Hot Lava by Rob Rosen

Author:Rob Rosen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Gay Romance
Publisher: Torquere Press
Published: 2011-02-09T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

Lawyers Screwed

The shower was great, the cold water like heaven against my steaming skin -- though the oil still lingered. In other words, I felt and smelled like a wet salad. And, to top it all off, we still had to play girly dress-up. Okay, so normally I might not have minded that, but to do so in order to intentionally trick a straight man, well, even that was out of my realm of common decency.

“Yippee,” shouted Brandon from the adjoining room. “Girly dress-up.” See, Brandon has no decency -- common or otherwise.

I put my robe on and joined my three friends, all of us glowing from the oil and stinking just slightly less than before our showers.

“Only for Will’s sake,” I proclaimed, allowing Briana to pick out my short skirt and tight blouse before adding the fake boobs, fake eyelashes, and fake hair.

“Yep, for Will’s sake,” Brandon half-heartedly agreed, diving into the pile of clothes and emerging with the sluttiest outfit he could color coordinate.

Despite his pleading, we put our high-heeled feet down and didn’t allow Koni to join in the festivities. He could come to the bar and order a Coke, but “Madonna” would not be making an appearance. He frowned but, with little choice, soon relented, especially when we told him that he could order anything he wanted off the Hula Grill menu.

In retrospect, we should’ve just let him go in drag; it would’ve been a hell of a lot cheaper.

Within ten minutes we were seated at a balcony table with a spectacular view of the beach down below, at the swaying palm trees, and the sun as it made its gradual descent, turning our al fresco sojourn into a multi-media extravaganza.

The restaurant itself was like a comfortable home that was missing its façade, the main dining room looking more like a beach house than anything else. And, man, the menu looked yu-fucking-um.

Koni, heeding our generous offer, ordered the cold water lobster tail. Brandon groaned, but bit his lip. Briana, our power diva, ordered the baby back barbecue ribs, with Brandon opting for the healthier fire-grilled Ahi steak. My mouth watered at the selection, but each time I tried to order something rich and delicious, my so-called friends reminded me of my tight attire, which would only continue to get tighter the more I ate.

Glumly, I told the waiter, “North Shore vegetable stir fry, please. Made without butter.”

The same so-called friends nodded their heads in agreement with my healthy yet bland choice. I kicked each of them under the table. Accidentally, of course. (And accidentally again when, thirty minutes later, they ordered pineapple coconut crème brulee for three, but urged me to go with the sorbet trio. My dress was happy; I, however, was not. Fuckers.)

And then seven o’clock rolled around. “Show time,” Brandon muttered, paying the bill, his smile vanishing in an instant.

We trudged out, our meals going sour in the pits of our stomachs. Duke’s Bar was just downstairs and noticeably quiet, what with everyone eating dinner and all.

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