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Faking It (Metropolis #1)
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There’s never a dull moment at Metropolis…the condominium known for having the hottest openly gay tenants in town. The boys of Metropolis are always on the prowl for a good time. They like their drinks heavy and their tricks easy.
Gary should be living it up in his South Tower unit of Metropolis, but he’s having a hard time adjusting to his newly single status. It’s not easy to walk away from five years with his ex, who he discovered was cheating on him with some North Tower twink. After a night out partying, licking his wounds, he goes to bed alone. When he wakes the next morning, there’s a naked guy in his bed. Not just any guy. A stud from North Tower. But hot as he is, what the hell is he doing in his room?
Travis Waller doesn’t get why Gary’s freaking out. So he went home with Gary’s roommate and accidentally crawled into the wrong bed. It’s not the first time he’s woken up in a strange place. Maybe Gary would loosen up a little if he gave it a try as well. Travis has more important things to deal with though…like his meeting with an investor who could give him the money to start his massage parlor.
They’re both sure that’s the last time they’ll have to deal with each other until a mix-up leads Gary’s ex and Travis’s investor to think they’re an item, which Gary and Travis use to their benefit by posing as a couple around town. Soon, they discover the chemistry between them is off the charts. Travis brings out a sexual confidence Gary didn’t know he had—one Travis enjoys exploring with him. But as the two keep up their boyfriend hoax, Gary realizes Travis isn’t as shallow as he thought. Gary’s starting to develop feelings for him. But Travis doesn’t do relationships, and Gary should know better, considering they’re just faking it…
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“What’s wrong with you?” Derek asks. He slaps my arm as we make our way down the sidewalk, toward the condo building we both live in. After spending a couple of hours at Flirt, the local gay bar, we’re hammered. We downed vodka sodas and Fireball shots before tearing it up on the dance floor. Well, in my case, I bobbed my head slightly on the dance floor while Derek forced every hottie he could find on me. His version of therapy.
“There was sooo much hot man-beef out tonight,” he says.
I try to ignore his rambling, but he grabs my arm and pulls sharply.
I stop walking and turn to him. He glares at me. The long blond bangs of his undercut falls over his eye. He slaps at it, which makes the hair rise and fall right back where it was before. Despite his failure, he continues staring at me, but I’m hardly intimidated by a guy who’s five foot four and wearing a T-shirt that says “dumpster” across the front. If anything, his expression is pretty adorable as he purses his lips and bats his long lashes repeatedly—surely thinking somehow this fierce look will help him get his point across.
“I just wanted to hang,” I say.
“You still don’t want to move on.” He shifts his weight to one leg. He loses his balance and starts to fall. I grab him and help him regain his bearings before putting his arm over my shoulder.
“Okay, buddy,” I say. “Let’s just keep walking. Get you some water.”
“I want Chinese. Can we order Lucky Buddha? Please…please…pretty please?”
This sounds more like the Derek I’m used to.
Although as soon as I get him back to my place, I doubt he’ll be conscious long enough for us to order out.
“Don’t patronize me!” he shouts. “You’re a sexy guy. You need to own that. You got that nice muscular build. Not super ripped, but like muscly and sexy. It’s a very vers look. Is he gonna want to bottom? Top? Who knows? Let’s find out. And this short crewcut is like Sean-Cody-cute. Totally all-American. It’s perfect for this sandy-blond hair you got. Will be great for hiding the grays when you need to worry about that. I think you have seven years before you have to worry.”
Derek’s a hair stylist, so I’m used to him assaulting me with critiques like these.
His expression turns serious again. “Don’t get me wrong now. You’re not like hot stuff. You don’t got the jawline people like. And that freckle under your right eye is like all I can look at right now. Just saying, you’re not like a cover model or nothing. But like…porn hot.”
He must sense my confusion. “Like I wouldn’t mind watching you sit on a guy’s face for five to ten minutes of a thirty-minute scene. I’m just saying you have to own it and get back out there. Guys will date some ugly dudes, and you’re not ugly, which means you’re pretty much a hot commodity. It’s science.”
Before I have a chance to make sense of anything he just said, I notice a couple of guys heading down the street, making their way from Cypress Street to Flirt. I pull Derek aside to let them pass.
One of the guys, in a backward baseball cap, wears a tight, green T-shirt that sculpts around his fit body.
I appreciate the view and smile politely to him and his friends as they pass. They have that sort of dazed look in their eyes—one that suggests they pre-gamed before coming out.
“Hey, sexy thing,” Derek sings, turning his head and watching the guys pass.
The guy in the cap turns back to us, gazing at Derek with interest—the kind of interest that makes me think, if I’m not careful, I might lose my buddy in a few minutes.
“Show me your dick!” Derek shouts.
“Holy shit,” I say, turning away from the guys. A gut reaction. Maybe because I hope they won’t see me when they look back.
But I’m too curious not to glance over my shoulder. Cap spins around, grabs either side of his khaki shorts and yanks them down with his underwear, revealing an impressive length…especially for being soft. His friends laugh and gaze at each other with wide eyes, clearly as shocked as I am by his reaction.
Derek pulls away from the arm I have around him. I grip his shoulder.
“I’ve gotta go,” he says, his expression stoic, dead serious.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say, forcing him to turn with me back toward the condo building.
“That’s my boyfriend,” he whimpers, glancing over his shoulder and shouting, “I love you!”
“I love you, too!” the guy shouts back.
He resists me even more.
“We’re going the wrong way!”
“No, we’re really going the right way.”
“Why won’t you let me have sex with him? I’m sorry for getting mad. You can be a prude and abstain from sex while you figure your stupid shit out about that asshole Peter. Go. Lie down in bed. Dream about what it’ll be like in ten years when you finally decide to get over him. I honestly don’t care right now. Just let me have my boo.”