Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 51803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
“You shouldn’t be worried about any kind of kiss, Valenti,” O’Brian insisted. “Look, we just have to get over this whole ... physical thing and concentrate on what’s really important -- busting Conrad. Everything else had to take a back seat to that, ya know? So if you have to kiss me or grab my ass or whatever you have to do out there, just do it already and don’t worry about it. We both know it’s all just part of the act. Okay?”
“Okay.” Valenti shrugged dubiously and tried not to think about it. “So, what now?”
“Now we get ready for dinner, and I hope you brought your tux because I think it’s s’posed to be a formal affair. For you, anyway. I just get to dress like the twinkie I am.” O’Brian grinned at him and hopped off the bed. “C’mon, babe, let’s get you lookin’ beautiful.”
Chapter Six
“That’s him -- gotta be,” O’Brian whispered in his ear, while pretending to kiss him on the neck.
Valenti felt the soft brush of lips against his throat as his partner spoke; apparently O’Brian wasn’t taking any chances on faking the affectionate gesture. Deciding to follow his partner’s lead, he cupped the back of O’Brian’s neck and whispered back, “That’s him, all right.” He finished the sentence with a soft kiss on his partner’s cheek and pulled back, but not too far.
They were seated with about thirty other “daddies” and “boys” around a huge rectangular table that reminded Valenti too much of his childhood for comfort. He could remember vividly the long, boring dinner parties his parents had thrown, where a young Nicholas was expected to be on his best behavior at all times. He supposed he should be grateful for that experience now; it was amazing how quickly all the proper etiquette and table manners came back. He had been quietly instructing O’Brian on which fork to use for the first course, when his partner had leaned in and whispered the information about Conrad.
O’Brian was still casting glances toward the head of the table, and Valenti risked a quick look as well. They were seated around the middle of the table, close enough to study the man in question without making conversation with him, much to Valenti’s relief. Vincent Conrad was tall -- taller than Valenti -- and as lean as a greyhound. He had lank, medium-length, brownish-black hair that framed a thin face with a nose as sharp as a knife and cool gray eyes that skimmed over the table dispassionately. Valenti took one look at those eyes and thought, shark.
Hovering by Conrad’s shoulder was a small, slim Hispanic man with large brown eyes and hair the color of licorice -- so black it had blue highlights. The man -- or “boy,” for Valenti supposed that must be his designation -- was probably in his early twenties, and he was dressed in the too-tight jean shorts and white tank top that seemed to be the unofficial uniform for all twinkies at the RamJack.
Of course, O’Brian had felt the need to go one better; in addition to shorts that were so tight Valenti was surprised his partner could even breathe in them, O’Brian was also wearing a tight black tank top with the words “Boy Toy” written on the front in hot-pink cursive script. When he’d put it on, Valenti had simply shaken his head.
“What, you don’t like?” O’Brian had had that twinkle in his eye that meant he was teasing his partner and loving every minute of it.
“Where did you even get that?” Valenti had asked, not sure whether to be annoyed or amused. He decided to settle for halfway in between. He himself was dressed in an expensive, conservative black suit and a gold tie that picked up the golden flecks in his brown eyes. It felt strange to be wearing something so unlike his usual casual undercover street clothes, but he considered that his partner must feel even stranger in his get-up -- although you would never know it, the way O’Brian strutted.
“Got it from Twonnie.” His partner had grinned proudly. “’S what all the well-dressed twinkies are wearin’ this season.” Valenti found he didn’t have an answer for that, and so they had made their way to the dining hall, studying the other daddies and boys around them as they went.
Twonnie had been right; age was definitely not the sole criteria for designation of class at the RamJack. Although several of the well-dressed men seated around them were older, there were many middle-aged and young men scattered around the table. The twinkies, however, usually were younger than their “sponsors,” although Valenti noted a few who seemed to be around the same age, like he and O’Brian. He wondered briefly if they were lovers just there to play some kind of twisted dominance game.