Gianni Read Online Free PDF

middle and pointer fingers. It’s ashing really quickly. “I thought we were smoking.”
    “And when we finish with that, where do we go from here?”
    “Well, I get a free drink, since I bought one while I was waiting for you…”
    Wrong answer. This is going my way and it’s going my way now. I’m not sticking around at some has-been gay bar all night just to go home without getting my rocks off. That’s wasted time. I can take two clients in an evening and head to Vegas with the earnings, if I so choose. If Danny’s chastity belt ends up being too tight to get off tonight, I want enough evening left to explore other options. I throw my cigarette into the dirty puddle beyond the sidewalk and snatch his out of his mouth to finish it off.
    “Where do you live?” I ask bluntly.
    “Jersey.”
    “Oh, right. Then I guess your place is out of the question.”
    “My place?” Danny coughs awkwardly. “Yeah, it is.”
    “You can come back to one of my places, if you’re game.”
    He laughs. “
One
of your places?”
    “Yeah. I have a bunch of places I can stay.”
    “How exactly do you have multiple places? Are you a real estate agent?”
    “You ask too many questions,” I snap, smirking to lighten the potential blow.
    “Who says I’m coming back to your place, anyway?” he asks, smirking back. Either he’s challenging me or he’s flirting with me. Both of which are kinda sexy.
    “Nobody, apparently. So. I should really get going…”
    “No.” He stops me before I’ve turned around. “I’d love to go back to
one
of your places. Hopefully the nicest of them, if I’m allowed to choose.”
    “Cute,” I smile. He’s witty. He’s warming up.
    And so it’s settled. I toss what was left of “his” cigarette and we’re off on our gay little way. My agent Rich has a place in TriBeCa he lets me use whenever I want. It’s a pretty big artist’s loft that I’ve let him fuck me in just so I could enjoy the view out his floor-to-ceiling windows — and so I could use it as my own shag pad whenever such a desire strikes. He’s got a king-size bed that I’ve spent about as much time in as he has. That’s the best place to bring this kid — it looks impressive and Rich is gone for the week scouting models in West Hollywood.
    “Let’s hop a cab to TriBeCa,” I insist.
    Danny looks to the street. The many, many occupied cabs speeding by. “You wanna stand here and get soaked trying to take a cab?”
    No. No, I don’t want to do that.
    “There’s a subway a few avenues away,” I say, turning in the direction of the Times Square subway hub.
    “Let’s just walk a little bit!” Danny insists. “It’s not that bad. It’s already starting to lighten up.”
    “Okay,” I say. “But if it gets worse I’m going to get really bitchy.”
    “Moreso than you are right now?”
    “Beware,” I snort. “You don’t want to see me in an actual bad mood.”
    As we walk, the rain changes again from those fat, sopping drops to the kind that mists in your face like a spritzing at the salon. My forehead is slick and slippery, my clothing way soaked. It clings to my chest… but that’s never a bad thing. I catch Danny staring at my pec lines every once in a while.
    “You look like my cat when we make him take a bath,” Danny laughs.
    “Keep staring,” I wink at him.
    Danny regains his self-confidence on the trip and starts talking to me. He’s using all these big words about his love of writing and acting. The kid’s a high school theater boy — well, college boy now, but they’re all the same. He’s been in this play and that; he’s written for this poetry journal and edited that newspaper. And then, as if he thinks it’s been expertly delivered, he mentions some random hookup he had backstage on opening night of one of his shows this semester.
    “Oh. So you’re not a virgin?”
    It’s not the question he expected, I can tell. He was hoping I’d be impressed.
    “Do I look like a virgin