Chapter 1

Zeke. 

Night clubs are supposed to be fun, right? Or at least, that's what everyone is always raving about. Problem is, whenever I go there, I just keep bumping into sweaty, drunken idiots and listening to loud, annoying music that just always gives me a headache.

The only good thing about it is the constant one-night stand that I never fail to catch. In fact, that and a healthy supply of alcohol are the only reason you would find me in a club. People can be really easy and I'm pretty sure over half of the population on this planet is all sluts—which kind of works well in my favor considering I love sex! It makes up about sixty five percent of my life. That's how much I love it. Hey, who doesn't?! It's a great way to blow off steam and I'm certain that I get most of my workout done when I give a good pounding to someone I'll never see again.

There's only one person in this entire world that makes me hate sex. Vanessa. And she is someone I wouldn't really want to be in bad terms with or else her father will be drilling random holes through my chest just for kicks. I like my chest. With no holes in it.

That bitch Vanessa is the most vindictive, absolute piece of trash I have ever slept with. Not gonna lie, she is beautiful and rich and sexy—well, if I was the kind of guy who was into silicon breasts and lady hips. I'm gay, but no matter how many times I tell her that, she still insists on mounting me like some kind of slave donkey.

It's like she never even listens to me. Who would blame her, though? The thick layer of makeup she piles on every morning probably blocks out sound.

Nothing would make me happier than to break up with her, but she is my boss' daughter. And I'm not suicidal. This explains why I’m in a bar on the other side of town at one o’clock in the morning looking for some ass. We're not in a normal relationship, just more like bang buddies but she feels like she owns me.

Anyway, where was I? Yes, clubs! I'm only in here tonight because it's a Friday night and there is this social "rule" that staying in on a Friday night is a lame thing to do.

Honestly, I would rather be having date night with my giant bong on the balcony of my loft, watching my neighbor, Stephan, work out in his home gym from the building next to mine. He is somehow always conveniently flexing his biceps on those days that I don't have someone under or on top of me. Sometimes I think he actually wants me to watch. He is straight but that has never stopped me before— which is why I'm planning on marching over there one of these fine nights.

My vodka, neat, is feeling a bit bland and I've been shooing away anybody who has tried to talk to me all night. I'm feeling a tad choosy tonight, which is seriously starting to make me wonder what the hell is wrong with me. I should maybe see a doctor about this, because a not horny Zeke is a sick Zeke. That's the only explanation that could possibly make sense.

I keep looking around, trying to spot something that could potentially get me excited, but it feels like I'm watching trees.

Two men catch my eye at last from across the dance floor. One is probably around my age, and the other is a bit older. The older man is talking animatedly and excitedly but the other one is just watching him, looking extremely bored with the conversation. The older one does not seem to notice the utter disinterest and keeps on talking.

I smile at the look the younger one has on his face. He looks like he is sending a silent SOS to whomever might be watching, asking them to kill him now! He seems annoyed, but his face still manages to maintain the cutest look I have ever seen.

His slightly overgrown, brown hair is falling partially onto his face. If I had a camera, I would definitely capture that pause he is in. He looks meticulous and I am just watching from a distance. I wonder what he looks like in an up close view.

What was I talking about when I said I did not have interest in anyone tonight?! What was I even thinking! Because I'm flash forwarding to making him eggs and bacon tomorrow morning after I wake him up with a nice, hot fuck.

I never make anyone breakfast. So, why the hell am I thinking about eggs? Or how much I would love to watch him as he wakes up with the first burning rays of the morning sun?

I should sue the bartenders here because they are obviously slipping something into their vodka. There is just no way I could have the hots for someone which do not entirely revolve around my penis. I think I'm just really drunk.

I abandon my drink after watching them for long enough. He is obviously looking to be rescued from death by boredom and I'm in the mood to be someone's knight in shining armor —or, in this case, acid wash jeans and a T-shirt.

I see the chatty guy hand him a small piece of paper then stands up and walks away. Well, my original plan to play hero is tossed aside since he is suddenly alone now. I need to come up with a new game plan. I've never really perfected my seduction skills because, well, I'm pretty and very easy on the eyes.

Despite that little fact, I feel the need to approach him with something that won't totally make me sound like an asshole and send him fleeing from me like I am a leper. While I think of something appropriately clever to say, I see him read the piece of paper, roll his eyes, crush it up in his fist and toss it somewhere behind his booth.

Somehow, that makes me curious. I'm not normally in the habit of picking up trash but I have to go for this one. I walk casually over to where the paper is and pick it up. It looks like a business card and it's for a modeling agency.

Interesting, So, Chatty Cathy was trying to recruit him into his modeling agency. I can see it, actually. This man is gorgeous! He is nursing his drink and watching the crowd the same way I was before; with so much disinterest. Without thinking, I go for it.

"So, you dislike modeling that much, huh.” I immediately want to punch myself in the nuts for sounding like an idiot. What kind of an icebreaker is that!

He turns his head to where I'm still standing behind his booth, holding the piece of paper. He sees me holding it and frowns at me. All of a sudden, my hands get sweaty and my heart starts racing. Then I realize that I'm actually nervous. In my line of work, I deal with dangerous personalities everyday —the kind that run around with guns and drugs, and I know how to handle it. Nothing ever really scares me. I guess there is a first for everything.

He offers me a lopsided smile, which quickly gets my knees all wobbly, and looks at me with those piercing blue eyes. At this point, I'm pretty sure I would say yes to everything if he asked me. Oh, if Carlene could see me now.

Carlene is one of my closest friends and she is always trying to set me up with anything with a schlong between its legs in the crusade to get me in a 'stable' relationship before I'm thirty. She would have a field day with this.

"Do I look like a model to you?" He asks, still sporting that smile. Just when I thought he couldn't get more perfect, I detect an accent straight away. It's a distant Australian accent but it's still there. Wow, okay, whatever forces that are usually at work in such situations really have it out for me tonight. I'm a sucker for accents. He bobs his head to the side and motions for me to join him.

I toss the card back to the floor and make my way around the booth. "Actually, I would go for a god… but, I guess 'model' is a good word, too, for what you look like!" That earns me a chuckle, the sound melodic to my ears. It's seriously the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. I wonder whether all sounds he makes feel like that. If they do, I'm in big trouble!

"Can I buy you a drink?" He has not stopped smiling, which means I've not stopped staring. His lips look so delectable, I'm fighting the urge to lean over and lick them. That would be a total high for me. Speaking of high, that is the current situation in my pants—just when I thought I had mastered full control of my dick. Tonight, it seems to have a mind of its own, "Is that a yes or...."

Great, he knows I was staring! Thank god for my dark skin, or else he would see how flaming my cheeks are from embarrassment, "Yea, sure."

"By the way, I'm Drew. What's your name?" He asks.

"I'm Zeke." On the bright side, my diction is still steady. I would hate to be a stammering, pathetic mess.

"Say, Zeke," my name just rolls off his tongue like it was meant to be. Or maybe I'm just nitpicking. "Do you like body shots?"

"Like? I love body shots! That is like the only reason I would go to a party." I respond excitedly—maybe too excitedly. Who cares? We're in a club.

"Nice," he looks at me seductively then licks his lips hypnotically. He lifts up his shirt to show me exactly what I'm in for and I don't know whether I should be jealous or turned on. "Would you like to do some off of my body?"

And he is officially the epitome of perfection!