He shakes his head. “Not with him, with … you.”
Oh.
“You want to hook up with me again?” I ask him.
“Yes. But … it can only be sex that’s all I can offer,” he explains.
“Sweet child, I’m not looking for more. Derrick Jones is about to go to Europe for the next couple of months. He is not looking to be monogamous when there is European dick on offer. No offence,” I tell him.
Chance bursts out laughing. “That is very true. You don’t filter yourself, do you?” he asks.
“Hell no. This is me, take it or leave it.”
“Wish I could be more like that, but … I can’t,” he says sadly.
“When I came out, my parents cut me out of their lives. So, I get it,” I explain to him.
“I have too much to lose,” he confesses. I nod. I get it. He’s a rock star. He has adoring fans. A record label. The media attention would be huge if he came out.
“You don’t owe me an explanation, Chance. It’s your life,” I tell him.
“How are you so understanding?” he asks.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“A lot of men I’ve been with try to blackmail me?”
“What!”
He nods sadly. “I thought you might be different because Dirty Texas seems to trust you.”
“You don’t have to fear me, Chance. You want to have fun, I’m here. I’ve been with a lot of men who need to hide who they are, I’m used to it.”
“Derrick.”
I shake my head. “Don’t. They never deceived me, I knew what I was getting into. Here …” I say, scribbling my number down on some paper. “You need anything, and when I say anything, it could be a blowjob or someone to talk to, you use it.”
Chance takes it and stuffs it into his pocket before grabbing my face and kissing me. “Thank you.” And with that, he disappears back out to the party.
2
DERRICK
I’m disappointed that Chance hasn’t messaged me since the other night. I thought for sure he might be up for a quickie.He’s heavily in the closet, Derrick.He does seem conflicted, and I was kind of hoping I could help with that conflict.He’s a complication you don’t need.True. The number of guys back in Sydney that I dated or hooked up with who liked to keep me as their dirty little secret was too many to count. All this deserves to have someone who wants to show me off on their arm. Maybe it’s for the best.
Thankfully, my bestie Sienna decided that today is the day we go to get tattoos, thanks to her secretly hooking up with that deliciously hot rock star Evan Wyld, who just happens to be her new boss.Hence, the secret part.I’m glad her chichi is getting a workout after being married to boring Beau for the past ten years. Yes, he was hot and rich, but personality-wise he wasn’t much. Sienna is way too gorgeous to think she’s never going to find anyone. She needs a man who will treat her like a whore in the bedroom and a lady out of it. Currently, Evan is doing just that, and she is having a brilliant time getting her groove back. But do I think she’s going to marry him? Probably not. The guyis a rock star, he is constantly surrounded by groupies. Sienna needs someone whose sole focus is her because she hasn’t had that for so long. Evan is a great rebound.
“I’m so nervous,” Sienna says as she takes my hand.
“I hope the guys are hot,” I say, giving her a squeeze, which makes her laugh. Internally, I am freaking out. When the boys found out we wanted to get tattoos they all decided they wanted to come, as did Vanessa and Isla, so now it’s a group effort.
We arrive at The California Bros.’ tattoo shop in Venice Beach. They are friends of Dirty Texas, and they trust them with all their tattoos. I’ve never ventured into a tattoo parlor before, but it’s something Sienna and I have been talking about doing with one another, getting our first tattoos together. It isn’t at all what I’m expecting, it’s like a cute little bar just with needles. Vintage-style tattoo art graces the exposed brick walls, black and silver skull-embossed wallpaper lines the back wall, and large silver vintage-style mirrors hang on the walls on either side.
“They also own the barbershop and microbrewery next door,” Evan says.
“Welcome, boys.” A Bettie Page-looking woman greets us from behind the reception desk. She’s dressed in a red-checkered shirt, her large breasts straining against the buttons, and skin-tight dark denim jeans with blood-red sky-high heels. Her black hair is rolled into a ’50s-style, bright red lipstick on her plump lips, and her eyes almost look cat-like, completing her rockabilly look. She’s beautiful. She gives each of the boys a welcoming kiss, her arms are full of vintage-style tattoos.
“They’re addictive,” she says to Sienna, who was admiring her artwork.
