Lie With Me (Stonewall Investigations Miami 2)

I waved over the heads of all the dancing people, grabbing his attention. I pointed out toward the patio. He said something to his date, but she didn’t seem to like what he proposed. She shook her head, pouted, and started moving her hips in an even wilder fashion than before.

For a second, I thought she was trying to suck William up into her hoo-hah and never let him go.

He waved me off and went back to focusing on the girl. I shrugged and turned my attention back to Beckham, who was waiting for me by the door to the outside patio, holding it open for me like some kind of prince in a well-fitting black button-up.

Speaking of black, he sure was wearing a lot of it. From head to toe, there was zero color. It looked good on him, almost like he was some kind of secret agent.

“It’s too stuffy in there, ain’t it?”

I nodded, thanking him as I walked past him and into a much less crowded outdoor area, with a large trellis covered in ivy and brightened by rows and rows of small white lights. There were a few raised tables that were already claimed by chatting groups of friends, but there was an open spot on the far end of the patio, next to an impressively realistic stone statue of a lion, its jaw gaping and a fountain running down from it into a vase underneath.

“Cheers,” I said, lifting my glass, looking up into the eyes owned by a man straight out of my gayest dreams.

“Cheers.”

I almost melted. What was it about the chill attitude and the slanted smile that was making me feel all kinds of fuzzy in the head?

And of course, there was the fact that he was packing major heat down between those thick thighs. I had felt it firsthand against me at the bar, and let me just tell you, I was still shaking. I wasn’t really expecting to get down and dirty tonight, but Beckham made me want to toss all care to the wind.

“So, where are you from, Jamison?”

Ugh. That name. I winced internally. “I’m from America.” I paused, wondering if he knew any states. I’d been in Europe for a week and a half, and I learned pretty quickly that saying I’m from America was a lot simpler than saying I was from Fort Lauderdale, Florida.

“What part?”

“Florida.”

His eyes went wide for a moment. “What part of Florida?”

“Uhm, well I’m going to school in Fort Lauderdale, but most of my family lives down in Miami.”

“You’re taking the piss.”

“Taking the huh?”

Beckham tilted his head. I wondered what his lips tasted like. Probably like heaven and sex and magical cotton candy. “You’re joking. Miami? That’s where I live.”

“No kidding!” I shook my head, sipping more of the drink. “What a small world. What are you doing out here?”

“Ah, got some family things to handle.”

I nodded, feeling like that was all I would get on the topic.

“And you?” he asked.

“I’m, uh…” I wanted to impress him. I really, really did. The last thing I wanted to say was that I was still a student, this Eurotrip of mine celebrating the fact that I only had one year of vet school left. Beckham was older—I could tell in the way he carried himself, in the sexy silver of his hair and the wisdom in his eyes. I felt myself suddenly becoming self-conscious of my age and inexperience. “I’m… an exotic-animal vet, actually.” Not that far off from the truth…. right? “The London Zoo asked me to come and treat one of their Bengals.”

Okay, that was waaaay far off from the truth. Then again, he thought my real name was Jamison, sooo what damage was I really doing? As badly as I felt myself wanting to see Beckham for longer than one night, I knew that one night was the only thing in the cards for us. So what if we lived in the same state? So did twenty-one million other people.

What were the chances I’d see this handsome European Prince Charming ever again?

“Bengal tigers,” I clarified, as if he wouldn’t know.

“I know.”

See, there you go.

He looked me up and down, almost like he was scanning me. I narrowed my eyes when our gazes locked. “What?” I took a sip of my drink, sucking through the straw.

“Nothing. I’m just impressed, is all.” He grinned. “I didn’t know I’d meet a tiger whisperer tonight.”

“What do you do?” I didn’t want to stay too long on my tiger-wrangling ways. It was already starting to gnaw at me like a Bengal would on a big, juicy thigh bone. I began feeling guilty.

“I don’t save endangered species, unfortunately. I’m a—”

“Ugh, I’m sorry.” I couldn’t. Something about Beckham was making me feel bad about lying to him. Even if this was just a one-night thing, I didn’t want to feel like some kind of pathological liar. “I’m not actually a vet. Well, not yet. I wanted to impress you, annnnd I went a tad too far. I’m actually about to start my last year of vet school. You just have this look, this stare. I don’t know. It makes me want to simultaneously lie my ass off and also tell you my deepest, darkest, most juiciest secrets.”