A Kaleidoscope of Butterflies - Christina Lee Page 0,9

his shoulder. “Hey, you don’t have to justify anything. Not unless you’re ready.”

“Thanks,” Emerson replied, and then they slipped easily into conversation about their jobs and the kids.

When a familiar song began playing, Rhys felt a tap on his arm from the friend he’d been hanging with earlier. Rhys turned to Emerson. “Wanna go dance?”

He startled, and a blush crawled across his cheeks. “Not yet.”

“Fair enough. You’ll know where to find me.”

Rhys tried to feel the energy of the crowd but had difficulty getting his feet to move to the beat. He could almost feel Emerson’s intense gaze from the bar area like a warm brand. His scrutiny tonight in this setting felt strangely different. Everything about this felt different. Christ, what was happening?

“Who’s the gorgeous guy you’re with?” his friend asked, nodding toward the wall where Emerson had moved while finishing his drink.

“That’s my best friend, Emerson,” he replied as the man eyed Emerson up and down, and Rhys felt protective again, almost wishing he’d kept the information to himself. Rhys wanted to tell him that Emerson was off-limits, but that was obviously why Emerson had shown up, right? Maybe he wanted to hook up with someone, and Rhys had all but ruined it.

“Nice,” his dance partner replied.

Rhys was still in shock as he stared across the floor at his best friend from childhood. His not-so-straight best friend? Emerson had only ever had one girlfriend before his life went to hell. He hadn’t dated anyone since, at least not that Rhys noticed. Emerson was just that way—careful about everything, even people he chose to hang out with. Rhys knew he should count himself lucky. Emerson had always been loyal and dependable. Christ, he was making him sound like a puppy.

A very cute and sweet puppy.

When he noticed Emerson swaying to the music, he figured he’d finally loosened up a bit. Rhys could practically see the wheels spinning in his brain as he downed his drink and placed the empty glass on a nearby table. Decision sorted, he turned toward the dance floor with determination, heading Rhys’s way.

Rhys tried keeping his breathing at an even level as Emerson paused momentarily, a fleeting, uneasy look crossing his face. The guy Rhys was dancing with had his hand planted on his hip, but he shrugged him off. Nothing seemed more important in that moment than Emerson finding his confidence.

“You okay?” Rhys shouted as he got nearer.

“Yeah…I’m just…tired,” he replied, and somehow Rhys knew he was talking about more than the faint shadows beneath his eyes. In that moment, Rhys recognized the soul-deep weariness of what Emerson’s life had become.

He desperately wanted to help him forget, even if only for one flipping song. “Show me your moves, tough guy.”

Rhys’s hand tentatively grasped Emerson’s hip, and when he swayed to the beat, Emerson followed suit in an adorably awkward way until he finally found his rhythm. Then he was off to the races, lifting his arms, gyrating his hips, closing his eyes, and getting lost in the music. And for Christ’s sake, he looked so free, so stunning, that for a split second, Rhys could picture how Emerson might look in the throes of passion.

Fucking hell. That image, along with the grinding and jostling into each other from the crowd tightening around them, made his dick plump up. He turned toward the deejay booth so he wouldn’t give himself away. It was dangerous thinking that way about his dearest friend, even if he did show up at a gay club to figure some things out.

He felt Emerson’s tenuous grip on his waist and his breath tickling his nape, which sent pinpricks across his spine as he continued swaying to the music. He thought he heard the faintest sound, like a restrained groan, and when Rhys spun to face Emerson, he noticed new things about him. How his sweaty bangs looked a deeper shade of auburn as they clung to his forehead, and how his blue eyes looked nearly translucent in the glow of the mirror ball spinning above them. Their gazes connected and remained locked as the tension grew thick, like a rope tethering them together. And when Rhys allowed his eyes to slide down the front of Emerson, there was no way to disguise the bulge in his jeans, most likely from all the grinding.

He couldn’t allow himself to consider otherwise. He didn’t think his brain could take the onslaught. Or his dick.

The sound blotted out of the room as Rhys zeroed in