arms came around him from behind a split second before Javier hooked his chin over his shoulder. “Damn, angel. You make that jacket look good.”
“The jacket makes me look good. I feel like a kid playing dress up,” he confessed nervously, spinning to face Javier. “I feel like I’m going to embarrass your whole family.”
Javier looked at him like he was crazy. “You get that you’re the star here, right, angel?” he asked. “You’re a professional ballet dancer. Angelo and Sylvia are both huge fans of the arts, as are their friends. I’ve been forced to sit through more piano recitals, experimental theater, and operas than you could ever know. They are so excited to be in your presence because what you do takes discipline and strength and talent. They recognize how trulyestupendoyour accomplishments are. You’re amazing.”
Bowie didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He stood back and ran his hands along the soft fabric of Javier’s white shirt. He looked sexy as hell. His dress pants hugged his hips, ass, and thighs like none of his usual clothes ever did, and his shirt was tailored to perfection, highlighting the golden hue of his skin and the colorful ink at his hands and throat. “You look good...” Bowie said, letting his hands roam until they cupped Javier’s ass.
“Yeah?” Javier asked, his mouth hooking up in that sexy half-smirk Bowie had fallen in love with almost at first sight.
“Mm, too good,” Bowie said, dragging him in for a lazy kiss that lingered. “I kind of don’t want to go out now. I don’t know if I want anybody else to know what you’re hiding under those baggy clothes.”
“Don’t want to share me, angel?” Javier teased.
“Do you want to see me start racking up a body count?” Bowie murmured against his lips, only half-kidding.
Javier laughed, tongue dipping past the seam of Bowie’s lips in a kiss that had his dick taking notice. “So possessive. You got nothing to worry about, angel. There’s only you. I think there might have only ever been you,” Javier promised.
“Let’s stay here and you can spend the night proving it to me,” Bowie said, his thumb running along Javier’s zipper, feeling his hard cock below.
“Uh-uh. No way, angel. You’re the one who said, in no uncertain terms, we were going to the ballet in the first place. You were very, very convincing if I recall.”
Bowie smiled, pleased with himself. “Yeah, I was pretty good, huh?”
Javier’s hands slid from Bowie’s hips to his ass, squeezing. “Yeah, I’ll say.”
“What if they don’t like me?” Bowie asked suddenly.
Javier looked at him like he was crazy. “Who wouldn’t like you?”
Bowie sighed. “Lots of people don’t like me. I’m definitely an acquired taste.”
Javier shook his head. “Couldn’t tell by me, angel. My family loves you. Odette would die for you. You met Wyatt once and he thinks you’re best friends. Hell, even Lawson likes you, and he genuinely hates everybody.”
“How can he hate everybody but bring home a different guy every night?” Bowie asked, deliberately changing the subject.
Javier didn’t take the bait. “Listen, do not let your nerves ruin your night. People are going to love you, but if, by some chance, they don’t…fuck ‘em. Why do we care what a bunch of stuffy old assholes in suits think?”
Bowie laughed. “I have spent my whole life having to worry about what stuffy assholes think about me, my talent, and my skills.”
“Well, stop.”
Bowie rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
Javier laughed. “Fine, then remember this: you don’t speak a word of Spanish. If they don’t like you, you’ll never know it.”
Bowie slapped him on the shoulder. “Shut up.”
Javier shrugged. “I’m just sayin’.”
Bowie hugged him hard, suddenly saying what he’d been thinking for weeks. “I don’t want to go back home. I like it here.”
“Yeah, angel?”
