Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77611 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77611 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Michael is still standing there. Staring at me like I’m the only thing that matters.
“Is that what you’re going to be doing while I’m supposed to relax?”
“No.” His smile widens and he starts to strip.
If I hadn’t just swallowed my tongue, I might say something sexy or clever right now. But I’ve got nothing. All I can do is watch in slack-jawed silence as he removes his clothing and steps into the tub with me, the expression on his face my favorite kind of wicked.
Bad boy, Michael. Naughty, naked boy.
I don’t breathe again until his thick semi disappears beneath the bubbles. Even then, his chest and arms are right there. So much bare skin right in front of me. And in the bright, cheery bathroom light, I can see everything.
The butterfly tattoo is full of more color than I thought, and not remotely feminine. Somehow, the artist made it appear wild and magical instead of sweet and cute. Parts of it are nearly hidden by his chest hair, but that only makes the effect more stunning. It flies from his collarbone to right above his heart, and looks like it could swoop off his chest and come after me if I made the wrong move.
There’s no way he could have known how I feel about butterflies. What they represent to me. Seeing it is like finding a stunning stamp of approval from the universe, right there on his chest.
This guy. He’s the one.
“That’s gorgeous.”
He taps the tattoo with his fingers, as if he forgot about it. “I told you my mother likes to paint. She designed this to remind me to find joy in change and transformation. To believe in impossible things.” He sends me a chagrined smile. “I’m pretty sure I only agreed to making it permanent to spite my father’s family. A little rebellion they’d never see when I went to the school they chose for me. My hair rebellion was more overt, but that was after I’d been working at the job for a few years.”
I can’t even with this man.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Your long hair and that piece of actual art was you being rebellious?” I scoff. “I am never telling you about the time I borrowed Val’s parents’ car so I could sneak across state lines to be in a drag version of Rent and ended up getting arrested while wearing my Mimi outfit. Oops.”
Michael stares at me, and I hold my breath for a long moment, realizing that I unconsciously slipped that into the conversation to test him. Being a gay man is one thing. For some men, dressing in drag is something different.
Then he shifts in the water and licks his lips. “There wouldn’t happen to be video of that online anywhere…?”
No disgust. No judgment. Just a sexy rumble of interest. Holy shit, if he keeps passing all these tests, I might have to move in with him and learn to cook something.
“Not that I know of,” I say with a coy look to cover my sudden breathlessness, “but there might be others. It wasn’t my only performance. After my rockstar phase, but before I got the job at the school, I was a regular at Royale’s, the local drag club.”
He grins. “Of course you were.”
“Mm-hmm. I love musicals more than most people think is healthy, and I’d heard more than once that I would have been a pretty girl, so for a while it felt like the perfect fit.”
I’d wanted to embrace being gay with my whole chest. And since my mother had just abandoned me like a broken car on the side of the road, it was also a nice middle finger aimed in her direction, because she hated me, but for some insane reason, she was terrified of drag queens.
“Sounds like you had fun.”
“Oh yeah, we always a blast.”
“We?”
“Bex and the guys came whenever they knew I was going to be onstage.” Supporting me the way they always do.
He nods in understanding. “Do you still perform?”
“Not since I became a teacher. My drag mother sat me down one day and laid out a few stark realities about the world we live in. She knew how excited I was to be a teacher, so she said, ‘If I thought you loved putting on the dress and heels enough to make it worth it, I’d sit on you until you decided to stay.’” I smile at the memory. “She also informed me that some members of the school board were regulars, and that while double standards shouldn’t exist, they always do.”
When he frowns, I shake my head. “It’s fine. And sure, I do miss vamping it up sometimes, but unlike most of the other performers, it was more for my inner theater kid and to rebel against my absent mother than a necessity for my soul. I’m happy with who I am now. But back then, I wasn’t as sure about that until they showed me it was okay to be different. Whatever different looked like for me. I’m still in a group email chat with half of them, and hop in several times a year to cheer them on when I’m not at the pub.”