Qhuinn looked like the kind of guy who kept his leather jacket in his lap because he carried his guns in it.
Which he did.
“Nah, I’m cool,” Qhuinn muttered before finishing off his Corona. “I’m not into redheads.”
Blay looked away sharply, taking an abrupt, feigned interest in a brunette woman. Truth was, he was into only one person, and that person had shut him down as kindly and solidly as a best friend could.
Qhuinn evidently really, truly didn’t do redheads.
When was the last time you were with anyone? John signed.
“I dunno.” Qhuinn signaled for another round of beers. “A while.”
John tried to think back and realized it hadn’t been since…Christ, back in the summer, with that chick at Abercrombie amp; Fitch. Considering Qhuinn was usually good for at least three people a night, it was a hell of a dry spell, and it was hard to imagine that a steady diet of one-handed get-offs was going to hold the guy. Shit, even when he fed from the Chosen, he’d been keeping his hands to himself, in spite of the fact that his erections strained until he cold-sweated it. Then again, the three of them fed from the same female at the same time, and as much as Qhuinn had no problem whatsoever with an audience, his pants stayed on in deference to Blay and John.
Seriously, Qhuinn, what the hell is going to happen to me? Blay’s here.
“Wrath said always with you. So I need to be. Always. With. You.”
I think you’re taking that too seriously. Like, way too seriously.
Across the VIP section, the redheaded gazelle moved around in her seat so that her below-the-waist assets were on full display, her smooth legs out from under the table and in full view of Qhuinn.
This time when the guy shifted, it was pretty obvious he was rearranging something hard in his lap. And it wasn’t one of his weapons.
For fuck’s sake, Qhuinn, I’m not saying it should be her. But we have to get you taken care of-
“He said he’s tight,” Blay interjected. “Just leave him be.”
“There is one way.” Qhuinn’s mismatched eyes shifted over to John. “You could come with me. Not that we would do anything, ’cuz I know you don’t fly like that. But you could have someone, too. If you wanted. We could do it in one of the private bathrooms, and you could have the stall so I wouldn’t be able to see you. You just say the word, ’kay? I won’t bring it up again.”
As Qhuinn looked away all casual and shit, it was hard not to like the guy. Consideration, like rudeness, came in a lot of different variations, and the gentle offer of a cozy double sex session was a sort of kindness: Qhuinn and Blay both knew why, even eight months past John’s transition, he hadn’t been with a female. Knew why and still wanted to hang with him.
Dropping the bomb John had been hiding had been Lash’s final fuck-you before he died.
Had been the reason Qhuinn had killed the guy.
When the waitress brought freshies, John glanced over at the redhead and, to his surprise, she smiled at him when she caught him looking.
Qhuinn laughed quietly. “Maybe I’m not the only one she likes.”
John brought his Corona up to his mouth and took a drink to hide his blush. Thing was, he wanted sex and, like Blay, wanted it with someone in particular. But having already lost an erection in front of a naked, willing female, he was in no hurry to do that again, especially not with the person he was interested in.
Hell. No. Xhex wasn’t the kind of female you wanted to choke on a hot wing around. Going limp because you were chicken to do the deed? His ego would never be the same-
Unrest in the crowd had him ditching the poor-mes and straightening in the banquette.
A wild-eyed guy was being escorted through the VIP section by two enormous Moors, each with a hand on his upper arm. He was tap-dancing with his expensive shoes, his feet barely touching the ground, and his mouth was likewise pulling some kind of Fred Astaire, although John couldn’t hear what he was saying over the music.
The trio went into the private office in the back.
John tipped his Corona and stared at the door as it closed. Bad things happened to people who were taken in there. Especially if they were being hover-crafted by that pair of private guards.
Abruptly, a hush dimmed all the talk in the VIP section, making the music seem very loud.
John knew who it was before he turned his head.
Rehvenge walked in through a side door, his entrance quiet but as obvious as a grenade going off: In the midst of all the sharp-dressed patrons with their arm candy and the working girls with their assets out for hire and the waitresses hustling trays, the guy shrank the size of the space, not just because he was a huge male dressed in a sable duster, but because of the way he looked around.