Cinderellis: An MM Romance Fairy Tale Retelling (Once Upon a Vegas Night Book 2)

by Evie Drae

  Biting his lip, Ellis darted a glance over his shoulder before sighing and offering a small nod. “Okay.” When a booming voice called Ellis’s name from off in the distance, he cringed and backed toward the sound. “I gotta go.”

  Cinder offered a small wave and a smile. “See ya soon.”

  Ellis paused, then lifted the corner of his lips into a half smile in return. “See you soon.”

  Chapter Seven

  Ellis put away his safety gear with slow, stilted movements. His brain hadn’t stopped churning since his unexpected run-in with Henry.

  He hadn’t meant to ignore him. At least, not at first. But between the demands of his work at the Colosseum and the endless home repair tasks his stepfamily could come up with when they put their minds to it—like tightening the handle on a kitchen cabinet or patching a hole in the wall after Ray threw a full beer bottle at the TV when his team lost a big game—he’d had precious little downtime over the past week. The few times he’d checked his phone and seen Henry’s missed calls and texts, he hadn’t had the energy to respond.

  Then Ray had dropped another bomb. In only a few short years, he’d managed to piss away all the money he’d received from taking out a second mortgage on the house. A second mortgage whose payment came out of Ellis’s pocket right alongside the original sum.

  Pairing Ray’s alcohol abuse issues with a gambling problem meant his lucrative salary rarely stretched far enough to cover his excessive expenses. But when he’d taken out the loan, effectively saddling Ellis against his will with the hefty cost of supporting his addictions, Ray had sworn up and down it would be more than enough to get him out of the hole and keep him there. Unfortunately, he’d miscalculated his own abilities, and already his coffers had run dry.

  There wasn’t enough equity in the house to even consider a third mortgage—thank god—but Ray still expected Ellis to fix the issue. If he didn’t, all the years of forking over damn near every penny he made to protect his home would be for nothing. And if Ray carried through with selling the house as he’d once again threatened to do, Ellis would not only lose that last tangible hold on the ever-fading memories of his mother, but he’d also flush every red cent he’d dumped into the house over the past five years, straight down the drain.

  Then Ray had nailed one final jab by reminding Ellis that the future of his career rested in Ray’s hands. If he lost his job at the Colosseum, something Ray could easily orchestrate despite Ellis’s impeccable reputation with his direct boss and coworkers, no one in the industry would take the risk to hire him on. After all, there had to be something wrong with a twenty-six-year-old who’d stayed in the same entry-level rigging position he’d taken on as a fifteen-year-old high schooler.

  Not to mention the fact that no one would even consider hiring him into any semblance of an audio position with no verifiable proof of his experience. Especially with his less-than-impressive work history.

  It was Ellis’s own damn fault he was in this situation. He’d been so blinded by his aspirations to one day fill his stepfather’s gifted shoes that he’d believed every ounce of bullshit Ray spoon-fed him over the years. And yet, even knowing Ray hadn’t meant most of what he said, a part of Ellis couldn’t shake his underlying hope.

  There was still time for Ray to follow through with his promises, and every time he placed a responsibility on Ellis’s shoulders—to the knowledge of anyone else or not—it brought Ellis that much closer to the future of his dreams.

  Ellis stopped at the restroom to rinse his face and hands, then stuck his whole head under the faucet and let the cold water drench his hair. He let it cool his overheated neck and trickle down his back. He needed a shower, but he couldn’t keep Henry waiting any longer than he already had.

  As much as he wanted to see Henry, Ellis was grateful Henry had only asked for five minutes. His muscles ached, his head hurt, and he had to wake up and do it all over again tomorrow. He planned to apologize for ghosting Henry and promise to make it up to him at a later, hopefully less busy, date. Then Ellis could steal a few private moments under a cleansing spray of water before taking a nosedive into bed and passing the hell out.

  When he arrived outside the dressing room where he’d talked to Henry a few short hours before, Ellis squeezed his hands into fists.

  Nerves had his pulse thrumming at his throat, which was utterly ridiculous. Henry was a musician, used to being on the road with ever-changing scenery and a horde of loyal groupies following him around like puppy dogs. Being stuck in one place likely made him itchy for something different. And what could be more different than striking up a friendship with a Las Vegas local who he believed could show him a good time and introduce him to Sin City’s underbelly?

  Not like Henry would be looking for anything more than that. Especially not from someone like Ellis. If Henry wanted a true friendship—or anything resembling the ridiculous desires swirling around Ellis’s brain like a cruel reminder of what could never be—he could have anyone he wanted. Why would he choose a pain-in-the-ass nobody like Ellis? Someone who, despite his suffocating loneliness, didn’t even have the energy in his overburdened existence to respond to a simple text message?

  Sucking in a bolstering breath, Ellis knocked on the door with enough force to be heard but, hopefully, not loud enough to wake Henry if he’d fallen asleep. No need to add to his PITA status by disturbing Henry’s much-needed rest, after all.

  Within seconds, the door pulled inward and Henry stood on the other side, appearing far too sexy for his own good as he rocked the rumpled and disheveled look from his evening of lounging on the couch. Another reason Ellis couldn’t let this “friendship” go any further—if Henry found out Ellis had the hots for him, things would only get worse.

  “You came.” Henry grinned, then before Ellis could respond, he reached through the doorway, snagged Ellis by the wrist, and tugged him inside. He led him toward the couch after toeing the door closed behind them. “I was beginning to think you were gonna stand me up.”

  Ellis allowed Henry to pull him down to the couch but immediately inched away, far too aware of the sweat and grime from his eighteen-hour day clinging to his skin, only amplified by Henry’s shower-fresh scent.

  “I can’t stay long.” Ellis shied away from Henry’s penetrating gaze, instead letting his eyes fall to his lap.

  “I know.” Henry’s voice was calm but forceful. In control. Somehow, with two innocent words, he managed to send a shiver of uninhibited desire up Ellis’s spine. “I told you I wouldn’t keep you, and I meant it. The show ended five hours ago, and you’re just now getting off, so clearly, you’ve had a long day. I respect that. But I couldn’t let you disappear again without at least getting an answer to something that’s been eating at me all week.”

  When Henry remained silent rather than asking the question he’d hinted at, Ellis risked a glance up and found his gaze on level with Henry’s. He’d pulled his bent knee onto the couch, facing sideways. His elbow rested on the back cushion in a casual lean, his hand dangling dangerously close to Ellis’s bicep. A single brow rose in question, further stoking the desire now simmering in Ellis’s core.

  Clearing his throat, Ellis straightened his shoulders and nodded. “Okay.”

  Henry took his time. His eyes bore into Ellis’s, locking him in place, as he edged ever-so-slightly closer. Near enough to brush the pad of his thumb over the two-day’s growth of stubble on Ellis’s chin, sending his heart rate through the roof.

  Swallowing, Ellis fought to keep his voice steady when he rasped out, “I thought you had a question.”

  A half smile tugged at the corner of Henry’s lips. “I did, and you just answered it.”

  “I did?” Ellis furrowed his brow. Lust clouded his thoughts, but he was still with it enough to know for damn sure Henry hadn’t asked him anything.

  Humming to the affirmative, Henry inched even closer. “I wanted to know if you felt the same way I do. I thought you might, but I needed to be sure
before I decided how to move forward.” His thumb returned to Ellis’s chin, but this time, he traced upward until the calloused skin that went hand-in-hand with years of plucking a naked guitar string brushed the overheated and sensitive flesh of Ellis’s lower lip.

  Ellis clenched his jaw. He had to be misinterpreting the situation. There’s no way he—

  The thought cut abruptly off when Henry replaced the gentle caress of his thumb with the soft sweetness of his lips. A strangled groan escaped Ellis’s throat, and he squeezed his eyes closed, his fingers curling into fists as he fought the urge to reach out and pull Henry against him.

  As quickly as it began, it ended. Henry did little more than brush their lips together before pulling back, yet in the space of that single stolen moment, Ellis lost every ounce of his composure.

  Fluttering his lids open, he furrowed his brow. “I… You didn’t… I mean, I didn’t think…”

  A delighted bubble of laughter filled the air, and Henry’s lips returned—far too briefly—to plant another chaste kiss over Ellis’s. “You didn’t think what? That I was gay? Well, you’re right, I’m not.”

  Ellis shook his head, hoping the physical act would clear some of the fog from his brain. If Henry wasn’t gay—if he wasn’t interested in Ellis in that way—then why had he…?

  “I can literally hear you overthinking.” Henry huffed out a laugh, then knuckled under Ellis’s chin and drew his gaze up to meet his own. “It’s true, I don’t identify as gay, but only because I’m not solely attracted to men. I’m pansexual. It’s who a person is that gets my engine revving, not what body parts they have. And you, Ellis, are exactly my type.”

  A ridiculous flush crept up Ellis’s neck, heating his cheeks until he couldn’t maintain eye contact with Henry any longer. He wasn’t experienced when it came to situations like this. Most of his adult life had been spent in a permanent haze of overworked exhaustion that left little time for socialization.

  The few lovers he’d had were all from the years before he’d turned twenty-one, and none of them had been anything more than experimental curiosities. He’d figured out he was gay after puberty set in and the raging hormones that had his classmates salivating over the girls in their grade turned traitorous in his own body, leaving him squirming and awkward around the wrong sex.

  But his mom—the one person he could’ve talked to about his confusing pubescent realizations without fear of judgment—had passed away before any of that hit. Talking to his stepdad was out of the question. So by the time he’d come to grips with his situation after years of inner turmoil and self-loathing, he hadn’t known where to start. Out of desperation, as a nineteen-year-old virgin, he’d gone to a seedy gay club off the Strip and let some random stranger take him home.

  Unaware of how clueless Ellis really was, the guy had unceremoniously rubbered up, slathered his dick in lube, and bent Ellis over the back of the couch three steps inside his apartment. Ellis had lost his virginity with his pants around his knees and his face shoved into scratchy, cigarette-smoke-saturated fabric. If that didn’t sum up the extent of his “love life”—or lack thereof—Ellis wasn’t sure what could.

  “Okay, well, you held up your end of the bargain. It’s been five minutes, and I got an answer to my burning question.” Henry squeezed Ellis’s knee before standing and reaching out a hand to help Ellis to his feet. “Just one more quick one and I’ll let you go… Do you have a microwave?”

  Ellis drew back his chin. “A microwave? Ah, yeah. I do.”

  “Good.” Henry headed into the kitchenette area and dug into the refrigerator. He resurfaced with a large brown paper bag folded over at the top and nestled in a plastic grocery sack that read Thank You, Have a Nice Day in bright red capital letters with a yellow smiley face tucked between the lines of text. He handed it to Ellis, who accepted the mystery package with a grunt of protest. Henry pointed to the heavy bag, his lips curling into a soft smile. “It’s Italian food. I ordered it for you—well, for us, but I’ve already had my share. Go ahead. Take it. Heat some up and fill your belly before you go to bed, okay?”

  Bemused, Ellis could only nod as he let Henry guide him back to the door without a word of protest. But when Henry placed a hand on the door and dipped his head until their gazes met in order to stop him from mechanically grabbing the handle and exiting the room, Ellis frowned.

  “Hey.” Henry’s own features creased in concern and his hands came up to cup Ellis’s jaw. “Talk to me. Are you okay? Did I cross a boundary here?” When Ellis shook his head but couldn’t muster a verbal response, Henry swore under his breath and dropped his hands. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve asked for your permission before kissing you. I should’ve—”

  “No.” Ellis forced the word past the constriction in his throat, shaking his head to emphasize the point. He swallowed a few times and ran a hand over his face. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Ellis wheezed out a laugh. “I’m a bit rusty in this department. I need some time to process. This”—he gestured awkwardly between himself and Henry—“isn’t what I thought was going to happen tonight.”

  Henry narrowed an eye. “No? What did you think was going to happen?”

  Ellis pressed his lips together and shrugged. “I thought I was going to tell you being friends wasn’t a good idea, walk out that door, and never hear another word from you.”

  Stillness enveloped Henry before he blew out a breath, his shoulders dipping a quarter of an inch. “Is that what you want?”

  Ellis groaned and let his head fall back to stare at the ceiling, as if he could find the right answer printed on the corrugated drop tiles. When the water stains failed to prove helpful, he sighed and returned his gaze to eye level, focusing somewhere in the middle distance over Henry’s shoulder. “No. I mean, yes, it was what I wanted. What I thought was best, at least, but now… I don’t know.”

  “Fair enough.” Henry’s voice was soft and filled with understanding. “I know I’ve already demanded a lot of you today, but I have one more favor to ask, then I’ll let you hit the sack without any more interference.”

  Spearing a hand into his still-damp hair, Ellis grunted his agreement but continued to avoid Henry’s gaze despite the weight of his stare like a physical touch on Ellis’s skin.

  “Sleep on it. On this. On everything.” Henry reached out to tug the door open, then stepped back to give Ellis room to make his exit. “When I text you tomorrow? Promise me you’ll at least respond. I don’t care if you tell me to fuck off, just… say something, okay?”

  Overwhelmed with the sudden need to run, to seek space from the suffocating uncertainty gripping him by the throat, all Ellis could do was nod his assent before bolting to the safety of his room. Once again, in lieu of a shower, he crawled under the covers and hid from an emotional tidal wave brought on by a certain freckle-faced enigma.

  Chapter Eight

  For the tenth time in as many minutes, Cinder checked his cell for both an update on the current time and to be sure he hadn’t missed a call or text from Ellis.

  To his utter astonishment, without having to reach out to him first, Cinder had woken up that morning to a message from Ellis. A literal jaw-dropper of a moment, considering the endless calls and texts he’d sent into the ether never to be returned.

  It had been short and sweet, but the meaning behind the words had Cinder’s face splitting into a wider-than-normal grin, especially considering his precaffeinated state. He’d hopped out of bed like an ejector seat had launched his ass into the air and bolted for the shower.

  As he’d waited for the water to heat in his over-the-top, shampoo-commercial-level-fancy chrome-and-pink-marble rain shower, he’d reread the message with a dopey smirk on his face.

  I’m glad things went your way last night, not mine.

  Before hopping under the spray, Cinder had typed out a quick response of his own.

  Does that mean you’ll let me take you to lunch?

  As he ran a towel through his wet ha
ir twenty minutes later, Ellis’s reply came through.

  I’d like that.

  And now, two hours later, Cinder stood outside the backstage entrance where he’d agreed to meet Ellis. Even though he had a keycard to the locked door, he fought the urge to let himself inside and sweep Ellis into his arms for the no-holds-barred kinda kiss he’d held at bay the night before.

  But it felt like an invasion of privacy, considering Ellis lived here and Cinder was there to pick him up for a date.

  So instead, he kept his antsy nerves under control by checking his phone—again—to confirm it hadn’t passed their agreed upon meeting time. Which it hadn’t. Cinder still had five minutes to wait.

  To pass the time, he practiced the speech he planned to give Ellis over lunch. The groveling, “please don’t hate me for holding back the truth” talk he’d spent the entire morning honing into a carefully crafted mixture of one-part pleading, two-parts apology, and one-part I did it because you’re special, so please don’t read anything nefarious into my actions when all I want is to get to know you better and maybe eventually strip you naked and really get to know you better.

  Although, he planned to read the room before testing the waters with that last part. Ellis had gotten skittish over a simple kiss, so Cinder needed to be sure they were on the same page before he made any further moves that direction.

  The lock clicked and the heavy security door swung open, revealing the very definition of a sight for sore eyes. Cinder tugged down the bill of his pageboy cap to better shade against the harsh Las Vegas sun and drank in the tall glass of cool water dressed in a skin-tight graphic T-shirt, a pair of ass-hugging jeans, and scuffed work boots. Ellis’s blond hair was still damp and combed back, but a few strands had already shaken loose and hung rakishly over his brow.