Jet
Peyton stood across from me,his back to a wall of oversized minimalist paintings. The mask I’d given him cut a bold line across his face, and with his jacket off, his body looked burly in the pressed white shirt. People in various states of dressed and undressed wandered by slowly, and he took a slow sip from his bourbon as he caught a woman’s eye.
Damn it.
Just five minutes ago, we were walking in while I gave him one last boost of encouragement and confidence. I wanted him to feel good and get what he wanted. It was why I’d invited him there in the first place.
I just hadn’t quite accepted what a unique kind of hell I’d crafted for myself that night.
I slid my headphones back on and turned to my music. Gigs like this were easy. All I had to do was read the room and lazily spin something smooth and liquid, enticing and sexy. The music wasn’t supposed to be the focus of the night. The hosts just liked having an exciting DJ’s name on the event, so it only took a few minutes to find the groove and pull from some of my old sets.
My hands still working, I glanced up to Peyton. He’d moved to the bar and taken up a position with one arm hitched up. I was impressed that he’d found a casual, confident way to stand, knowing how intimidated he was by the whole experience, but then a woman in an incredibly short black dress approached the bar. She leaned forward to get a drink, and the dress rode up, allowing her curvy butt to pop out. She was exposed, her rear arched only inches from Peyton’s crotch, and the poor guy had no idea what to do. He just stood there, staring straight ahead and obviously trying not to look at her thong and bouncy cheeks, which cornered him in.
I bit my tongue and turned back to the music. He looked so awkward. I felt bad for him, but it was fucking adorable, too. There was one side of Peyton, extremely competent and in charge, like he was at the office. And then this other side, when he melted. It made every cell in my body burn, sizzling with the need to melt him more.
Fucking hell, it sucked that I couldn’t have him.
When I glanced back over, the woman was gone, and Peyton was talking to a man about our age. It was clear from body language that Peyton wasn’t interested, just being friendly, so I was more than happy to see them fall into a conversation. The relief helped me settle into the gig, and I found a happy rhythm, playing with the music and appreciating the growing party. There was some killer fashion on display, and outside, the trees that surrounded the mansion were softly lit, a gorgeous backdrop under the stars.
Mostly, though, I just kept watching Peyton. He stayed to himself, but chatted quietly with a few people and exchanged glances with a few others. He never seemed to get beyond quiet conversation, even as more and more people started heading to rooms in pairs, triads, sometimes more.
After hitting the right spot in the music, I caught his eye and nodded him over. Peyton made his way, weaving around the scattered seating, leather benches, and glass tables, through the crowd to my spot in the back. After checking the beat, I pushed my headphones off and pulled Peyton up into the booth.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
He stood there, close to me. “Good, I think.” He rubbed his beard. “I’ve never been in a DJ booth before.”
I grinned and nodded to my setup. “It’s not much of a booth for this gig.” We were only a step above the floor on a small platform, behind some designer hutch that had been repurposed to hold the equipment and tastefully display me on the party’s edge. “But you can see, it’s the equipment from home.”
Peyton chuckled. “It looks totally different to me now.”
I grinned and wiggled my eyebrows. “It’s chaotic. That’s part of the fun.” I switched out one of the CDs, then faded the new mix in as I played with my laptop, looping some of the beats back.
Okay, me, no need to show off in front of Peyton now.
“Uh, you seem like you’re doing good out there. Anyone you’re interested in?”
Peyton shrugged lightly. “Not exactly.” He titled his eyes up from the gear to me, and his strong hazel gaze flashed as he chuckled. “A very attractive woman offered to spank me. I tried to open myself up to the possibility, but…”
“Not your thing?”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t want to be spanked.”
I arched an eyebrow at him, then turned to play with the laptop. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right spanker.”
Peyton laughed, the deep sound of it pleasing me. “Maybe.”
We shot each other a glance, and then I laughed, too. If things went right with Noah, Peyton and I could be good friends, I figured. Us getting along would only make it easier for me and Noah to form a relationship of our own, if he would accept me back into his life. It was more reason that I needed to keep my feelings under control and not screw this up.
And one more reason to appreciate the little time I had with Peyton, nights like this one. My hot bear was a hell of a lot of fun to spend time with, and I was going to miss this secret time together, once I learned to bury whatever it was that I felt for him.
“Get back out there,” I encouraged him with a nod. “Stay open, and I’m sure you’ll find some trouble to get yourself into.”
Peyton rolled his eyes but laid his hand on my bicep. For a second, the party went still around us, and I just felt his presence, right there where I wanted it. Then he rubbed me, firm and slow, and finally turned and stepped down from the booth.
I wished there were something I could do to guarantee he’d have a good experience at the party. After inviting him and encouraging him, it would suck if he struck out. But I thought he was such a babe, and especially in that fucking gentleman’s suit he was wearing, it seemed impossible that no one would swoop him up.
I switched out the CD again, snuck off to the bathroom, and then set up my records on the side for a long stretch with a faster tempo. It was reaching the height of the party, which meant I needed to stay more focused on what I was doing.
