The Previous Night…
Ted danced untamed with the lanky redhead to the wild song. Tonight he had gelled and spiked his dark brown hair, and had edged his soft brown eyes with liner. He’d elected to dress himself in worn and snug low-riding jeans, along with a red T-shirt that hugged his lean torso, and had left his underwear at home. Here at the club, he wasn’t Ted Rhoads—he was known simply as Raven.
When the song ended, he wove his way through the thick, rowdy crowd to the bar, where he found an empty stool.
“Another ginger ale, hon?”
“Thanks, Wayne.” Ted smiled at the huge, hairy bartender who called everyone “hon,” then looked around the dance floor, still hoping to locate Caesar, his favorite hookup.
Unable to find the man, Ted sighed, then covered his tab when Wayne returned with
