The Paradise Lounge
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Vinnie lost it, slapping Al on the back hard enough to make the fox stole bristle. "Jesus wept, Al, relax. They just thought you were a very tall, very angry dame…”
Alastair sniffed with wounded dignity. He lifted his chin, rearranging the stole like a duchess who’d been asked to sit in steerage. “Dogs.”
“Can’t even blame ’em,” Vinnie said, letting his eyes take the scenic route from the feathered headband, down the long throat, all the way to the silk ankles doing their best not to wobble. “You clean up nicer than half the chorus girls Lou’s got on payroll.”or: New Orleans, 1920s; Al loses a bet to his buddy Vincent and has to wear drag. This Better Not Awaken Anything In Vinnie.
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- Part 1 of The Paradise Lounge
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Alastair swallowed. The room tasted like spilled liquor and fresh sawdust from the new wall. His pulse was loud in his ears.
“I ain’t a whore, Lou.”
“Didn’t say you were.” Lou’s thumb traced the cut on Alastair’s lower lip, gentle as brushing dust off a record. “I said you’re hungry. I said I like what I see. Two things can be true.”or: On nights he’d rather not count, Alastair finds himself in Lou’s careful hands at the Paradise Lounge.
Series
- Part 2 of The Paradise Lounge