Men of London 06 - Flying Solo Read Online Free PDF Page B

imploringly—“he will have to believe I am not interested in you or you in me ‘that way.’”
    Gibson huffed and glanced down at the outfit with a sense of unease. The silver hot pants complemented his hair, although they would cover virtually nothing of his arse or his hips. And as for his dick…he shivered. He was cut, and wearing those, the whole world would know about it. The black mesh tee shirt with straps and buckles was, well, tight, but wearable. As were the shoes. A pair of glittery, two-inch-high silver boots, with red laces, which he thought he was supposed to tie around his calves.
    Cruz sighed. “It’s a theme evening tonight, bebé. Gladiators and Glad Rags. You don’t own anything like this so I had to borrow this outfit from someone for you. I couldn’t loan you any of my clothes or Craig would think we are together.”
    “Tell me again how making Craig think I’m fucking someone else when I’m not is going to help you get him back?” Gibson and Cruz had never had that sort of relationship; Cruz was like his brother, but for some reason, Cruz’ ex had never accepted it. The pair had had a heated argument over it a week ago.
    Cruz rolled his eyes and blew a strand of ink-black hair off his forehead. “Because he will see you and Pete making out, and I will be like”—he draped a dramatic hand to his forehead—“I don’t care, I want you, and Craig will realise what he is missing and that he adores me, and then we will make mad, passionate love at the club.”
    Gibson thought there might be a flaw in this plan somewhere. “And Pete isn’t going to take this too far, is he? I mean, you said he’s a nice guy but I don’t want to have to get serious with him.”
    “Sexy dancing, bumping, your usual slutty stuff,” Cruz said helpfully.
    Gibson scowled. “Yeah, thanks for that.” He heaved a sigh. “Fine, I’ll do it. You are so going to owe me one.”
    Cruz’s face sparkled with a smile showing off white teeth. “Thank you, sweetie. I love you.” He leaned forward and planted a smacking kiss on Gibson’s cheek. “Now I need to go home and get ready. I’ll meet you outside Innuendo at nine. I have our VIP tickets so we don’t need to queue, but I left them at home.” He waved goodbye and flounced out of the bedroom.
    Gibson heard him calling to Jack. “Bye, Het Man, please make sure Gibson gets dressed on time.”
    Gibson suppressed a grin at Jack’s snarl at his hated nickname. Cruz loved to tease him. Jack loved superheroes and had often enquired plaintively why he couldn’t be ‘Muscle Man’ or ‘Sex God’ rather than ‘Het Man.’
    Hours later, after showering, man-scaping, shaving and moisturising, making sure he could fit all his man bits into the clothes he was wearing, Gibson was ready. He looked in the mirror and took a deep breath.
    The man looking back at him was willowy, yet toned, with broad shoulders and strong muscled arms from swimming.
    Gibson might be short but he was all in proportion. His fair-skinned legs were devoid of hair—he only had faint blond wisps on them even when he didn’t shave—and his mousse-styled platinum hair was artfully sculptured. He’d changed his glasses to his clubbing pair, a trendy pair of dark silver frames, which enhanced his green eyes. He couldn’t wear contacts; his eyes were too sensitive to use them for long.
    He twisted around and gave a grin when he observed his arse in the mirror. Tight and perky. Just the way he liked it—and others did too. There was quite a lot of his cheeks and crack on show but there was nothing he could do about it. He sat on the bed, and pulled on the boots, wrapping the long laces around the bottom of his legs.
    For good measure, he slid in a barbell to his pierced belly button. The shirt and shorts didn’t meet over his stomach, leaving a vast expanse of pale, toned skin and the start of a four pack, of which he was quite proud. He popped another earring into his ear and wrapped a