Boy in the Club a boy & billionaire novel - Rachel Kane Page 0,10

the door.

I’m curious though. Because what he’s not doing, is shopping. He looks at the guys, of course. You can’t really miss them. They’re the focal point of the room. Even if you weren’t interested, it’s hard to pull yourself away from that many abs on display. Even I find myself checking them out…and feeling pretty miserable about myself. Someone told me that downtown there’s a new club opening up where everyone has to wear a mask. Right now it sounds pretty ideal, not being seen. Not that anyone’s looking at me.

We could all be uglies under the mask, who would ever know?

When the bar sets me up with a new tray, I find myself circling the room to find him again. His friends have already walked off with boys, and I don’t see them. My respect for them drops lower than I would’ve imagined it could. They’ve abandoned their friend, off to get blowjobs or whatever in the back. People are so gross.

Interesting Guy, on the other hand, still hasn’t made his choice for the evening. He’s hanging back, not getting up-close to the guys the way the rest of the men do. No touching, no weighing. When men approach him, he somehow finds something else to catch his attention, turning away pointedly; they shrug and give up and move to the next guy.

What it reminds me of is when Polly and I go to the mall, and Polly patiently waits nearby as I pick out clothes. He’s there, he’s glancing, but he’s not really looking.

Why are you here, if you don’t want one of them? When you’re in a room full of hungry lions, it’s the bored lion that catches your eye.

Then he spots me.

Me.

And he’s not just glancing.

Fuck, the first thing he sees is the scar, because of course he does. Part of that vulnerability Jimi was talking about. Don’t look at my fucking scar, dude. I find myself sucking in my breath to make myself thinner, smaller. I’m not like these guys, I can’t make my whole body into a tough knot of sinew the way they do. Stop looking. Come on, just take a drink.

I hold out the tray to take his mind—and his eyes—off me.

But he downs that scotch so quickly, it’s like he’s trying to work himself up to something.

Nope.

Definitely not going to happen.

I mean, I’m interested.

Who wouldn’t be? He’s so aloof. He’s the only man in the room who doesn’t look like he belongs…other than me. He’s the only one who doesn’t care about anything on offer in here.

The tray shifts a little in my hand when he sets the glass back down. I worry suddenly that I’ll drop everything. The way he’s looking at me…studying me…I can’t look away. I need to. I need to turn around.

Because I know that look.

He’s looking into my fucking eyes, and dude, you’re not supposed to look there, that isn’t what this place is about, you’re supposed to turn around and look at the guys there, look at their pecs, their asses. Don’t you see how shiny their skin is, under this light? Don’t you see how hard their nipples are? That’s what you’re here for.

Not my eyes.

Because I don’t want to feel exposed.

I don’t want to feel like someone is trying to know me, to understand me.

I don’t want that sympathy, if that’s even what it is.

Then he points behind me. Back to where the rooms are. The rooms we technically aren’t supposed to have, because this isn’t a sex club, it’s a party, and you don’t want to get shut down.

His lips are moving. Does he realize that? I can’t tell what he’s saying, but it’s silent. Maybe it’s a question.

He’s the only one in the room who isn’t playing the game. What he really wants to do is ask questions. He’s an outsider, and he’s viewing this as a system to study, and that’s interesting.

It can’t be interesting. It’s not allowed to be interesting. I’m a waiter. That’s all I want to be. These men aren’t here for me. I’ve learned my lesson.

Does he know he doesn’t belong? Does he care? He doesn’t. That’s the thing.

You quickly learn the rich guy swagger. The thing nobody ever tells you in real life is that you can gauge a man’s income, his power, by how he walks. Most of the clients here have that swagger. They want you to know who they are. They brag about their money, their power. They want you to