Roman. A name fit for a conqueror. Andrew remained silent for precious seconds, his lips concealed by his drink as he took in the other manâs appearance in a brazen way â something he had not done often before. Usually, when someone caught his interest, he would occasionally glance their way. See the microexpressions on their face, the way they moved, stood and walked. If their gazes met, he would offer them a polite smile, one that secretly held unspoken promises. It was unlike him to just take in someoneâs physique and presence in such an open way. Maybe it was his surroundings that lifted the veil of inhibition, or perhaps the simple fact that he did not have to continue with that masked dance he had done all his life.
Regardless, he admired the other man. Muscular and with a staggering confidence that would make those with low self-esteem feel incredibly aware of their own body. He sat like a king. Like he owned the place. A shining beacon of masculinity, sensuality and sexuality. A predator amidst gazelles. Waiting for an opportunity that he would not squander in the slightest. The type of man who made Andrewâs heart beat just a little faster. He did like confident men. A nice change from those who knew who he was and would bend backwards to attempt to get his attention. âProbably the same thing that brought you here.â His reply is quick-witted, followed by a smile. They are so close to one another, their gazes taking in each otherâs features as they lean in closer so that they can be heard over the background bass. And he likes the scent of their colognes mixing in the empty space between them. Alluring, no doubt. âI needed a break from everything and a chance to figure some stuff out. Mischief may be included, but it all depends on who Iâd get mischievous with, no?â
Roman let the silence stretch for a moment longer than necessary, letting Andrew take him in â because there was something electrifying about being watched so openly. Most men tried to hide it, swallowing their hunger behind politeness or ego. But Andrew⌠no. He looked at Roman like he was studying a rare, dangerous animal, one he wasnât sure he wanted to pet or provoke. Roman liked that. A lot. He angled his body slightly, shoulders opening, jaw tilting just enough to let Andrew see every bit he was admiring. Confidence wasnât an act for Roman; it lived in his bones, rolled off him like heat. And Andrew? Andrew didnât shrink from it. He met it, matched it, fed it. âA break,â Roman echoed, his voice dipping with a slow, knowing grin. âFunny. I came here looking for the same thing. Seems we both needed to get out of our own heads for a while.â
He leaned in, their knees almost brushing, their breaths folding into each other as the bass vibrated through the padded alcove. âAnd mischiefâŚâ Roman murmured, eyes dropping briefly to Andrewâs mouth before returning to his gaze, âis always about the company.â His smirk sharpened, warm and wicked, like heâd just been handed an invitation wrapped in gold. âYou donât strike me as the type who stumbles into trouble by accident. You choose it. Carefully.â Romanâs fingers brushed the rim of his glass, slow and deliberate, the movement mirroring the pulse of the music. âSo tell me, Andrewââ he leaned closer, voice settling into something intimate and edged with promise, ââwhat kind of trouble are you hoping to find tonight?â

















