“Teach you what?”
“How to fall as if drunk. How to land on your face without hurting your nose. How to land against the wall with such noise and yet stand up without bruises.”
“Oh, there are bruises,” he said. “Believe me.”
Bing nodded. “Please. Will you teach me?” His expression was so earnest that Walter knew he was going to give in. It was disconcerting, really, because the man was so gorgeous, and yet so simple in his approach. Everything he said was spoken clearly, without any subversion, without a shift of the eye or body—none of the usual tells of someone who was distracted or lying. It was as if he was exactly as he appeared—a gorgeous guy with singular focus who sincerely wanted to learn.
From Walter.
It was flattering to be the focus of such a man. And a little bewildering to a guy who was used to being discounted.
“I can show you what I do,” Walter finally said. “It’s not that hard.”
And so Walter spent the next hour teaching while Bing earnestly mimicked him, flowing in and out of patterns of movement. Walter adjusted how Bing walked, landed, even stood. And in the end….
It didn’t work.
Bing couldn’t fake being drunk. He couldn’t even credibly fake a stumble. It was impossible for him to fall smoothly, as if he’d been off balance. The man didn’t have any comic timing. Not in his body, and not in his language either. He was earnest. He was kind. And he never failed to give Walter the respect usually reserved for heads of state or religious icons. And Walter was no Gandhi or Mother Theresa. After an hour of it, Walter punched Bing in the shoulder.
“Dude, I just made a joke. Crack a smile, will you?”
Bing turned and gave him a brilliantly warm smile—one that showed off his dimples, that made the light catch his eyes just right, and had little Walter perking up with interest. Then, a second later, the smile was gone, replaced by Bing’s habitual mask of respect.
“Um, wow. That was….” Sudden. Weird. Unsettling. “You were so happy there for a second….”
“I am happy,” Bing said quietly. “I am sorry I am such a bad student.”
Walter reacted immediately. “You aren’t a bad student. You listened, you tried, you—”
“I can’t do it like you do. It does not look real.”
That was true. There was no sense in denying it. “I don’t think you’re a comic actor, Bing. With practice, you could learn it so that people couldn’t tell you were faking, but it isn’t natural for you. You’re the brooding intense guy, not the comic relief. That’s good, by the way. It means you’re a leading man—not the supporting character with the weird face.” If Walter was ever going to make it in movies—which was not on his list of wants—then he’d be the funny-looking guy who brought in the laughs but never,evergot laid.
Bing nodded, his gaze downcast. “It doesn’t matter. I am not likely to get a role anyway.”
Well, hell. Walter wanted to help him, but the role of Long Wei required someone who was naturally funny. Someone who could appear drunk but still fight. Someone who wasn’t quite as good as the hero—physically or morally—but was appealing nonetheless. It required a comic actor or someone who was so stiff as to be made a laughingstock. The role could go either way, but Bing would be a disaster at both.
“I’m sorry,” Walter said gently.
“One day, maybe.”
Walter smiled. “Yeah. Sure.” But he knew that good roles were hard to come by, and no way would Bing just walk into a dark, mysterious character role. That required connections and money. If he had to guess, Bing had neither.
Meanwhile, Bing surged gracefully to his feet. When he extended his hand, Walter gripped it and allowed himself to be pulled upright. “Do you wish to change? We have a bathing area—”
“God, yes. We Americans don’t smell nearly as pretty as you. At least I don’t.” Bing, on the other hand, smelled fantastic. How was it that even his sweat smelled sexy?
Bing smiled, and this time the look was natural and easy. Better yet, it touched his eyes with a haunting kind of yearning. As if, when unguarded, Bing had a core need that reached through his eyes to grip Walter right in the gut. It was both beautiful and sad, and it completely captivated Walter.
“This way,” Bing said.
Walter blinked, still caught by the beauty of Bing’s eyes. “What?”
“The showers.”
“Oh. Right.”
He led Walter into a basic locker room. Both of them stripped down before stepping into the stalls. Walter tried to be respectful—hell, he tried to be completely private with his lust—but Bing was beautiful. The man had a sculpted torso, rippling muscles, and a golden tan that made Walter’s mouth water. His hair was dark, his smile genuine, and the way he moved filled Walter’s head with desire.
