"Who is that ?" Chris eyed a sexy blond dancer. He hoped the man hadn't noticed the hard time he'd had ordering. The bartender seemed preternaturally aware that Chris wasn't from New York and had seen fit to make the transaction as embarrassing as possible, acting as if Chris spoke a foreign language. The fact he was only nineteen and still underage didn't make it any easier.
Ten minutes earlier, his companion, Sebastian, had had a much easier time obtaining a drink. He'd sauntered within range of the bar, nodded to the bartender, and his vodka and tonic appeared on the counter. For Chris to live and work here, he would have to learn that trick.
Turning to see whom Chris referred, Sebastian exhaled, seemingly very put upon. "Oh him? That's Jason. It's best to ignore him."
Still staring, Chris sipped what tasted like weak tea. Being served swill like this proved everyone knew he'd transplanted from Texas. "He's kind of hard to ignore."
Jason was gorgeous. He stood at least six-foot five-inches in his glittery pointy-heeled boots. He'd knocked a go-go dancer out of his cage and taken over, busting moves that would make a professional stripper die of jealousy.
"Is he a gymnast?"
"No. But I'm sure he'd say he was in the Olympics if you asked him." Sebastian swigged the last of his cocktail and set down the glass, then turned and leaned against the bar.
At the ripe old age of twenty-four, Sebastian was considered geriatric by their agency. With a dearth of bookings, the agency paid him a modest fee to introduce Chris to the right designers and otherwise show him the ropes.
When asked, Sebastian claimed a desire to transition from the empty-headed world of modeling to the supposedly more satisfying vocation of acting. Even with his bronze skin, shoulder-length dark hair, and striking blue eyes, the best jobs Sebastian had managed were minor soap opera roles. Despite his oft-repeated mantra of, I need to move to L.A., Sebastian showed no signs of leaving New York City. From what Chris had learned, the man subsisted on mentoring new models and assisting with casting calls.
Next to Sebastian, Chris felt mousy with his dime-a-dozen twink frame, wavy brown hair, and scruffy chin. Geek chic was in, which kept Chris booked. After that trend, he had no idea how to market himself.
Jason's market, if he bothered with one, would be fabulousness . His blond hair was sleekly razor-cut and he wore eyeliner and bright red lipstick that brought his deep cupid's bow to the forefront. His leather boots were laced up to his knees, his leggings tucked into their tops. The collar of his gauzy white top fluttered as he dropped into the splits before an adoring crowd who tossed cash at his feet. Jason gave the money a contemptuous look and pushed it off the end of the stage before springing back up and kicking his leg so the thin heel of what looked like a very expensive boot tangled with the pole.
Sebastian's voice broke into Chris's observations. "He's awful. Seriously. Do yourself a favor and forget you saw him."
Chris couldn't tear his eyes away. "He's hard to forget."
Sebastian made a face like he'd tasted something sour. "Not in a good way. Believe me."
The statement roused Chris's curiosity. Despite what people in Texas thought about male models, he found it lonely being gay in his profession. Most of them were straight, and many were incredibly shrewd businessmen. For a computer science-major dropout, the whole scene of beautiful, smart, straight boys was intimidating.
Sebastian gestured for Chris to follow him and then headed into the crowd. He pointed at a line of people studiously avoiding meeting anyone's eye, and said something. Chris caught the word "important." Or maybe Sebastian said " not important." As they neared the speakers, which blasted bass so heavily it felt like a defibrillator sparking on his chest. It became increasingly difficult to discern Sebastian's words.
Chris nodded and smiled as if he understood. He
Ten minutes earlier, his companion, Sebastian, had had a much easier time obtaining a drink. He'd sauntered within range of the bar, nodded to the bartender, and his vodka and tonic appeared on the counter. For Chris to live and work here, he would have to learn that trick.
Turning to see whom Chris referred, Sebastian exhaled, seemingly very put upon. "Oh him? That's Jason. It's best to ignore him."
Still staring, Chris sipped what tasted like weak tea. Being served swill like this proved everyone knew he'd transplanted from Texas. "He's kind of hard to ignore."
Jason was gorgeous. He stood at least six-foot five-inches in his glittery pointy-heeled boots. He'd knocked a go-go dancer out of his cage and taken over, busting moves that would make a professional stripper die of jealousy.
"Is he a gymnast?"
"No. But I'm sure he'd say he was in the Olympics if you asked him." Sebastian swigged the last of his cocktail and set down the glass, then turned and leaned against the bar.
At the ripe old age of twenty-four, Sebastian was considered geriatric by their agency. With a dearth of bookings, the agency paid him a modest fee to introduce Chris to the right designers and otherwise show him the ropes.
When asked, Sebastian claimed a desire to transition from the empty-headed world of modeling to the supposedly more satisfying vocation of acting. Even with his bronze skin, shoulder-length dark hair, and striking blue eyes, the best jobs Sebastian had managed were minor soap opera roles. Despite his oft-repeated mantra of, I need to move to L.A., Sebastian showed no signs of leaving New York City. From what Chris had learned, the man subsisted on mentoring new models and assisting with casting calls.
Next to Sebastian, Chris felt mousy with his dime-a-dozen twink frame, wavy brown hair, and scruffy chin. Geek chic was in, which kept Chris booked. After that trend, he had no idea how to market himself.
Jason's market, if he bothered with one, would be fabulousness . His blond hair was sleekly razor-cut and he wore eyeliner and bright red lipstick that brought his deep cupid's bow to the forefront. His leather boots were laced up to his knees, his leggings tucked into their tops. The collar of his gauzy white top fluttered as he dropped into the splits before an adoring crowd who tossed cash at his feet. Jason gave the money a contemptuous look and pushed it off the end of the stage before springing back up and kicking his leg so the thin heel of what looked like a very expensive boot tangled with the pole.
Sebastian's voice broke into Chris's observations. "He's awful. Seriously. Do yourself a favor and forget you saw him."
Chris couldn't tear his eyes away. "He's hard to forget."
Sebastian made a face like he'd tasted something sour. "Not in a good way. Believe me."
The statement roused Chris's curiosity. Despite what people in Texas thought about male models, he found it lonely being gay in his profession. Most of them were straight, and many were incredibly shrewd businessmen. For a computer science-major dropout, the whole scene of beautiful, smart, straight boys was intimidating.
Sebastian gestured for Chris to follow him and then headed into the crowd. He pointed at a line of people studiously avoiding meeting anyone's eye, and said something. Chris caught the word "important." Or maybe Sebastian said " not important." As they neared the speakers, which blasted bass so heavily it felt like a defibrillator sparking on his chest. It became increasingly difficult to discern Sebastian's words.
Chris nodded and smiled as if he understood. He
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