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Chelsea White	By : Chris Category: Individual Celebrities > Ewan McGregor Views: 2380 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the celebrity I am writing about. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Here there be some smuttiness...not much, but enjoy.....

CHAPTER THREE

As a rule, he wasn’t very much into clubs. Pubs, bars, holes in the walls that played punk, retro, jazz and the like…..yeah, those he could handle. That was more his speed- a shoebox with a few tables, a bar and maybe an area for the band to play and the crowd to dance. That was all he needed, really. But alas, as they say, the part of the Beach he was nestled in at the moment was far too trendy for his tastes.

Ocean Drive on a weeknight was as bad as a weekend night- you took your chances crossing the road, no matter the time of day or night, and be on the lookout for in-line skaters or skateboarders- they owned the sidewalks at times.

He had only taken two of the hundred dollar bills with him when he went out- no sense in tempting anyone- and put the rest in an envelope. He took it to the front desk and asked them to put it in their safe until the next day. Thus armed, he strolled out of the hotel, armed with his key, photo i.d. and money. He considered himself lucky to find a cab on a Thrusday night, and told the driver to take him to a decent pub. The driver wasn’t sure what this man meant, but when he told him tavern, he gave a knowing nod and took off. He was deposited about ten minutes later in front of The Line Bar, which looked decent enough.

After an hour and two ales, though, he knew that this would not work at all. This was not the pub crowd he usually liked- everyone was too stiff, and the music left a bit to be desired. He had heard mention of a club on Washington that was seven in one called Twist, but aside from the fact that it was a known gay club- a fact that really didn’t bother him one way or another- it was also known to be fairly hardget get into, and he wasn’t exactly looking shaggable at that moment in black jeans, shitkicker boots, glasses and oversized purple pullover, his hair free and loose on his shoulders.

He shrugged to himself and decided to catch the shuttle back down to the heart of South Beach, then walk a coupf blf blocks over to get to the club. At this point, he really had nothing to lose but time.

He got off at 11th Street, right next to a public park, lit a cigarette and started walking east. It was quite a few blocks, but he didn’t even care, since he walked longer blocks than this in the City. It was pretty painless to him. The park, which was on his left side, was typical of hoey ley looked at night- dark, deep and somewhat malevolent. //And too damn quiet,// he added to himself.

He passed a small group of boys, perched on the fences and curbs next to the park, or leaning on parked cars, dressed somewhat casually, but not obviously so. Some sported cutoffs and midriffs, while others wore tight jeans and form fitting shirts. They idly watched him approach and pretended not to notice him, but they all had, and didn’t read him for a cruiser.

No, he wasn’t cruising, but it wasn’t as though he didn’t like what was displayed. They just happened to be in the same direction that he was heading, was all. They were varied- short, tall, Black, Latino, White, European- and that of course piqued his interest tenfold, but he wasn’t quite on the prowl as of yet. There wasn’t enough in his system yet to warrant picking anyone up. But that didn’t stop him from giving them one of his killer smiles and a wink as walked past them.

More than one was tempted to follow him to wherever he was going after that.

He chuckled to himself and continued eastwards. He seemed to be coming to the end of the park by now, the path lighting up ahead of him. He finished his smoke and dropped it, stepping on it as he walked. He reached the corner of Meridian andh, ah, and paused to light another cigarette.

“Bad for ya, they are.”

His head jerked up. Leaning on the lamppost to the right side of him, no more than four feet away, was a young man, slightly shorter than he was, with a shock of dark brown hair spiked up in the front, like he slept on it wrong, skin that looked as though he had gotten just the right bit of sun and dark eyes set under dark brows, wide open and gazing unashamedly at him. His mouth- a nice, somewhat full pout- smiled at him. He wore faded loose blue jeans and faded grey coloured short sleeved cotton shirt, and had a hand tucked into his right back pocket, pulling the jeans down lower on his hip.

Ewan paused. //My God….this kid’s gorgeous,// he thought, pausing in the middle of lighting his smoke. He couldn’t’ve been older than 25, if he was a day. Finally, he said, “Yeah…so I heard.”

A smile- one way tickeicked for the moment. “S’true, mate,” he said. “Wouldn’t steer ya wrong, would I?” The broad accent of the Emerald Isle filtered through his speech. “ ‘Sides….good looking bloke like you doesn’t need to ruin your lungs. Leave that to the homely gits like myself.” He gave a brilliant laugh at that.

//If you’re homely, mate, then I’d love to see what you consider average in your hometown.// “You’re hardly homely, mate.”

He grinned, then pushed off the post. “Flirting, are we?,” he said with a wink.

“Maybe.”

“I normally get paid to flirt.”

Ewan cocked a brow. //This kid’s trade? No way.// “Really.”

“It’ll cost ya a drink.”

“And…?”

“A drink,” he repeated, his hand slipping from his pocket. “I was just fucking with you, mate- I ain’t trade like those nancy boys down the street there.”

//Thank God,// a small part of him thought.

“I wouldn’t take your money. I’d fuck you for free.”
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