Read Online Best Gay Romance 2013 by Richard Labonte - Free Book Online

my movie, whether he liked it or not. Nicely draped in his own tuxedo.
    Except he was still laughing at me. No longer Hedy Lamarr, I marched down the remaining steps, now in tough-guy Jimmy Cagney mode, hoping he wasn’t a house detective about to bounce me from the joint.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?”
    He said, “You look like you’re having a good time.”
    â€œI am,” I replied, as if I made a living walking up and down hotel staircases. At the last step, and to my amazement, I discovered I stood two inches taller than him. I didn’t think there could be anyone shorter than me, yet he was, although what he lacked in height he made up in muscle, apparent from the thick forearm exposed as he extended his hand, and covered with a healthy amount of body hair of the Robin Williams variety. Behind us, another jackpot echoed in the casino.
    Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!
    â€œI’m Bill.”
    I shook his hand and lost myself in his eyes, which were hidden behind glasses. I’d popped my contacts in before I left the hotel, but left the all-essential drops in the room. The smoke in the air was making me squint, and I wondered if Caesars’ amenities included an all-night drugstore.
    â€œDid you see Ann-Margret’s show?”
    â€œYes. I especially liked the number where she sang and danced with her old film clips.” Oddly, I now pointed out, Ann had looked younger now than she had in her Birdie days. After saying that, I hoped Bill didn’t think I was too bitchy.
    â€œHave you seen the pool?” It was a charming non sequitur.
    I shook my head and we, two penguins, walked outside. The
deserted pool was oversized, like everything at Caesars (except my new acquaintance), and decorated in a Roman Holiday motif. The fresh November air, dry as vermouth and windy and warm, had the same effect on me as a bushel of raw oysters. I eyed Bill much like a cat does a canary.
    â€œWhere are you from?” we both said at the same time.
    â€œLos Angeles,” we both answered.
    This was an incredible run of luck. Had I not been so interested in continuing my conversation with Bill, I knew I could have run in, plopped a hundred on the roulette wheel, and doubled my bet.
    â€œMy friends are backstage getting her autograph.” Bill said.
    With that, I might as well have been Cinderella—wearing a watch with a dead battery—who hears the village clock strike midnight. Tom! My date-in-name-only. He had paid for the show tickets. Yikes.
    I was glad the pool area was discreetly lit, as I knew my eyes had bugged out. “My…friend is probably looking for me.”
    â€œBoyfriend?” Bill asked.
    I shook my head. He too had mentioned friends. I prayed that was plural.
    â€œBoyfriend?” I queried, holding my breath.
    â€œNo. Let’s go back in.” And there, in the stillness, beside the shimmering pool reflecting faux-ancient columns and pseudo-classical statuary, with the lights of the Strip illuminating the sky above us in a Technicolor rainbow, Bill leaned over to kiss me, and there was nothing faux or pseudo about it. Bingo.
    Okay, so he wasn’t that much shorter than me.
    During the walk back into the casino, my sense of honor attacked me. I had come to Las Vegas with Tom, and even if things hadn’t worked out, manners dictated I should remain with him. I’d been on the receiving end of being dropped more
often than I cared to remember, and it wasn’t a pretty feeling. The polite thing, the honorable thing, would be to get Bill’s number and call him later.
    Or I could tell Tom See ya and drag Bill to the nearest poker table. We’d fit easily under the green tablecloth.
    For years I’d been the good boy with the straight A’s. I was entitled to a little selfishness. And if Bill turned out to be a mass murderer, well, so be it. It wasn’t the first time I’d gambled on romance and come up