Nothing to Gain (Learning the Ropes #2) - E.M. Denning Page 0,1

college freshman.

Linden’s casual affection was a force to be reckoned with, and Brett found himself gravitating toward him when he came to the store. Where some people looked at Brett with judgement in their eyes, he never got that vibe from Linden.

Most people found it easy to judge Brett. Whether gay or straight, man or woman. Brett was gay. He had long hair and wore makeup. He could rock a miniskirt or a cocktail dress. He was fabulous with a capital F. Plenty of people hated him for it. His parents, for example. Not his older brother, though. Chad still loved him. Brett didn’t like that Chad still talked to their parents, it felt like a betrayal sometimes, but he’d long ago stopped mentioning them to Brett.

Brett downed his drink and joined Ansel on the dance floor of the club. It wasn’t busy yet, but there were enough people on the floor to push Ansel closer to Brett. They’d danced together a million times. Dancing was one of Brett’s favorite things.

“Think this will get Dante’s mind off his boyfriend?” Ansel asked as he tugged on Brett’s braid.

“Probably not. That kid has it bad.” Brett had watched him the entire time. Linden hadn’t been lying when he said Dante was shy. He stuck to Linden’s side all night, but Brett kept an eye on them both. He was glad Dante didn’t want to dance with anyone but Linden.

Then, as though the fates took it upon themselves to fuck with him, Dante broke away from Linden and headed for the bathrooms, and Linden made a beeline for Brett. With Ansel behind him, it left his front open and Linden turned him into the filling of a sandwich.

Ansel laughed. With Brett’s luck, he sensed his distress and while he’d never milk him for details in front of people; he knew he’d have to confess his inappropriate crush, eventually.

Linden put his hands on Brett’s hips, and stepped closer. He didn’t crowd Brett the way he’d expected him too, which was a relief. And a disappointment.

“Where’s Dante?” Brett asked.

“Bathroom. He needs a break.” Linden frowned. “I think he’s having fun. It’s hard to tell.”

“You’re a good friend,” Brett assured him.

Linden shrugged. “I know I can’t fix things for him, but he seems so fucking sad. I can’t stand it.”

Brett saw Dante head up to the bar. “Here, I’ll go talk to him. You stay here and dance with Ansel.” Brett couldn’t get away from Linden fast enough. If he didn’t stop being so sweet and perfect, Brett would find himself in trouble. Deep trouble.

Brett didn’t stay to see the look on Linden’s face, or to feel the judgement in Ansel’s gaze. He knew later he’d have to come clean. Or not. Brett shoved his own bullshit out of his mind and sat down with Dante.

Dante was sweet, and he could immediately see why someone like Linden would gravitate toward him. Linden was outgoing and affectionate. He watched the way he hung off Dante all evening. It wasn’t in a sexual or creepy way, but they clearly were comfortable around each other. And obviously, it was because of Linden.

Dante, with his broken heart and his big sad eyes, was shark bait in a place like this. Or any place, really. If life were a soap opera, he’d be the character everyone hit on. Brett’s presence would keep the sharks at bay, and it gave him distance from Linden.

Dante had it bad. Whoever hurt him had been a moron, Brett decided. He didn’t know why, but he found Dante easy to talk with and he told him he preferred femme guys, like himself. It wasn’t something he advertised, because whenever people found out his type, they tried to set him up with a friend of theirs. No thank you.

But Dante wasn’t the matchmaker type. They left shortly after, though. Dante didn’t look like he could stand another minute in the club, and Brett’s enthusiasm had also waned.

They parted ways after they reached the thrift store, and Brett followed Ansel up to his apartment above the store. “Since when do you like college guys?”

Brett rolled his eyes. “Since never.” He slid past Ansel and flopped down on the couch. He wiggled his feet. “A little help.”

Ansel rolled his eyes, but unzipped the sides of Brett’s boots and yanked them off his feet. The little black boots were one of Brett’s favorite pairs, even if they killed his feet after a while. He loved the way he felt in