Toy Boy Read Online Free Page A

alarm bells. His knee had nudged up against mine, and he was looking at my chest. “Please, excuse me.”
    “You are English,” he said. “Tell me where you are from, if not your name.”
    Not a chance . “I’m sorry, but could you move your chair? I’m leaving now.”
    “No.” He shook his head. “You stay, talk to me.” He leaned forward, and his nostrils flared, as though breathing in my perfume. “I want pretty lady to talk to.”
    A wave of panic went through me. He had actually refused to move and let me leave.
    “I like you,” he said, “and I can tell you like me. Maybe we do some little jiggy, jiggy together later.” He rested his hand on my arm and squeezed. “I show you a good time.”
    “I think not,” I said firmly and pulled from his touch. “I—”
    The sound of chair legs scraping on the floor and the bang of my unwelcome visitor’s body slamming into brickwork echoed around the bar.
    I looked up.
    Sullivan loomed next to the table. He had Juan pinned against the wall—one hand gripping his right arm, the other around his neck.
    “What the fuck are you doing, man?” Sullivan shouted.
    “Get…off,” Juan gasped, wriggling.
    “You gotta be kidding me, asshole.” Sullivan pushed into him harder, the muscles of his naked upper torso tensing and swelling.
    Juan grunted and tried to shove at Sullivan.
    I grabbed my wobbling wine glass, stood, then stepped farther into the corner, away from their grappling bodies. My heart was thumping wildly and my mouth was dry.
    The other men in the bar had turned to witness the spectacle.
    “I asked you what the hell you’re doing,” Sullivan said harshly. “Tell me.”
    “What is it…to you?” Juan said, grabbing Sullivan’s forearm with his free hand and attempting to remove the grip on his neck.
    Sullivan didn’t move his arm. Instead, he rammed his knee against Juan’s thigh and clamped him even harder against the wall.
    Juan gritted his teeth and anger shone in his eyes. “Get…off…me.”
    “I’ll let you go if you’re going to get outta here.” Sullivan’s biceps bulged. He was bigger than Juan, and his flawless skin shone, even in the shadows, with a slight film of sweat.
    “No… Argh!” Juan went silent.
    Sullivan appeared to have cut off Juan’s oxygen supply.
    “Sullivan,” I said. “Please, stop.” I didn’t like Juan, but I didn’t want to be the cause of a murder.
    “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, asshole,” Sullivan said, slowly, calmly, like he had all the time in the world. “You’re going to walk outta here, far away, and I’m never going to see you again.”
    Juan had both of his hands clamped around Sullivan’s thick wrist. He appeared to be tugging but with no effect. He nodded, slightly. His cheeks were reddening, and his eyes were so wide I could see all the whites.
    “Good,” Sullivan went on, “because if I do see you again, that beer of yours will be down your throat, and it will still be in the goddamn bottle as I ram it past your tonsils. You hear me?”
    Juan nodded again, as best he could around Sullivan’s death grip.
    Suddenly, Sullivan stepped backward, nudging the table out of the way and putting himself between me and Juan.
    Juan fell forward, latched his hands around his throat and dragged in a deep breath.
    Sullivan was also breathing fast. I could make out his ribs expanding and contracting beneath his skin. His swim shorts had ridden down, exposing the small dimples in his lower back and the first hint of his buttocks where the skin was paler.
    “What is happening?” The barman rushed over, hands up, fingers spread wide. “No fight here.”
    “It’s okay,” Sullivan said. “Your troublemaker is leaving.”
    “Good,” the barman glanced at me. “What happened?”
    “He is crazy American,” Juan said, edging away toward the men playing cards.
    “I only get crazy if you hit on my woman,” Sullivan said.
    His woman?
    Juan glanced at me, then at Sullivan.