Dirty Angel-BarbaraElsborg Read Online Free PDF Page B

easier, possibly safer. It was what he usually did, but he needed to stand in front of a guy and look into his face to know whether there was a chance of finding what he was looking for.
    Yet even as he cast his gaze over the crowd, part of him knew he should walk out and catch the train home untouched by anyone. He felt like that before every hook up, so why did that side of him never win? At least he’d curbed his appetite for rough, anonymous sex since he’d moved south. This was no longer something he did three or four times a week. Now he had it down to once. Even that was too much.
    He sipped his beer and thought back to when he’d been at his worst, not counting those periods of time he’d spent with Matt. When he’d been in his early twenties, Brody came to clubs and bars like this with friends and sometimes picked up the ugliest guy in there, though he didn’t know why. To render his mates speechless? To prove to himself he didn’t care about Matt when the guy was out of his life? Even in those days, as he’d strolled toward his target, he’d told himself not to, and his friends had told him not to, but he’d carried on and ended up perched on the lap of a greasy-haired geriatric or some grizzled bear who always looked as if they couldn’t believe their luck.
    Brody rarely got what he wanted. Those sorts of guys fell in love with him. That was the last thing he’d needed. Yet here he was, away from Matt and still fucked up. What did Brody’s good looks matter? Or his smile or fit toned body? Or that he was up for almost anything? Most guys in this club took what they were offered or went home alone. He guessed most went home alone. They didn’t deserve to be ugly and unwanted any more than Brody deserved to be handsome and desirable.
    If they could see inside his skin, they’d be repulsed, though they’d still fuck him given half a chance, and be grateful. But Brody wasn’t looking for a guy to be grateful. He wanted someone to fuck him—hard. He wanted to be treated like a piece of shit because he didn’t deserve more than that. He didn’t want someone telling him they loved him desperately, madly, incessantly.
    Brody knew what an idiot that made him. He and Matt had almost managed to destroy each other. Brody was lucky to be alive after their last encounter, though in some ways he felt he hadn’t survived. Even though he’d told Matt it was over and he’d told himself the same thing, he’d been left an emotional mess. It was a minor miracle he was holding down a responsible job, and doing it well according to Henrik. But outside of work, he was unhappy and didn’t know how to make things change. The sad, disappointing, fucked up truth was that if Brody had seen Matt on the dance floor tonight, there was a chance he’d have thrown himself back into that dangerous world.
    No, no, no. Brody gritted his teeth. He had to stop thinking of Matt. The guy wasn’t what he wanted. He needed him out of his head. He’d had enough of being strangled by his past—almost literally . Therapy might help, but he was too ashamed to admit to what had happened, what he’d done, what he was still doing.
    So stop this right now.
    Brody took a shuddering breath. It was a mistake to come trawling in this state of mind. He had victim written all over him and he hated that. Even as he’d parked his car at the station, he’d told himself to turn around and go home, get the good night’s sleep he needed after a tiring, stressful day. But here he was in his tight trousers, and tight T-shirt, his heart thumping, his cock already swollen in anticipation. How was his life going to get better if he didn’t do something to make it happen?
    Someone tapped his shoulder and he spun round. Not Matt. Fuck, stop it. But this was a guy with eyes like Matt’s. Blue, ice-cold and hard. No risk of love.
    “Dance?” the guy asked.
    “Fuck?”
    He laughed. “Sure.”
    They walked together to the bathroom, the brown-haired