4Dylan
Dylan was in the middle of doing a slinky down the pole, when he caught sight of the new barman. He was cute, in a flustered kind of way. Dylan’s view was obscured by distance and low lighting, but he could see enough to know it was lust at first sight.
He finished his set, spent forty minutes working the floor—during which time he was asked to do six stripteases—and then headed over to the bar as soon as he was officially on his break. They were supposed to go into the changing room for all their breaks, but screw that.
He sat on a barstool and waited patiently for the new barman to finish serving a customer. He was definitely anxious as he searched for the liquor that had been ordered and the right glass. Like everyone else who worked behind the bar, the new guy was wearing a short-sleeved black T-shirt and black jeans. He had dark hair which had been swept away from his face with gel. His eyes were dark, too, somewhere between midnight blue and charcoal grey. His cheekbones were to die for—sharp and high. In contrast, there was a soft roundness to his chin and jaw.
His septum was pierced, and he had a circular barrel through it, which did all kinds of wonderful things to Dylan’s insides. He adored a guy with piercings. The bar man only had one visible piercing, but he had some beautiful tattoos. A pair of koi carp swam around each other on his right forearm, coloured in purple, pink, blue, and yellow. He had a tattoo on his right bicep, but Dylan could only see the very bottom of what looked like some kind of feathery tail. He guessed it was a bird. The new guy had a half-sleeve tattoo on his left arm, red roses and orange butterflies. An eagle, wings spread, peeked above the collar of his T-shirt, the head of the eagle over the guy’s Adam’s apple.
He was gorgeous, and Dylan wasn’t remotely embarrassed by the fact that he was drooling over a guy he hadn’t even talked to yet.
When the new guy finished serving, he looked around. Dylan was the next closest person.
“What can I get you?”
“You?” Dylan asked, resting his chin on his hand. “Back at my place, after the club closes.”
“I meant to drink,” Tattoo Boy said.
Dylan sucked in a breath. Good burn. Tattoo Boy was clearly a feisty twink. “I don’t need anything to drink. I only need you. Preferably naked.”
“That’s not going to happen, so if you’re done wasting my time, I’ve got other people to serve.”
“Aren’t you even going to ask my name?” Dylan asked.
“You didn’t ask mine.”
“Touché! What can I call you?”
“Nothing.”
“What kind of a name is that?”
“One that should tell you I’m not interested.” Tattoo Boy turned away to serve another customer.
Feisty, and playing hard to get. Unfortunately, that combination only made Dylan lust after him more. The moment Tattoo Boy was close to him again, whilst pulling a pint, Dylan tried again.
“I’m Dylan. I dance here.”
“I know.”
Dylan arched an eyebrow. “You noticed me?”
“You’re wearing the same outfit all the dancers are. So, either you’re a dancer or you’re a wannabe.” He smiled curtly. “I was giving you the benefit of the doubt.”
Dylan narrowed his eyes. “There’s no need to be rude, darling.”
“And there’s no need for you to keep hitting on me. I’m not interested, and I’m not your darling.”
“You should be backstage,” Mac said from behind Dylan.
Dylan hunched his shoulders. He should have known Mac would spoil his fun.
“Later,” he said to Tattoo Boy, before flouncing away from the bar to the door that led backstage.
It didn’t take him long to locate his friends when he walked into the changing room. Jag, Kyrone, Hunter, Josh, and Corey were all playing cards around a low table. Dylan flopped onto the arm of the battered leather sofa that Jag and Kyrone were sitting on. He rested his arm over his forehead, in what he hoped was a dramatic position.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me there was a gorgeous new barman? I’m inlove.”
