The Lies We Tell Ourselves
By Wren Emerson
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Wren Emerson
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Zane Littlebury spent months tracking down a man who could make authentic looking fake IDs, but there wasn't much need since the bouncers could never tear their gazes from his electric blue eyes. It had become routine, the way they licked their lips and gave him secret, hopeful smiles. And always he responded with a lifted eyebrow and a shrug. His body language offered false hope while his thoughts were occupied by the desire to disappear into the anonymous crush of bodies.
Zane had been coming to the club for the past three months. He always came alone and found a spot against a wall where he could watch the beautiful young men, most with their form fitting shirts off and tucked into the waist bands of their pants, dancing with each other. Sometimes he ordered a beer, but most times he wanted to feel the keen edge of his jealousy. They were so comfortable with each other and with themselves.
A tan arm snaked around his shoulders from behind him. It was a man barely older than Zane's own 17 years who called himself Apollo. For the past few weeks they'd been talking. Zane sensed that soon talking wouldn't be enough to keep Apollo interested, but he was ambivalent about the idea of sex. To have sex with anyone would force him to face some hard truths about himself he'd been avoiding. But there was no denying the response he felt whenever Apollo was near; his heart pounded a tempo that nearly matched the bass throbbing through the soles of his shoes.