Episode One Damon Suede No alarm. No movement

Episode One
Damon Suede
No alarm. No movement. Nothing to mark his first day in a new town.
Quinn opened one eye to blinding light. Somehow it was morning already. Shit. First day in Boxer
Falls and he was already late. He'd been expected at his new job at the tavern a half hour ago.
Hopefully employers were laid back round these parts. Hell, he was a bartender not a brain surgeon.
They'd deal.
Quinn had overslept. The big snoring body next to him in bed felt too good. The other man's coffee
skin contrasted sharply with Quinn's bone white legs.
Rick? Nick? What was the guy’s name? Vic. Victor.
Vic dozed on like a big, satisfied grizzly stretched from the headboard all the way to the foot of the
mattress. Big son of a bitch, he was. African-American, but sometimes he almost looked Cuban. The
sheets were streaked with lube and the sheriff had some beautiful stripes on his butt from the
spanking. Quinn knew what he was doing there.
In the dark he hadn't noticed the contrast, but in the morning light, Quinn's pallor and hairlessness
made him feel extra naked.
The clock said it was after nine so he was already late for the Bear & Bones breakfast customers, and
gonna be later still. Maybe he could lie and claim he's thought they meant nine tonight. Nah. Late
was better than lying right out of the gate.
Not a second to spare, Quinn rolled to his feet and trotted to the shower. At the sink, he scrubbed his
teeth on a washcloth and took a swig of Listerine to kill his morning breath. He'd have to buy a
toothbrush in town once he'd met his boss and moved into his new digs. The old couple that owned
the tavern wouldn’t be there till Monday. Dot Boxer had loved his red hair. Her husband Ira had
taken to his filthy jokes instantly. Still, no point in screwing this up for himself the first day.
Apparently he would be working with the cook, but it was strictly mom and pop this place. The
Boxers hired local help as they needed it but they needed Quinn to pick up the slack. He could do this
shit in his sleep and a good thing, because it would take him an hour and a few cups of coffee before
he was really on his game. No big: tending bar, and maybe waiting some tables during the day when
it was slow.
The water in the shower felt hot and good. Quinn cracked his neck and let the spray pound his scalp
while he scoured Ivory over his pale skin. As he washed his pubes Quinn winced; his rosy cock was
literally sore. Luckily, he had a long-sleeved shirt for work in his backpack. He had pink patches
where Vic's rough beard and chest hair had rubbed him hard. He smiled at those.
Quinn had never fucked a cop before. He'd have to do that again. And Vic had been very agreeable in
the end. The guy was a big slab of meat, scruffy beard and medium brown skin but his balls were
nearly black. Cock like a club. At the rest stop where they'd met, they'd fooled around a little at the
urinals. Nothing special really, until Quinn had gotten a little nasty and pushed the big bastard to his
knees.
Sproing! Once Vic's knees hit the ground, he had perked up big time, his dark shaft like iron and his
hot eyes on the floor.
Welcome to Boxer Falls.
Quinn had crawled the brawny cop right out to the car, which is when he'd found out he'd bagged the
local sheriff. A badge who wanted to be spanked and roped. Shit yeah. Filthy bastard. Kinky as hell.
Without saying anything, Quinn had cuffed him and put him in the backseat of the car and driven
them back to the address on the sheriff's license and fucked him right on the porch, loud as hell.
Then walked him inside the house for some spanking and rope play. Vic had very sensitive nipples
and got more interesting the more immobilized he was.
Quinn had taken full advantage of an excellent situation. Hell, when the big cop had turned up at the
rest stop and pinned Quinn with a penal-system glare, the place had cleared right out. Quinn
expected to spend the night in custody…right up until Vic had closed the door with his back and
started milking his fat black hog.
Officer Sexpig reporting for duty, sir.
Instead they'd actually had a groovy night acting like degenerate sleazebags with each other. Seemed
like the sheriff had a thing for coppertops, and he'd gone nuts sucking on Quinn's fair skin. Howdee.This town was looking better all the time. The Berkshires were closeted, but obviously dudes in
Boxer Falls had found the knob.
Quinn made it out of the shower in under six minutes and climbed into his clothes lickety-split. He
patted Vic's big leg and scribbled a note for the nightstand with his cell and a thanks. Vic muttered
something friendly but slept on. He sure was a sturdy son of a bitch. Jesus.
Eight minutes gone. Downstairs, he headed straight past the living room, grabbed his backpack and
snowboard in the front hall and closed the door behind him carefully. No need to wake the local fuzz
before he'd made a clean getaway. Better to keep things friendly and informal. Maybe they'd hook up
again, but no way did he want a big scene with awkward questions and fake interest. They'd had a
swell time, but Quinn had drinks to sling and boys to bag. He loved the notion of knocking a burly
cop down a peg or two as a hobby, but until he'd figured out the lay of the land he'd play it cool.
Trees!
Out on the shaded street, Quinn tried to get his bearings. On the phone, Dot and Ira had told him the
Bear & Bones was in the center of town, a couple blocks south of the lake but he'd gotten here in the
dark, so he had no goddamn idea where Vic lived. The sheriff's house seemed nice enough, but it was
not in the center of things. A fuckload of pine trees. Needles underfoot muffled the sounds. The air
smelled like Christmas and wet stone. And the road hooked around the base of Lenox Peak and the
lakeshore towards the little town’s main drag. He turned towards the sun-ish, walking in the empty
road.
The GPS on his cellphone told him he was less than a mile from his new job, so he headed east and
north towards his new life, following Hammer Drive along the water. A few more houses as he went,
but everyone seemed to be sleeping in. Or maybe these were vacation homes. The morning looked
crisp in the January light, but less cold than he'd expected. Still, he was thankful for this parka. That
was the great thing about boarding gear: it packed easy and worked anywhere. A couple cars passed,
but nobody slowed. Hitchhiking wasn't normal around here. Good to know.
The lake was pale silver under the foggy morning. Pretty town. Yards well-kept and a lot of Victorian
architecture that hadn't been pimped too much. This town had started to pick up a reputation with
gay travelers as something a little stylish and hidden, and still small enough that the straights and
the crooks hadn't fucked it up yet. The locals were lucky the train was a couple towns over.
Quinn's breath smoked in front of him. His board bounced on his back and the gentle scrape of his
boots was the only sound he could hear, really. Beautiful place. Good for the winter at least, though
the water was probably sweet when things heated up. Close to the art festivals in Tanglewood so
there’d be good music and cool people to bone.
He hoped the cook at the tavern wasn't a pain in the ass. Adam Parish his name was. The Boxers had
said he was twenty and talented, which could go either way at that age. Quinn figured he'd either
have a stick up his ass or want Quinn to put one there.
Of course, it wasn't until Quinn got to Cherry Street and turned towards the Bear & Bones that he
remembered he'd forgotten to unlock Vic's handcuffs.
Welcome to Boxer Falls.
********
Where was the new bartender?
Adam got to his kitchen later than he should have. It was already nine when he got to the Bear and
Bones, which was opening for a Saturday morning. His breakfasts had built Dot and Ira’s little dining
room a reputation. Some weekends he found tourists waiting.
This Saturday morning, luck was with him. No customers. And locals wouldn’t show for an hour yet.
And that Quinn guy had flaked.
Great.
At least Adam wouldn’t get busted, which meant Zach might be in the clear as well. Adam had about
fifteen minutes to do an hour of prep. He started cracking a couple dozen eggs into the big mixing
bowl and whisked them roughly.
He'd gone out drinking with Zach at the Falls: a bottle of Jack and a joint or two. They'd snuck out to
Whispering Ridge on the Cotten Estate where Waterfall plunged right towards the lake. Perfect view.
Perfect night.
Zach had broken up with Mr. Wrong Again. The sixth “serious” guy this year. At least this douche
had only lasted a couple months: married, four kids, and cheating on all of them with Zach. Real
prize. All fall, Zach had been sneaking off to fuck this guy in barns and hunting racks all over town.
Sure the sex was good and the texting almost made it seem like a real relationship, but Zach had felt
like shit the whole time and Adam had made sure of it.
What's new?
Pausing at the burners, he dropped a cube of butter in a fresh pan letting it liquefy while he worked.
Adam kept trying to get Zach to focus on settling down, on landing a real job that would let him save
money. They could go to Boston together, maybe. But they needed to save enough. Zach was
nineteen, Adam only a year older, but way more realistic. Plenty of times since graduation, Zach told
him to go on his own, to blaze the trail, that he'd follow Adam when he'd gotten his shit together.
Fat chance. Instead Zach spent all his time chasing losers in this dead end town, and apologizing
without understanding what he was sorry for.
Adam scowled at the ingredients on his counter: red, green, pale orange.
Now that the holidays were over, the vacationers headed back to Boston and New York.
Adam knew better. He'd overslept and it was his fucking fault. He needed the cash and Dot and Ira
did as well. Townies came in for late breakfast year-round and daytrippers headed up Lenox Peak for
rock-climbing stopped here to fuel up. The Bear & Bones breakfasts were legendary.
If the Boxers knew he'd been out with their grandson till all hours they'd dock him a half-day. Zach
had enough problems finding steady work locally without getting a reputation as a drunk and a
stoner.
Adam had plenty of options and Zach had none.
In the past six months three restaurants in Boston had come to make offers. With his culinary
experience he should be cooking for dignitaries, not running a Tavern in the backwoods Berkshires.
Not Zach: He had barely finished high school. He had never held a steady job. Most of his money
came from hauling shit for his two dads at the B&B across the street. All he had was that hot bod and
a crooked smile and Adam's dumb heart.
Glancing at the clock, his hands whipped through the mise en place, blocking out the salmon, slicing
scallions and tomatoes. He was gonna make it. The Boxers would never know. Last night but Zach
had needed him badly, and that trumped everything else.
Truth was, Adam didn't even like getting trashed, but anything with Zach always sounded good. Ever
since they'd been in grade school. And when it got cold, out on the lake, and they were smushed
together leg to leg watching the water foam and churn, chatting and laughing, the whiskey buzz was
just about heaven.
Best friends.
Zach had the worst taste in guys. Seriously terrible. And that was some consolation. If he didn't want
Adam it meant that Adam probably deserved him, because none of the other shitbags deserved him.
Ow! Shit!
He'd nicked his hand. Not deep, but blood welled in the wound. Another scar. He was so fucking pale
and skinny but he had these scarred hands like a sailor. The blood rain down his finger and pooled in
the palm of his hand. On autopilot, Adam rinsed it, grabbed a towel and applied pressure. He fished
out a bandage from the kit and kicked himself again for giving in so easily last night. Zach always
partied too much and Adam always tagged along against his better judgment.
What was Adam supposed to do? That moon had been so huge over the lake when they locked up the
Bear & Bones and before Adam could get in his car and sack out, Zach had wandered over from his
family's B&B looking like a sexy hoodlum. Zach wagged the whiskey at him and whispered an
invitation. Adam literally could not make the word "no" reach his lips.
The lake had been worth it. Adam had broached the subject of Boston again and Zach had made a lot
of the right noises: he'd shape up, he'd save money, he'd stop following his dick around. Just the two
of them, like that, had made anything seem possible.
He and Zach hadn't made it back to Adam's house until nearly 4 a.m, so drunk they were driving
fifteen miles an hour back towards town. Thank Christ the sheriff hadn't been monitoring any of his
usual traps or they'd have spent the night in a cell drying out while the deputy on duty grumbled and
farted.
Of course, at four a.m. no way they could sneak into the B&B without waking up Zach's dads. So
Adam had taken Zach home, tossed him on the bed without undressing him (thank you very much)
and slept on the couch. The last thing he needed was to molest his best friend while they were both
fucking impaired.
****
Knock-knock-knock.
Someone was at the tavern’s front door,. That Quinn guy must’ve have finally gotten his ass in gear,
or maybe a customer. The kitchen looked pretty organized. Enough of the prep was finished to cover
his ass. Adam looked to the clock again. Three minutes past, but no one would ever know he'd been
late. He wiped his hands on a towel, tossed it over his shoulder, and walked out into the Bear &
Bone’s little dining room. What asshole had raced to get here this bright'n'early in January?
Zach? How had he gotten here so fast? Adam squinted, trying to make the face out. It looked like
him. Longish hair, windblown and tangled. Tanned face. Cheeks ruddy and his eyes glittering as
Adam walked towards him. No. The hair was blond, wavier, and expensively styled to look
accidental. He just had Zach on his mind. He laughed and waved as he threaded through the dark
bar. Besides, this guy was way too tall, more his height than Zach's.
Fuck.
Rider Cotten. Conrad's younger son and a snaky bastard by anyone's scorecard. Rider had an even
worse reputation than Zach around town and he actually deserved his. Zach had no safety net and
Rider spent half his life buying his way out of trouble in cash.
Adam stopped in front of the door, squinting into the glare.
Outside, Rider raised his voice to be heard through the door. "G'morning." A lazy smile crept over his
face.
Adam nodded and wished to Christ he had taken Zach home at midnight as he'd meant to.
"You open?" Rider managed to sound polite and pornographic on the other side of the pane. He
hadn't even parked his Alfa Romeo Spider, just pulled up on the sidewalk. Tickets be damned,
pedestrians fuck off.
Adam unbolted and unlocked the door, tugging it open.
"I'm starving." Without waiting, Rider took a step into the Tavern, right into Adam.
Adam stepped back and forced a smile onto his face. "Rider."
"And you look fucking great. Hi.” Rider scratched his head and grinned, turning on the full wattage.
"Adam, right? I swear you get hotter every fucking year, kid. What are you still doing in this dump?"
"Are you wanting breakfast this morning? Or just coffee?"
The coffee shop didn't open till a (more human) ten am, even in season, but locals knew that the Bear
& Bones opened at nine like clockwork.
But Rider stepped around him and plopped his ass at a two-top. "You're late opening."
How did this jackass know? "You just got here."
"Nah. I came by at nine but the place was shut up tighter than a bookkeeper's asshole."
Shit. "You should've knocked."
"I did. A bunch of times. You late getting in this morning?" Rider probably just wanted to be friendly.
"I must not have heard." Adam's stomach tightened.
Rider winked and slouched back in the chair, pushing his basket forward. "And it's just you, I guess.
Well…you and me." Rider looked the room over, the scuffed paneling and the tacky signs, probably
finding every fault and failure of taste. He plopped down in a chair, his thighs spread, his pants
tight...dressing left and not hiding that fact.
If Zach's grandparents found out he had skipped work, that he was asleep upstairs instead of doing
repairs or hustling hikers for a tour, they’d fire Adam for good. Grandson or no grandson. Adam
barely saw him as it was.
Rider winked. "Hey kiddo. Your secret's safe with me." He smelled like cucumbers, fresh and sweet.
Adam stepped back towards the kitchen, not masking his irritation.
"No secret. And I'm not a fucking kid, Rider." Up close, he looked nothing like Zach. I can't believe I
mistook him at the door.
"It was a compliment. You're in sick shape." The younger Cotten hunched his hips again, pushing the
bulge forward an inch. He wasn’t wearing underwear.
Adam looked away, stared toward the door.
"I thought cooks were s'posed to be pigs but you look like, I dunno, hot jailbait."
Adam froze. "Fuck off. I'm only a couple years younger.”
“I was joking. Jeez.”
“What are you: a kiddie diddler?"
Rider's eyes widened and he waved the suggestion away. "Peace! Peace. Okay." He rolled his eyes and
grimaced in annoyance. "Giving you a compliment. My bad."
Adam grabbed the leash of his anger and tugged it back behind the fence. "Skip it."
At that exact moment, a tap at the front door announced Zach's presence. He was dressed but his feet
were bare. He had to be freezing, but he didn't seem it. "Hey. Adam? Walking home to take shit from
my dads. I just wanted to say thanks for last night." He looked handsome and hopeful.
Rider chuckled, which made Zach step inside.
"I didn't know you were busy." Zach flicked his gaze between them, probably misreading the
situation.
As usual.
"I'm not." Adam glared at Rider, daring him to open his goddamned mouth. "The new bartender is
late. Quinn. He was supposed to be here before opening."
"Fuck." Rider sat forward and checked Zach out head to toe. "We could be brothers. Look at that."
His eyes took in the tangled hair, the full lower lip, and the square features.
Zach looked confused and shifted his weight.
Adam was seeing exactly what he was. Holy hell.
"Uhh. Hardly. You're one of the Cottens. I've heard about you plenty. You must be the badass." Zach
noticed him there and offered a handshake by way of greeting. He was flirting with this douchebag.
"Zach Boxer. I live across the—"
"I heard of you." Some thought dawned on Rider and he turned to Adam, grinning. "This is who you
thought—"
"Shut it," Adam spanned. He could see where this was headed. Last thing Zach needed was another
vicious asshole to distract him. But Rider only had eyes for him. Zach had already been forgotten and
hopefully Zach's creep detector hadn't gotten him interested.
Nope.
Luckily, Zach had leapt to the wrong conclusion as usual. He raised his eyebrows and grinned at
Adam knowingly. "I should let you get back to breakfast." He glanced between Adam and Rider, like
he was mapping an imaginary cobweb between them.
Idiot.
Zach gave a little wave and went to the door. "Your new bartender a redhead?"
Adam shrugged. "No idea."
Zach pointed up the block. "Well…Here comes the cavalry." He winked goodbye and padded back
across the street on his bare feet.
"I get it." Rider's voice made Adam turn. “You two are friends.”
What had he seen? "Breakfast. What can I get for you?"
Rider opened his mouth.
"—From the kitchen, jackass." Adam wiped his hands roughly on his apron and crossed his arms.
"I know. Okay, Shit."
Stop it.
The Bear & Bones needed the business. The Cottens had that new resort opening up and they could
steer thousands of dollars in business this way. Or not. He made himself smile like a mannequin.
Rider acted like an adult. "I was gonna ask if you could do an egg white omelet and whatever juice is
fresh. And that can be to go. I'm not in a hurry or anything." He ran a hand into his hair and looked
up at Adam, looking thoughtful. "I didn't mean anything."
"And you don't." Adam nodded. "Gimme a few minutes." He pushed back into the kitchen and
prayed that Rider wouldn't take too much of an interest in either of them. Last thing they needed was
another thing between them and the goddamn exit.
In the dining room, Rider was muttering to himself. "Shit. First day and you fuck it up. Open mouth,
insert foot." He sighed and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling beams.
"Welcome to Boxer Falls."
****
With the resort's grand opening six weeks away, Conrad couldn't afford the half hour he'd stolen to
come out here to the fishing cabin in the middle of the day. His divorce was final; the papers on his
desk seemed like a relief and an accusation at the same time. She had taken less than she should
have, and with no one steering the course of his life, at 52 years of age, Conrad was finally free to live
and love where he pleased.
Wasted time.
Two days later, he’d moved his whole life to the Berkshires, to the family’s country house, with big
plans for it. He had loved this little town since he was a boy. To him, Boxer Falls meant holidays and
no pressure and stolen fun. His parents had been kind and patient here. He’d been happy out on the
lake.
Trip had left word for him last night. A few words on a card in with the mail. He must have driven
out from Boston. Since he'd lost his job, his time was wide open. Must be nice, to be young and
unshackled.
A risk worth taking.
Conrad looked at his watch, weighing the danger. He had to meet with his architect, a catering
company and eyeball the furniture deliveries that had been coming in all week. He'd spared no
expense on converting Whispering Ridge from a vacation estate to a luxury inn. They were on
schedule for the Valentine’s opening. His sons were out of the way for the morning. Oz had
scheduled a test of the hot water tanks with the contractors. Getting the kinks out. Most likely Rider
was impregnating one of the maids or sending nude photographs of himself to the local rag.
Still, for this half an hour Conrad was happy to belong to someone else.
As he left his office in the main house, he saw Tony moving the spruce away from the back terrace
and Oz arguing with the plumbers in the driveway. At this distance, his older son looked exactly as he
had at 29, ash blond hair, heavy muscle, unclouded brow: a handsome scion with worlds to conquer.
Shit. Conrad headed around the west garden. Last thing he needed was Oz catching sight of him in
this state. Or spotting Trip Whitlock anywhere on their property.
At the back of the house sat a small dock with a launch; about 40 yards out on the water sat a small
island with a small fishing cabin, and a big temptation. A perfect place to make promises. With
practiced stealth Conrad piloted a small boat across the glassy water in silence. How many times had
he snuck out here to meet Grady when they were still in school? How many times had they planned
their amazing life until Grady betrayed him? Fifty? A hundred?
Maybe Trip can help me forget that.
The inside of the cabin was dim, lights off, curtains drawn, but the door was wide open. Conrad’s
heartbeat knocked between irritation and anticipation.
Bastard.
"Mr. Cotten." His voice was a polished baritone like a young senator.
Conrad turned. "Don't call me that, Trip. I already feel like a pervert."
"You are a pervert. I used to be a clean cut, god-fearing republican before you seduced me." Trip
looked the part certainly. A twelve hundred dollar suit and loafers from London.
Conrad felt so old in front this sleek man, keenly aware of his own silver hair and white beard. "I
seduced you?"
"Well…until I seduced you then. I keep forgetting which it was." Trip stepped into the light from the
window. His close-shorn head and big doe eyes shone like poison. "Rotten memory." He grinned and
stood his ground.
Across the water Conrad could hear the big mower as the workmen readied the grounds for the
landscapers. He had so much to do, but he couldn't make himself go do it. "Did you drive all the way
from Boston?" Conrad tried to keep his voice level as Trip licked his lower lip in the half-light.
Trip took off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair." I'm in the Berkshires this summer."
There was no tie, but with easy grace, he unbuttoned his shirt so it hung open, exposing his lean
torso, the crisp T of hair there. His nipples stood stiff in the chilly air. He paused, as if waiting for
Conrad to do something.
Right.
"I'm almost 20 years older than you." Trip and Oz had known each other in Boarding school and
later in Boston. "You went to school with my son. Your whole life is—"
"Twenty-two." Watching Conrad's mouth, Trip unbuttoned his cuffs. Every move seemed calculated
for maximum impact. "And I think it bothers you. Hot and bothers you. Gets you worked up in the
worst way. Sir."
So wrong.
For half a moment, Conrad considered leaving, walking away before this got worse and something
permanent happened to destroy his family. Oz and Rider never needed to know. This was just sex
and Trip had no proof that they'd been intimate.
Does he?
"I'm a grown man. I know what I want." Trip stepped close, knocking his hip against Conrad's. His
voice was melted sugar. "I know what you want too."
"Christ." Conrad took a shuddering breath, but his cock shifted in his shorts under Trip's fingers.
"I don't want to make trouble." Trip's wide grey eyes managed to look wounded at the idea.
Yes you do. But so do I.
“Too late.”
I’ve only got the afternoon. No one needs to know.” Trip shrugged. “Unless you want me to stay.”
Conrad shook his head but he didn't look away from the lips. "I'm going to find a way to explain to Oz
and then maybe this won't seem so terrible. Maybe I won't feel like an ogre."
"You're not. I've wanted you since college." Trip fumbled with his buckle, popped his trousers open.
Conrad snorted. "Bullshit."
Trip had been impossible when he and Oz had been at Duke. Conrad had sent legions of lawyers and
letters of apology to bail them out of all kinds of dumbass scrapes. True, it was usually Oz who got
caught, but Trip had been the instigator. His nature. His family didn't have the same kind of
resources and he had a habit of cutting corners.
Conrad knew all about that.
Trip knocked the jacket to the floor and tugged the tie down so he could unbutton Conrad's shirt,
headed south with his hands. "I used to jerk off when you'd visit our dorm. The first time I stayed in
your house I spied on you fucking your wife—"
"Impossible." But secretly Conrad hoped it was true cause it made him feel about twenty years
younger. His cock was iron. Filthy fucker. "You had all those boyfriends in college, frat parties, and I
was an old man."
"Not old." Trip kissed his mouth, punctuating his words: "Strong. Smart. Strict."
Conrad stiffened under those soft lips. "If you call me Daddy, then I definitely have work to—"
Another kiss, coaxing this time. Trip touched Conrad's boner through his briefs, traced it.
"No. Not like that. I jerked off in your closet. I whacked it with your moisturizer while you fucked
her, rinsed off, and then fucked her again." Trip rubbed their erections together through their
underwear. “I could see your crack and your big balls bouncing.”
Conrad swallowed before he could find his voice. "Well even if that's a lie, it's a good one."
Trip didn’t smile. “Why would I lie? Then he laughed. “Actually why would you believe me?”
A match made in hell.
With a groan Conrad grasped the back of the cropped head and pulled their mouths together,
sucking and chewing at the sweet mouth.
"Soft. God." Trip rubbed against his beard, tugging their shirts up to press their bellies together. He
reached into Conrad's shorts, fishing for his boner. "Will you take me? Will you take me?"
"I'll take you right now." This is awful. He's ruining me. But Conrad knew what was coming; he had
already flirted with the idea of asking.
"As your date." Trip closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead against Conrad's beard. "Sir."
Cutting corners again.
Conrad knew what Trip wanted, and they both knew that he wouldn't say no. "To the opening?" He'd
have to come clean. He'd have to tell Oz. He'd have to admit what they did together, and then the
entire town would know. Even Grady…all these long years later. With his husband and his kid and
his rickety life. He'd know.
Welcome to Boxer Falls.
Trip knelt and kissed his way across Conrad's chest and belly, his dark crewcut against the grey fur.
Conrad closed his eyes and focused on the lips dragging over his hot skin.
Conrad wondered if he cared about Trip or if their appetites had dragged them together. Love? Lust?
Did it matter in the end, to either of them? At his age, he knew better than to bet on long shots. Trip
could have what he wanted and damn the consequences. Conrad could settle for scratched itches and
a little control over the rest of his life.
He stroked Trip's head. "Your father and mother will know then. Everyone will. Do you understand?"
Conrad had ruined the Whitlocks, though knowing Trip, maybe that was part of the attraction. “If we
come clean.”
“Clean. Dirty. Whatever you want.” Trip stood against him full length, then turned slowly, bumping
him from shoulder to knees. He bent over the desk. "Mmmph. I don't care about that."
Conrad took a step back.
If Trip used him to cut some corners, maybe Conrad could do the same. Thirty years since he walked
away, Grady Boxer would look at him with this stud beside him and regret. Grady would regret the
future he'd thrown away before their lives had started. Grady watching Trip pressed against him in
front of 300 guests.
Conrad liked the idea of showing up at the Valentine's launch with a stud on his arm. Romance and
revenge. Shame the naysayers and make it clear that he was out, proud, and getting exactly what he
wanted.
Trip arched his back and grunted, stretching across the desktop and holding his cheeks wide with his
hands. His pants and then boxers fell to his knees and the cool curve of his muscular backside and
the base of a glass plug were exposed to the half-light and Conrad's stare. "Hurry, sir. We don't have
much time."
Unashamed, Trip turned his head and pushed the plug out, letting it fall right to the floor.
Thunk.
"Is that all?" Conrad stuck two ungentle fingers right into the heat of him and pulled them out just as
quickly. Trip had greased himself like a goddamned whore. "Is that what you want? You're certain?"
But is this his fantasy or mine? I can't tell.
"The opening." Trips face was turned on the table, turned towards the main house, towards Conrad's
staff and his sons, but his eyes were closed like he was dreaming behind dark lashes. His pulse
knocked under his jaw and he licked his lips, impatient. "I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of hiding.
Aren't you?"
"Look at you like that." Conrad rolled the condom onto his dick and tucked his hips close. He set his
damp knob here like a bulb in a socket. No prep. No stretch. Trip liked the burn. "My opening."
"Don't you want me there? Mr. Cotten." Trip raised up to press his back to the silver hair on Conrad's
chest.
"God help me." Growling, Conrad just rammed his cock into the willing flesh, cradling his son's old
roommate from behind, hard muscle under his rough hands.
Trip opened his mouth wide and sucked air into his lungs. He closed his grey eyes. He swallowed.
"Will you let me come with you?"
Conrad kissed the smooth turned face and hissed in his warm ear. "If you ask nicely."
Episode 2
Ellis Carrington
Tony almost didn't believe the guy bent over the open toilet seat getting his ass pounded was Mark.
Supposedly, Mark hated to get fucked. Except there he was, face-planted against a filthy tank, getting
plowed by a skinny punk with curly brown hair.
Begging for the dude's dick like it could cure cancer or something.
No question it was Mark's ass because of that big, stupid, Boston University logo tattooed on the
right cheek. Tony watched the thing disappear and reappear for a few enthusiastic thrusts before he
closed the door. If he stayed with it open for too long there would be an audience.
Then again, the two guys grunting away in the stall might not care, seeing as how they'd been too
eager about getting down to business to lock the door behind them. So into each other, they hadn't
noticed Tony standing back there. Maybe they wanted people to watch. Some guys were into that.
Tony wrinkled his nose. Wasn't anybody into romance anymore?
He scratched at the achy spot on his chest. An enthusiastic "Oh yeah, twist the shit out of those
nipples!" rang out from the stall. Well, this explained how it was the sex had seemed sort of bland
and vanilla between him and Mark. Sure didn't explain why.
How was Tony in his thirties and still unable to manage a successful long-term relationship?
His palms slapped hard against the black painted bathroom door. He crossed the less-crowded
perimeter of Danzare's dance floor and headed for the bar, adjusting himself in his Diesels as he
threaded through the crowd. His heart slammed against his sternum in time to the heavy bass of a
Rihanna remix.
Okay so it had been kind of hot, watching those two go at it like rutting animals. Fact remained, Tony
had just gotten dicked over. Besides, hard enough to hammer nails and mad enough to punch
someone in the face was a bad combo any day of the week.
Tony pulled up to the bar. "Shot of Patron." The blond hottie threw a wink when he passed it over.
A lean body edged next to him. "Rough night?"
Tony threw back the shot and signaled the cute bartender for another. He licked what was left of it
off his lips. He wasn't really in the mood for talking. "Makes you say that?"
"Shooting tequila rapid fire like that's never a sign of something good."
Damn, that stuff was smooth. Tony slammed the glass on the bar and turned, appraising the lean
body pressed against him. Nice looking kid. Tousled hair, scruffy face. Winning smile.
Emphasis on "kid."
Tony motioned to the bartender again. "Oh yeah, and how would you know?" The problem with this
place on Saturday nights was they lowered the age limit to eighteen. Tony wiggled his finger between
the guy's wrist and a paper neon bracelet. "According to this thing, you're not even old enough to
drink."
The guy hiked a shoulder up to his ear. "Life experience. I'm Zach, by the way." He tugged on Tony's
arm. "You dance?"
Yeah, he danced. He leaned back on a tiny retro stool that barely held one of his butt cheeks and
checked out the flirty, way-too-young-for-him kid with the promising grin and sparkling eyes. The
first couple of shots of Patron were settling in and he was almost fuzzy enough not to care.
Almost. "I think you're a little young for me."
Zach leaned in. "I don't." He flagged down the bartender. "Red Bull. And another shot for my friend."
Tony laughed. No denying he liked that kind of aggressiveness. He hardly tasted his last shot.
By the time they got to the dance floor and Zach's hips were grinding against his, with the haze of
laser light flashing around them, the age difference didn't bother him so much. They were almost the
same height, and Zach's green eyes shone brightly under the pulsing illumination.
"Hey's that your boyfriend?" Tony nodded to a surly-looking skinny kid leaning against a support
post over Zach's shoulder.
"Huh?" Zach turned. "Oh." He waved at the guy, who pushed away from the post and disappeared,
but not before shooting daggers at Tony with his eyes. Yeesh. "Nah, that's my best friend. Just
looking out for me. I have a bad habit of dating married guys. You married?" Zach's warm fingers
threaded through Tony's to bring them up to the light. "Guess not. No ring," Zach said.
Kid flashed another killer grin.
Tony shook his head. He wanted to kiss this guy. Zach's breath smelled of whiskey, which was always
a weird turn-on for him. He really dug the smell and the taste of liquor on a man. His tongue slid
along Zach's lower lip, and shit, Tony fell right into that kiss.
The first time kissing someone could be awkward. Noses bumping. Teeth clanking too hard. Rhythm
not quite right. But this guy... Their tongues slid together effortlessly. Turned out Zach was a biter,
and Tony gasped and ground hard against the young man when teeth gently caught his lips and
tongue. Their jean-covered erections rubbed and caught and rubbed some more. Their nipples were
hard enough to be felt through the fabric of their shirts. All of it plus Tony's tequila buzz had him
enjoying a head to toe body tingle.
He slid an arm around Zach's shoulders. "You've been drinking," Tony murmured in his ear.
"Pregamed a little out back earlier."
"Huh." Tony grabbed a firm handful of under-twenty-one ass. "Anything else you'd be interested in
doing out back?"
Zach laughed and took Tony's hand.
Tony's cock throbbed in time to that cool rap part of "Stereo Hearts" as he tripped off the edge of the
raised floor and followed Zach outside. Hopefully the cold night air would sober him up.
Once outside, the guy pushed Tony to the wall and dropped to his knees immediately. Shit, nothing
like a man looking up at you like that, eager to make you feel good.
"Fuck, Zach." Tony had a split second of panic. It was Zach, right? He shouldn't have said that. But
there was no protest while the young man made short work of his fly and mouthed him through his
boxer briefs. Yeah, it was Zach.
Good.
A scorching tongue trailed over his erection. Tony hissed and shivered when the saliva cooled
immediately in the night air. Then there was a warm, wet, mouth milking him with perfect suction.
Hell. Yes. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the cold brick behind him. Everything spun a
little.
Definitely shouldn't have had that last shot.
Zach's teeth grazed over Tony's shaft, and then more sucking. A little tugging on his balls. "Yeah, that
feels good." He thrust his hands into the mussed brown hair, pulling gently.
Zach didn't seem to mind. In fact, he moaned around Tony's dick and sucked harder. Fuck yeah.
Hadn't ever been this good, getting blown by Mark. Some guys though just drooling on your dick a
little was good enough.
He was dimly aware of the creak of the rear door and a scrape of gravel. He wasn't so sure that he
cared. A hand generously coated in slobber was wrapped around his shaft and Zack here had
mastered the art of sliding his tongue up and down while sucking at the same time.
Life experience is right.
They found a rhythm with each other, Tony pulled back when Zach did, then Tony pushed gently into
Zach's mouth when Zach slid forward. There was an occasional scrape of teeth, but it only enhanced
the intensity. Tony came hard with a loud groan. He gripped Zach's shoulders, whose throat
squeezed around him when he shot.
"Mmph."
"Sorry."
Tony shivered again. Shit, it was cold out here. A drip came down from the building's overhang. And
it had rained recently. Now he felt like an asshole. He helped Zach up, and tasted cum mixed with
whisky and the tartness of Red Bull this time when they kissed.
"S'ok."
He spat in his hand and spun Zach toward the wall to give a friendly assist while the guy jerked off.
Tony's hands wandered under the guy's shirt, tracing over ropey ab muscles and teasing his nips a
little. Finally, he snaked a hand down in-between Zach's cheeks and fingered his hole, gently pressing
at his back door.
"Ung. Shit."
That did it.
The club exit opened and slowly swung closed again. Maybe someone just went out the wrong door.
Maybe Mark had been looking for Tony and realized he'd moved on. A little tit-for-tat would serve
the bastard right.
They were headed inside when they heard the scream.
Phil's leaving again.
Grady Boxer dropped the ABA Journal in his lap and took off his reading glasses. His head rested
against the stack of pillows behind him and his gaze followed his husband as he pulled jeans on over
thick thighs. A thermal and flannel were next, covering finely-honed sinew that came from
contracting work and hard time at the gym. He loved the way Phil's back muscles rippled when he
reached over his head to put his shirt on.
But Phil still hadn't spoken by the time he sat on the bench at the foot of their bed to lace up his
boots. Was he going to just walk out the door without saying a word? "Where you off to?"
Phil flicked his gaze over his shoulder. "I'm sure you noticed there was some freezing rain earlier.
Might be more of it later on. Gonna take the truck out and help salt the roads."
Grady pressed his lips together. "Swear to God, Phil, if 'salt the roads' is some euphemism for going
out and diddling twinks--"
"Hey!" Phil stalked over to the side of the bed.
Pissed? Good. Grady was pissed too. Peace would've been kept by not bringing up his husband's past
infidelities, but forgiving wasn't the same as forgetting now was it? And hell, maybe 'forgiving' was
too strong a word, here.
The mattress on their king-sized sleigh bed dented under Phil's weight. "I said I'm going out to salt
the roads, I meant I'm going out to salt the roads."
Grady rubbed a hand over his eye. "Come on, you can understand why I'm..."
"Either you trust me or you don't, Grady." Irritation laced Phil's voice.
Grady slammed the magazine on his leg. "Stop interrupting me," he said through gritted teeth. "And
you can't deny past behavior."
Phil's nostril's flared. "I'm not the one who's got an old lover in town."
Stick, meet dead horse.
They could go in circles for the next decade over this. "Wish you'd stop that. I chose you over him.
Look."Grady inched down on the bed. He slid his hand under his husband's sleeve and rubbed at the
coarse hairs on Phil's forearm. "We haven't even had sex in days."
Phil leaned away. "You're hurt, Grady."
Yeah. He'd pulled a muscle in his back moving furniture in one of the bedrooms. Damn their son
Zach for not being around to help out when they had guests arriving and a broken china cabinet to
replace.
He tightened his hand around Phil's arm. "Hey. I know the Horizontal Mambo's out, but there are
other options. We could jerk each other off, or you could fuck my face. You could rub off on me or
something." He slid his palm over his husband's stomach, down to his thigh, and caressed the bulge
at his crotch. "Come on. Gotta come up with some alternatives for when we get old and start falling
apart, right?"
Phil laughed and leaned in to kiss him, but even as he did, Grady's hand was pushed away. "Low
tonight is eight degrees, honey. That shit that fell earlier is gonna freeze. Zach and his friends are out
dancing. You want them driving on dangerous roads later?"
"Hmm." Grady pulled back and crossed his arms over his chest. He studied Phil's face as he rose
from the bed and headed for the door. "Yeah. Well. Be safe out there." Thanks to the codeine he'd
taken earlier, he was just tired enough not to argue further. But thirty years together told Grady that
something was off.
Maybe Phil was bullshitting him. Maybe they were bullshitting each other.
Phil stopped at the door. "You okay? Need anything before I go?"
Grady shook his head. "Thanks for asking, though."
He waited until he heard Phil's truck down the drive before he picked up his phone to dial...
"Well, you've gone and gotten yourself good and fucked now, Vic."
Victor Neale twisted on the cum-streaked, lube-soaked bed. The cuffs were cutting into his wrist, but
he'd long ago passed kind of having to piss and kind of starving. After spending all day laying on the
bed and kicking himself in the ass for his own stupidity, he was ready to chew off his own arm or
explode. Hell, he wasn't even above giving himself a golden shower anymore except for this mattress
of his was fairly new.
Be good if he could at least reach his pants, wouldn't it?
The hookup had been fun. Hot young redhead from the rest stop, pushing him around like that?
Knew just how to give Vic what he needed. Always a crapshoot though, giving up the cuffs. Vic
shoulda known better. Hell, he did know better. He'd just let his hard-on lead the way was all.
Why do you always do this, Vic? Fucked if he knew. Childhood of abuse, and yet he got off on being
roughed up to this day. A million times it had occurred to him he ought to seek professional help
about that shit, but when it came down to brass tacks, that'd be a cold day in Hell.
He shook his head at his own stupidity. "You've been toeing line pretty well man. Getting sloppy
lately. You like it here in this quiet town, remember? You get out of this without losing your badge,
how about you work harder to remember that, right?"
Right.
Shit he really needed to piss. He swung his leg over to the particleboard computer desk that sat along
the far wall from his bed. If he stretched far enough he could just...get..."Shit." His foot scraped
across the sharp desk corner. Hopefully he could clean up the resulting gash himself. No way he
wanted to explain how he'd gotten cut his foot trying to get out of his own bracelets.
Be a good reminder of his screw-up.
Another kick at the desk and he managed to knock over a cup of pencils and pens, but stretching far
enough to kick the desk that hard made something in his wrist pop. Good times. "S'whatcha get, Vic."
At least he'd locked up his duty weapon in the car.
Someone banged on the front door. Vic wasn't scheduled to be on duty tonight, thank fuck. It was
impossible to see the front door from where he was. No lights were on except one in the bathroom
that his visiting redhead friend had left on that morning, and his cruiser was in the garage. Hopefully
whoever it was would take the hint and go the hell home.
"Hell. Fucking. Yes. Come to papa." Vick nudged the now empty cup with his toe until he could grab
it with his hand. Bingo.
He was letting loose the most euphoric stream of his life when the latch jiggled on his back patio's
sliding door. What the fuck? That lock had needed fixing for awhile now. Vic hadn't made it a top
priority. After all, who would bust into the local Sheriff's house?
Oswald Cotten pushed his way through the vertical blinds. Well, there was Vic's answer. "Sheriff
Neale. I...tried knocking on the front door."
Hard to get all nasty and alpha on a guy when you're handcuffed, sans-pants, and busy draining the
lizard. Vic shook off and set the cup on the desk as covertly as possible. Pain shot through his arm
when he tried to take a step forward, and failed. "Oswald Cotten. What are you doing in my house?"
Oswald blinked and his Adam's apple bobbed. Dark blond hair was wet and slicked back He started
forward, and then stopped when he got around to the side of the bed. Probably about the point he
realized Vic wasn't wearing a single stitch of clothing. He cleared his throat. "You look like you could
use some help. Got keys for those?"
Now, Victor hadn't had particularly good dealings with anyone in the Cotten family thus far. That
Rider kid was an extra special pain in the ass. Didn't sit well, owing this one a favor. Not when Vic
just caught the man sneaking into his home. Still, he was starving. Things were starting to hurt, and
not in the fun-and-games kind of way. Vic jerked his chin. "Top drawer of that desk. I can't reach
from here."
Thank God he'd moved his Colt magazine stash to the high shelf up above. Long as Oswald didn't get
too curious he'd be in the clear. Right? Vic's pulse kicked up. He rarely had company-hopefully
nothing weird was in that drawer.
"Sheriff, most folks call me Oz."Oswald unzipped his jacket and planted his feet, body facing Vic,
head turned to look around.
Vic's shoulder was aching so he sat on the bed, and had an almost eye-level view of an impressive set
of jean-clad cock and balls. A gray thermal shirt stretched across what promised to be a fine set of
pecs. Vic would bet those arms and thighs were even better.
Nnngh.
But Conrad Cotten's elder son didn't play that way. From what Vic had seen in fact, Oswald-Oz-was
pretty appalled at his father's brand new out and proud behavior around town.
And anyway, at the moment Vic had bigger fish to fry.
Starting with getting some pants on. And if he ever got his hands on the little pissant that left him
cuffed to the bed, he was going to kill him. Then he was going to bring him back to life so he could
kill him again.
"You know, Sheriff, maybe you ought to consider moving the desk farther up the wall just in case this
ever happens again." One ashy eyebrow quirked as he came over with the key. Guy's eyes were blue.
Intensely blue. Even in the dim light Vic could tell the color.
"Covers a vent if I move it closer." Vic's body got even hotter and tighter. Shit, Vic. He was making a
joke to lighten the world's most awkward situation and you just admitted that you'd actually given
thought to the matter. Nice one.
Oz rocked back on his heels, his face now a sober mask. "Here, let me help you." Waterproof
timberland boots clunked heavily in Vic's hardwood as the man stepped around toward where Vic
was cuffed.
"I can undo my own cuffs," Victor growled.
"Let a woman use these things on me once. It's harder when the locks are facing this direction. Let
me just..."
"Cotten." This dicklick had listening problems. Hot embarrassment boiled into hotter anger. "I'm the
sheriff. I can unlock my own goddamned..."
Vic's hand came loose. He grunted and pulled away, ignoring the creak and groan of his joints and
the pins and needles in his fingers. His back stayed turned toward Oz so he could pull on his
discarded patrol pants and get situated.
Fucking French fly. He hated the fucking things. He hated getting a lecture from someone probably
almost a decade younger than he was. Hated that the bastard was right. Hated that he had to
manhandle his dick into submission because the thing was responding to Oswald Cotten's blue eyes
and low voice.
"You never did answer my question. Wanna explain to me what you're doing in my home, Oz?"
By the time Vic turned back around Oz had zipped his coat and was tugging down the hem as he
sidled back toward the sliding door that led to Vic's deck.
"Right. I have reason to believe an old school buddy of mine, Trip Whitlock is in town. He's got a
problem...well a vendetta against my family and uhh...I'm thinking he might do something. Try and
sabotage our new resort. We have the safety of an awful lot of tourists to worry about."
"Any proof?" Vic rubbed his wrists. "Has he made threats? Unless he's violated the law, Mr. Cotten,
not much I can do."
"Hmm. You're..." Oz licked his lips. He nodded toward Vic's red wrist. "Welcome, by the way.
Sheriff."
Vic held back a growl. "I do appreciate your help, Oz." He extended his achy right hand. It wasn't
clear what this guy's angle was. Oz's story didn't quite explain why he'd come in the back door after
Vic hadn't answered. Still, it would behoove him to keep things civil under the circumstances. "And
you can call me Victor. Vic."
Oz's blue-eyed stare held Vic's in the dim light. When their hands clasped, creamy light skin against
darker brown, Vic was taken aback by Oz flipping of his palm. "Just keep an eye out if you could I'd
appreciate it."
One long, pale finger traced slowly over the red marks on Victor's wrists for a moment, but then just
like that the man dropped Victor's hand like a hot potato. I'll see you around, Sheriff."
What the fuh? Vic stepped forward just as the oldest Cotten son turned toward the door. Was he
insane, or was that the hard ridge of an erection that rubbed his leg when Oz brushed past him?
He hardly heard the sliding door slam shut over his deafening thoughts and the pounding rain
outside. No question, he was going to have to keep an eye on Oz Cotten.
Episode 3
Poppy Dennison
A beam of sunlight broke through the curtains covering Grady’s bedroom window and landed across
his face. He winced, tempted to throw the covers over his head and pretend his life wasn’t spiraling
out of control. The gulf between him and Phil grew wider with each passing day. Grady reached over
and ran his hand over the pillow indention where Phil slept.
No surprise that Phil had left already. Grady didn’t even remember him getting home last night after
he’d gone out to salt the roads. Money was so tight for them right now that Phil took any and every
side job he found. His absence caused Grady’s insecurities to rear their ugly head.
Add to that the stress of Zach’s drifting existence, and Grady knew something needed to give, and
soon. Their son lacked any drive or ambition. The harder they pushed, the further he aimlessly
floated from one job or relationship to the next. Zach’s case worker had warned them about issues
like these when they’d adopted him. Grady had hoped that the example he and Phil set would be
enough to overcome Zach’s tumultuous childhood.
A quiet snick and slap sounded from the foyer: if it was late enough for the mail to come, Grady really
needed to get himself moving. He tossed back the white down comforter and climbed wearily out of
bed. His back ached. Grady reached for the prescription pain killers before pausing. Maybe he could
tough it out. The orange bottle of pills called to him for a long moment. Grady turned away from it,
and the fog it would bring.
No guests at the B&B meant that he could stumble into the main house in his flannel pants and robe.
A Christmas gift from Zach, the set reinforced his notion that the once far away thought of being old
had finally caught up with him. A few years ago, he wouldn’t have been caught dead in navy and
green plaid pajamas.
He stooped to gather the mail and the pull from his strained back had him throwing out an arm to
help himself stand up again. “Oh, my sciatica,” he mumbled to himself. With a quiet chuckle, Grady
carried the mail into the kitchen and dropped it on the counter. First coffee, and then he’d deal with
the bills.
The almost empty K-cup carousel mocked him. Grady spun it and stared at the last two offerings:
Dark Magic or Hazelnut Decaf. Dark Magic it was. He popped the cup into the brewer and added
coffee to the grocery list stuck on the fridge. Phil would be irritated if he came home to find his coffee
gone.
When the Keurig finished its sputtering brew, Grady snagged his cup and took a long drink. Damn,
this was strong. It would wake him up though, and maybe help get the rest of the painkillers he’d
taken last night for his back out of his system.
He gave the mail a quick sort. Bill, bill, bill…hmm. Gorgeous white envelope with embossed
lettering.Whispering Ridge Grady eyed the return address for a long moment before opening the
envelope. Conrad had sent him an invitation to the grand opening of his new resort. Grady checked
the front of the invitation again. Mr. Grady Boxer. Not Grady Boxer and guest. Just him. Phil would
be livid.
A sharp knock came from the front door. Grady hurried as fast as his aching back would let him to
get it open. He locked eyes with the man standing on his front porch. Speak of the devil.
“I got your message,” Conrad said.
“My mess…” Oh hell. Grady vaguely remembered calling after Phil left for work last night. What he
couldn’t remember was exactly what he’d said when Conrad’s voicemail had picked up.
“Must we do this on the porch?” Conrad’s voice sent a dark thrill down Grady’s spine. Deep, smooth,
and cultured. Grady remembered the sound of that husky voice whispering in his ear. That was
before his flannel days.
He fought his embarrassment and pulled the door open. He quickly adjusted his robe, wishing he’d
taken the time to get dressed. He felt vulnerable enough around Conrad without standing there in his
old man pajamas.
Grady shuffled into the sitting room with Conrad following. Conrad looked around, his cool blue
stare not giving away a hint of his thoughts. Grady tried to see the décor from Conrad’s viewpoint.
Exposed beams in polished dark wood lined the ceiling. A newly refurbished fireplace flanked by
bookcases covered the far wall. Comfortable furniture, patterned rug. Everything in its place.
With a pleased sigh that at least his home was up to snuff, he scooped up Tock, one of their huge
Maine Coons, from his curled up position in a club chair. His back twinged at the weight. Dammit.
He couldn’t even lift their cat now?
Conrad settled in the chair opposite. Grady admired his perfectly put together clothes. Light khaki
pants, crisp white button down, and a sinfully dark leather jacket. Grady knew that jacket probably
cost more than his monthly mortgage and tried to hold back the bite of resentment.
If only. But no, he’d made his bed and now he had to lie in it. He couldn’t help but sometimes wish
he could be lying in it with Conrad.
Conrad smirked, seeming to read Grady’s thoughts as well as he always had. “So, you miss me.” He
crossed his legs, propping his left ankle on his right knee.
Grady’s gaze zeroed in on the peak of the triangle the position formed, caught on the forbidden bulge
at the apex of his thighs.
He forced his eyes up, over the stomach and chest he’d once worshipped. Was Conrad still as
muscular as he’d been back then? Had his chest hair lightened to the salt and pepper of his full
beard? God, Grady wanted to know. He shivered. Everything laid bare in front of this man he’d once
loved to distraction. “I do.”
Dice. Chop. Mince. Repeat.
Disaster. That’s the only word Adam could play over and over in his mind. Zach had blown his new
Mr. Wrong the night before at the club, while Adam had gone home alone. Again.
The night had faded fast after some twink let out a bloodcurdling scream when he found his big bear
of a man flirting with some other guy. Must be nice to have options.
Of course, the evening’s drama didn’t stop his best friend from calling him at one in the morning to
extol the virtues of the newest man of his dreams. Jesus H.
He gave the sizzling sausage a vicious stab and flipped it over in the skillet. Now he had to deal with
Mr. I-Think-My-Shit-Don’t-Stink new bartender. Dot Boxer would never have allowed him to get
away with showing up late to work. And on his first day? His ass would have been canned so fast his
head would still be spinning. But this joker just sidled right in and charmed everyone within spitting
distance.
The low rumble of masculine laughter drifted in from the dining room. Adam scowled and stabbed
the meat again, imagining a certain red-head under the tines of his fork. His phone trilled out the
latest annoying ringtone Zach insisted he have, and Adam prepared to answer with some scathing
retort. Until he saw who was calling. “Hello.” He hoped his voice didn’t give away his frantic
emotions.
“You sound surprised to hear from me.”
Surprised? No, not really. Terrified? Yeah, closer.
“No, sir.”
“Now, Adam. I thought we’d gotten past this ‘sir’ business.”
Shit. He was bungling this all over the place. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. But you can make it up to me by being available tomorrow.”
“To-tomorrow?”
“Yes. Make what arrangements you need to. I’ll be in town early afternoon.”
Shit. He was supposed to work tomorrow. “I’ll do my best.”
“I knew I could count on you. And Adam?”
“Yes?”
“I’m not prepared to take no for an answer this time.”
***
Oz rushed back into the office and plunked down behind his desk. Stacks of files and papers greeted
him, giving him a moment of regret for taking his unscheduled morning outing. As he fired up his
laptop, he gave them a quick flip through to see what needed to be handled first. The whirring of the
hard drive as it spun seemed loud in the quiet of the office. He sat back in his chair while he waited
for it to finish booting up. The text just seemed to blur into long black lines, and he didn’t even notice
the login window had popped up on the computer screen.
His thoughts strayed back to his earlier visit to the sheriff’s home. He decided dropping by Vic’s
house would suit this informal request better than visiting him at the station, where he could be
observed by anyone in Boxer Falls. He’d learned within his first few weeks in town that gossip spread
through the little hamlet like wildfire through a tinderbox. Last thing he needed was for the entire
town to know he was asking for help with a private, family matter.
He needed someone to keep an eye on Trip. Oz knew his old college rival was up to no good. He
hated owing anyone. Especially elected officials. He’d played that game too often for it to sit well with
him, but he’d decided to suck it up and ask for help for the sake of his future. Instead, he’d found the
sheriff, trussed up and obviously balls-deep in his own embarrassing predicament. It made it easier
for him to stomach needing a favor. And given the sheriff’s proclivities, well, that may just give Oz
the ace he needed up his sleeve.
He hadn’t meant to break in; he just wanted to take a look around, maybe find something that he
could use to ease into conversation with the man. Some common ground. When his knocking went
unanswered, he made his way to the back of the house. The shades were drawn, so he couldn’t see in,
but the glass door slid open when he tried it. He took a tentative step inside, and that’s when he was
given the leverage he needed. He was too savvy a business man to not slip this bargaining chip into
his pocket for later.
A sheriff with secrets could easily be bought off. Oz knew Trip would pull out all the stops to recruit
anyone he needed to gain the upper hand, using whatever means he had at his disposal. He realized
he had to beat Trip to the punch, even up the ante a little to keep the advantage in whatever game his
rival was playing here. He added a note to his mental to-do list to check out Victor’s past, just in case
he needed a little extra encouragement for the sheriff to do his dirty work.
Oz closed his eyes, and a picture of Vic floated across the insides of his eyelids.
Naked, with polished steel cuffs contrasting against his dark skin, while his cock played peekaboo
with the mouth of the cup it was stuffed into. He shuddered and locked those errant thoughts away.
He should be horrified, wanted to be disgusted, but something in him couldn’t fight the burst of
arousal he’d gotten from the sight. He gave himself a whole body shakedown then leaned over his
desk to focus on the tasks ahead of him.
He signed the most important of the papers in the stack and shoved them into his outbox for his
assistant to deal with. His father had hightailed it out of here earlier like his ass was on fire. For all
Oz knew, it was. Ever since Conrad had “come out”, his commitment to the family and their business
had been superficial, at best. Oz huffed out a bitter laugh. At least Rider got it honest: both his father
and his brother thought with the brain in their pants.
Conrad certainly seemed to be making up for lost time. Oz knew he was up to something, could see it
in his father’s face, but he hadn’t been able to figure it out. Yet. His earlier misadventure with the
sheriff hadn’t given Oz the reassurance he was hoping for. He needed someone to keep an eye out for
whatever plan was incubating in Trip’s one-track mind, and to help minimize the damage Conrad’s
raging libido could do to the family. The sheriff was a logical means to that end, given his job was to
keep the peace in their town.
With the grand opening of Whispering Ridge only weeks away, Oz needed to focus his attention on
making the resort a success. Someone had to pick up the slack from Conrad’s distraction. That meant
Oz was putting in extra hours to keep everything running and didn’t have time to clean up after his
trouble-prone family.
He shifted his attention back to the work on his desk. Conrad left the interviewing of the new
masseuse for the spa in his hands when he’d run out for his mysterious meeting earlier. He probably
had an appointment to get his dick serviced. Must be nice to have your needs met by something other
than your own fist.
He moved the folder with the application and resume to the top of the pile and set the rest of the files
aside. Yoshi Pollack. Interesting name. It sounded somehow familiar. His phone rang before he could
read any further to find out if he knew the applicant. He answered it absentmindedly. “Yes?”
“Mr. Conrad, your appointment is here.”
“Send him up.”
Oz quickly scanned the resume. His eyebrow quirked in confusion. This guy was completely
overqualified for a massage therapist position in their spa. He wondered what they could possibly
offer someone who obviously had better options available to him. Why would someone want to take
this much of a step down? He was so lost in thought, he jumped when he heard someone clear their
throat.
“Mr. Cotten?”
Oz did a double-take at the man standing at the door. Black hair, deep brown eyes, and almond
colored skin revealed his Asian descent. Oz met the man’s eyes with a slight smile. “Please, come in.”
“I’m sorry to startle you. I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear. Yoshi Pollack.” Yoshi said as he
crossed the room in long, confident strides. He stuck out his hand in greeting and returned Oz’s
smile. That’s when it hit him.
“Yo-yo?” he asked, not able to keep the surprise from his voice. No wonder the name was familiar.
Yoshi chuckled. “No one’s called me that since Exeter.”
Oz laughed and circled the desk. He gave Yoshi a quick hug, one of those chest bump pat on the back
kind that he’d always found annoying, before pulling back and eyeing his brother’s high school friend
again. “What are you doing here? I thought you were off to med school.”
“I am. Well, I was. I’m taking the semester off. Heard you guys were up here, and thought I’d hang
out for a while. Saw the job opening and thought ‘what the hell’.”
Something in Yoshi’s words didn’t ring true. With Conrad and Rider as practice, Oz had a nose for
picking up on subtle lies and half truths. Maybe he’d found the help he needed after all. With the
right motivation, Oz could get Yoshi to feed him information on the rest of the Cotten men. Yoshi
used to blush and stammer whenever Oz made an appearance. Oz pulled his lip between his teeth
and eyed Yoshi up and down, hoping that unspoken attraction was still there. He’d use all the cards
in his hand to keep Trip from winning this game.
Oz turned on his charm, and there it was. A subtle change washed over Yoshi under Oz’s assessing
stare. Yoshi’s cheeks flushed as heat began to spread its way up from the open collar at his neck and
over his face. Oz smiled, knowing his little gamble had just paid off. “No shame in taking a break. In
fact, why don’t we take one now? I haven’t eaten. Would you like to head up to my suite for a bite of
lunch? We can...catch up.”
Phil pulled up to the curb in front of his house and grabbed a couple of the bags sitting on the front
seat of his truck. A silver Mercedes sat in his usual spot, hopefully an unexpected guest for the B&B.
Money was always tight for them this time of year. Grady hadn’t had any big cases in a while and the
construction business fizzled to small time repairs this time of year.
Glad he’d stopped to pick up some coffee and pastries as a surprise, Phil carried his purchases
around to the back door. He let himself into the kitchen and piled the bags onto the counter.
The stack of bills caught his eye, as did the fancy invitation laying there. Someone must be getting
married or something. Phil scooped up the card and scowled. Picking up the accompanying envelope,
he stared in frustration. Of course. Only Grady had been invited to the party. Fuck that. Where Grady
went, so did Phil. He’d won that fight years before and would be damned before he let that asshole
Conrad take away the life he’d built.
He heard the rumble of voices from the front of the house and pasted on a fake smile. No need to
have this out with Grady in front of a paying customer. Phil recognized Conrad’s voice and stopped.
“So you miss me.”
And then Grady’s damning reply. “I do.”
Episode 4
Andrea Speed
Quinn knew his obsessive cleaning was probably a manifestation of guilt, but that didn’t stop him
from doing it.
What a way to win friends and influence people in a new town, huh? Be late for your job. Adam, the
cook, was still clearly pissed at him, almost a week later, but he’d walked into some kind of scene
today, and his anger was diluted. Adam was cute. So was the guy who was taking up the lion’s share
of his annoyance, Rider. Adam had been busy when Rider had first showed up, but when he saw him,
the temperature in the room seemed to drop about twenty degrees. Whatever he was selling, Adam
was having none of it. But Quinn tagged Rider right away as one of those pretty boys who knew they
were pretty, and expected the world to worship at their dick. Generally they were terrible lays,
because they figured their being hot was enough. Rider cast interested glances at him, and Quinn’s
refusal to bite made him that much more intrigued, which was actually fine with him - had to keep
options open. Besides, the guy just gave off an aura of money, and you didn’t last long anywhere if
you pissed off the money guys. Best just to play hard to get for now, and worry about Rider later. As
it was, once he got his breakfast, he was out of there.
Quinn had just finished his third obsessive wipe down of the cherry wood bar when Mrs. Boxer
showed up. Even though he was still kind of pissed off at him, Adam hadn’t ratted him out for being
late. Why not? He filed it away as a point in Adam’s favor. Besides being a hot piece of ass, which was
just another check in the bonus column.
But unlike Rider, who looked like the type of guy who might fuck a hole in a barn door, Adam wasn’t
giving off a single signal. Maybe it was just that he was distracted, but he got the feeling it wasn’t just
work that was distracting him, and it wasn’t just ‘cause they weren’t that busy today. Okay, that
helped. But no one should curse that much under their breath while making lunch. Woke up on the
wrong side of the bed today? Or maybe that was the problem. Unlike Quinn, he didn’t wake up in
anyone’s bed. Poor kid. A guy that hot should have someone, even if it was just a fuck buddy.
The Bear and Bones was kind of funky. The bar’s layout and predominance of warm earth tones
made him think of that pub in Shaun of the Dead, only with more light and no ancient rifle hanging
up behind the bar. It struck him as mildly depressing at first, but as the day wore on and sunlight
poured in through the windows, Quinn thought the place had a boho chic kind of shabby charm. He
held out hope that meant hipsters would come in here to drink ironically - guys in faux homeless
drag or girls in suicide fairy glaze - but so far his only customers had been a couple of older townies
whose faces sported the gin blossoms of the career drinker. Disappointing. The couple of times he
saw Adam out of the kitchen, he tried to engage in some meaningful eye contact, but he barely even
glanced in his direction.
Quinn had given up on having any fun around here and was just counting the hours until he could go
when he suddenly heard someone say, “You’re new here.”
He looked down to the far end of the bar, where a gorgeous hunk of man meat had settled onto a
stool. He was young, maybe kind of near Quinn’s age or not too much older, with neat brown hair,
dark bedroom eyes, and a stain of brown stubble colored his jaw line and cheeks. Quinn felt an
almost overwhelming urge to lick it. “Just got into town,” Quinn agreed, sauntering over towards
him. He was wearing a worn navy muscle shirt that showed off how toned his arms were, and a small
tattoo of a heart in flames on his left shoulder. “What can I get you, cowboy?”
He smirked at the name, and said, “Just a light beer. Technically I’m still on the clock.”
“Oh. Playing hooky?” Quinn asked, as he pulled a beer from the cooler.
“More like taking a break,” the hottie said. After a brief pause, he said, “The name’s Tony.”
“Quinn,” he replied, popping off the cap and putting the beer in front of him. “So what do you do
around here, Tony?”
He took a pull from the beer before answering, but his eyes never left Quinn’s. “I’m a handyman up
at Whispering Ridge.”
“I didn’t think it was open yet.”
Tony grimaced in a humorous manner that made him look totally adorable. He had to know that too,
the fucker. “We have to get everything ready for the grand opening, so I’ve been putting out minor
fires. Figuratively.”
“Oh damn. I was hoping you were a hot firefighter. I love me a guy who knows how to work a pole.”
Quinn gave him a sly smile, and Tony returned it. If sexual chemistry was combustible, this entire
bar would be burning down.
Finally, Tony looked down at his beer, color rising up his neck. Was he actually blushing? How
adorable. Quinn wanted to ride him like the carousel horse in front of the Wal-Mart. “So, um, have
you been around Boxer Falls yet? Seen the sights?”
“There are things to see? I thought you all just looked out at the water and whittled on the back porch
until Maw called you in for supper.”
That made Tony chuckle. “We’re not that bad. Where you from?”
“Jersey, technically. But I say Boston now ‘cause I don’t want to be associated with those Jersey
Shore douche-nozzles.”
“I hear that.” After a moment where he pretended to be coy - Tony was seemingly the type of guy who
was used to being asked, not the kind doing the asking - he said, “I could, y’know, show you around.
If you’re interested.”
Show him between his sheets, more like. But Quinn was so not adverse to that idea. “Yeah, I’m
interested. I get off work at midnight. Wanna pick me up?”
Tony half smiled, almost as if put off by his aggressiveness. But he must have decided it didn’t bother
him that much. “Sure. But most of the stuff around here is better seen in daylight.”
“So I guess we’ll have to go out some other time, huh?” Quinn rested his elbows on the bar and gave
Tony his best seductive smile when he half heard a familiar voice ordering a sandwich to go from
Adam. He glanced over and saw Vic, the rough trade cop, now looking big and butch in his cop
uniform. Vic, to his surprise, was looking in his direction, and was staring at Tony with intense
interest. What was that about?
Tony must have caught Quinn staring at him, because he looked towards Vic. “Is something wrong?”
By the time Tony looked, Vic had looked towards Adam, coming out with his bagged sandwich and a
travel cup full of coffee. “You know that guy?” Tony asked. Was Quinn just being paranoid, or did
Tony sound a little wary?
“Not really,” Quinn answered, and it wasn’t strictly a lie.
Who knew better than Quinn that you could fuck a guy, but never really know him at all?
Trip stood under the shower until the water turned cold, planning his next move.
Seducing Conrad had honestly been so much easier than he anticipated that in retrospect he had no
idea why he’d so obsessively planned it. He’d had a sneaking suspicion that Conrad was a total closet
case since he first met him, but it turned out he was just looking for an excuse to run screaming from
his confinement. Also his wife. But Trip could hardly blame him there - she seemed like a total bitch.
Finally he turned off the taps and stepped out onto the cold tile floor, snatching a towel from the rack
and hastily rubbing it over his bristly hair. It was then he realized he was hearing a weird noise, one
it took him a minute to place. It was his cell, set on vibrate, jittering across the bathroom counter like
a cybernetic roach.
He wrapped a towel around his waist before he picked it up and saw someone had left him a
message, recently too. Probably when Conrad had been fucking him, which might explain why he
missed the call. It was hard to film and talk at the same time.
“Hey, Trip, it’s me,” the voice said. The slight drawl meant it could only be Brandt. “I’ve found
something that’s gonna make you very happy. You won’t believe the skeletons the Cottens got
rattling around their closet. Meet me at the boathouse tonight around six and I’ll give you what I
managed to dig up. Oh, and your hunch? It was right. It’s not only royal families that have bastards.
Later.”
Trip stared at the phone, torn between throwing it against the wall or calling Brandt back and
screaming at him for being such an asshole, but ultimately he did neither. Because Brandt relished
being an inveterate ass, wearing it like a fucking badge of honor.
Trip didn’t really know him that well, just well enough to want to avoid any public associations with
the man. He was a private detective who fled New York under the cloud of a wiretapping
investigation, and while no charges had been filed, Brandt had the greasy reputation of a man who
would do absolutely anything if you paid him well enough, no matter how down low and despicable.
Hell, he liked it in the mud. No wonder he used to work for a tabloid newspaper.
And that was pretty much all Trip had to barter for. He promised Brandt he’d help him land a job at
the newspaper if he could dig up some quality dirt on the Cottens before the grand opening of
Whispering Ridge, and Brandt’s scummy reputation had left him so unemployable it was the best
offer he’d had in a long time. Trip honestly didn’t know if it would work or not, but Brandt had come
through for him, the sleazy son of a bitch.
So the Cottens did have some illegitimate children? Trip had suspected as much, simply because all
powerful men seemed to be weak at the dick. He wondered how many, and if any of them were here
in Boxer Falls.
Before putting his phone away, he briefly checked the newly created film file. Yep - It was easy to see
that was definitely Conrad, plowing him like some horny fourteen year old who’d just had a Viagra
enema. Wouldn’t this just crush Oz if he saw it? Oh, he had so much ammunition to destroy Oz with,
it was hardly even funny anymore. Well … okay, no, it was still hilarious. And now he had more to
add to the pile.
Trip hadn’t realized how late it actually was. He probably had time to catch a quick bite to eat before
he met with Brandt, but just barely. He stopped at the coffee shop and exchanged flirtatious glances
with the barista before leaving with his scone and double espresso, which he wolfed down in his car.
The sun was just starting to set, turning the sky a bloodshot shade of crimson over the mirror finish
of the lake, and Trip wondered when he began to loathe such stunning scenery. It was hard to
remember now. It seemed like the hate had always been with him, an unborn twin, dormant until
he’d come to this sleepy cul-de-sac of a town.
He drove towards the boathouse, passing Cotten Square, and sneered at the signs as he passed.
Cotten this, Cotten that - this fucking town was rotten with Cottens. And they were rotten, deep into
the cores of their being, pretty, shiny apples full of mold and maggots, even if only he could see that
right now. Soon, the whole world would know just how corrupted they were.
The sun was an unblinking red eye as Trip parked near the pitifully named Slappy’s Bait Shop and
started walking towards the little used boat house. Well, little used when the tourists weren’t around.
Some of the locals fished, but most didn’t bother with the formality of the bait shop and the public
docks. If you were anyone in this town, you had a private dock. Certainly the Cottens did. If there was
something they didn’t own, then they’d acquire it by any means necessary. Ask his father. Although
you’d need to hold a séance to ask his father anything.
The shadows turned long, making the boat house seem more abandoned and decrepit than it usually
was in the off season. He’d seen Brandt’s brown Oldsmobile with the Pennsylvania plates in Slappy’s
lot, so he knew he was here. Fucking asshole was probably being dramatic, maybe waiting for him
inside.
Trip wasn’t sure when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Was it when he saw the padlock
still firmly in place on the boat house doors? Or was it when he heard that strange gurgling noise? He
thought it was the lake at first, but it made a gentle noise, waves lapping softly against the wooden
pier, a direct contrast to this harsh, rattling sound.
Trip looked around warily, hands balling into fists as he crept around the building, trying to pinpoint
the noise, and finally he found it, when he rounded the corner and stumbled over Brandt’s leg.
Brandt lay sprawling face up at the head of the pier, blood gushing from his slit open stomach and
bubbling through a puncture wound in his neck, air making bubbles appearing in the crimson wet
before it all slid down to pool on the dock. Trip had just straightened up and processed what he was
seeing when Brandt’s chest stopped rising and falling, and that hideous gurgling noise stopped, one
final bubble forming near his vocal cords before popping in the still night air.
Oh God. Oh God. What the hell had he gotten himself into?
Episode 5
Eden Winters
That bastard ain't taking what's mine! Phil leaned heavily against the kitchen wall, pulse
hammering a sharp bass beat in his ears. Peering into the dining room, but daring not enter, he
strained to see into the sitting room, his vision limited to shadows against the wall. He'd dreaded this
moment ever since Conrad Cotten came back in town. He hated, absolutely hated the man who'd
long cast a pall over his and Grady's relationship.
Grady hadn't come out and actually said anything directly. No, he'd been far more subtle. But if Phil
had learned one thing during their time together, it was that Grady sucked at poker. Didn't have the
necessary cunning not to show every thought on his face. And the animation dancing across his
rugged features when he'd first heard the news of Conrad's arrival might as well have been an
episode of some sleazy soap opera. First there'd been fear, then regret, then acceptance, then… hope,
all worthy of an overly dramatic dum, dum, dum, da… Hope that tightened a fist around Phil's heart
and threatened to squeeze the life out of him.
For years he'd listened closely to innocent-sounding comments about "An old friend of mine," neatly
inserting "Conrad" into every instance. But the casual references to "Back in high school me and an
old friend of mine… " paled in comparison to hearing Conrad's name drifting from Grady's lips while
he slept.
Phil and Grady'd had their problems over the years, but no matter what, they always worked their
shit out somehow. That meant they loved each other, right? Even when feeding his dick to some hot
young twink, Phil never once considered the possibility of not having Grady at home to come back
to.
Now the ghost that sleeps between us takes flesh. An antique cuckoo clock ticked off the minutes on
the mantle of the dining room, the pinecone pendulum swinging back and forth, a subtle reminder of
the sands of time possibly ticking away on Phil's life. He swallowed past a lump in his throat, hearing
his worst nightmare say, "Why'd you want to see me?"
He recalled Grady's pleas for sex, wishing he'd have at least made an effort. No way in hell would he
spill his secret, but he couldn't stall forever. Grady's pulled muscle topped an ever-growing list of
excuses not to have sex. Hell, I set the stage perfectly for Conrad to come waltzing in and take
what's mine.
Phil hung his head, patting the wallet in his back pocket that held the referral from his family doctor
to an oncologist in the next town. "We've found something," Dr. Higgins had said, a furrow forming
between his brows. So far, Phil hadn't worked up the nerve to make an appointment.
He helped out around the B and B, did odd jobs, but what would Grady do if Phil never managed to
get it up again, or had to have surgery. Hell, what if they couldn't get the damn tumor without
mutilating him? "Serves you right for cheating on a good man," the one person he'd told had taunted,
instead of offering sympathy. The words pissed Phil off, mostly because he believed them. Serves me
fucking right.
If Grady hooked up with the man he'd pined over all these years, it wouldn't just be a fling, and Phil's
whole life circled around Grady, Zach, and this house. In one fell swoop Phil stood to lose everything
he cherished, for Zach lived and breathed to be like Grady. No big secret whose side the kid would
take.
Phil glanced down at his scuffed work boots. Shit. He'd tracked mud in; Grady'd rip him a new one.
He doubted high-and-mighty Conrad tracked mud, or ate crackers in bed, or did any of the millions
of things that ticked Grady off. And he can probably fuck Grady into the mattress.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. No way in hell would Phil let Grady slip away. Money
he didn't have and couldn't offer. Listening to secrets spilled into a pillow at night revealed
something Grady wanted but wouldn't ask for during waking hours – something Phil could give him.
And whatever weapons he found at his disposal, he'd wield to the best of his ability.
He listened to his lover's murmured conversation, seeing red, and tamping down the desire to storm
the room and rip Conrad's head from his shoulders.
Breathing slowly in and out, he willed himself calm, a plan forming in his head. His hooded parka
grew hot, but he dared not take it off and risk being heard. A slow trickle of sweat slid down his
cheek, and he wiped it away with a gloved hand.
Hearing a latch click behind him, he whirled to find a tired-looking Zach slinking in from outside. He
placed a finger to his lips, motioning Zach back outside. "Listen," he said. "I'm planning something
special for your dad. Can you make yourself scarce tonight?"
A half-second after Zach trotted off, grinning from ear to ear, Phil belatedly realized that during the
night the sidewalks had iced over, and temperatures wouldn't get high enough for a thaw. He
shoulda got Zach to clear the walkways before letting the kid get away. Damn. No help for that now.
Maybe he could work out his frustrations with a little yard work. My body's betraying me, but at
least it still functions – for now.
But first, to put plans into action. He pulled out his cell phone and glared down at the tiny buttons.
One call. All he had to do was call. Do I really want to do this? Grady's nervous laugh from inside
rekindled Phil's fury, deciding for him. He dialed a number he'd never dare store in the phone's
memory.
A sleepy yawn answered on the fifth ring. "I must admit I never expected to hear from you again."
Phil closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I need a favor."
Wow! What luck! Normally his dads kept an eagle eye on him, but now it seemed Zach had
unexpectedly acquired a free pass for the evening. He dashed across Candle Street to the Bear and
Bones. His steps slowed when he spied a familiar dark-haired man. What do you know? It looked like
his mystery man from Danzare wouldn't remain a mystery for long. Damn that asshole twink for
screaming and sending everyone into a panic, allowing Zach's latest hookup to slip away without
leaving a phone number.
He followed the man up the steps, intent on correcting the slight. He'd just opened the door when a
woman approached from inside, hair dyed pink and purple and reeking of incense. Her tie-died skirt
clashed loudly with her heavy ski jacket. "Hey, Cathy," he said, holding the door. "How's things going
at voodoo central?" She stepped past him, arms laden with food trays.
"Pretty good. When you gonna come down and let me read your cards?"
While Zach liked Cathy okay, some of her cronies at the occult shop a few doors down kinda weirded
him out. "Soon," he promised, as always. "Soon."
"You don't know what you're missing," she sing-songed, skipping down the steps. Her boots
crunched against the ice and salt peppering the sidewalk.
Zach banished the cold outside with a close of the door, grateful when the warmth of the tavern
surrounded him. Brrrr… it's cold out. Glancing toward the kitchen door, searching for Adam, he
spotted the new redheaded bartender instead. With his flame-red hair and casual, laid-back attitude,
the new addition fit in nicely at the tavern. Not bad on the eyes at all.
The bartender blatantly flirted with both men and women who approached the bar, his suggestive
smile adding an unspoken item to the menu. Well, you couldn't beat the Bear and Bones for pickups, Zach having scored a few himself simply by showing up and saying, "How ya doin'?" to the right
guy. Or the wrong guy. Zach's smile fell when the redhead approached his latest interest.
The bartender smiled and winked, clearly offering himself as a side order. Mr. Right returned the
smile, leaning in like a magnet pulled to steel. Zach snorted. The steel pipe in his pants, maybe.
No way to disguise that more took place between the two than simply a man ordering a drink.
Oh HELL no! He's mine! At least this week. Zach swallowed hard, watching his handsome prey
nodding, and probably not in agreement for the day's special; that is, unless the special was ready
and willing redhead. Damn the luck! Heaving out a weary sigh, Zack found an empty table in the
back of the tavern, waiting until the crowd thinned to speak to Adam. His Hawtness pulled out a cell
phone, keying in coppertop slut's phone number, no doubt, and headed out the door.
Finally Adam made an appearance, stepping out of the kitchen to deliver a few meals. Copper slut
eyed him appreciatively. Normally, Zach kept a lookout for his friend, thinking Adam really needed
to get laid, but the more the redhead watched, the more Zach's hackles rose. What a sleeze! He's just
made a date with another guy, and now cast come-hither eyes at Adam.
Ice water flooded Zach's veins. He'll have Adam over my dead body.
Oz let his eyes wander around his meticulously clean suite, with its dark, masculine furnishings,
wondering what Yoshi might make of the neatness and perfect order. His brother claimed he
suffered from OCD, but wanting to know exactly where everything was so he didn't waste time
looking didn't make him obsessive, did it? A book sat at an odd angle on the coffee table of his sitting
area. He reached down and straightened it as unobtrusively as he could.
"Kinda dark, isn't it? Why don't we open up the blinds? Lots of sunshine out there today." Yoshi
worried his bottom lip between his teeth, ramming both hands into his hip pockets. His eyes darted
furtively away. Nervous? Why?
Oz tucked the info away for later consideration, crossing the room to open the blinds. Sunlight
streamed through the windows, and from his vantage point he could see a rim of frost edging the
lake. An unfamiliar boat bobbed on the current, tethered to the dock at the old fishing shack. He'd
have to go out there later and put up some more "No Trespassing" signs. The locals kept tearing them
down.
A knock sounded on the door, and he turned in time to see Yoshi wince. My, he's jumpy. I wonder
why. He opened the door and ushered in the quiet housekeeper who shuffled past to lay out their late
lunch on the table in Oz's dining area, before retreating again without a sound.
"Shall we?" Oz asked.
"Nice table," Yoshi said, running his hands over the intricately carved edges. "Must have cost a
fortune."
Oz smiled. "Not really. I found it at a local auction. I don't think the owner or other bidders
appreciated its value. I got it for a song." He waited for Yoshi to sit before pulling out his own chair
and hunkering down to study his guest.
Yoshi's eyes roamed the room, mild interest on his handsome face, gaze never staying in one place
too long. Nope, not assessing value like most guests to the house, more like sight-seeing.
After all these years, Yo-Yo. A memory surfaced of a younger, slightly inebriated Yoshi, a party, and
ten minutes in a closet. Did Yoshi remember? I hope the hell not.Oz tore his gaze away and shook
himself. I will not go there.
"Looks good," Yoshi said, pulling Oz from his memories.
"Yeah. The stuffed trout is one of my favorites." He watched, enthralled as Yoshi cut a bite and
brought it to his lips, moaning appreciatively.
Oz shifted in his seat, his cock suddenly demanding more room in his crisply pressed dress
slacks.What the fuck? On Yoshi's third bite, Oz realized he'd yet to even taste his own
fish. Damn! Maybe being surrounded by openly gay men rubbed off. He vowed right then and there
to call one of the phone numbers local girls kept shoving at him. Pick a number, any number. It
didn't really matter whose.
His guest glanced up unexpectedly, eyes locking with Oz's. Suddenly Oz found it hard to breathe. A
last minute reprieve from his chirping phone saved him from the awkward moment. He didn't
recognize the number, but didn't dare refuse what could possibly be a business call. "Excuse me," he
told Yoshi, punching the receive button.
"Mr. Cotten?" a too-loud voice drawled.
Oz grimaced, jerking the phone farther away from his ear. "I'm he."
"I've got some information that you might find interesting."
"What kind of information?" Just what he needed, another overbearing sales pitch.
His heart dropped to his stomach at the words, "It's about your family. And unless you want to see
your father's dirty laundry aired in public, you'll meet me at the boathouse off Knothill Circle. Say,
seven-ish?"
"Is something wrong?" Yoshi hissed from across the table.
Feeling the blood drain from his face, Oz held up one finger and mouthed, "I'll be right back." He
dashed out the door and into the hallway, not trusting himself to speak where someone else might
overhear. "What kind of information?"
An evil chuckle wafted from the phone. "That's for me to know and you to find out. Tonight. Seven
o'clock at the boathouse. And Mr. Cotten?"
"Yes?"
"Trust me. You want to keep our appointment."
The call ended and Oz stared at his phone. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. What now? While he'd hoped to
see the burly sheriff again, he didn't expect it to be this soon, and not under these circumstances. But
no way in hell would he go to the boathouse alone. And if whoever called him blurted things best
kept secret? Well, Oz had enough ammunition on the sheriff to keep the man quiet.
He accessed the internet from his cell phone, keying in "Boxer Fall's Sheriff's Office," clicking on the
link that said, "Call."
"How are you feeling today?" Phil asked, scraping the last strand of spaghetti from his plate.
"Better, I think." Grady rotated his shoulder, hiding a cringe and braving a smile. "I'm not up to
bowling, but I think it's getting better," he lied.
"That's good."
"Where's Zach?"
"At a friend's."
Wherever Phil's mind was, it wasn't in the dining room. Probably thinking about some hot young
twink. Grady couldn't even summon the energy to be angry. Especially when his own guilty
conscious ate at him. I only asked Conrad over here to look out for the best interests of Boxer's B &
B. If we don't cooperate with each other, his resort will kill my business. That's the only reason I
wanted to talk to him. Liar.
Phil squirmed a bit in his chair and abruptly asked, "Do you remember back when we first got
together? Those wild weekend trips we used to take?"
How could Grady forget them? Back then, he'd thought he was all Phil needed. Their little
adventures were just added spice for an already perfect dish. Now he knew the truth. He and Phil
were good together, and he trusted that Phil loved him and Zach, but while one man might hold his
heart, Phil simply couldn't content himself with monogamy. Slowly Grady had matured, and no
longer sought adventures; especially not after Zach came into their lives permanently. Phil, however,
still craved variety. And apparently didn't have enough energy left to take care of things at home.
"Go on out to the sitting room," Phil said, nodding toward the door. "I'll clean up the dishes and be
right out." Though Grady cocked a questioning brow, he didn't argue. Phil? Volunteering to clean up?
He decided to keep the gift horse's mouth closed for now. Who knows, while he's in a good mood, I
might even get lucky.
A short time later, Phil joined him, a glass of wine in each hand. "You haven't taken any painkillers
this evening, have you?"
"No." Grady accepted his wine, curiosity piqued when Phil crossed the room to close the blinds and
adjust the gas log fire. Phil fidgeted, constantly in motion. Something had to be on his mind. One by
one Phil lit the candles lining the mantel, turning the lights out. The candles and fire bathed the
room in a warm glow.
The light played on the stray gray strands in Phil's hair, and Grady's breath caught in this throat. For
just a moment an image played in his mind of a younger Phil from years ago. His heart constricted,
and he recalled with perfect clarity how they'd felt about each other, and what he'd sacrificed Conrad
for. As much as he'd once loved Conrad, it couldn't compare to how he'd felt for Phil. Had felt. Where
did those feelings go? Was it possible to get them back? For either of them?
A knock sounded at the door, and a nervous flick of Phil's eyes and a twitch in his jaw gave warning
that something was amiss. Did he know something? Had he seen Conrad's distinctive Mercedes
parked out front? Were they about to have a showdown?
Phil crossed the room in three long strides. "I'm doing this for you," he whispered, before spinning
on his heel and stalking to the door.
"Doing what for me?" Grady murmured, with Phil out of hearing range. He downed his wine,
thinking he might need it.
Voices sounded in the hallway, too low to hear. What the fuck? Phil returned, a sheepish smile on his
face and eyes carefully averted. A young man followed him through the door, peeling off a heavy
leather jacket and tossing it casually to the side.
"You didn't park out front, did you?" Phil asked.
The guy's smirking smile fell slightly. "Do I strike you as stupid?"
Grady's mouth fell open. "You! What are you doing here?" His heart hammered double-time. He
never got proof, but had ample suspicion that he was staring face to face with one of his lover's sidethings. Oh God! Was that what this was about? Was Phil about to let him down easy? Leave him for
another man? "Now see here… "
The guy held up his hand. "…Kevin. Tonight, call me Kevin. Tomorrow, you can go back to
pretending I don't exist." "Kevin" handed Phil a CD case. "Put this on the stereo, will you?"
Grady stared, slack-jawed, as speakers normally reserved for easy-listening or classical music
vibrated with a Lady Gaga dance mix. He felt, rather than saw, Phil sink down onto the couch and
take his hand, as his eyes were riveted to the lithe stud moving in time with the music.
"I'm doing this for you," he heard from a million miles away.
Trip stared in horror at Brandt's wide, startled eyes, watching the inner spark fade and die. Brandt's
entire body seized, then released with one final exhalation. The image shifted, superimposing
another face over Brandt's until Trip stared, not at a near stranger, but into the face of his father. The
sensory ghost of gunpowder singed his nose, and his heart beat frantically against his ribs. His dad
dropped the revolver, gasping out a final "I'm sorry."
Hot tears flooded Trip's eyes, and he blinked hard, driving back the moisture and the haunting
memory, leaving only him and the dead reporter. A wickedly curved dagger lay a few feet away, the
blood-smeared hilt gleaming in the last rays of a weak winter sun. Trip squinted, trying to make out
the strange shape. A wizard? A freaking wizard? Why the hell would someone use an ornamental
knife to kill someone?
Then he noticed a pendant, draped across Brandt's chest, like someone had arranged it there
deliberately. A raw crystal, jagged and unpolished. Trip stared, fascinated.
Voices carried off the water, along with quiet laughter, bringing Trip out of his morbid fascination.
He frantically glanced right and left, praying no one saw him. Then he did what any self-respecting
coward would do. He ran.
***
Kevin rolled his shirt up his slender torso, revealing firm abs that fell slightly short of washboard. In
perfect time with the music's pounding tempo, he strutted, shoving his crotch forward, too tight
jeans hiding nothing. He was hard, and hung magnificently, if his prominent bulge were anything to
go by. A moment later he resolved the mystery, toeing of his shoes and peeling out of his blue jeans
to drop them to the floor. He wore nothing underneath.
"But… but… " Grady stuttered a protest.
"Shhh… " Phil whispered, pulling him close and running a work-hardened hand up one thigh. "I've
left you needing. I plan to take care of that tonight. It'll be just like old times. Remember? We’d pick
up some guy in a bar, take him home with us."
Yeah, but we never brought anyone back we knew. And certainly not… Too in shock to act, to flee
the room like he knew he should, Grady remained entranced, paralyzed by his arousal, breath
coming in shallow little pants the closer Kevin danced. He reached over to rub Phil's crotch, but Phil
caught his wrist, returning his hand to his own leg. "This is for you," Phil murmured, "all for you."
Kevin placed hesitant fingers on Grady's thigh, midway between knee and crotch. "Is this all right?"
Shy? What little Grady knew of this guy didn't include "shy". Phil wrapped the man's hand in his
own, pulling it up to Grady's groin. Grady watched with rapt fascination, as though this were
happening to someone other than him. Kevin's eyes widened and Grady caught a barely perceptible
hitch in Phil's breathing.
Kevin's face brightened with an ear-splitting grin. "Oh, this is gonna be fun!" he exclaimed.
Hand firmly squeezing Grady's erection, Kevin leaned in, chancing an inquiring glance at Phil, who
nodded slightly, before taking Grady's mouth in a tentative kiss. Kevin pulled away, bestowing the
same favor to Phil.
Rather than turn him off, like Phil's not so discreet infidelities, seeing his husband kissing another
man while together the two fondled his dick was almost more than Grady could stand. He licked his
lips, shifting in his seat, alternating his attention between Kevin's closed eyes and Phil's questioning
gaze.
Apparently content that the action suited all parties involved, Kevin roved both hands over Grady's
body, stroking his cock through the fabric of his pants, earning a moan -- from Phil as well as from
Grady. Holy crap! What am I doing?
Kevin asked, "We doing this here, or what?"
"I… I… " Grady pushed into Kevin's hand. In the glow of flickering candlelight Phil's eyes glittered,
alight with a passion Grady hadn't seen turned his way in some time.
"Suck him," Phil commanded.
Damn, he shouldn't be doing this. But it'd been so long. And Phil was beside him, egging him on.
That didn't make it cheating. Still, "Kevin?" How can I be doing this to someone who…
Kevin cupped Grady's rock-hard wood forcefully, giving it a promising squeeze. Knowing he
shouldn't, Grady heard what sounded like a stranger's voice, whimpering, "Please."
Kevin knelt in the floor, taking his own, sweet, teasing time, unbuckling Grady's belt, popping open
the button and easing down the pants zipper one agonizing tug at a time, letting the anticipation
build. He stared into Grady's eyes while sliding the elastic of Grady's briefs down, lifting it over a
straining, swollen cock head. He blew a small puff of air across the exposed skin, sending a shudder
through Grady. With the barest tip of his tongue Kevin caressed the slit, catching the salty drop
beaded there. Grady pressed up, seeking more; Kevin grasped his hips, pinning him to the couch. "Be
good, and you'll get a reward," he promised. Grady gulped and nodded, darting a glance at Phil,
whose pupils were blown wide with lust.
Kevin worked the elastic further down Grady's shaft, gracing each bit of newly uncovered skin with a
swipe of his tongue before taking Grady fully into his mouth, running his tongue up and down
bulging veins.
"Not yet," barked Phil, pushing Kevin away and claiming Grady's mouth. "Want him to fuck you?" he
growled against Grady's lips.
"I want you to fuck me," Grady replied.
Phil hesitated, then replied, "You can have me any old time. But I want to see him take you. Wouldn't
you like that? Remember the old days? Damn how I loved watching you get plowed. And the kid's got
a damned beer can between his legs."
"What about my shoulder?" Grady protested. He tried to focus on Phil and not the hot man half his
age standing a few feet away, fondling a cock to die for. He wanted, damn it, craved that hard flesh
inside him. When was the last time? But was Phil for real, or was this another ploy to level the
playing field? Something to throw back at him the next time Grady complained about Phil's straying?
"Are you sure you're okay with this?"
"Yes," Phil replied, but wouldn’t meet Grady's eyes.
To the slow pulsing beat resounding from surround-sound speakers, Phil grasped his wine glass from
the end table, downing the Pinot Noir in one hard gulp.
Phil and Kevin wrestled Grady out of his clothes, and though Phil removed his own shirt, he left his
pants on.
"Come here," Phil murmured huskily, pulling Grady in for a kiss. The taste of wine exploded on his
tongue, his mouth plundered by a man skilled in kissing, but who hadn't put those skills to the test in
a very long time. At least not with Grady.
Phil maneuvered Grady to the edge of the couch, and Grady glanced up to find Kevin kneeling before
him, rolling a condom down a huge erection. Phil spread Grady's ass cheeks, rubbing a thumb
around his puckered hole. Kevin handed over a bottle and the distinct sound of lube squirting filled
the void between songs on the stereo. Phil inserted a finger into Grady, working it slowly in and out.
"NNNNggggggh..." Grady whined.
"Your back isn't hurting, is it?"
Grady shook his head.
"Good. Now fuck him," Phil ordered Kevin.
Grady's brain, and therefore his opinion, lay buried in a fog of lust. "Is that what you want, Grady?
Do you want me to fuck you?" Kevin asked, sounding too cocky to expect any answer other than "Oh
HELL yeah!" He gently lifted Grady's legs onto his forearms.
"Nnnnnngggggh…" was all Grady managed to get out. He arched his back, offering himself up like a
gift.
"Fuck him," Phil repeated, smearing lube on Kevin's shaft. "Hard."
Grady moaned in anticipation, rocked and bucked, alternately keening and gasping, when Kevin
slowly slid into him.
Working cautiously in and out, Kevin rapidly gained speed. Grady's shoulder protested a violent
thrust that slammed it into the couch, but he soon got lost again in the slap, slap, slap of bodies
connecting and the squeaking objections of the couch.
Heat pooled to his groin. "I'm gonna come!" he cried. Phil's mouth descended to his straining cock,
stroking him from the outside while Kevin stroked him from within. "Oh, oh, oh!" he wailed, body
tensing. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, feeling Kevin filling the condom as he unloaded into Phil's
mouth.
Kevin collapsed, spent, to the floor while Phil pulled Grady against his chest. Too fast to stop this
time, Grady grasped Phil's cock to help him get off too. It wasn't hard, and no wet spot greeted
Grady's hand. What the hell?
"Please don't leave me," Phil whispered.
Episode 6
Mary Calmes
For a second, as he sat there on the couch beside his sated husband, Phil thought about just getting
up and walking out. He had swallowed Grady’s cum, wiped his lubed fingers on the dishtowel he had
brought from the kitchen, all that was left to do was leave. The simple truth was if he and Grady were
no longer together, then he was no longer a cheater. He didn’t have to bear the burden of his guilt.
They could all start over fresh. Conrad could have Grady and Grady could finally know what it was to
be with the man he pined over.
Be careful what you wish for...
But Phil had never been the kind of man who gave in or gave up. As long as he lived, however long
that turned out to be, he was keeping the man he loved. He could too because he knew what buttons
to push, what words to use, how to play the selfless martyr. Conrad might have romance on his side
but Phil had history and he could wield it like a whip.
He knew what he was about to do was selfish, the words already calculated for maximum effect, but
there was no way to change it, he couldn’t, didn’t want to. It had been too late to walk away the
moment his eyes had locked with Grady’s all those years ago.
“What the hell is going on?!”
Phil turned to the man he loved, ripped from the past to the tense, rippling present where his
husband had just discovered that what usually turned him on, had not. Or... could not.
Grady had just come in Phil’s mouth as Kevin pounded him so hard and so good that Grady had been
lost in the kind of spine tingling orgasm that he had not experienced in months. He had needed it,
desperately. But when he had offered to jerk Phil off or take him down the back of his throat, to
reciprocate the ecstasy, the cock he had reached for, that he had expected to be iron-hard, was
flaccid.
It wasn’t possible. Phil’s libido, his absolute joy when he made love, when he came...
“Phil!” Grady was suddenly terrified and he wasn’t even sure why. “Talk to me!”
“Don’t yell at him,” Kevin nearly snarled, angry as he rose to the feet, and discarded the condom. His
hazel eyes, so similar to Phil’s, were blazing heated green now. “Don’t you ever fuckin’ yell at him!”
Grady turned from his husband to the man who just fucked him exactly as he’d needed. He wanted to
roar out his own indignation but staring at the flushed young god, the sheen of sweat on his tanned
skin, the long, hard chiseled lines of him, and those flashing eyes, he could barely breathe. When had
that boy become so beautiful?
“Don’t,” Phil lifted his hand to stop Kevin’s venom. “Just get out.”
“Not before I hear you tell him the truth” he growled at Phil. “That was part of our agreement. I get to
see his face.”
Phil’s jaw clenched tight as he turned to Grady who was still breathing hard from his orgasm, still
shivering with now faint aftershocks.
It hit Grady then that the boy knew something about Phil that he didn’t. How in the world had that
happened? How had the chasm between them gotten so vast that a guy who only sometimes worked
on Phil’s construction crew knew a secret?
Phil cleared his throat. “We uhm, don’t talk like we used to and I know why.”
Grady squinted at him, holding his breath.
“You don’t want to know stuff; you don’t want to hear me lie so we don’t talk. I get that.”
It was a lot of honesty to hear in the aftermath of having another man inside of him.
“But so you know, I don’t fuck around on you anymore. I can’t.”
Can’t? “What?”
He sucked in a breath. “I deserve what I get, for what I’ve done to you, and what I’ve got is a brain
tumor––cancer––that’s probably gonna kill me.”
Grady’s eyes were huge with fear.
“Just so you know though, all those times this past year that you thought I was too tired from fuckin’
hot guys like this––” he gestured at Kevin, “––to touch you....that’s not how it was. I was seeing Dr.
Higgins trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me.”
“No-no-no,” Grady’s breath caught as every bit of guilt over Conrad Cotten buried him under an
avalanche of regret.
Yes, there was infidelity, he knew that, had always known, but Phil’s lovers were disposable. Grady
realized his husband never saw anyone twice. There was no love, no longing, only fucking. The very
idea that Grady could be replaced in Phil’s life was ridiculous and he was more than aware of that
fact. It was a truth, an absolute. There was never a doubt in his mind. Phil’s body might wander, but
his soul, that was Grady’s and that was forever.
But for him...
Grady lusted after Conrad, a man who could take Phil’s place in his bed, at his side, in his life. One
infidelity was meaningless and one, though never acted upon, meant everything. The epiphany of a
life-threatening event made everything clear.
“If you don’t fuckin’ want him,” Kevin said into the silence, and Grady heard the young man’s husky
voice, the sensual timber of it. “Tell him because he has other options.”
Grady knew that Kevin, who was really Tony Frost, who he had watched grow up, had always carried
a torch for Phil. Until that moment though, he had no idea that the young stud was full of heat and
longing for his man. Grady watched Tony’s eyes rake over his husband and saw Phil clearly for the
first time in years. His annoyance and anger and bitterness had blinded him for so long but
now....through Tony....
God, Phil was a gorgeous man, powerful, virile, with hands roped with veins from hard, strenuous
work his whole life. How could he have forgotten, the feel of those calluses on his skin, the smell of
sweat, and salt, and the passion that flared between them?
Grady was reeling with new information, with the warmth in Tony’s gaze and the hunger he saw
there directed at Phil. This man, half Phil’s age, would obviously submit to anything his husband
asked of him. Phil had told him to fuck Grady, and he had. What wouldn’t he do?
“Don’t leave me for Conrad,” Phil whispered, lifting up off the couch. “Wait ‘til I’m dead all right?
Then you too can put the B and B and the resort together and live happily ever after.”
Grady looked horrified and that was exactly what Phil wanted. As he turned for the kitchen, hearing
Grady’s breath hitch behind him, he knew....he’d won....at least for now.
“Get your shit and go Tony,” Phil ordered, almost to the swinging kitchen door.
“No, first I get what you promised when you called me.”
Tony had been at the Bear and Bones, still tired from the night before, absently flirting with the hot
new twinkie bartender, the red-haired kid, when he had received Phil’s call and then a text with
directions. And he had seen Phil’s son Zach out of the corner of his eye too, the one he’d let suck his
dick at the club, but compared to his old man, the son was a cheap imitation.
Phil stopped and turned, looked at his husband, now standing up, quickly straightening his own
clothes, before turning his attention to the strapping hunk that was suddenly in front of him, silently
waiting.
“Why?” He asked after a moment, scowling at Tony, straining to understand.
“Because I fuckin’ want it,” he whispered, his eyes locked on Phil’s mouth, hands fisting on the front
of the long-sleeved T-shirt Phil had changed into after he took a shower. “And you promised that I
could touch you since you scared the shit out of me the last time and told me that you’d never call me
again.”
“I lubed your cock for you,” he reminded the younger man.
“You swore,” Tony insisted.
Phil’s eyes met Grady’s across the room. “Listen, he just wants a kiss okay? When I agreed, that he
would fuck you, give you what I can’t... this was the price.”
One kiss?
Christ, could Grady feel like a bigger ass? Phil had done all this for him, brought a hot stud over to
deliver the sex he couldn’t, just to keep him, to try and make him happy so he didn’t abandon him
and all the Adonis wanted was a kiss?
Phil was standing there, waiting for permission, and that too made everything worse. Grady had all
the power and yet no control of any of it. He nodded quickly so he wouldn’t scream instead.
Gently, Phil wrapped a hand around Tony’s throat, his thumb sliding over the strong, square jaw
before he tipped the younger man’s chin up and bent forward at the same time.
The second the firm lips met his, Tony moaned deep in the back of his throat and opened for him.
Phil’s tongue swept inside of his hot, wet mouth, tasting, sucking, and ravishing him. One of his
hands cradled the back of Tony’s head, the other slid to the small of his back, pressing him forward.
Grady watched Tony wrap his arms tightly around Phil’s neck making sure the bigger man could not
pull away from him. He understood then with absolute clarity that if he ever decided that he didn’t
want Phil anymore, if he let him go, beautiful, young, Tony Frost would take his man off his hands no
questions asked.
Oh fuck that...
“So did you know this guy was gonna be dead?”
“What?” Oz gasped, swallowing hard; really trying not to lose the lunch he had earlier in the day. He
liked stuffed cod, would like it even more if it stayed the hell down.
“It’s a reasonable inquiry,” Vic sighed. “I’m looking at a dead man which begs the question, did you
ask me to come with you because you killed this guy and you’re trying to cover it up?”
“Fuck no,” Oz nearly hyperventilated because unlike the sheriff, this was the first dead body he had
ever seen. “It’s exactly like I told you, this guy called me, he said he had information for me about my
father and...shit.”
Victor figured Oz Cotten for a liar until he turned his deep dark eyes from where they were perusing
the victim to the stricken face of the striking man at his side. There was no way to fake the gray
pallor, big round eyes, and rapid breathing. He was lucky he didn’t have vomit on his hiking boots
already.
Reaching out, Victor placed a hand on Oz’s shoulder, liking that even though he had put more force
into the motion than he intended, the man didn’t have to shift his stance. Oz was built solid and
strong and that was a nice change from the twinks he’d been with lately. It might be time to trade
up.
Oz could feel the warmth radiating from the sheriff’s hand through the Prada jacket and the Dior
dress shirt he was wearing. It was, in fact, the only thing that anchored him and kept the shivering at
bay. The blood pooled around the body did not look like it did in the movies.
“Get out of here,” Victor ordered him. “I’ll take care of this and call the coroner. I’ll find out exactly
who this guy is, go through his shit, toss his room at the B and B if he’s got one, check him out and let
you know what I find out.”
Oz’s eyes met the sheriff’s. “Thank you Vic.”
He nodded quickly and knelt to the body, pulling the radio from his left shoulder at the same time.
Oz tried not to run from the boathouse but it was hard. Someone had stabbed the man and then left
the murder weapon right there as well as a crystal pendant lying right on top of the guy. What the
hell was that supposed to mean?
-------There had just been no way. Adam was terrified but really, with the short notice he was given plus
the fact that they were understaffed, it had been impossible to get the night off. And the new guy,
Quinn, the bartender, was a total dickhead who did only his job and nothing more. He was not
interested in helping anyone else out. They were a family at the Bear and Bones, everyone pitched in
where they needed to. Quinn apparently had not gotten the memo. He wanted to flirt with anything
with a pulse; this seemed his main purpose in life. So Adam was screwed, badly. He still didn’t have
the money he needed to pay Gino off so he had no choice but to submit to the man again. Last time
he had wiggled out of the meeting claiming he had the flu, the no accepted without question but
Adam had no illusions that the scenario could be repeated. The man had already told him so.
Hopefully his “payment” wouldn’t take as long as the last time, or the one before that. He had to
work after all. Being trussed up for days was not an option. He had gotten so dehydrated tied to the
metal chair Gino had bound him to, and he shuddered with the memory of the ropes and the icy cold
tile floor. The man was brutal, and not in a good way. Adam’s safe word had to be screamed before
Gino heard him, ceased, and let him breathe. And he had stopped, but Adam was by no means
certain of the man’s control.
“Adam,” Quinn called from the door, the bored snarl in his voice ever present. “Some guy out here
for you.”
His stomach gave a violent lurch.
“He said to hurry the fuck up.”
Tilting his head at his sous-chef to let her know he’d be out for a minute, he walked through the
swinging door toward the bar. The place was a zoo, it was nine after all, but still, even in the sea of
people, he saw Gino Torres at the end of the bar, sitting alone. His hungry eyes watched Adam as he
moved forward.
“Sir, I––”
“You knew what to expect,” Gino said, cutting the younger man off, grabbing his wrist and twisiting it
painfully as he yanked him forward, bending him across the bar. “And when you close tonight you
will see me.”
Adam broke out in a cold sweat, and shivered hard. God he hated being terrified, hated that he had
ever accepted that last drink because he was heartbroken, again, over his best friend. But most of all
he hated him, he hated Zach.
They had been in New York for a weeklong vacation, Zach’s fathers having sprung for the trip for
their son and his best friend. Together, Phil had made them promise, stick together. Both of them
had nodded their agreement.
When they got to the party, Zach had sworn not to leave without Adam since neither of them knew
the host, having been invited by someone they had just met. When Adam had woken up alone,
naked, tied down and freezing, he had screamed before he’d been reminded, with the playback on a
video camera, that he’d been the one to say yes. Yes he wanted to play; yes he would go along, yes,
whatever, yes. It was the word of the night. And for several more after that. The whole time he was
there, for those three days where he had been taught about his limits and promised that next
time...they could go further... that whole time his phone had rung. And when it was done, when he
had limped back to the hotel, he had changed the ring tone he used for Zach on his phone. He could
never hear You’re My Best Friend by Queen again without retching. He still remembered Zach
pulling back the shower curtain and poking at his bruised skin.
“You fucker,” Zach cackled. “Must have been one helluva fine hook-up. You totally ditched me.”
Ditched him?
Adam had stayed under the hot spray until the water ran cold, the whole time hoping that finally he
could get over Zach but knowing, even then, that it wouldn’t take. All of him wanted all of Zach and
nothing, it seemed, could change that.
“Hey,” the snapping fingers in Adam’s face startled him.
“Please sir,” Adam whimpered, sick that he was about to beg. “I’m so close to having the money and I
just don’t want––”
“Who gives a fuck what you––”
“Gino.”
They both turned to the voice and Adam would have seen simply a man but two things happened to
change his mind. First, Gino Torres let go of his wrist, and second he turned to face the stranger, all
of his attention removed from Adam. It was a fucking miracle and the man, whoever the hell he was,
was his savior.
“What are you doing out of your cage, dog?”
Adam was riveted watching the man who had terrorized him for the last two years, just sit there.
“I have nothing to say to you Kabir,” Gino almost snarled. “You have no––”
“I make a call to Frankie and we both know what happens to you,” he smiled flashing twin rows of
perfect, white even teeth. “So, I ask again, what are you doing in Boxer Falls?”
He closed his eyes, the muscles in his neck cording with the strain to remain calm, and the man who
was fast becoming Adam’s favorite person on the planet, turned to him.
“Let me guess, he has pictures of you? Naked? Maybe bleeding? And you’re too much of an idiot to
know that pictures like that would send him to prison even if they got splashed all over the internet?”
“They can’t be on the internet,” Adam sucked in a breath. His family could not see him like that, not
ever. Those pictures would hurt them and his career, should he ever actually get one.
“What’s your name?”
“Adam.”
“Adam what?”
“Parish.”
He nodded and for the second time that night Adam was treated to the killer smile but this time to a
version slightly more sinister. “You work in the kitchen? You the chef?”
“Yes.”
“Okay chef,” the dark haired, dark skinned man nodded. “You go in there and I’ll go with Gino here
and tomorrow I’ll be back with everything he’s got of yours and you never have to see him again.”
Adam squinted so he didn’t cry as he tried to calm his racing heart and keep his breathing even. “Tell
me,” he coughed, “what I need to do for you.”
“I will,” the man smiled warmly. “Later. But don’t worry okay, fucking isn’t on my list.”
Adam swallowed hard.
“Or killing people” he teased. “Nothing illegal, that serves no one.”
Finally, Adam took a breath. “Who are you?”
“Sam,” he answered, reaching out and cupping Adam’s cheek. “Sam Kabir.”
Adam nodded, all he could do not to lean into that comforting hand like a cat. No one ever protected
him or saved him or gave a fuck about him. Even Zach...even though he was his best friend....even
Zach would leave him, had left him that fateful night, to get laid.
“You’re safe baby.”
The endearment would have seemed odd but it was more comforting than anything else. More
importantly was the one word.
Safe.
Before Adam swore fealty for life, he’d wait and see if Sam delivered the promised files but so far...he
was ready to make an oath if it were asked of him.
As Samantaka Kabir grabbed Gino Torres’ bicep and led him out of the bar, Adam pivoted around
and walked back into the kitchen. Outside, they walked the length of the parking lot but as they
neared the far side where Gino had parked his car, Sam let his arm go as they stepped into the deep
shadows.
“You son of a whore,” Gino rounded on him, smiling wide in the darkness.
“My mother resembles that remark,” Sam smirked at him.
Quick bark of laughter from the heavier muscled man. “What the fuck is your angle in all this?
Seriously?”
Sam waggled his eyebrows for him.
“This town? Why are you here?”
“I have my reasons,” he chuckled, the wicked gleam in his eyes making Gino take a quick breath. “But
what did you do to that kid? I told you to scare him, he looked petrified in there.”
Gino gave a dismissive wave in the direction of the bar. “I indulged myself, you didn’t say I couldn’t.”
“Poor fucker, I think you scarred him for life.”
Gino shrugged. “Kid’s got a tight ass I’ll tell you that and his mouth ain’t bad either.”
“Charming,” Sam exhaled sharply, tired from his flight across the Atlantic the day before. “So what,
do I have a file? Did you make any prints? What can I give him?”
“Everything,” Gino yawned. “You’ve got it all on your private server and no, I didn’t make any prints.
You know I’m only into reliving my work when I get to use knives these days.”
So not a discussion Sam wanted, or needed, to have. “Okay, as long as I’m not missing anything. For
this to work there has to be truth mixed in with everything else. I’m never lying to this guy, that way
he’ll always be on my side.”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t, not about him.”
“Whatever, I can’t follow all your cloak and dagger crap. I thought you were out of the family
business, going legit in TV or some bullshit like that.”
He stared at Gino until the bigger man put up his hands in surrender.
“Fine, I’ll just shut the fuck up.”
“So your plane ticket’s in the glove compartment,” Sam tipped his head at the car. “You’re going first
class all the way to Paris. Have a nice vacation.”
“Call me if you need me.”
“I will,” he said, leaning in to hug his friend goodbye. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure,” he teased Sam, squeezing tight, thumping him gently on the back. “I’ll give your
mother your regards.”
Sam scoffed. “Yeah, do that.”
When they parted Gino was still smiling.
Oz was sitting in his car by the park waiting, wondering what the hell was taking the sheriff so long
when the door opened and Victor climbed into the front seat of the sleek black BMW.
“You’re late,” Oz said, inhaling the sheriff’s amazing scent. It was like musk and smoke and sweat all
wrapped up together. He had noticed it even in the midst of looking at a dead man earlier in the
evening.
“I have a murder on my hands,” Victor replied snidely.
“Who was he?”
The sheriff passed Oz a manila envelope, reaching above his head to flip on the overhead light at the
same time. “The man’s name was Kurt Brandt, he was a private detective.”
“What was he doing here?” He asked as he undid the clasp on the envelope and took out glossy black
and white 8x10 photographs. “What the fuck is this?”
“I would have brought you the camera but it’s in evidence lock-up for the state police to pick up day
after tomorrow.
“I don’t,” Oz took a breath, looking at picture after picture of Adam Parish and Zach Boxer. “This was
taken in New York.”
“Yes I know.”
“But this was taken,” he turned to look at Victor. “By that occult store, uhm, Beltane?”
Victor nodded.
Oz let his hands falls to his lap and the photos with them. “So what?”
“I don’t know, maybe you can tell me?”
Oz was aware of how small the car seemed, how much of the space the sheriff took up and how, for
some reason, his palms itched.
“Well, all we’ve been able to tell is that Brandt was taking lots of pictures of Adam and Zach and I
have no idea why.”
As they sat in silence, Oz trembled just slightly.
“If you’re cold turn on the car and crank up the heater.”
He did but he left the headlights off even as he killed the overhead one.
“So did you question the people at Beltane about the weird dagger and necklace?”
“No,” Victor chuckled. “You don’t know the difference between fake pieces and real magic?”
“There’s no such thing as real magic sheriff?”
Victor grunted. “You know all about it do you? Know all about hoodoo and everything else?”
“Voodoo is––”
“Not Voodoo, not a religion, but hoodoo, as in spells.”
Oz turned to look at the big man, at his face in the moonlight and realized that he shouldn’t have. He
couldn’t remember ever wanting to touch anyone so desperately.
“Don’t discount what you know nothing about," Victor cautioned him. “Those pieces were props, they
weren’t real. The folks at Beltane would laugh at me if I carried that shit in there.”
Oz took a quick breath. “Okay.”
Victor grunted. “I have two men keeping an eye on Trip Whitlock 24/7 from now on. Whatever there
is to find, we will.”
“Thank you sheriff, I appreciate it.”
Silence for a moment.
“So?”
Of course, Oz thought smugly. “What would you like sheriff? How much?”
Victor rolled his head so he could see the younger man’s eyes. “I don’t get paid in cash Mr. Cotten.”
“Then what?”
“You’ll owe me.”
“Owe you?”
“Yep,” Victor said pointedly.
“But I can pay––”
“Nope. I’ll be your man Mr. Cotten,” he smiled lazily, opening the door, illuminating the interior
suddenly, making Oz squint in the sudden light. “And maybe, one of these days, you’ll be mine.”
And then he was gone and Oz watched him walk back toward his patrol car. It was amazing that such
a big, strong heavily muscled man could move so fluidly, gliding instead of walking. Just for a
moment Oz imagined what it would be like to be the one he was moving toward, to be reached for
and have those hands slide over his skin, hold him down, make him do whatever he wanted.
“Fuck,” he groaned, shaking away the thoughts as he started the car. At least the sheriff was now
watching Trip. Oz would know whatever was going on soon enough. Everything done in darkness
would come to light. He was definitely looking forward to dragging whatever it was out into the
bright, judgmental sunshine. If only he could figure out what the hell Brandt was following around
worthless Zach Boxer for. That just made no sense...
-------Conrad looked up from the paper he was reading, some new drivel that Trip had written, to find his
son Rider and... Jesus.
He had never been caught in such an absolute molten gaze before in his life. The eyes were rich
chocolate brown and fringed with long, thick lashes and just––sex. It was all he could think about.
He felt his groin fill and put the paper down, discreetly over his lap.
Dear God who was this?
“Dad,” Rider called his voice as grating as ever. “This is my buddy Sam, from school, Samantaka
Kabir, you remember?”
“I don’t,” he squinted as the two young men closed in on him. He noted the predatory smile that
curled Sam’s lush lips and was suddenly wary. He was not looking at a kitten; he was being eyed by a
sleek, jungle cat.
“Mr. Cotten,” Sam greeted him, offering the older man his hand. “Pleasure sir.”
The firmness of the grip, the way the gaze met his and held it, everything about the younger man was
steady and grounded. He was no older than Rider but there were oceans of experience between them.
Clearing his throat nervously, he licked his lips without thought.
“Pleasure to finally meet you,” Sam said, covering their joined hands with his other for a moment,
squeezing tight, before he released both. “Ry always speak so highly of you.”
He smirked. “I doubt––”
“And my parents of course, adore him. When they took us to Bali last year for our birthdays, they
basically told him he can go back and live with them if he wants.”
“And where is that?”
“They divide their time between Mumbai and Paris.”
Conrad nodded realizing, just that second that the kid standing in front of him came from money,
lots and lots of money. “So you say you and Rider met at school?”
“Yes sir,” he grinned easily.
Conrad found he could not tear his eyes from those sinful dark lips. They were full and dark and
pliant... Conrad could only imagine what they feel like sliding over his shaft.
“We met at Exeter,” he grinned suddenly and the older man felt his pulse ratchet up just a little bit
higher. “And then we bummed around Europe for a while before ending up at Uppsala.”
Conrad was so caught up admiring the chiseled features, and the dark glossy black hair that he
hadn’t realized Sam had stopped talking.
“Sir?”
It was mortifying to be caught. “Oh so you both got degrees?” He had thought Rider’s boast that he
graduated was simply another empty boast in a long line of them. Never had Conrad thought to even
check.
“Yes sir, your ex-wife, Mrs. Cotten, Lucinda, she was there.”
Conrad didn’t doubt it. He and his ex had barely spoken at the end, what she did and where she went
had been a mystery to him. That she had not gutted his life was a blessing, that she had abandoned
her sons as quickly as she’d left him had been the only surprise.
“Lucinda was at your graduation?”
“Of course,” Sam said like it was expected. “You couldn’t come, that’s what Rider said.” He turned to
his friend. “You said he couldn’t come that’s why he wasn’t there.”
“Yyy-yes,” Rider was nodding now, catching up like he had to with Sam a lot of the time. “That’s
exactly what I said.”
Conrad looked between them but settled on the one he could actually see himself liking. “So, Sam,
you graduated from a university in Stockholm?”
“We both did,” he almost purred and Conrad decided right then that he wanted this beautiful man
bent over the desk in his office. “As I said, from Uppsala.”
But then he saw the dark, perfectly shaped brow arch with agenda and he understood that it would
not be Sam face down on the furniture, it would be him. He shivered with just the thought of it.
“I need to grab something out of my room,” Rider told his father, patting Sam’s shoulder at the same
time. “C’mon you wanted to email that friend of yours anyway.”
“I do,” Sam agreed, giving Conrad a last brilliant smile.
The dimples were visible that time...Jesus, dimples too?
As the patriarch of the Cotten clan watched the two young men leave the room, he realized that he
had never been so glad to be sitting down.
“See you later Dad,” Rider yelled and Sam followed close on his heels.
For the first time ever, Conrad envied his youngest, worthless, son.
Upstairs, Rider had enough time to close and lock the door before Sam grabbed him, and slammed
him hard back up against it.
“Fuck Sam,” he whimpered, spreading his legs as he was trained to do whenever he was in the same
room as his friend. “Now my father’s gonna go look at their website ‘cause what did you say it like ten
fuckin’ times, Uppsala, Uppsala and––”
“And he will find your name on the list of graduates and anyone that wants to download your
diploma, with your permission of course, may.”
Rider tried to turn his head but Sam had his hand fisted so tight in his hair that he couldn’t. “You did
that for me?”
“For me. I need you matriculated and legitimate. You can’t take over things if you’re the only Cotten
without a degree. You have to be an appropriate heir.”
“Sam,” he whined. “My mother never even met––”
“Oh baby I know your mother.”
“You do?”
“Of course. Why do you think she didn’t take your father to the cleaners? Why do you think you still
have walking around money?”
“What are you––”
“You know I hate questions.”
Rider gasped as he was released because he knew his place, had been shown it often enough, had
begged enough, and done whatever Sam ever asked of him. The depths of his devotion had been
continually tested, and always Sam had been pleased. Rider would do anything, and Sam knew it.
“On your knees.”
Rider went fast, yanking at his clothes, pulling them off, even as Sam slowly unbuckled his own belt,
worked open the top button of his vintage jeans and dragged the zipper over the impressive length of
his thick, cut cock.
The deep, aching whimper made Sam smile because shit, this was Ryder, the only person on the
planet he never had to watch. He couldn’t keep up the whole serious scene with a guy he had passed
out in a bathtub with.
“You’re such a douche,” he told him, squatting suddenly and taking Rider’s face in his hands. “I
missed you asshole.”
And Rider, who had realized at sixteen that since he couldn’t have Sam all to himself that he would
just fuck everything in sight, leaned in for the kiss he would die if he didn’t get.
Sam’s lips melted over his and scorching heat pulsed through Rider as it always had, heating his
blood, flushing his skin and making his heart pound loudly in his ears. He loved it, loved the
claiming, the taking, the hands everywhere at once, the way Sam’s tongue tangled with his, how
softly his stomach was rubbed, and the tug of the fingers knotted in his hair.
When he felt like he couldn’t breathe another moment, he tried to ease free, and the bite, so hard it
drew blood, that too was craved. He took a gulp of air when Sam lifted his lips free and the room
whirled as he was spun around and shoved face-first down onto his bed. He didn’t even need to
point; Sam knew where the lube and condoms would be.
“Grab the pillow, don’t make any noise.”
“Please...this time...no condom...”
Sam laughed, “in your dreams slut,” and shoved two lubed fingers hard and fast, deep inside his
friend.
“Fuck!” Rider yelled into the pillow, as always taking direction well.
“Too much?” Sam teased, even as his other hand began a slow, sensuous stroking over Rider’s
drooling cock.
“Oh God,” Rider was slowly coming apart under his friend’s rough hands, the dueling sensations
breaking down what little control he had left. “Nobody treats me like they own me except you Sam.
No one else ever has.”
“Maybe because you’re only mine,” he told him, squeezing Rider’s cock tight in his slick fist even as
his fingers curled forward and slid over his prostate.
Rider jolted beneath him. “I swear to God if you don’t fuck me already I’m gonna scream. I will howl
your name so loud that––”
“That what?” Sam asked, ripping into the condom he had grabbed with the lube, in a hurry to get it
on.
Rider craned his neck so he could see Sam over his shoulder. “Oh baby please.”
Sam grabbed a fistful of thick hair and yanked hard and fast, bowing Rider’s back, as he gripped his
hip tight with the other.
“You won’t say stop?”
“No,” Rider whimpered, the whine following fast as he wiggled in the powerful grip, trying to ease
back, to align Sam’s impressive erection with his needy hole. “Please.”
Sam loved to watch his dark bronze flesh slide into the creamy white of Rider’s ass. It looked so
decadent, so gorgeous, and he was enthralled each and every time. As he breached him, Rider called
his name and the hoarse moan made Sam forget to be careful.
He buried himself to his balls in one long smooth stroke and as he held there a moment, waiting for
Rider’s body to adjust, the pleading to simply take what he wanted began. Sam needed no other
permission.
The thrusting was hard and hammering. Even if Rider had not started panting and gasping, the telltale signs of his release obvious, feeling the muscles in that glorious tight ass squeezing him would
have been enough to let Sam know his friend was close. Rider came hard, spurting over his silk
bedspread as Sam fucked him through his shattering orgasm and his own. And because Sam knew,
like no one else did or took the time too, he fell forward over him, pinning Rider down under him to
the bed.
“I’m gonna stay here buried in your ass until I feel like moving, you understand?”
And Rider nodded, the press of skin, the heat, the sweat, the stickiness, the total sensory overload so
much like coming home that he almost wept.
No, Sam never worried about Rider Cotten, the golden man belonged to him. So much so that later,
as Rider slept, coiled around him, Sam simply sent emails from his phone to make sure that his
deliveries were on schedule and would not be early. It wouldn’t do to have production starting before
he even got moved into his new house on Lake Fergus. The old abandoned Sherwood estate had
suited his needs perfectly and the mayor had seemed quite pleased to finally have a neighbor.
Episode 7
Amy Lane
“Grady?” Phil mumbled, the insistent pain in the base of his skull waking him up in time for his
painkiller, like it always did. Usually, Grady was asleep next to him—Damn, the man slept like the
dead sometimes. As Phil’s headaches had worsened, as his vision blurred, as his diagnosis had come
in, Phil had learned to hate him for that. Christ, what he wouldn’t do to sleep like the righteous.
God. Tony. Well, maybe he could stop playing with Tony’s poor Labrador retriever heart for one.
Phil groaned, and felt for Grady again. How many years had they lain side by side? Those early years,
it had felt like their hearts beat together, like Phil couldn’t breath without Grady’s own chest rising
and falling to the same beat. But Grady’s side of the bed was cold and there was a determined, animal
pacing in the small study connected to their bedroom.
Fuck. Grady was going to make a big deal about this, wasn’t he?
Phil went to the bathroom and copped a painkiller, then went to confront his husband.
Sure enough, gait stiff from his bad back, Grady was on his umpteenth million round around the
study.
“Grady—“
“No,” he said grimly.
“I’ve been to the doctor’s—“
“I don’t accept that.”
“I know you think you can change anything—“
“Have you even tried, Phil!” he snapped. “Have you even tried to find an oncologist or a specialist or
someone to take it out?”
“I have a meeting tomorrow,” Phil confessed. “I went in for the MRI and there’s the results… I wasn’t
going to tell you—“
“You weren’t going to what?”
Oh God. Grady was really pissed, and something in Phil brightened. You couldn’t be that pissed if
you didn’t give a fuck, could you?
“I just thought…” Phil shrugged.
“Thought what? That I wouldn’t care? That all our years together equals jack-diddly-squat? I mean,
honestly, tell me. What was your plan here?”
“I don’t know,” Phil snapped, unable to contain his hurt. “I step out a couple of times and you go
running back to Conrad Cotton the minute my back is turned?”
Grady flushed and looked away. “It was a lot of youthful stupidity, Phil. I don’t know what to tell you.
But it wasn’t sex. And it wasn’t… God. It wasn’t a big pine box, either.” Grady looked up, his hurt a
tangible thing. “Yeah. Sure. I’m going to get all misty eyed when Conrad comes back. But do you
really think that means I want to imagine a life without you? Even for a minute?” Grady ran hands
through his silvering hair. “Like I said. No.”
Phil grimaced, and stepped closer. “Grady—I mean, let’s be honest. You’re never going to forgive me
for—“
“Forgiven,” Grady snapped. “Sing a new song.”
“Just like that?”
“Yeah, Phil. Just like that. I just got fucked up the ass by a kid who would lick the come off your
toes—and you know what? I liked it. It was glorious. I haven’t come like that in months. And you just
sat there and held me as I came. And the whole time, I was thinking I wished it was you. It’s going to
be you again, Phil.” Grady looked at him, some of the fight leaching from his back, his brown eyes
tired and bloodshot. “Please, please tell me, I can make an appointment with someone, and we can
do that again. I don’t feel old. I don’t. I still feel twenty, and you’re still the most fucking beautiful
man I’ve ever met. I’m not ready to just give it up, okay?”
Phil found himself nodding. “Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Yeah. Fine. Got an appointment tomorrow,
but…” He gnawed his lower lip, and for a guy who liked to swing it around a lot and show all the kids
how it’s done, he was suddenly a lot weaker than all that. The admission was painful, it made him
vulnerable—it’s the whole reason he’d planned not to tell Grady a damned thing. But it was
inescapable.
“Grady, man… I don’t want you to see me like that. It’s the only reason I’d even try to go it alone.”
Grady sighed. “Phil?”
“Yeah?”
“Do I have to be fucked by someone else to get a fucking hug or something? Cause if I do, get
someone on speed dial, okay?”
Phil laughed with only a little bitterness and stepped into his space, wrapping careful arms around
his shoulders.
Grady sighed and melted into him. It wasn’t complete trust. Phil would always be jealous of Conrad
Boxer. Grady would always be jealous of Phil’s last fuck. But it was Grady in his arms, seeking
comfort, seeking to give comfort, and Phil buried his face in Grady’s neck.
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Grady whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Phil mumbled. “I’m sorry. I’m so fuckin’ sorry…”
He waited for a “me too” but it wasn’t coming, so he made himself content.
--Late shift, eleven p.m. Quinn wiped the bar for the umpteenth time and felt dismally for his tip
placket. Awesome. Fuckin’ tourists. Could save their pennies to come to this fleaspeck town and get
their toes licked, but couldn’t tip their bartender to save their lives. Some people shouldn’t get
service, they should get serviced.
“Hey, redheaded guy!” Some yahoo down at the end was shouting. He was hot, Quinn would give
him that. Hispanic, Puerto Rican or Dominican maybe, with swarthy skin, shorn nappy hair, and an
accent you could cut beef with. He had wide cheekbones, pillow lips, and a swagger that made you
think of pounding thrusts over a car fender.
Quinn wasn’t buying. Yeah, sure he bottomed. But he kept that little act private and reserved. The
closest this guy would come to Quinn’s ass was when Quinn lifted his kilt, dropped his boxers, and
made that assclown kiss it.
“Yo, Town Boy,” Quinn snapped back to that nice little piece in the kitchen, “you got that order for
table twelve ready yet?”
“No…no.” God, the kid had been off all night. Whatever the fuck had gone down earlier, when the kid
had taken a break, had sure made this guy break into a sweat. Quinn sighed. God. The only one in the
front of the house even remotely interesting was the Sheriff he’d buggered on his trip in. The guy
kept shooting Quinn dirty looks, and Quinn was pretty sure he hadn’t forgotten that whole handcuff
key thing, and Quinn couldn’t really blame him. Well, one and done, and Quinn wasn’t looking for
seconds and he figured Sheriff Spank-Me-Fuck-Me-Twist-My-Nipples-Til-They-Pop wasn’t either.
Quinn looked deliberately at the asshole calling him “redheaded guy” and turned his back, going into
the kitchen to help the field mouse with the shaking hands and the twitching whiskers.
With brisk movements he threw some chips into the fryer and breaded some zucchini to go in next,
and mouse boy pushed the sauté pans around with lackluster movements and a habit of jumping six
feet whenever something popped.
“Jesus, kid!” Quinn snapped after a couple of minutes of chopping veggies. “You’re making me
punchy just looking at you. I sweartagod, you tell me where the big bad wolf is, and I’ll kick him in
the nads just to make sure he doesn’t eatya!”
Adam looked at him through haunted eyes. “Aren’t you the guy who doesn’t give a fuck?”
“Yeah. I’m the guy who doesn’t give a fuck, but you? You give a giant fuck. Man, you’re buddy’s not
here tonight, okay? He’s sleeping it off somewhere or getting some tail. Whatever’s going on here,
there’s no knight in shining armor who’s gonna save your skinny white ass, so maybe nut up and act
like you can sock it in the jaw, okay?”
For a minute, Quinn thought he’d succeeded, and was going to go make a note of that as the peptalk
of all time, because the kid’s shoulders straightened and his movements became more sure. He
dished up two pasta dishes with some serious aplomb and garnished them with style, and then put
them in the window and went to plate up the next thing that was ready.
“You’re wrong,” the kid said though, quietly. “Sometimes the knight in shining armor does show up.”
“You think so? Cause I gotta tell ya, if he’s askin’ for a blowjob, you might want to check the lease
return on that fuckin’ armor.”
“I think he owns the whole damned suit,” Adam said, but he wasn’t being shitty about it, and his new
demeanor never changed. Awesome. He looked like he could stay all strong and happy like that,
which was great. Quinn could get back up front where the tips were, and he could depend on his
damned chef not to melt into a puddle of very attractive butter. Jesus, if this kid had the slightest bit
of backbone, Quinn might go for it, but he didn’t like fainting gay-dens.
“Well whip-spiffy for him. You all caught up now?”
Adam shook himself and looked around at the various dishes cooking and prep work done. “Yeah.
Uhm. Jesus. Thank you. You might not be a total prick.”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “Bullshit. I am still a total prick. I just don’t like serving bitchy people. Don’t
get behind again.”
He back-assed his way through the swinging doors and grabbed the two plates of pasta from the
rack, taking them out to the table where one of Boxer Falls’ few het couples sat, with eyes but no one
but each other. Too bad, really, because they were both pretty and Quinn was horny, but no threeway
for him. At least not tonight.
He looked around for the Sheriff, thinking that maybe if the guy was panting for it that bad, Quinn
might remember to give him the handcuff keys this time, and saw that the guy was gone. So was the
bossy Puerto Rican motherfucker who couldn’t order a drink without being an asshole.
At that moment a choice piece walked in and Quinn wanted to kick something. Oh Jesus, what is it
with the fucking scared rabbits in this place tonight!
“Hi,” the guy said, and Quinn realized that not only did he look familiar, he expected Quinn to know
who he was. Oh God, someone important in the community, should Quinn remember to kiss his
fucking ring?
But the guy’s hands were shaking as he passed them over his tres chic buzz cut, and Quinn grunted.
He looked pale and scared and like he was about to throw up. Well, if any place was good for the Irish
courage, it should be a bar, right?
“Can I help you?” Quinn asked, thinking that this guy didn’t look comfortable so needy. Unlike the
poor kitten in the kitchen, this one dressed and walked with sort of a swagger—no, he wasn’t used to
being the guy in need.
The guy swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m looking for the sheriff? Sheriff Vic?”
Quinn almost did a spit take. “You? Are you sure? I don’t think so!”
“No, no—I need to confer with him about something. We’ve got some…” The guy flushed.
“Unfinished business.”
Quinn pulled up one side of his mouth and started stacking glasses from a rack of clean rack by the
bar. “Really? I mean, if you really gotta see the guy, I think he’s out back, uhm, conferring with some
douchebag from the bar.” Quinn tried to put as much innuendo in “conferring” as he possibly could—
he really didn’t want this one to go wandering around in back and see the sort of hardcore shit
Sheriff Vic wanted to take up the ass, but Mr. Unfinished Business wasn’t taking any direction. In an
abrupt, decisive movement, he turned on his heel and went walking down by the restroom, and
Quinn heard the swing of the door to the rank alley out back, which was littered with dirty condoms.
“All right,” he whispered to himself. “You asked for it. Five, four, three, two…”
Vic shuddered, grunted, and thrust his ass back harder. God. Yes. Fuck. Harder. Sometimes—
hell, all the time, it was better if you didn’t know who was giving it to you, as long as it was thick and
brutal and up his ass.
This guy had a cockring on, too, something nasty, with metal bumps around the base, and every time
he thrust hard, Vic wanted to shout and come, but he didn’t. Not even that was enough pain to get
him off.
“Harder!” Vic snarled. “Harder! Fuckin’ spank me! Use your goddamned belt!”
The guy stopped, lodged to his base in Vic’s ass, and Vic shuddered in ecstasy as that nasty cockring
stretched and hurt. God… God… nobody could fucking deal out slutty painsex anymore. The redhead
at the bar had been close, but this guy? This guy was a master.
There was a fumbling and then the guy started to move again, and then a faint whistling as the belt,
folded double, came down on his flank. Oh God… oh God… so good. So fucking good. But still not
enough… still not enough… and then?
“Oh holy God!” Vic looked up, a stranger buried in his asshole, a belt smacking his ass, his cock in his
fist, and saw Oz Cotten, looking at him like Vic was fucking his puppy.
Vic closed his eyes because he had to, because his entire body was exploding in orgasm, and his
scream of completion in that dirty back alley masked the sound of the door slamming behind Oswald
Cotten’s back.
--Oz stumbled blindly to the bar, his hands shaking, his sense of disappointment so damned acute it
actually blossomed like an ache in his chest. He could have had something sweet, that afternoon.
He’d been in his office, the lights had been dimmed, Yoshi had been there, hands on his skin, all of
those long repressed memories and yearnings from school between them, and Oz had… Oz had
smiled politely, been urbane and condescending, and sent him away, disappointed, and Oz was sure,
resentful.
And all because Oz had… what? Dreamed that the guy currently taking it up the ass in the alley was
going to—rescue him?
Jesus. Oz hadn’t believed in that sort of shit even when he was pretending to be Prince Charming to
the unbreakable chain of women he’d banged during college.
“Grey Goose,” Oz said shortly to the ginger-headed bartender with the lean, gamine face and
sardonically raised eyebrow. “Glass and bottle.”
The young man rolled his eyebrow and when he spoke, it was pure joisey. “You got a cab there, pretty
boy, or a bus, or a serf at the wheel of the batmofuckin’bile?”
Oz pulled his head out of the Sheriff’s ass for a minute to actually assess the guy, and he felt himself
sneering. “You knew!” he snapped. “You knew what they’d be doing—“
“Hey, hey!” Redhead held his hands up in front of him in the universal “cool yer jets” hand gesture.
“Yeah, I knew. Sheriff Vic there was my first ride into town, so to speak. But I tried to tell you. I
swear I did. I…” The guy grimaced. “Man, I don’t think you were in the mood to hear.”
Oz sighed. “Yeah. I wasn’t. Look, if I have you call a cab in an hour, can I have that Goose now?”
“I’ll give you a double,” the guy said assessingly. “We’ll see where it goes after that.”
Oz laughed. Punky little fucking leprechaun, wasn’t he?
The drink thunked in front of him, the glass cut crystal and sparkling and the alcohol inviting. Oz had
been planning to just guzzle it, but the bartender’s conservative approach had him sipping,
appreciative, and looking around.
Okay, so he’d seen the place before—it was his competition--very Hunting Lodge of the Outback,
right? But everything was clean, and the bartender seemed to like to move and keep it that way, and
they lowered the lights after ten. Some of the angry tension—and the unwanted, painful arousal—
faded as the lighting and the alcohol washed it out, and when Plucky the Leprechaun came back to
check on him, Oz was almost human.
“How’m I doin’, Mom,” Oz asked cheekily. “Can I have some more now?”
“Yeah, you think you’re fuckin’ funny,” the guy said, reaching for the bottle. “But the whole
goddamned town knows who you are.”
“Yeah? Why should that matter?”
The guy poured his drink and set the bottle neatly on the shelf, like he wasn’t going to have to pull it
out again in a minute.
“I been in this town a week, and I know how shit works. The Cotten’s don’t get nothin’ on their
boxers and the Boxer’s shit don’t stink. Baby Boxer and his buddy, the Uncomfortable Growth? You
alls is fallin’ all over yourselves to make sure they don’t grow up too quickly, which is a real shame,
because Uncomfortable Growth there ain’t no everyday hash-slinger, you hear me?”
Oz perked up. “He’s good?”
“Guy can turn actual hash into five star cuisine. Anyway, there’s them. And then there’s your baby
brother, who hits on anything with a penis and a pulse, and the whole fuckin’ world lets him cause
what? Cause he’s a Cotten? Fuckin’ fabulous for him, right? And then there’s you. Now the gossip
says you’re straight but—“
“I’ve heard enough,” Oz snapped, swallowing his drink and holding his glass out for more.
“Yeah, Mr. Cotten. Sure you have, Mr. Cotten. I’ll leave you alone now, Mr. Cotten.” The pretty
redheaded bartender turned around and walked away.
Oz watched him go and sighed. God. The man was actually talking to him. No “Yes, Mr. Cotten,” or
“Of course not, Mr. Cotten.” Even Yoshi had been deferential, and now, knowing what he knew about
the Sheriff, Oz had the feeling that all of that come-hither dominance had been a show for him too.
And now, he finds the one guy on the planet who can apparently talk to him like a human being—and
an equal, for Christ’s sake—and Oz lets his own arrogance drive the guy off.
“Hey,” he said, as the guy came back his way out of what was, apparently, damned stinking necessity,
“I’m sorry. You were being decent. I got shitty. My bad.”
Red eyebrows hit a bright red hairline. “I don’t got no money,” he said suspiciously, and Oz rolled his
eyes.
“I do. I don’t need to suck up to you, uhm… ?”
Bartender took a deep breath. “Quinn,” he said, extending his hand. “Elliot Quinn.”
“Oz. Oswald Cotton,” Oz said, taking that handshake. They both stopped, as soon as their palms
made contact, and Quinn’s eyes got hooded, and lazy. Oz’s breath stalled in his chest, and he
suddenly longed for the remaining Grey Goose in the tumbler, as his heart started doing the Tootsie
Roll in his ears.
“Straight?” Quinn asked gently, tightening his hand and rubbing the inside of Oz’s wrist with a
callused, slightly damp finger. His hooded eyes were an intense, sparkling green and he still had
freckles across the bridge of his nose.
“As a ruler,” Oz mumbled, but he wasn’t talking about his orientation anymore, oh no he wasn’t, was
he.
“Right,” Quinn said, licking his lips with a pointed pink tongue. “The bar closes in an hour, Mr.
Cotten-me-Straight. Howsabout I give you a ride ho—“
There was a sudden shout then, and what sounded like a gunshot, from out back, and Quinn swore,
jerking his hand back and throwing himself over the bar rather than raising the moveable part that
swung upward. “Adam, watch the fuckin’ till!” he shouted, and went hauling ass down the hallway.
Goddammit! That fucker tried to shoot him!
Vic buckled his belt then and zipped his fly and stretched his shoulder. Jesus, you couldn’t even trust
a fucking hook-up these days, could you?
And it had been going so well. He’d come, the Eduardo had come, and they’d stood, panting, in the
alley, buckling their pants and laughing in exhilaration for a moment. The guy had pulled out a
cigarillo, and Vic—who was usually a cigarette man, after sex—had taken him up on it. They’d stood,
smoking and talking about the sex and what made it good, the facelessness, the edge of pain, the
things they liked when they were doing an honest to God scene (this was more Eduardo and less Vic.
Vic didn’t go in for too much staging during his sex—quick and dirty was just his thing,) and Vic had
started getting hard again.
Eduardo had groped him and laughed, and said, “Give me a minute, big man. Tell me about your day
first.”
So Vic had been showing off. It’s what he did. He’d done it for Oz Cotten, he’d done it for that bantam
weight little bartender with the outstanding cock, and he did it for Eduardo now, who had a pretty
face and the coolest cockring Vic had ever seen.
“Yeah,” he said, trying to keep from preening. “My day was fucked up, man. It gets that way when
you find a dead body in a tourist town.”
Eduardo flicked his butt to the ground. “Dead body?” he asked, his voice suddenly colder than Vic
remembered. Vic must have looked at him funny, because Eduardo smiled lazily and started stroking
himself through his fly, like he was ready for a second round. So Vic told him about the body at the
boat house, relishing every grim detail. He’d just gotten to the part where Oz Cotten had lost his
fucking lunch when Eduardo said, “So, do you have any clues?”
Vic shrugged. “Just some planted bullshit pointing to the occult book—holy fuck! ”
Because Eduardo had pulled out a gun and was aiming it at Vic and grimacing. “My God, you talk too
much for an open asshole!” he snapped, but Vic really was actually a cop, and he really had trained
to disarm an armed opponent, and he’d grabbed the guy’s hand in a wristlock and twisted it, hard,
hard enough to make the guy drop the gun before Eduardo knew what hit him. Eduardo had
apparently trained somewhere too, because he gave his hand—still in Vic’s grasp—a hard tug, and
when Vic overbalanced, he grabbed the back of his head and shoved him toward an oncoming knee.
Pain exploded through Vic’s head and he crumpled, knees down in the fetid alley. He had enough
presence of mind to grab the gun, though, and fired a warning shot into the night before he leaned
against the wall and let the pain in his nose sweep over him.
“Jesus!” The voice was unwelcome but not exactly unexpected. “What in the fuck happened?”
Suddenly there was a clean bar towel being thrust into his hand, and Vic took it gratefully and tilted
his head back. “I almost got shot for opening my big goddamned mouth!” he snapped.
“Yeah?” Quinn asked quizzically. “That’s a shame. I thought your blow jobs were top notch.”
Vic grunted. “That’s not when the gun came out, asshole.”
“So when did it?”
Behind Quinn the door opened again, and Vic knew who it was going to be before he even turned his
head over his shoulder to look.
“Someone who got way too interested in Oz’s dead body,” he said, and then gave it up and leaned
back against the wall, in spite of whatever crap was on the lower part of it.
Quinn didn’t seem shocked at all with that declaration. “You got a dead body?” he asked, and the
Sheriff saw him turn around to Oz. “Really?”
“It was… unsettling,” Oz said, and Vic laughed grimly to himself at the thought of the uptight Oz
Cotten and how goddamned pale he’d been.
“Damned straight!” Quinn crowed, bouncing on his toes. “Man, the first body I saw wash up on the
fuckin’ river bank, I threw up so hard I saw shit I ain’t eaten yet. No wonder you wanted a drink
and… a drink.”
The hesitation was barely noticeable—as well as uncharacteristically tactful of the usually blunt little
Quinn.
“I felt like the biggest pussy on the planet,” Oz confessed, and then, living up to his rep as a coldblooded bastard, he got back to business. “What are we going to do about this, Sheriff?”
Vic turned toward him and scowled. “Well, for starters, I’m going to go back to the station and write
up some paperwork for it.” He kept his scowl in place and ignored the heat in his face. “I would
appreciate the holy fuck out of it if the two of you would—“
“Ignore the holy fucking you were doing out here before it happened?” Quinn asked, looking
delighted with himself.
“Yeah,” Vic grunted, because they had him by the short hairs and everybody knew it. “That.”
“Yeah, fine, Sheriff,” Oz said, not even pitching his voice to gloat. “Just remember, I have a priority
too.”
“Yeah, yeah. Trip Whitlock. I hear ya. Could you two… I dunno, go the fuck away or something? I’m
gonna slink to my car and sit on my doughnut cushion and go do paperwork.”
“Well, ya know,” Quinn said wisely, “that’s why you gotta save your fuckin’ till the end of the day, Vic.
This other thing, this ain’t good for ya.”
Vic laughed weakly, spattering blood on his white towel. “Quinn—“
“Yeah, yeah. Goin’ the fuck away.”
The two of them disappeared back down the hallway to the bar proper, and Vic grunted and made his
way to his car. Holy Jesus fuck me twice, but it had been a day.
"This isn't my house," Oz Cotton said in complete sobriety at Quinn's side. Quinn pulled Oz's
seriously choice car to a stop and just looked at him.
“Did you want it to be?” he asked, and for once there wasn’t any attitude in his voice. He wanted to
hear Oz say it.
“I don’t know,” Oz murmured. He sounded tired and needy, and Quinn turned the big ol’ BMW off
and shifted around to look at him. The crowd at the bar had pretty much dispersed after the
excitement, and it had been Quinn and Oz, talking quietly until Quinn had finally told Adam to drag
his sorry ass home.
“You had a bad day,” Quinn said, “I get that. Man, I got two remedies for a bad day, and the bar just
closed.”
“I just wanted some comfort,” Oz admitted, and then smiled mockingly at himself. “I’m not six. I can
live without comfort.”
Oh, he was going to make this hard, wasn’t he? Well, that was okay. Quinn was getting hard just
hearing his high-toned voice talking softly in this choice car. He reached out and put his hand on Oz’s
thigh.
“Is that comforting?” he asked, and preened a little when Oz shuddered. Oh yes, girl, boy, didn’t
matter. Human touch in the sensitive places, everybody wanted it.
“That shit Vic was doing in the back alley,” Oz murmured. “That looked… dirty. That wasn’t
comforting at all.”
Quinn sighed. “Well, yanno, one man’s comfort is another man’s stag film. He likes it that way—I
don’t know why. What do you like?”
Oz grunted. “Female…ahhh…” because Quinn had moved his hand up a little and grazed the package
he felt growing there.
“Bullshit,” Quinn said needlessly. “If you want me to touch you again, you gotta fuckin’ tell me what
you want.”
“God,” Oz groaned, straining for Quinn’s hand. Quinn kept it away from Oz’s package, knowing it
was cruel but not caring. Yeah, Quinn fucked both kinds, but he was damned straight about it. This
guy—this guy was yearning so hard for a hard cock that it was a wonder his own wasn’t just dragging
him toward any available orifice, like a dousing rod for cum.
“Say it,” Quinn demanded, scraping his nail down Oz’s inseam. “I wanna hear ya say it.”
“A kiss!” Oz muttered harshly, and before Quinn knew what was happening, one of those big, longfingered, manicured hands was hauling at the back of his head and Quinn’s mouth was being opened,
plundered, and tongue fucked like he had never been kissed before.
Oh God… tongue, sweeping in and out, hand, knotting in his hair, and Oz’s other hand up under his
T-shirt, kneading at his chest. A fingernail lightly scraped Quinn’s nipple, and Quinn yelped into his
mouth.
“Sensitive?” Oz asked, surprised, and Quinn undid his seatbelt and slid the seat back so he could turn
sideways and get some leverage.
“Goddamned right they’re sensitive,” he muttered, grasping the lapels of Oz’s collared combed cotton
shirt in either hand and giving them a yank. Buttons scattered across the car and Quinn shoved the
tight-fitted undershirt up over a tanned, rippled abdomen and chest, and took one of Oz’s nipples in
his mouth, suckling hard, and teasing with his teeth.
“Oh… ahhhhhhh!” Oz gasped, and Quinn placed more kisses on his chest, his sensitive ribs, his
tender stomach. He slid down in front of Oz, giving thanks that a car like this had leg room to spare,
and started working on Oz’s fly.
“Kiss?” Oz asked plaintively, and something of that vulnerable man, the one who’d been straight with
Quinn, showed up in his voice. Quinn looked up at him, unzipping his fly and yanking at his trousers
and briefs with almost too much force.
“Sure I’ll kiss ya,” Quinn promised. “I’ll kiss ya when my mouth tastes like your come, and you don’t
have a doubt in the world who’s blowin’ ya, and why you like it!”
Oz was hard, painfully hard, by the time Quinn pulled him out. Quinn held that piece of flesh in his
hand and took a moment to appreciate a goddamned work of art, squeezing it, lapping at the head,
nibbling at the crown, and then Oz knotted his fingers in Quinn’s hair again and shoved his mouth
down.
Quinn swallowed him until his crown was scraping his throat, and swallowed some more, just to hear
Oz groan. Quinn hollowed his cheeks, tightened his lips over his teeth, and sucked, pulling up, feeling
his own cock grow hard just hearing Oz groan. Oh God. Oh God, Oz Cotten was letting Elliot Quinn
blow him in the front of his BMW, oh Christ, just the thought was enough to make Quinn come.
But he wasn’t gonna. Nuh-nuh. Elliot Quinn knew when to hold out for a good thing. He pulled back,
letting Oz’s cock smack him in the cheeks, liking the way Oz squirmed and grunted and said pleading
words under his breath. He spit on his fingers and thrust them back toward Oz’s entrance, then
stilled and just rubbed them around on Oz’s rim. Oz groaned and Quinn licked a long line from his
base to his tip, and sucked that tip into the cave of his mouth.
“I want ya, sure,” he said, playing with that rim. It stretched like Oz was pushing against his finger,
trying to suck it in, and sure enough, there went his fingertip, twitching around in there while Oz
pulled at Quinn’s hair until it hurt.
“Please,” Oz breathed. “Please.”
“Are ya sure? ‘Cuz if you come in my mouth, that’s just the beginning, Mr. Cotten. I’m gonna take you
in my house and I’m gonna fuck ya until ya scream. Hell, I’m gonna fuck ya ‘til you’re mine. Elliot
Quinn don’t give no fuckin’ free rides, you hear me?” He thrust his finger in a little deeper, and Oz
cried out and thrust his backside down begging for it.
“God. Anything. Please… just tell me you’ll kiss me when it’s done.”
Quinn wanted to crow. A kiss? Oh yeah. Quinn was gonna bruise those rich pillow lips and then he
was gonna stretch that tight asshole and pound Oz ‘til he blew again all over Quinn’s bed. Quinn
wanted to roll around in it, wanted to smell and taste like Oz’s come, and right now as Oz begged him
so pretty, Quinn gave Oz exactly what he wanted and sucked that cock right into the back of his
throat again and again and again and again until Oz ripped out a groan that Quinn felt in his own
balls and spurted, hot, bitter, right down Quinn’s throat.
Quinn swallowed, ‘cuz he was raised right and slid up, making sure his body and his clothes abraded
Oz’s sensitive skin and his still twitching cock. He didn’t swallow all of it though, kept enough, just
enough, to lower his head and plunder Oz’s mouth, giving him back some of his come in a deep, soft,
wet kiss.
And Oz? Oz wrapped his arms around Quinn’s shoulders and held on, shuddering, until Quinn had
no choice but to wrap his arms around that trim waist and hold on back, soothing him while he came
down.
Mmmm… Sam had forgotten how sweet Rider’s body felt next to his, how safe, like a trusted dog or a
new, devoted puppy. He finished checking his e-mail when the phone rang in his hand and he sighed,
running his other hand down Rider’s back. He wanted a repeat. Somehow, he never seemed to truly
lose himself in anyone else’s body like he came inside Rider.
Rider arched against his palm, even in sleep, and Sam answered the phone reluctantly.
“Eduardo?” he said, surprised. This man shouldn’t be calling him. “You did what? ”
Samatakya swore. Goddammit. Not this.
“Why in the hell did you do that? It wasn’t our job—why would we need to do something so foolish?”
He listened again and wondered if he couldn’t call back Gino and have him do a little wetwork. No,
not on Sheriff Vic—the man was a buffoon, who wouldn’t have been worth the bullet even if the
murder investigation had taken him close to Sam’s own plans—but on Eduardo, whose obvious
interest in warning the Sheriff away just might do what the murder hadn’t.
Bring Sam into the light.
“Fuck. No. Whatever. Get yourself on the next plane to bumfuck Egypt—no, I don’t give a fuck what a
sweet ass the man had, I don’t fuck pawns brother, and neither should you!”
Sam rang off and set the phone down next to him on the end table and Rider stirred in his sleep.
“Sam?”
“Sh, baby,” Sam said, with unexpected tenderness. Something gnawed at his throat and he couldn’t
shy it off. He didn’t. He didn’t fuck pawns. So if he didn’t fuck pawns, after all these years, what in
the hell was Rider?
--Quinn opened the passenger door and slid out. “Get the keys,” he told Oz, and Oz? Well, Oz did
exactly like he asked. He slid out of his own car and pulled his pants up, tucking himself back in and
was going to buckle his belt when Quinn turned to him abruptly and stood on his toes, pressing their
bodies together and raising his mouth for another kiss.
Oz took it, surprising and tender, and ran his hands through that gorgeous ginger hair, massaging his
scalp and not yanking on it, like he had when he’d been lost in passion. Quinn still tasted like his
come, still salty and bitter and sweet, but he also tasted like Quinn, like the coffee the man had been
drinking and the attitude he’d been spouting and, underneath, the unexpected kindness that he’d
deny if he could.
“Don’t fasten your belt,” Quinn ordered softly. “Yer not gonna need it tonight. You ready to ask for
what you really want?”
Oz looked at him, those bright green eyes gone dark in the night, and nodded.
“I want you,” he said gruffly, and Quinn’s smile promised everything with a side of no-bullshit-sass.
“Fuckin’ peachy, Oz Cotten. Let’s go get laid.”
Oz found an answering smile, and followed this bantam weight little bartender into the shitty kind of
apartment that you’d have for a summer rental. He was going to leave his car parked out here. In the
morning, everyone would know.
For a moment, his feet failed him, and he stumbled to a halt, then Quinn turned back around like he
knew exactly what Oz was thinking.
“I palmed your keys while we were kissing, college boy,” he said smugly, pulling them out and
jingling them. “Now stop playing games and come get them.”
Oz didn’t have any trouble this time, making it to the door and following him in.
Episode 8
Ellis Carrington
The lights of Danzare pulsed and played over crowded dance floor in time to a filthy, electronic bass
beat. That song about doing it like animals on the Discovery channel. Rider’s muscles eased as soon
as Sam nudged him through the door. His father had still been up when they left, pouring over
paperwork for the resort or some shit. Getting ghost without an earful had been a relief.
He leaned over to his buddy, who had backed against the bar and was scanning the room. Casual, but
alert. “Love this song, man. Makes me think of fucking.”
Sam barked a laugh. “Baby. Everything makes you think of fucking.” Sam licked along Rider’s ear.
“So this is the place, eh?”
Rider pushed his hair out of his face, trying to watch Sam and all the hot grinding on the dance floor
all at the same time. “Most popular club in town. Even on a night like tonight it’s packed. You wanna
move product, this is the place.” He puffed his chest and pushed out the words with authority that
impressed even him. Hell, freaking yeah. His dad and his brother had blown him off long ago as an
idiot, no-good moron. Sam, though. Sam treated him like an equal. Rider was lucky to have Sam, and
he was gonna pay him back for everything.
Make him proud.
Rider scanned the club. Usual suspects tonight. Handful of tourists. “Gonna wanna be careful
though, Sam. We haven’t seen a ton of shit moving through this area that I know of. Be easy to trace
it back to you, wouldn’t it?”
Sam’s eyes were dark, intense points as his friend’s stare roved the room. Light played off the man’s
swarthy skin and wet, pursed lips. “You leave all that to me,” Sam said.
Maybe it was that the song changed to a much faster one. Darude’s “Sandstorm,” which was one of
Rider’s favorites. Maybe it was the jungle-cat fluidity of Sam’s movements, the sharpness of his stare,
and the fact that everything about him spelled out one hundred percent certain-fucking-assuredness.
Whatever it was, Rider’s stomach clenched and his heartbeat broke out in double-time. Fuck him,
but for all his cocky assholishness he didn’t have that…”it” factor that Sam had. He wanted that. Bad.
Adam Parish walked in the door with that cock-sucking douchebag buddy of his.
Rider licked his lips and swallowed, thirsty all of a sudden for something that could make him
blissful and buzzy and courageous like Sam was. Even if he wouldn’t be quite so sharp. His hand
went up to signal the bartender. “So what’s the plan for tonight?”
Sam scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Tonight we’re only checking out the scene.” He jerked his
head toward the door. “See something you like?” The blond, shaggy-headed bartender appeared and
Sam sent him away with a terse order of two bottles of water.
“Water? Fuck, Sam, I wanted a drink.”
“Baby, I got a way better plan for you tonight.”
How could there be a better plan than a Bombay Sapphire dirty martini? “What do you—”
“Shh.” Sam pulled Rider close, gripping his butt cheek so hard it probably bruised a little. Hot
breath, smelling of the leftover curry they’d shared on the way out, puffed invitingly in Rider’s face.
“Now.” Sam gestured pointedly to Adam Parish. “He’s the one you told me about, right?” Long,
strong fingers groped a handful of Rider’s ass on the other side now, and Sam’s jean-clad pelvis
pushed in just enough to make a point.
Enough to rev Rider up again, even though they’d only fucked a few hours ago.
It was a stupid thing to be pissed over some skinny, pasty, nobody fry cook who wouldn’t give Rider
the time of day. Still. Pissed Rider was. Who the fuck was Adam Parish to say Rider wasn’t good
enough? He got enough of that shit at home. He kept his stare trained on Adam, even as he ground
back against Sam. “That’s him.”
“Bathroom’s that way?” Sam pointed. “Ah, I see that it is. Come on.”
“What’re we—” Whoa. Like he’d blasted off at Space Mountain, Rider shot across the dance floor in
Sam’s wake, nothing to do but hold on while they pushed past the bump and grind of sweaty bodies.
The men’s was empty when they got inside.
Before he knew it, Rider’s T-shirt was pushed up and his back was against the cool metal of a stall
wall, his buckle being undone—goddamn, Sam had nimble fingers—and his pants and boxer briefs
were down to his knees, with Sam’s dark lips stretched over his cock like they belonged there.
Fucking perfect fit. But okay, so maybe Rider was a little unclear on the plan. Something to do with
Adam, right?
Whatever, he was getting his dick sucked.
Sam stood, and a groan burbled out of Rider’s throat. “Sam, what the hell?” But then Sam spat in his
hand and wrapped it around Rider’s shaft, the motions long and slow. Working his balls, working his
fingers back toward— “Ung. Shit, Sam.”
Sam worked Rider’s cock with his other hand. That one, long finger was joined by a second and
curled and twisted, glancing off his sweet spot while they fucked in and out of him. “You like my
plan, baby?”
Rider panted and bucked into Sam’s hand. “Wait. What?” What. Ever. Didn’t get what this had to
with Adam, but he was beyond caring. Rider spread his knees as much as he could and thrust
forward. Sam knew how to work him right. How to squeeze, how to push and twist with those fingers
in his ass. How Rider liked to kiss and have his nipples bitten.
Still a little sore and sensitive from earlier, Rider was amazed to find himself getting off as hard as he
did, but his buddy Sam could always do that. Sometimes the pain even made it better. Or the filthy
promises Sam whispered in Rider’s ear. What he was gonna do to Rider later, how they were gonna
get rich together. How Sam was going to get fucked by Rider over a pile of money.
He managed to splatter cum on his stomach and chest, he shot so hard. “Jesus, Sam.”
Sam chuckled in his ear. “That feel good, baby?”
Rider shivered and breathed a laugh. He blinked at Sam as he reached for the toilet paper, grinning
wide at his friend when the creak of the bathroom door and the silence that followed announced
they’d had an audience after all. Rider liked an audience. “Real good. But how’s jackin’ me off in the
bathroom part of your master plan?”
Sam pulled a dime bag from his pocket full of tiny yellow pills about the size of Aspirin. His fingers
tangled in Rider’s hair, pulling him in close for a kiss. “In a little while, you should feel reeal fuckin’
good.”
That sneaky motherfucker. “You stuck ecstasy up my ass while you were finger fucking me.”
“New shipment,” Sam murmured. “Get you loosened up, test out the product. Two birds with one
stone.”
Rider’s chest tightened. He yanked his pants up so fast he almost fell sideways. “Jesus, Sam. You
could at least tell me before you do something like that.”
Sam’s bristly cheek rubbed against his. “Baby. Don’t you trust me?”
“Sure I do. But—” He panted heavily. This was Sam…
“That time you were sick with Dengue Fever, who was there for you?” Sam nipped along Rider’s jaw,
his earlobe. “I’d never hurt you.”
Rider’s head bumped against the metal of the stall when he shook it. Guilt over not trusting his
friend warred with confusion and an unwanted shard of doubt. His ass clenched but he couldn’t feel
much of anything in there. “Never tried that before. Works as well as swallowing, this way?”
Sam’s grin brightened the room. “Works even better. Might burn a little when the pill dissolves, but
it’s worth it. You'll never roll so hard in your life. Stick with me, baby. I’ll never steer you wrong.”
No, Sam wouldn’t. Sam bit his lip and buckled Rider’s pants for him. Sam was great like that.
“Now, come on. Let’s get washed up and go say hello to your friend Adam. Bet I can get him to party
with us. Maybe get a little threesome action going.” Sam kissed Rider one more time before slipping
one yellow tablet from the baggie straight onto his tongue, and backing out of the stall.
Rider noticed that Sam didn’t actually swallow the pill.
Night of surprises all around, huh, Oz? The little studio apartment was neat as a pin. Very few
knickknacks and even less furniture except a neatly made bed with red sheets. Two vintage bar
stools. No television. A few library books stacked on the breakfast bar and a selection of decent wines
in a small counter-top holder. Quinn had cracked one of the bottles open after they got inside. The
dimly-lit but pristine kitchen nook spoke of somebody who was proud but dead-broke, and asshole
that Oz was, he'd have never set foot in a place like this even a day ago.
What a difference a day makes.
Oz rolled a bold Cabernet in his mouth. Underneath the hints of blackberry and vanilla, the
bitterness of his own cum lingered. He locked gazes with a pair of intensely green eyes across a cheap
Formica breakfast bar and swallowed very…slowly…
He’d committed to seeing this thing through. Oz Cotten didn’t back down from anything. “Good
wine,” he managed. “Fruity.”
Elliot Quinn simultaneously lifted one eyebrow and one corner of his perfect mouth and sipped from
his glass. He leaned back against an ancient but impeccably kept gas stove. “Watch who yer callin’
‘fruity’ there, college boy.”
“Fuck.”Oz threw his head back and laughed. It wasn’t that funny. It wasn’t. Shit. Nerves left behind
by sobering night air and the comedown of a disturbingly hot orgasm and the uncomfortable
knowledge of exactly what Oz was doing in this bartender’s apartment made his hands unsteady
and his movements erratic. He lifted his hand to run it over the top of his head but the hook of his
pinkie finger caught the stem of his wine glass.
“Whoa there, college boy.”
“Shit. Sorry.”
Damned if that bartender wasn’t Johnny on the spot with a dishrag. Oz had barely pushed the
high-legged stool he sat on away from the counter before Quinn had moved in to swab up the
excess Cabernet Sauvignon from the counter and floor.
Oz shivered despite the warmth in the immaculate studio apartment. The two men locked gazes
from Quinn’s position on the floor between his spread legs. The memory of those firm, practiced
lips and how alive he’d been when they were wrapped around his cock rushed back full force.
“Doin’ all right up there?” Quinn stood then, his lean hips sandwiched firmly between Oz’s parted
knees. A gentle ache started up in Oz’s balls. Enough of one to tell him that what had happened out
in the car hadn’t satisfied his curiosity.
Oz couldn’t pry his stare away from Elliot Quinn’s parted lips and the gentle sweep of his tongue.
Like the guy might be about to spit out the cure for cancer or something. It burned, but he needed to
go ahead and drop “curious” from his vocabulary. Walking in on the Sheriff cuffed to his own
bedpost had been the start of a very slippery slope for Oz. Seeing the man get pounded and spanked
like that in the alley had been equal parts disgusting and arousing. Right now Oz wanted to…what?
He lifted a hand toward Quinn's face and stopped it in midair, vibrating with a foreign kid-in-acandy-shop kind of uncertainty.
“I…” Oz licked his lips once, then twice. He didn’t know what he didn’t know. He wanted to touch
this bantamweight bartender all over the place. Wanted to explore and taste and kiss more and—
yeah, Quinn’s promise to fuck him gave Oz a thrilling, terrifying, full-body zing every time the
words ran through his head. Which was about every twenty seconds. He shook his head,
overwhelmed. “Fine.”
“That you are.” Quinn pushed his wine glass over. “Here, rich boy. Both hands, maybe.” The bright
green of his eyes sparkled with humor in the dim light of the little apartment, but his voice had
gotten low and serious. Where was all that plucky joisey attitude?
“What about you?”
That one fiery brow quirked again. A warm, rough palm slid up the exposed plane of Oz’s stomach.
Shit, he was down a shirt after the way the buttons had all gone flying in the car. Not like he could
bring himself to care, the way that palm had a direct line of communication open with his balls.
“Seemed like once we got in the door and you saw the only furniture I had was a bed you sobered
up a little too much for your own sanity. “ Quinn leaned close, wine-infused breath ghosting over
Oz’s face. “I don’t need any wine to fuck ya, Oz Cotten.”
Sweet Jesus, that voice. Oz’s uncertainty vanished. His fingers dug hard into Elliot Quinn’s lean
biceps and pulled in for a hard kiss, greedily sucking off the lingering flavors of berry, and currant,
and Oz’s own cum. Oh, hell yes. His hands went under Quinn’s shirt, fingers spanned across lean,
toned abs. Impatiently, he pulled the long-sleeved T-shirt up and off. “Shit, you’re gorgeous.” he
breathed. Dizziness hit him just then, and he bit hard on his tongue.
He hadn't meant to say it aloud, and saying it to another man tasted as strange in his mouth as his
own cum still did.
Quinn opened his mouth and Oz kissed him again. Hard and fast, no tongue this time. Enough to
derail whatever the guy might’ve said next. It was important even though Oz couldn’t put his finger
on why.
His fingers traced the tattoos on Quinn’s arms and chest. For a moment, he was so fascinated he
couldn’t bring himself to blink. Since the age of fourteen he’d been banging chicks. The few times
he’d sprung wood for guys, he’d shut it down. Until Vic. Until now. Hadn’t been that long since he’d
gotten blown out in the car, but the sight of all that lean muscle and those tattoos…. The gentle
dusting of wiry hair under his fingers….The firm, wet lips and the promise in those bright, knowing
eyes. Oz was achingly, painfully hard in his Dockers.
“Like what you see, college boy.” Not a question. Cocky son of a gun. Quinn’s breath was heavy and
deep. Firm, pale pectorals rose and fell under Oz’s hand.
He drew himself up to his full height. Surprisingly, Quinn was a good inch taller. Leaner, but taller.
Funny he hadn’t noticed it before. Like to think you’re bigger than everybody, don’t you,
asshole?The wool of Quinn’s kilt bunched in Oz’s hand and he ran a hand up one furry leg. Furry.
Not smooth. Not waxed or shaved. Huh. Nice.
Oz's hand ran into a pair of boxers. “The fuck?” Blindly, he searched and tugged to get them down.
Kid had too much clothing on. Oz’s airway narrowed and he struggled to breathe. His body heated,
and everything tingled and throbbed. Especially his fingers. Especially his cock. Jeez.
Quinn laughed and took a few steps back.
Oz’s fingers clutched at empty air, and he groaned.
“Let me help you out there, Mr. Cotten.” The redhead punched at a docked iPod and some kind of
quiet techno music with high female vocals came out. Not what Oz would’ve expected the
attitudinal joisey boy to listen to, but then the guy had surprised Oz plenty so far with the pristine
apartment, the impeccable taste in wine—
—clunk—
The bartender’s heavy belt, kilt, and boxers hit the floor. Oz took in the whole of that tight,
hot, hardbartender and slugged the remains of Quinn’s Mondavi Cabernet without tasting it.
Fruity tones and spicy, bold notes be damned. Hell yeah, Elliot Quinn was full of surprises.
And in possession of one monster club of a cock.
Oz’s gaze followed that long, fat, veined shaft while it bobbed in midair. No jaunty salute like Oz’s
hard-on would make had it been standing free, this fucker had to battle gravity. Hardly seemed
proportional to the size of the guy, that schlong. Then again, if dicks were attitudes, the cock matched
the man perfectly.
God damned if drool didn’t puddle in Oz’s mouth at the sight of the thing. His knees hit the floor
with a painful grunt before he even thought about it. Quinn had bent to unlace his black boots, and
Oz smacked away the guy’s hand, eager for more of the smooth, hard length that brushed his face
when he lunged close. “Leave those on, would you?”
Quinn chuckled softly, and that heavy cock jumped against Oz’s face again. “Whatever rubs yer
Buddha, Mr. Cotten.”
Oz rubbed the side of his face against that smooth, hard flesh. All up and down, from the mushroom
tip that was flared and leaking to the base where the balls were low and swinging and covered with
an inviting tangle of rust-colored fur. Every sensation made Oz's gut clench tighter. Painfully so. His
own balls throbbed harder. The hips and ass under his hands were firm, and muscular, not lush and
soft like he was used to. Oz had been with a lot of hot-ass women over the years. Literal fucking super
models. They all blurred and faded in the back of his mind.
His entire world had narrowed down to finding out what that cock would taste like in his mouth.
Oz’s tongue traced the length of that amazing length, and his chest swelled at the catch of Quinn’s
breath. The jerk of the guy's hips. He growled, “Oz. Call me Oz.” His fingers wrapped around the base
of the jumpy motherfucker to keep it still and he licked again. This time a shiny thread of precum
caught and stretched, the sweet and sour of it burst on his tongue, stronger than the notes of any
cabernet.
Holy Jesus, I’m about to put a cock in my mouth. I want to. I want to so badly I can hardly
breathe.Goddamn, that skin needed to be on his tongue again. Needed to be. But first, the punky
asshole bartender needed to do him the courtesy of calling him by his name. No college boy, no rich
boy, no Mr. Cotten. Oz hovered, lips begging to wrap around that shaft, thread of precum stretched
between them like a strand of spider web. Quinn’s low chuckle practically vibrated all the way to Oz’s
balls. Outside, rain pattered against the windows.
Still, Quinn didn’t answer so Oz waited.
Sure fingers walked through Oz’s hair, and Quinn pushed his hips forward, bumping his cock against
Oz’s parted lips. The string of precum broke. “Yanno, you get me keepin’ the boots on it seems only
fair I get to keep ‘Mr. Cotten’.”
Prick. “Seems like me sucking your dick should be enough of a trade, there.” Every word was as
precise as he could make it after all those drinks and the heady buzz of adrenaline that lit him up like
a Christmas tree. Hopefully breathing on the guy's cock like that was teasing the shit out of him.
“Nah. You want that cock in your mouth pretty bad. ‘Sides, what I really want is to pound your ass
into that mattress over there.” Snappy comeback aside, there was a smile in Quinn’s eyes.
He swallowed hard. “Oz. Call me Oz, or I walk the fuck out of here and I go the fuck home.” He was
sober enough. Fuck, if he had to he could call a cab. Shit, he could admit it. Part of him—the part that
still hated his father and thought his brother was a deviant—was clamoring for an excuse to go. But it
wasn’t about that. Not really. It was a stupid, proud insistence but he was about to give in to
something he swore he never would.
Quinn could call him by his name.
Those fingers massaged gently at the back of Oz’s head. Quinn’s gaze flicked to the window when
lightning flashed and the rain fell harder. “Aight then. Can’t have you driving home late at night in
this weather. Can we, Oz?”
Oz’s jaw unhinged and his eyes lost focus. Before he knew it Quinn’s cock was hitting the inside of his
cheek. He readjusted to get his teeth away—he knew that much at least—and oh, hell, he wanted to
swallow the thing whole. It was heavy, and solid, and perfect in his mouth.
Up above, Quinn shifted and a bar stool rocked like the guy was leaning his weight on it. “Shit, Oz—”
Sure. Yeah. Fucking. He responded with an “Mmm-hmm” and put some suction into it, working his
hand to spread the excess saliva around and challenging himself to get the head as far toward his
throat as he could. Quinn seemed to have the courtesy to stay still and Oz was gratified by
appreciative moans and groans and fingers clutching and the back of his head.
--BAM!-“Holy—” Oz looked to the window where the noise had come from. He pulled away with his blood
rushing in his ears. Swiped a hand over his mouth. Shit. Shit! What if pictures of this get splashed
around? This is the sort of stupid impulsive thinking-with-your-dick move your brother would
make, Oz, for God’s sake.
Quinn cocked his head and took a step forward, gaze trained on the window. “S’okay, Oz.” There’s a
tree close to the building. Branch hits the window sometimes if it’s real windy.” He laughed.
“Probably gonna crash through the glass one of these days.”
Oz didn’t realize how much tension that bump on the window had injected into his muscles until the
redhead’s easy smile and explanation made it all leak back out again. Tree. Wind. Right. Jeez. Quinn
stepped forward and Oz rubbed that hipbone that fascinated him so, and next thing he knew Quinn’s
dick was back to making friends with his tonsils. This time it wasn’t fear jacking up his pulse.
The song on the player changed. “Breathe” from Telepopmusik. He remembered that one because
some car commercial used to play it all the time. Oz matched rhythm with the gentle snaps and
cymbal sounds of the down tempo song. Funny what you remembered at times like these. Like the
time he’d stumbled upon a “Secrets to Deep Throat” porn video. Hadn’t there been something about
sticking out your tongue like you were saying “Ah” and pushing the head back?
Oz went for it…and gagged so hard his wine and Grey Goose almost came back to greet him. He
pulled away. At least he meant to. Oz Cotten never did anything half-assed, no away. He’d had bad
blow jobs, and he refused to give a bad blow job. But when he started to pull off, to apologize, to try
another technique—the thing in his mouth impossibly got fatter and harder to hold onto, and Quinn
who had until then been pretty easy going tightened his grip and thrust forward. Fucking his mouth
fast and hard. So Oz held still, held on, tried to keep his teeth out of the way.
The pulsing sensation on his tongue. That sour flavor. Oz squeezed his eyes shut and
swallowed. God, he's coming in my mouth. He swallowed and Quinn jerked and shuddered, already
a little softer. Oz moaned without even meaning to. He delighted in the shivers and twitches that
came every time he moved his lips and tongue.
Quinn pulled his arm and then they were standing. Quinn, naked but for his boots. Oz, still wearing
his jeans. Tongues slid effortlessly against each other as they stood there in the small kitchen nook.
The skin of chest against chest was…satisfyingly warm.
“I thought the plan was for me to fuck your ass, college boy.”
“I thought the plan was for you to call me Oz.” They were both a little sweaty. His hand glided down
the smooth expanse of Quinn’s back. Even muscular woman felt different. Curvier. Oz almost
would’ve called Quinn bony except…nah…he ran his gaze up and down the flushed body, and landed
on Quinn’s crooked smile. No, he looked good this way.
“Aight,” Quinn said. He backed across the beige carpet to the double bed. He plucked at the laces of
his boots and yanked them off, setting them carefully by the foot of the bed. After removing the socks
he wore and rolling them into a ball, he tossed them into a nearby clothing hamper and flopped
unceremoniously onto the bed. “So what’s it gonna be, Oz. You wanna bail on getting that virgin ass
pounded, this here’s yer chance. You wanna hang for awhile 'till I can recharge, that’s cool too.”
Oz worked his jaw back and forth for a moment. Across the room, Quinn’s chest rose and fell slowly
but he couldn’t be asleep yet. Oz bent to the floor and picked up his discarded shirt with fingers he
could barely feel, and he ran a hand over his head. The iPod shuffled and an acoustic Jackson
Browne song came on.
You could walk out and pretend nothing happened.
Oz’s gaze flicked to the window again, and then he took a step forward.
Vic slammed his hand on the steering wheel and his head against the back of the car seat. “What the
fuck are you gonna do with yourself, Vic?”
The compulsion was creeping back again. Every time he swore to himself he’d get his shit together,
he went and fucked up worse than before. Same old pattern. Something had to give.
“Shit, it’s really coming down out there.” Damn that asshole for taking a shot at him and making him
do paperwork. He’d have been home in bed by now and not driving in this miserable downpour.
Good thing at least it was the middle of the night and the roads were pretty clear. Vic, for his part,
was finally off duty.
“What the—” The breaks squealed when he slammed them and pulled to the side of the road, one
block down from a cheap set of rental apartments. What the hell was Oz Cotten’s car doing in front of
that place?
It wasn’t any of his business. There was no reason for him to stop. Vic kept right on telling himself
that as he headed back up the block and around to the back of the building on foot. He’d busted a
small-time drug dealer here some months back; the windows on that side were larger. "Garden
view," they called it. Ha.
He hit pay dirt on the second ground floor unit. “Hoh-lee, shit.” Oz Cotten, naked as the day he was
born and hot as fucking hell in bed with the redhead who’d done Vic but good and left him
handcuffed that one night. Well. Wasn’t that interesting?
Vic had been at the grand opening of the resort, had seen the look of horror on Oz’s face when Daddy
Cotten arrived with Trip Whitlock on his arm. The disgust when his brother Rider started hitting on
the male help. Hell, Vic’s own forays into flirting with Oz seemed to have been met with little more
than blank confusion.
Then there was that shit back in the alley…
Vic shuddered, both from the memory and from the chill of the rain soaking his clothes. Freezing and
wet as he was, stupid as it was, the scene inside was hot. Yeah, he’d just given himself that pep talk.
The two in that bed were so into each other though. “No one’ll know I was here,” he whispered.
He pulled impatiently—angrily—at his pants. “Fucking French fly.” He hated cop pants. He milked
his wet cock there in the rain, while inside Oz Cotten soul-kissed Quinn the bartender in a way that
confirmed that asshole was about as straight as a Slinky toy.
A movement in the bushes brought Vic’s head around. Fuck. He stuffed himself back in his pants and
waited. Nothing. Probably just the wind. Or an animal. Still, it was an important reminder. His
murderer had likely skipped down, but there were no guarantees. No solid clues yet, about that
wizard shit on the dead body. And if Vic got caught with his pants down and a psycho on the loose, he
risked making an entire town vulnerable.
Worthless and stupid like Daddy always said, Vic.
He looked through the window again. “Shit,” Vic whispered. “But they’re fucking gorgeous together.”
--Quinn would never admit it to a soul, but he'd woken up more content than he had in a long time. Oz
Cotten was kissing him slow and gentle, while thunder rolled overhead and Springsteen's "Human
Touch" played in the kitchen.
Normally Quinn didn't go for slumber parties. He'd kind of figured on fooling around until he could
get it up again, but Oz had gone comatose 'bout as soon as he'd hit the bed. Quinn had settled in and
flipped over the options. Would it be the scared rabbit or the rich asshole that greeted him when he
woke up? Or would Oz be a distant memory?
Sometimes surprises were nice.
Oz’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling. “Storm’s really kicked up out there.”
“Guess it’s a good thing you’re not out there.” The corner of Quinn’s mouth pulled up. Oz's pebbled
nipples and fuzzy chest hair rubbed against Quinn. Nice.
Quinn had to hand it to the guy, Oz was one fan-fucking-tabulous kisser. Their tongues probed while
Oz sloppily divested himself of his spiffy Ralph Lauren boxers. Their hips jerked, their cocks
collided…. Oz clearly needed to explore, and Quinn’s body buzzed as a hot palm rubbed over his skin,
slicked by gathering sweat.
Fucking thermostat never working right in this busted pop-stand.
Oz’s moan vibrated deep in Quinn’s mouth. Long fingers trailed over his jaw. Dude didn’t seem fazed
he was running his hand over two-day old stubble. Or that his dick was bumping against another one
in a most friendly manner.
Quinn’s had been plenty a schmuck’s gay training wheels. Seemed like if the first thing didn’t get a
reaction, the second one did. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Oz Cotten was a different sort than
most. What had though, was that Oz the one on top. No. It hadn’t gotten passed him. He just hadn’t
minded, and wasn’t that the damndest thing? Oz Cotten’s heavy, stacked form covered Quinn’s like a
blanket and the weight was unbelievably gratifying.
Oz shifted and the head of his cock nudged under Quinn’s balls.
Shit, he wanted it. From Oz Cotten. He could practically feel the guy’s dick inside him. Un-flippingbelivable. Quinn’s adrenaline spiked and his eyelids flew open wide. One leg hooked over one of Oz’s
and he slipped from under the hard body with a playful slap of that firm, lightly furred ass. That man
took good fucking care of himself. He reached to a drawer for the stuff to slick and cover himself.
“That wasn’t the plan.”
Oz’s eyes crinkled a little around the corners and a pearly-white set of teeth flashed at Quinn. “No, it
wasn’t.”
Whatever the urge, Quinn couldn’t let the delicious chance to fuck Oz Cotten’s ass just walk on by.
Lightning flashed through the window by the bed. In the near dark of the room it amped up the
golden glow of Oz’s skin. “Fuck, you’re a fine looking specimen.” Quinn bent to lick at the salty sweat
on Oz’s inner thigh, to nibble at the cut of his hip, and bypassed the man’s dick to frustrate him on
his way to suck first one and then the other nipple. He preened at the filthy curses and praises to God
that dribbled out of Oz’s pillow lips.
Oz hauled him in for another kiss. At the same time he bent his knees up, exposing himself to Quinn.
Dude really did want to get fucked. Hell yeah. Oz’s hand brushed over Quinn’s stomach. “You’re…”
He licked his lips. “You too.” Shit. Rich boy was blushing.
Quinn’s toes scrunched up at that one.
He pulled back enough to stare Oz Cotten in the eye. “Look, so we’re clear? I ain’t into second dates,
and I ain’t a fucking punching bag. You got issues in the light of day, those are all yours.”
Oz’s fingers were smooth and warm around his cock. He licked his lips. “What do I have to say to
convince you?” He sucked in a deep breath. “I wanna know what that thing feels like in my ass.”
“That’ll work.” Quinn grinned and squeezed the lube out too hard. It gushed all over his hand, and
Oz’s stomach. His heart tap danced erratically in his chest when Oz Cotten—fucking Oz Cotten—bore
down on Quinn’s middle finger and that tight heat swallowed it whole.
“Shit,” Oz murmured.
Their stares held as Quinn fucked that digit in and out so…slowly…curling it to hit Oz’s sweet spot
and adding a second finger. He wrapped a hand around the base of Oz’s cock, stroking gently and
running his thumb over tight, hairy balls. “Feel okay?”
Oz’s palm rubbed over Quinn’s sensitive nips and it only made Quinn more desperate to bury himself
in the man’s ass.
“Oh God…God. Yeah…but…” Oz’s voice was low and breathy. You don’t need to do all that. I dated
plenty of girls who— I never thought to do that. They took it, so can I. Right?”
For some reason, that made Quinn’s stomach flutter. He lifted an eyebrow. “This ain’t about doing
penance,” He said. He added a third finger and pushed in slow. Oz’s eyes got squinty. Van Morrison
crooned quietly from in the kitchen.
“Maybe I want it to hurt.” Did Oz blush again? Maybe he and Sherriff Vic had a little something in
common after all. Huh. Fine.
Fuck knew Quinn was about to shoot just watching this buttoned-up rich boy come undone and
squirm while his fingers did the walking.
Quinn couldn’t hold back the groan when the crown of his cock pushed into Oz’s ass. Shit, the guy
was tight, and hot, and so, so fucking responsive. Some guys, the first time, they clamped down. Or
they cursed and whined a lot. Only sign of Oz’s discomfort was a bare grimace as Quinn pushed past
the greatest point of resistance. That and he wasn’t totally hard anymore. Quinn could fix that.
Quinn shifted, lifting one of Oz’s legs and stroking Oz’s cock with a greasy hand. And then…Quinn
was balls deep and Oz’s breath whooshed out…there it was. The tension on Oz’s face eased. “Better?”
Muscles squeezed and massaged around Quinn’s shaft.
Oz’s chest lifted and fell, his breath coming faster now in sharp, shallow pants. “Shit. Shit.” Oz
clawed at the sheets. “Ohmygod. Feels amazing now that you’re all the way in.”
“Peachy.” Quinn smiled slightly. He started slow, one arm wrapped around each of Oz’s bent knees,
speeding up by degrees. “Darkness on the Edge of Town” started in the kitchen. Nothing Quinn loved
more than fucking when his favorite song was on. He fucked deep, matching pace with Springsteen
while The Boss lamented about blood that never burned in some chick’s veins.
Quinn’s blood was burnin’ pretty fuckin’ hot right then.
Like before, Oz’s hands wandered. They gripped and stroked Quinn’s arms and rubbed his chest and
tweaked his nips. Manicured nails raked Quinn’s abs. Quinn’s veins buzzed and the tight sheath of
Oz’s ass—well Quinn didn’t want to be inconsiderate but it was getting hard to hold back the way that
sucker was squeezing him.
.
Shaky breath and body trembles started up like Oz might be getting close. Quinn changed angle and
picked up speed, stroking Oz’s cock nice and firm, but the guy grunted and punched the mattress and
cursed in frustration. Sweat dripped from his temple. Oz kept on gasping and shaking like he was
riding the edge, needy for the right push to send him over. Like he couldn’t quite let go.
Maybe the guy wasn’t taking to this whole thing so easy after all.
“Something wrong?” Quinn slowed down and started to pull out.
Oz shook his head side to side, and nearly growled. “Feels so fucking good.” He pushed forward, back
onto Quinn’s dick.
“Wait.” Quinn pulled out carefully despite Oz’s protest and flopped backward. “C’mere. Ride me.”
Maybe if Oz was the one doing the driving, then he could let loose.
Quinn held the man’s ass as best he could while Oz lowered down, and after some gasping and
groaning and murmurs of “Jesus, that’s intense,” Oz got himself seated. Found a rhythm. Quinn
couldn’t believe how hard that guy was slamming himself down onto his stick once he got
comfortable with it. Shit. Oz stroked himself while he worked up and down on Quinn’s pole,
sometimes wiggling a little to hit things just right, and Quinn’s fingers dug into the guy’s hips as he
thrust hard to meet him.
Fucking glorious that man looked, sitting on Quinn’s cock like that.
“Shit, I’m gonna come.”
“Thank. Fuck.” Quinn thrust up hard and unloaded. Holy mother of pearl. His body shuddered. He
came so fucking hard it exploded in his gut almost painfully, and Oz Cotten’s blue eyes were so
goddamned passionate right then…. Quinn’s own eyes squeezed shut and he rolled his head to the
side. He drew in a breath and opened them again as he started to come down, in time to see another
flash of lightning outside the window…
And—Jesus—Vic Neale’s soggy mug staring right at them from the other side of the glass.
Even the massive thunderclap outside couldn’t drown out Oz Cotten’s unholy orgasmic shout. Head
thrown back, eyes shut tight, the man shot all over his own hand and stomach, and it was the hottest
fucking thing Quinn had ever seen. Somehow…knowing the sheriff had been watching them…Quinn
couldn’t decide if that made it hotter or weird. He would’ve gone with hotter, but…
Seeing Oz like that…Quinn wanted it for himself.
Oz shook and groaned. Drops of cum landed on Quinn’s stomach. A glance back at the window told
Quinn the sheriff was gone now. Of course he was.
Oz Cotten had no clue.
Episode 9
Britta Adams
Conrad stared at the text. "I need to see you."
While elated for the opportunity to see Grady again, he knew nothing would come of it, making the
meeting an exercise in futility. He'd made it quite clear he belonged to Phil.
Conrad called back instead of texting. For crying out loud, he'd just learned to program numbers
into his iPhone. Texting was a level of expertise better suited to Oz.
"Are you all right, is something wrong?"
"Please, it's important."
Conrad shrugged. "Sure, fine. Where?"
"The fishing shack, half an hour."
"I'll be there. There's a row boat at the dock."
Conrad couldn't deny that Grady's confession as to missing him had taken him aback and given him
jerk-off fodder since their meeting at the B&B. Worrisome was the fact that the man's once easy
smile now seemed tortured, plastered on. Conrad had dwelt on Grady's eyes that day, and it killed
him that the smile never reached them.
He'd wanted to ask why, but held back. He didn't have the right. The man was married, no longer any
of his business, though his concern was another story.
Since it would take a few minutes for Grady to arrive, Conrad decided to take a quick stroll through
Phallic Garden and see how Clem was coming along with the project. His gardener was a genius with
garden tools and so far, he not disappointed. It had the added potential of irritating the living hell
out of Oz, which was a bonus he hadn't originally thought of.
Uptight little prick.
A few weeks before, he'd spent a long night researching, and when morning dawned, he had printed
out dozens of pictures of dicks. He'd taken several breaks during that night, hot and bothered as he
was, but it was the most fun he'd ever had researching anything.
He gave Clem the pictures and right away, Clem had started sculpting the boxwoods and lagustrums
into all shapes and sizes. Provocative as it was, Conrad had made a bet with himself that the guys
who lodged at the Whispering Ridge would find some inspiration in the garden. The sign would
arrive in the next week or so.
He made a mental note to have Clem put in some globe-shaped shrubs. By next year, there'd be a
delicious crop of asses as well.
Conrad checked his watch and then made his way to the dock, boarded a boat, and took a leisurely
putt to the small island behind the house. He wanted to be in the cabin by the time Grady arrived.
The cabin was freezing, but he remedied that easily by turning on the electric radiators. He opened
the curtains to allow the sun to pour into the living room/bedroom. The view was amazing, but the
tranquil lake surface did nothing to calm his churning stomach as he wondered what Grady wanted
with him.
The place hadn't changed much since he and Grady used it as a convenient place to fuck, more than
30 years ago. The fond memory tugged at his still-broken heart. While business and a healthy
inheritance had made him a very successful man, since Grady chose Phil over him, his personal life
had been shit.
He'd ended up with a money-gouging wife and shiftless sons. Sad to say, but life was what it was and
money could buy someone to warm his bed if he got desperate enough.
He shuddered at the thought of him fucking Trip senseless in the cabin, then the cocky shit
swaggering off like he'd bestowed him with a knighthood or something. The guy was trouble and he'd
had known it from the start. The question was, why he had allowed it to continue? He no more
believed that Trip Whitlock was attracted to him than he believed lazy Rider would ever breathe
without someone reminding him to do so. His cock stirred and he had answer enough. A stiff dick
has no conscience.
Heavy footsteps on the wooded porch alerted him to Grady's arrival. His heart, the betrayer of all
common sense, thudded at the prospect of see the man again.
The door came open with all the gusto of the force of nature that was Grady Boxer. He was
breathless, as though he'd swum across the 40 yards of water, instead of rowed. The cold, winter air
followed him in.
Grady still took Conrad's breath away, maybe more so, now that they were both mature and thought
of something other than their dicks. Ha! Who was he kidding? "Close the door. I've got the heating
on. Come warm yourself and tell me what's on your mind."
Grady cast him a half-hooded glance. "Thanks for seeing me."
"Of course. I think I told you once that I'd always be there for you. Just because thirty years has
passed doesn't change that."
Grady pulled a chair up close to the heater and blew on his hands to warm them up.
Conrad looked away as he remembered Grady doing the same thing after their long jogs.
He loved their history, painful as it was. Too bad there wasn't enough of it.
"I don't know where to begin," Grady said. "There's just so much."
"You know what they say about starting at the beginning. You got me here, just spit it out."
"Was it such a hardship to meet me?"
"That's not what I meant. It's just strange is all. It's not like we've made a habit of this, have we?"
Grady shook his head. "No, we haven't. Okay, to make it short and sweet, I think Phil overheard us
that day you came to the B&B."
"Really? What makes you think so?"
"Some of the strange shit he's been doing and saying. Without going into detail, it's like he's had a
wakeup call or something. He thinks there's something going on between you and me. He's
constantly mentioning your name, something he hadn't done in years."
"Are you telling me there's trouble in paradise?" Conrad said with a snort.
Grady hesitated, his face troubled. "Thirty years, you know. Everything can't stay as hot as it always
was."
Conrad's dick shifted and cried bullshit so loud, Conrad was sure Grady heard it.
"Complacency, huh? A bitch, that."
A caustic glare singed Conrad's sarcastic tongue.
"Sorry."
Grady licked his lips and looked around the room. "I remember this place as though we were still
kids, sneaking off to spend a few hours alone here."
Conrad walked behind Grady's chair and put his hands on the man's shoulders. The knots told him
something had Grady wound tighter than a thirty-day clock. "Yeah, it hasn't changed much, has it?"
Grady leaned into Conrad's touch, then lolled his head back to look up at him. "You still look as good
as you always did."
"When did gray become your favorite color?" Conrad said with a laugh. He kneaded Grady's
shoulders, eliciting a hiss and a flinch. "What's wrong?"
"Bum fucking shoulder. Gray men shouldn't be moving furniture."
"Sorry 'bout that. I won't rub so hard."
"It's getting better, just a twinge now and then, but the bugger's sore as hell."
Conrad wondered if it hurt too much to support Grady on his hands and knees. The thought fled his
mind just as quickly.
"Gray looks good on you, Connie."
As though possessed by the devil, Conrad pulled his hands back and moved away. "Don't call me
that, ever! You lost that right a long time ago."
Grady's face paled. "I used to call you that all the time, at least when we were alone."
"The operative words being, used and to. Just leave it, huh. What do you want with me? I don't have
all day."
Conrad wanted to leave, to not play this game anymore. Being so close to Grady hurt more than he
thought it would. He'd tested the waters the day he'd gone to the B&B and vowed he'd not open
himself up again. But he couldn't say no to Grady—ever.
Grady looked stunned and alone, but there was something in the man's eyes—a hurt so deep, maybe,
that he couldn't express it. His eyes were glassy, his mouth quivered. He was a mess.
"Phil's sick," Grady said on a cry. The watery words hanging in the air like a mist.
Not at all what he'd expected to hear. He knelt in front of Grady, his arms resting on Grady's thighs.
"What do you mean, sick?"
"He's been to a neurologist, had an MRI and everything. It's a tumor. He gets these blinding
headaches and they make him irrational. He's jealous of you, of everyone and he's doing and saying
some really weird shit."
Conrad stood and paced. "Holy crap." He didn't like Phil, not even a little bit, but anything that hurt
Grady, hurt him.
"For years, he'd stay out late, long after I'd gone to bed, then he'd be up before I was, gone all the
time. I figured he was cheating, but never said anything because, well, first, I didn't want to know
and second, he always came home, to me."
"Son of bitch, Grady. How can you put up with that shit?"
"I love him, what can I say?"
"That's sorry!" Grady's vulnerability hurt Conrad, but so did the man's stupidity. How fucked up is
that he thinks because Phil comes home that the man deserves his love?
Grady didn't seem to have any fight left in him. "Please just listen."
Conrad dipped his head and raised his hands in surrender. "Sure, go ahead."
"When we first got together, we used to bring other guys in, you know, strangers, to kind of spice
things up."
Conrad shook his head. "Jesus, Grady, you have one fucked up marriage. There's no fucking way I'd
share you with anyone."
Grady stared, then lowered his eyes. "I didn't come here for your judgment."
Conrad sat on the floor, his arms wrapped around his knees. The last thing he wanted to do was
listen to Grady and Phil's marital problems, but he would. It could prove useful to know what's going
on with the other half of his world.
"We hadn't done it in years, never needed to. But now he's started bringing home younger guys and
telling me that they're for me. He sucks me off, rarely, but never without another person with us. We
haven't fucked in months and he never lets me touch him. And now this fucking tumor, which,
through research, I find out could be a reason for impotency."
"Are you sure it's the tumor or has he just lost interest in sex?"
"I know what turns him on, I’m not stupid. But even when someone else is fucking my brains out,
Phil never gets hard. Just the thought of that used to do it. I tried to touch him the last time he
brought someone home, and there was nothing. He brushed my hand away. Then he finally told me
that he can't get it up and he feels guilty about it. I've begged him to see someone about it, to have the
tumor taken out, something. He's agreed to make an appointment, but—God, he has a brain tumor.
I've never been so scared in all my life."
Grady grabbed his head and sobbed.
Conrad's heart ached for Grady and he supposed for Phil. While he'd always hated Phil Boxer, he
hated seeing Grady suffer more. No matter how things shook out, he'd always love the man. "I'm
sorry, Grady," he said, meaning every word. "What can I do?"
Some of the tension fell from Grady's face. He stared blankly for a moment or two.
"Nothing. That's the bitch. There's nothing that anyone can do."
Conrad moved closer. "Are you sure?"
He knelt before Grady again, staring into the blue eyes that meant more to him than his own.
Grady shifted and cleared his throat, but said nothing.
Conrad sucked in a breath, closed his eyes, and pictured Grady's perfect ass naked, raised high and at
his mercy, like in the old days. "Come here," he said and wrapped his arms around Grady.
Taking a huge chance, Conrad licked the man's lips. He teased, his hands busy at Grady's belt buckle.
"I didn't mean—"
"Shh. I mean this enough for both of us."
"I can't," Grady said, placing a staying hand on Conrad's.
Conrad shook it off and pegged Grady with a no-nonsense glare. "I'm going to fuck you, Boxer. No
one need ever know. You need it. Consider it a gift from a friend."
Conrad slid the zipper down, finding Grady as hard as steel despite his protest. "Ever cheated on
Phil?" he asked as he slid his hand down Grady's length.
"Only in thought," Grady said with a hitch.
"Ahh," Grady groaned when Conrad licked his cock. Grady placed a hand on Conrad's head, then
pulled it away. "Please stop."
"No, you need this and I'm going to give it to you."
Conrad sucked until Grady writhed in the chair. Then he backed away. Grady's weeping cock slid
from his mouth and Grady shouted, "No!,"
"I said yes." Conrad took Grady's loafers off and tossed them across the room. "Stand up."
Grady complied almost robotically.
In a slow, sensuous glide, Conrad slid Grady's jeans and boxers to the floor, then tapped his shins. As
though he was a child, Grady lifted each leg successively and Conrad disposed of the clothes, leaving
Grady attractively naked from the waist down, his dick hard as granite.
He caressed Grady's legs, nuzzled and licked his balls, massaged Grady's inner thighs, his ass, until
Grady grabbed his shoulders as his knees buckled. "Oh, my God, Connie," he groaned.
Conrad smiled at the return of Grady's endearment and slipped his hand into Grady's crease. "Do
you still say no?"
Grady's eyes pled with him, but Conrad continued to push. The man would have to run away before
he'd stop and then he'd not stop 'til he got what he wanted from Grady.
"I'll take that as a no. Now, go bend over the footboard of the bed, just like you used to do."
Grady stood stunned. Conrad ignored the tear slipping down Grady's face.
"Do I have to force you?"
Grady didn't move, his face not a mask of defiance, maybe just non-cooperative accomplice.
Conrad stood and put his arm around Grady's waist. He moved then, all the while looking at Conrad
as though he were helpless to do anything but comply. He left Grady standing at the foot of the bed,
while he dug in a drawer, removing a condom and some lube. When he turned around, Grady still
stood tall, watching his every move. Applying pressure to Grady's good shoulder, Conrad bent him
over the end of the bed.
The man look positively beautiful. He took his weight on his forearms and spread his legs wide. Now
we're getting somewhere.
Conrad's heart thumped when he again saw the result of a drunken night, more than thirty-years
before, still emblazoned across Grady's ass cheeks. Cotten's.
"That's what I like to see," Conrad said as he rubbed an assessing hand across his surname. "Seems
we've been here before, no?"
"Yes, we have," Grady said with a strained chuckle. "I've never heard the end of it."
Conrad smiled. Another small victory in his silent battle with Phil Boxer. Conrad folded Grady's shirt
up to his waist and traced over the letters, tattooed in black, Cot on the left cheek, and ten's on the
right. If he remembered correctly, Grady had insisted on 72 font, Ariel Bold. "So it will never fade."
How that must rankle the hubby, he thought with a self-satisfied sneer. They'd toyed with Grady's
hole serving as the O, but ultimately had opted for complete clarity.
"I'm surprised you haven't had this lasered."
No answer. Grady's chest heaved when Conrad fingered some cool lube into him and pumped with
two fingers.
"Oh, God, Connie," he groaned and rocked into Conrad's hand.
Three fingers and Grady was a quivering mass of need.
"Tell me what you want," Conrad said, just as he found Grady's prostate and massaged him into a
frenzy.
"Fuck me like it's 1982," he moaned, "Fuck me, Connie."
Dropping his pants to his ankles, Conrad rolled on a condom, lubed himself slick, and slid into the
warmth he'd dreamt about for thirty years. He savored the long, slow glide, while Grady rocked to
take him in fully.
"Oh, my God," he blurted, afraid he'd come before he'd enjoyed the ride.
"Rough," Grady gasped, and Conrad gave them exactly what they both needed.
He rode the man hard, slammed into him. Grady'd never wanted it any other way. Some things never
change. Who says you can't go home?
Grady was as loud as ever. Sounds more than words, but all geared toward pleasure. Their bodies
slapped together, the rhythm the same, even if the bodies had aged and the hair had grayed.
Conrad reached around and took Grady's cock in hand. He thrust from behind and stroked from the
front, turning Grady into a shivering heap of adulterous husband. Conrad slowed his own orgasm
until Grady tensed and made the familiar little huffing sounds that had once indicated he was close.
Conrad picked up the pace and brought them both over, their sweat mingling, their gasps greedy for
the sex-tinged air.
"Damn, I don't remember it ever being that good," Conrad said when he'd caught his breath.
"Phil's gonna kill me."
Conrad ignored the note of sadness in Grady's voice. "He doesn't need to know. Shit, he'd done it to
you. What's the difference?"
"The others never meant anything to him."
Trip sat in his car, clicking through the pictures on his camera. That long lens was money well spent.
He'd make it back a hundred fold by the time he finished with Conrad. Randy bastard. He'd be sorry
he ever dipped into the Boxer well.
For an old guy, Conrad had the tight ass of a twenty-five year old, as impressive as the rest of him.
Grady's wasn't bad either. Love the fucking tattoo.
Oh, yeah, he'd hit the jackpot and what a jackpot. The day he'd seduced Conrad at the fishing cabin,
he'd planted a voice-activated bug under the bed. He gave himself props for thinking of it before he'd
seduced Conrad, and hell, Conrad fucking him blind hadn't been a hardship at all. Granted, getting
him to the cabin had taken some maneuvering, but a little bit of flattery had played right into the
guy's ego.
Trip had staked out Whispering Ridge, just about living in his car, but he suspected Cotten would
falter and he wanted to be there when it happened. How juicy that Boxer should show up and meet
the man in the exact place Trip needed the meeting to be?
Trip started mentally spending the influx of cash his now meager bank account would soon
experience. Maybe he'd buy that old abandoned estate over on Knothill Circle. From the upstairs,
he'd have a great view of the fishing cabin and Whispering Ridge. Hell, maybe he'd demand that too.
He looked around the rag he drove. A new car was definitely in the offing. A Porche maybe?
Yeah,Connie would pay dearly to keep these photos from Oz and Rider, to say nothing of the rest of
the civilized world.
Visions of payday danced in his head. What pleasure he'd take in the complete and utter downfall of
the Cotten Nation. He'd have to play his cards right, though. Think it through completely before he
got ahead of himself. He'd have to get his money first; turn over a set of the incriminating shots to
the mighty man himself, while swearing they were the only set. Let the hubbub die down. Then he
could leave Boxer Falls or stick around for phase two. Yeah, stick around. That way, he could see the
fallout first hand.
He'd take care of all the Cottens at once. That smug, fucking Oz wouldn't be able to show his face
anywhere for the embarrassment of seeing his father in flagrante delicto. Trip'd love to see the look
on the man's face when these photos hit the tabloids, dribbled out over time, of course, to keep the
pain coming in sharp, constant jabs. One or two a week, with a blurb to remind the readers of what
an asshole Conrad Cotten was, screwing a guy whose husband had a brain tumor. It's what the gossip
sheets were made for. Yeah, those shots were gold. They'd take down the empire Conrad Cotten and
his merry band of wastrels had built on the backs of the decent folks of Boxer Falls.
Trip would have his payday, but then he'd release the photos anyway, just because he could and
because he didn't have to live by the rules like most people. He'd waited too long for something like
this to drop into his lap, and he didn't give a shit who he hurt. Phil Boxer was not-so-innocent road
kill, Zach, pftt, who cares. Stupid, little prick couldn't find his way out of a loser's bed with his dick
pointing the way.
He'd do what Lucinda hadn't had the nads to do—bleed Conrad dry and cleanse Boxer Falls of all the
self-aggrandizing assholes in the process. Cotten would be begging to die before Trip let up on him.
There wouldn't be a place in the world he could go and hold his head up.
Okay, that sounded overreaching, but for sure, the Berkshires would be out, and the whole of
Massachusetts if Trip had his way. Fuck it. Cotten hadn't given a shit when he'd destroyed the
Whitlock Company. Karma's a bitch. Payback's even worse.
He'd be the bad penny that just kept returning for more. Oh, yeah. Conrad was a good fuck. Hell, he
was a great fuck and he could suck cock with the best of them. Why not take advantage of that as
well. He had the guy's balls in a vise anyway? Win-win, right?
***
After Oz Cotten had discovered him and that Eduardo dude in the alley behind Bear and Bones, Vic
decided if he was going to chase tail—no, when he chased tail, he'd best lay low in Boxer Falls for
awhile and do it in someone else's backyard and not his own. He still had to work in there and he'd
hold no authority if people found him all over town with every dick registered at the Boxer B&B
fucking him blind.
He'd mentioned his little sojourn to a couple of guys at Bear and Bones, but no one wanted to join
him. Great, he thought, more for me.
He took his truck and drove to Pittsfield, his old stomping ground. Anyone could easily get lostthere.
He'd left the PPD amid rumors that the desk sergeant had been banging him during the late shift,
instead of him foiling a robbery at the Ben and Jerry's on South Street. You know how rumors are,
there's always at least a grain of truth to them. Thinking back, Vic smiled at the sergeant's deft use of
his nightstick—both of them actually. Mmm. Those were the days.
He wheeled his way up to North Street and pulled in behind the old London Brother's Department
Store and parked. A couple of New York City dudes, brothers he heard tell, had bought the building a
few years before and turned the place into a high-end gay nightclub, etc. Vic especially liked the
private rooms (no fucking over the toilets or in the alley like at Bear and Bones,) all the whips, dildos,
and floggers a body could possibly want, and the most gorgeous men western Massachusetts had to
offer. He made a note to grab some brochures and take them back to town. Spread the wealth, so to
speak.
They'd cleverly named the place, Bros, and Vic figured it was a bid to give the locals a bit of a poke in
the nose. Whatever, it was a jumping place and he'd never failed to hook up.
"Can't get enough of your love, babe," greeted him as he opened the door. That's what I'm screamin'.
Sing it Barry, my man. That voice is pure Viagra.
On walking in, Vic thought he'd died and gone to khaki heaven. The Army had come to town. Holy
shit! He wove through the crowd and heard enough to gather that a group from Fort Devens had
driven into town for the weekend. A veritable smorgasbord of uniformed man meat. Now we're
cookin' with gas! His body tingled, his dick rose to salute our men in uniform, and he made up his
mind to allow one or more to serve him, him being a citizen of the country they loved and all.
He went to the bar, ordered a Tom Collins, and turned to scope out the crowd. So many to choose
from and all night to do it. It wasn't long before he caught the eye of a well-built, tall drink of water.
With raised eyebrows and a flick of his head, the guy beckoned Vic forth, and who was he to deny the
call of Uncle Sam?
With his drink in hand, Vic followed the hunk to the stairs and watched the uniformed ass cheeks
rise and fall as he took each step. The khaki rode his posterior perfectly and Vic had all he could do
not to come right then and there. Damn, that's pretty!
They went through a door and Vic's heart soared when his soldier man clicked the deadbolt, locking
them in a room with only a dresser and a bed.
"Ever been here before?"
The rumble of the deep bass made him shiver.
"Yeah, a few times," Vic said, trying to sound cool and in control of himself.
"So you know how this works, right?"
"Sure," he said, dancing from foot to foot. Tie me up, tie me down.
Looking him up and down, the man said, "Then why are you still dressed?"
Without hesitation, Vic stripped out of his Dockers and button down in record time.
The soldier walked around him, grabbed his ass and squeezed. He rose up on his toes and yelped an
"Oww." His ass still hurt from the belting he'd gotten from Eduardo and it'd still been marked when
he'd looked in the mirror that morning. He couldn’t say he was adverse to the reminder, though. Felt
good, sick fuck that he was.
"Mmm, good to know," the guy said, then walked to the dresser.
Vic licked his lips and waited for something to happen.
"Grab the footboard, soldier," the other man said. Somehow, there hadn't been an appropriate time
to exchange names.
Vic walked to the bed and took hold of the brass footboard. The guy produced two lengths of rope,
and before Vic knew it, his wrists were secured, bringing to mind another bed and the jangle of
handcuffs.
"Ah, whatcha got planned there, stranger?"
"I'm going to warm you up—good."
Vic's balls tightened and his dick wept with joy. Soldier boy brushed over his butt with a rough hand,
and then walloped him with what could only have been a paddle—at least it was wooden, and it stung
like hell—in a good way.
Another one brought him to his toes.
"Stay still till I tell you to move."
"Yes, sir," his voice strained as the paddle struck him again.
Six swats, three to each cheek, relit the fire Eduardo's belt had started a couple nights before. Oh,
yeah.
His dick bobbed and his balls ached. "Fuck me," he said breathlessly.
"All in good time, my man, in good time. You wouldn't want all the fun to end so soon, would you?"
The guy had a point, but Vic didn't know how long he could last.
Cool liquid dribbled down his crack, then rough fingers pried him open. "You like things up your ass,
soldier?"
Oh, God yes, and the sooner the better. "Yes, please."
Something cold and long slid past the burn and over his prostate. The pain fired every neuron in his
body. The guy fucked him with a glass dildo and Vic struggled to stay on his feet.
The soldier slapped his ass good and hard. "A warning," he said, then continued to fuck him.
"Yeah, oh yeah," Vic moaned.
The guy stopped and stood back. "Hold it in, sheriff. Don't let it go."
Vic clenched his muscles, then the words registered. He relaxed and the dildo fell to the floor with a
thunk. He looked back over his shoulder. "How did you know I'm a sheriff?"
The guy moved to face him more fully. "Don't remember me, do you?"
Episode 10
M.J. O’Shea
Quinn's head hurt, his mouth tasted like ass, and muscles that he didn't remember using ever were
sore. But damn, he couldn't stop smiling. Craziest shit was, if he felt like smiling at someone, there
was a candidate lying right there in bed next to him. Still. Last thing he expected to happen.
I don't do sleepovers. Fucking yeah right.
He reached over and pulled the covers up over tanned golden skin. The perfect, even tan was
incongruous with the chilly, watery, late winter air. So was the light smattering of freckles across Oz's
back. Quinn found himself wanting to kiss the freckles, taste them. Run his tongue down that smooth
golden tan back until he was—
Shit. Time for this asshole to go.
He didn't do feelings. No more than he did sleepovers, repeat performances, or half of the shit he'd
found himself wanting to do with Oz fucking Cotten, crown prince of Boxer Falls.
Quinn nudged the sleeping body that was sprawled way too comfortably in his bed. "Hey, Oz. Wake
up. It's morning." Barely. A glance at his clock said five.
"Mmph." Oz rolled over and cocooned himself in Quinn's covers — covers that smelled like sex and
sweat and cum and all the shit he liked to wash out of his bed the second the grunts and slapping
skin quieted. Usually. Hell if he could say why it didn't bother him like it always had.
Just then, Oz grabbed Quinn's hand and pulled it under his arm and between his pecs, dropping a
kiss on one startled as hell palm. His ass, that pretty muscled ass, nuzzled right up to Quinn's
suddenly interested crotch, and he grunted happily and settled back in for more relaxation.
Cuddling? Fucking cuddling? That was about seven hundred steps further than Quinn was willing to
go with anyone, even the hottest lay he'd had in months, years maybe. Even the guy who'd lost it to
him and loved every second of it. Quinn tried to push away from Oz with every part that wasn't
currently being held captive, but the guy was strong. Must've been all those poster boy pinup
muscles. Quinn was pretty damn sure he'd never put in a real day's work in his life.
"Go back to sleep, babe," Oz mumbled, clearly not awake himself. "Tired."
Babe? Jesus hell in fuck. Sure, the guy was half comatose but that was too much. Quinn tried to
wriggle out once more, then collapsed, no longer interested in moving, and found himself squeezing
that muscular chest in a hug. squeezing, for God's sake. Hugging.. It was hard not to want to.
He closed his eyes to sleep, since he wasn't going anywhere. Problem was, the first thing he saw in
the darkness of his closed eyes was Oz's face when he came on that second time around, hours after
Quinn had told himself to get rid of the guy, how he shivered and covered Quinn's hands with his
own, moaned and whispered Quinn's name. He pictured himself in the same position, riding Oz for
all he was worth, twining their fingers together and crying out Oz's name. Worst of all he wanted to
kiss him. And not the rough "fuck me now" kisses of the night before, but tender and sweet and slow.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Quinn was disgusted. He didn't motherfucking do any of it. None. Too bad he was doing it. And he
wanted more. Fall asleep, ya douche.. Sleep had never been hard to come by for Quinn. He could
drop off at the snap of his fingers if he so chose, but it was hard that cold early morning. Hard to lose
the pictures of Oz's pleasure, the memory of his own.
Hard to forget Vic's face staring in the window, intent and silent. Question was, which one of them
was Vic watching? And why?
****
Why do I get myself into this shit?
Dead bodies. Oz. Murder. Not what he signed up for when he moved to Boxer Falls. Crazy people. He
worried that he might be the craziest of all.
Yoshi grunted with effort when he hauled the bag carrying Kurt Brandt out of the trunk of his car.
Damn body was cold and it weighed a ton. Fit the term stiff too. It had been refrigerated to the point
of being nearly impossible to move. Yoshi lost control of the bag when part of it got caught on his
trunk latch and it slid with a loud crunch to the gravel lot at his feet.
Damn it. He waited, heart crashing for long silent moments, to make sure no one had heard the
noise. To him, it might as well have been a bomb. Silence, still and dark. Good thing. Yoshi picked
the bag back up, but the feet still dangled on the ground. He cursed his heritage and wished he'd
spent more time in the gym as he started to pull the body towards the trees.
Gotta remember to cover the marks. A set of footprints would be unremarkable, but footprints and
the marks of a dragged heavy object? That would raise questions. He watched CSI. He knew how
those guys worked. The bag got heavier the closer he got to the trail. It almost felt good. Meant he
was suffering for love. Yoshi smiled. Oz would love him if he suffered.
He had to turn the bag around drag the it up the steps by the feet all the way to the trailhead— one
step at a time, wincing every time the guy's head hit a corner. A few times he had to yank when the
plastic got stuck. The crunch made him sick. Sure, Brandt was dead, but he deserved some respect in
his chilly afterlife. It wasn't like Yoshi ever thought he'd be hauling a stiff. His mother would be
horrified. But he had to save Oz. Oz. If Oz loved him, it would all be worth it.
By the time Yoshi got to the place he'd picked out the day before, It was still dark and cold enough
that it hurt to breathe. His asthma always kicked up at the worst times. It was fine, though.
Controllable. He had a lot of work to do. The shovel was waiting for him, propped up against a tree
hidden from sight.
I've gotta work quickly. Before some well meaning park ranger comes by to offer assistance.
That was the last thing he needed. What he was doing was risky, and could get him in a hell of a lot of
trouble, alibi or not. But he was going to help Oz. He had to help Oz. He couldn't let the medical
examiner get a hold of Brandt. If they got a good look at the body, they'd know it was Oz who killed
him, just like Yoshi knew. He didn't have proof yet, but it had to be Oz. And once they saw Brandt
they'd know…
Yoshi was never going to let that happen. I've got your back, Oz. Even if you never find out.
"Fuck, Adam, you feel so damn good." Zach moaned and arched his back, squirming from Adam's
tongue meandering its way down his gorgeous as hell abs.
Adam had been waiting to touch and lick and fuck that beautiful body for what felt like a lifetime.
And not just the body. He needed Zach's voice telling him how perfect it was between them, Zach's
moans filling the air. He needed Zach.
"You want me?" Adam asked. It was scary and exhilarating. Full of yes and fuck and why did we
wait so damn long?
"Now, baby. Please. I've wanted you for so long…" Zach arched again, wonton and gorgeously
debauched. It was exactly where Adam needed him to be.
"I've wanted this too. Forever." Adam reached for the lube, and nothing else. Nothing between him
and his Zach.
"Fuck me, please. Just...just fuck. I need it. I need you."
Adam pushed slowly into Zach's tight body, not wanting to miss a moment of it...
"How come you left without saying goodbye this morning?" Adam jumped and looked up from the
eggs he was scrambling to find Zach looking at him. Zach He was pale, tired looking. Gorgeous.
Adam bit the inside of his cheek. He hated himself for caring. And for being such a dumb ass that all
he could do was think about something that would never happen.
"I had to go to work. You were all fucked up and passed out." Next to me in bed. I wanted to touch
you so bad. It wasn't something Adam made a habit of. Nights in bed next to Zach were dangerous
but he didn't feel like another seven hours camped on his couch.
"Sorry, dude. That drink kind of fucked with my head."
Adam froze. "What drink?"
"That shot I did with Sam, you know Rider's friend?" Zach shrugged like it was no big deal. It was a
big deal. Zach had been all over him half the night, hugs and even a kiss or two. Zach was never like
that. Not with him. Adam had thought that maybe…
I'm so fucking pathetic.
Zach laughed, mirthless and soft. "What, you think he drugged my drink or something? So I could go
home and pass out with you? That would be pointless. Besides, him and Rider were practically
fucking on the dance floor. I wouldn't be surprised if they were fucking in the bathroom."
Adam didn't want to hear about Rider. He wanted Zach to remember touching him. He wanted it to
not be a fluke. "Sam seems like an okay guy. I don't think he drugged you. You were probably just
really drunk."
"Probably." Zach looked dubious though. Or maybe like he was thinking about what he'd done the
night before. Adam waited for the embarrassment to crawl up his face when he remembered the
hugging and kissing all the sweet touches. It never came. Zach must've been messier than he'd
thought. Other than the affection, he'd seemed pretty normal. Not analyzing the level of my best
friend's smashedness. He didn't fucking mean to be all hot on me.
"Listen, I gotta work. You want some breakfast? Coffee?"
"Yeah. Eggs please. And those hash browns you make? Nobody else's are as good as yours."
"Okay, but you gotta—"
"Can't I just stay in here for a while? I don't feel like being alone." Those eyes killed him. Usually
sparkling and happy, they looked lost. Sad.
"Zach…" Adam wanted him to stay. He always did. As long as he didn't have to look at Zach and
picture Tony, or whatever married asshole Zach was drooling over. There had to be one. There
always was. It was never him on Zach's mind. Always in the background waiting patiently for
whatever scrap of attention was left over. Jesus
"Please?" Zach was already sitting on the counter, arranged between stainless steel canisters of prechopped peppers and onions.
"Don't you have to work today?" He didn't really want to get rid of Zach, but he had to at least look
like he tried.
Zach shrugged. "I told you last night something was up with my dads. I was supposed to wax all the
banisters and the paneling in the foyer today but they're making my skin crawl. I don't wanna go
home."
"What do you think is the matter?"
"Fuck if I know. I'm not getting into their drama. I know they think I don't pay attention but
sometimes I'm smarter than I look." Zach fiddled with a slice of cheddar and popped a chunk in his
mouth. "Hey did you hear from that place in the Hamptons?"
Adam had. He'd turned them down, though. Zach wasn't going to find that out. When they left, they
left together. "Nah. I think they hired locally." Adam cracked three eggs into a bowl, whisked them
with salt pepper and herbes de provence, just like Zach liked it. Then he poured the eggs onto his hot
griddle. "You want sausage?"
Zach chuckled evilly. "You know the answer to that."
"Dude. You're twelve."
He piled a mixture of shredded potatoes and fontina cheese on the griddle next to Zach's eggs.
"You gotta get a job somewhere and get outta here." Zach nudged him with a shoulder. "You're way
too good for this place."
"We gotta get outta here. We."
Zach leaned over and laid his head on Adam's shoulder. Adam couldn't help the way his heart picked
up. Zach had never been so affectionate. What was up with him?
"I don't get you," Zach murmured.
Adam shook Zach's head off gently and moved to get a plate. He slid the eggs onto the plate and
stuck it into the warming oven until Zach's potatoes and sausages were done.
"I don't get you either. Maybe that's why we're friends. You wanna kick it at my place until I'm off?
I'll give you the key. You did lock the door, didn't you?"
Zach rolled his eyes. "Yeah. 'Course. Though I don't know what shit of yours anyone would want."
"Fuck off. You have no idea what my pans are worth. And my knives." He pulled Zach's plate out
from the warming oven and added the sausage links and the cheesy potatoes. "Here. Eat. Then go
back to my place and sleep or something. I've got a few more hours."
"Love you, man," Zach said, looking at the plate on the counter beside him.
Adam's stomach clenched. "Love you, too," he squeaked out. If that wasn't the most awkward shit in
the world.
Zach lifted his head and gave Adam the most liquid, vulnerable look Adam had ever seen from him.
Worse than the night at the falls after breakup number seven...or was it eight? Worse than that time
when they were kids and that one Brad douche had bullied him out of his baseball cards.
"What's the matter, huh?"
"I just feel weird. I don't know. And I thought I was hungry but now..."
"Eat that." Adam poked at the plate with his spatula. "You'll feel better."
Zach reached up to cup Adam's face, honest to God touch him. Adam reached out too, ready to
reciprocate whatever Zach was about to start.
He nearly screamed with frustration when the squeaky front door and a bell signaled customers. Of
course he was short one late (and most likely hung over) waiter.
It was Rider. Jesus. And his friend Sam. No matter what he'd said about Sam earlier, Adam was wary
of him. The guy had no reason to help him with Gino. At least none that Adam was aware of. Yet.
"Shit," he murmured. I better go seat them." He wished they'd just leave.
"You want me to do it?" Zach asked? He hopped down from the counter and shoved a few bites of his
breakfast in his mouth.
"Yeah?" Adam hated dealing with the customers.
"Sure."
Zach turned to go, but before he did he gave Adam one more odd look, long and pensive, over his
shoulder.
"What?" Adam asked.
Zach huffed out a breath and shook his head. "Nothin'."
Zach grabbed a few menus and went to seat Rider and his friend Sam. Sam gave him the willies, and
he knew that had to count for something cause half the time even when he was supposed to get a bad
vibe about someone, he didn't. Sam was just all intense, like he might be ex military. Too much with
the staring and the knowing looks. Plus the guy was hanging out with Rider Cotten. Never a good
sign.
"Morning. Would you like a window booth?" He asked. Polite, professional, don't make eye
contact.It wasn't his job, but he didn't want to make Adam look bad.
"That would be fine," Sam answered authoritatively. Like he spoke for Rider. Weird.
"Follow me." Zach led them to a nice window booth, way the hell away from him and Adam in the
kitchen and handed them their menus. "Coffee will be out in a minute. Can I get you anything else?"
"Did you have fun last night?" Sam asked slyly.
"What do you mean?"
"I meant did you have fun? Did you feel good after that shot?"
Fuck. I knew it. No matter what he'd said to Adam, Zach had felt weird the night before. His belly
tingled, every brush of the skin was intense, and the way he'd wanted to touch Adam, kiss, taste. It
had been nearly impossible to resist. He hoped to hell Adam didn't remember how touchy feely he'd
been. Not likely. Adam had been mostly sober and he'd been giving Zach weird looks all morning.
"What did you put in my drink?"
Sam shrugged. "Just some E. Thought you might like to sample the merchandise."
"What for?" He asked. Even with his lack of experience, he knew that guys like Sam rarely did
anything without reason. Or repercussion.
"Mmm, the waffles sound delicious," Sam said casually to Rider. "With blueberries."
"Why did you give me the drugs?" Zach asked again with more force.
"Careful, local boy. I was about to do you a favor. Wouldn't want to seem rude, would you?"
"I don't need a favor. Not from you."
"That's not what I hear. Word around town is you need some cash. You're tired of working odd jobs
and wanna get out of here."
"Who doesn't?" Zach shrugged. He tried to look casual, not like Sam was creeping him out with that
intense, dark stare.
"Well, Rider and I have a lovely crop of good times pharmaceuticals and we need someone to help us
distribute them. Someone who knows the local scene."
"I'm not a fucking drug dealer," Zach hissed. He turned to go back to the kitchen.
"That's too bad," Sam went back to flipping through his menu. "Tell your friend Adam congrats by
the way. I heard he got an offer from that hotel in The Hamptons. It would be a shame if he had to
leave you here."
Zach's chest clenched. As many times as he'd tried to push Adam away from Boxer Falls and him, the
thought of actually being there alone without his best friend was terrifying.
"I'm sure he's excited. I'll go get your coffee and be back for your order."
Zach's hands trembled when he tried to pick up the coffee pot. He had the handles of two mugs
hooked on his pinky and they clicked together gratingly every time he started thinking of Adam
packing a van and leaving him. Why did he lie? He had no doubt that Sam was telling the truth. Guys
like that stirred up trouble, but they were too smart to get caught in a lie.
He wasn't going to confront Adam, though. Not yet. Adam had to be protecting him. Made him feel
guilty as hell. Maybe it was time he did his part, too. Get some money together so he could help them
get out of town. Zach knew he didn't have much going for him, but Adam… Adam had a future. And
Zach wasn't going to let that future slip away.
He carried the coffee and mugs back to their best corner table, where Sam was lounging laconically
with Rider, whose gaze was adoring. Pathetic, Zach thought.
"Fine. I'll do it," he whispered as he sat their cups down and filled them. "Don't tell Adam. He'll just
freak out."
Sam gave him a slow smile. "Deal."
"Mmm, morning," Oz mumbled. He didn't want to open his eyes beyond the slit that let in the barest
little bit of morning light. "Quinn?" He felt all loose and relaxed and maybe a little headachy from the
Grey Goose but nowhere near the panic he thought he'd feel waking up in a guy's bed for the first
time — a drifter, a bartender… nothing Oz wanted. But it had been the best sex of his life. Until a
rough hand was detangling itself from his and pushing him away.
"Yeah. Morning. Time to go." Quinn rolled to the other side of the bed.
Oz squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again.
"Go?" It wasn't like he thought he'd stick around for brunch and happily ever after but a "good
morning" fuck would've been nice, or at least a "see you later" blow job.
"Yeah. Go. We're not going to shower together and kiss over the goddamn toaster. I have shit to do."
Oz's stomach coiled. "What the fuck? You stuck your dick in my ass twice and now you're kicking me
out?"
Quinn snorted and rolled off the bed collecting underwear and sweatpants and shirt from a drawer.
"I'm going to hit the shower. You know where the door is."
Oz wanted to roll under the bed and disappear. Nobody ever treated him like he didn't matter.
Nobody. Most of the time it was him trying to get the chicks out of his bed so he could go about his
day and not cuddle for hours. How could he have been so dumb? The worst part was that he wanted
Quinn. He'd liked the idea of waking up, rolling over, and starting it all again. Instead, all he got was
brushed off.
This is what Rider and his dad were after? Screw men. First Vic with that guy behind the bar and now
Quinn and his attitude like he was actually good enough to fuck a Cotten and kick him to the curb in
the morning? Oz jammed his foot into his slacks and stood, yanking the zipper up. He winced when it
nipped him on raw, sensitive skin. Shit. Get a grip.
He didn't know who Quinn thought he was. Fucking nobody bartender and his cheap fucking
apartment, and his firecrotch were going to wish they'd never fucked with Oswald Cotten.
Shoes on, shirt slung awkwardly over his shoulders, he scanned the tiny apartment for his keys. He
thought he'd been the last one to have them when the clothes started coming off, but fuck, where
were they? Oz needed to get out, before the shower water turned off, before someone on the street
saw his car—too damn late for that. It had been there all night. If anyone in Quinn's working class
neighborhood knew what Oz's car looked like then half the town already knew where he was.
The knob in the bathroom squeaked, loud and in stereo through cheap thin walls, and then there was
the scratch of the curtain opening and closing. Oz needed to get out immediately. There! The glint of
keys, on the ground near the kitchen bar.
…wine spilling, hot kissing, his lips suctioned around Quinn's hard as hell cock.... Oz slammed his
eyes shut, trying to squeeze out the images. It had been a mistake. A huge mistake.
He lunged for the keys and just made it to the door before his phone buzzed in his pocket. His battery
was low and he wasn't in the damn mood to talk to anyone. Especially Vic. And that's whose name
popped up on his caller id. Oz hit ignore and slunk to his car, looking right or left for anyone who'd
recognize him. Not likely in Quinn's neighborhood, but the town was small. He slid in and started the
engine, adrenalin pumping from the fear of being seen.
His phone rang again. Jesus, Vic. He was probably calling to explain that whole scene in the alley. Oz
didn't want to hear it. He pressed ignore a second time. Fuck, was he done with men. His phone
beeped with a text:
Oz. Call me. We have a problem. The body is missing.
Episode 11
Geoffrey Knight
The fluorescent lights of the sheriff’s office flickered and blinked with a tink-tink noise before
illuminating the room. Mrs. Oldfield who did all of Vic’s filing and dispatching had left earlier to run
the reel at the Boxer Falls cinema (at 56 she prided herself on her multi-tasking skills) and now Vic
led Oz into the empty office and pulled out a chair for him opposite Vic’s desk.
“What the fuck do you mean, it’s gone?” Oz asked, confused, shocked and sick with panic.
“I mean, it’s gone! Are you gonna make me say it again? Brandt’s body is gone. Someone stole it from
the medical examiner’s office.” Vic took a seat on the edge of desk, directly in front of Oz, his thick
legs spread wide.
“Who? Who would wanna do that?”
“Beats the hell outta me, but when the FBI finds out, they’re gonna damn well think it was you.”
Oz’s stunned eyes grew even more panic-stricken. “FBI?”
Vic moved his left leg against Oz’s thigh. There was something in that gesture of physical contact.
Trust. Support. Maybe something more. Vic softened his voice. “Oz, I’m talking to as a friend here,
not your Sheriff. A body is missing. And the last number that Brandt dialed before he became a
body… was yours. If the FBI get wind of this, they’re gonna descend on this town like a goddamn
biblical plague. And you’re gonna be the first person they wanna interview.”
“But…”
“Shhh,” Vic nudged his leg harder against Oz’s thigh. It set off a spark of an erection in Oz’s pants
despite his anxiety and panic. “Oz, listen. I’ll protect as much as I can. But there’s plenty of people in
this town wanna bring you down, starting with Trip Whitlock, you already told me that. All I’m
saying is, we’ve got till dawn to declare that a body’s gone missing… or find the damn zombie.”
Oz shook his head. Confused. Scared. His thoughts scattered. “Vic, I gotta go. I need to go home and
clear my damn head.” He stood quickly.
Vic saw the pained look on Oz’s face and let him make a beeline for the door. Sure, he’d love nothing
more than to bend over his desk for Oz Cotten at that moment, but he respected the man enough to
let him have his space when he needed it.
Oz hurried out of the Sheriff’s office and the door banged shut.
A moment later it opened again.
Vic looked up to see a tall hunk in army fatigues step in. “Holy shit,” Vic whispered to himself.
The man at the door smiled. He was drop-fuckin’-dead gorgeous, late-40’s, a man’s man, square jaw,
short blond hair… and yes, he was the same Fort Devens military man who had fucked Vic stupid the
night before. The same man it took Vic a while to recognize, until finally the penny had dropped
while Uncle Sam was bangin’ his ass.
“Blake Hartnett,” Vic said now. “After all these years you decide to come back to haunt me?”
“Actually, it’s Captain Blake Hartnett. And if you think I’m back just to haunt you, you’re wrong.”
The captain gave a hint of a smile, the hint of a raised eyebrow. “Well, you’re half wrong. I’m here on,
shall we say, a new mission. Not that the thought of taking you out back and cuffing you to one of
your holding cells and fucking you till you can’t count to ten anymore doesn’t make me hard as hell!”
Involuntarily, Vic’s eyes dropped to Hartnett’s huge, very defined, bulging crotch. He certainly wasn’t
lying about that.
“I don’t do cuffs anymore,” Vic said, his heart racing. “Plus there’s a drunk old queen in my holding
cell at the moment. But that doesn’t mean—”
“—we can’t go back to your place?” Hartnett finished for him. “Are you sure you don’t do cuffs
anymore?”
Vic smiled. “I’ll move the dresser closer to the bed.”
*
Twenty-four hours earlier, Yoshi Pollack had stepped into the medical examiner’s office. It was a
small space, with a waiting area out front.
“Hello?” Yoshi called. “Is there anyone here?”
There was no answer. Yoshi ventured further into the office, through a door that led into a cool lab,
stainless steel everywhere—taps, utensils, slabs. There were two bodies in the lab, both covered with
white sheets, but no sign of anyone who was actually, well, alive.
Yoshi called out again, just in case the medical examiner was in another room, but there was still no
response.
Curiosity got the better of Yoshi. He hadn’t seen a cadaver since med school. They had always
freaked him out. Now, alone in a room with two corpses, he felt the need to test his mettle. He took
out his asthma inhaler and sucked on it for courage, then walked timidly to the first slab.
Cautiously he raised the sheet, fighting off the fear that whatever was under there would jump up
and attack him. But instead of some undead creature lying there, all Yoshi saw was a pale old
woman, small and bony, her frame frail and meek in death.
Yoshi let out a sigh of relief.
It gave him just enough courage to lift the sheet on the second corpse.
This one, however, made him catch his breath.
Two stab wounds—one in the stomach and one in the throat—indicated that the man on the second
slab had been murdered. And brutally by the looks of it.
Then suddenly something else caught Yoshi’s eye.
On the left cheekbone of the corpse was a mark.
No, not just a mark.
An imprint.
The imprint of a ring.
Yoshi knew the pattern instantly.
“Who the hell are you?” boomed a voice from behind him.
Yoshi jumped, spun about, heart thundering with fright. “God, I’m sorry,” he panted. “I didn’t mean
to… I called out… I didn’t mean to pry…”
The man standing in the doorway of the lab was wider than he was tall, a short scruffy-looking man
wearing a disheveled, food-stained lab coat and munching on a jam-filled donut. “Well are you gonna
tell me who the hell you are? Or are you just gonna stand there stuttering at me?”
“Yoshi Pollack,” Yoshi answered, stepping forward to shake the man’s sugar-coated hand. “I’ll be
working as the physical therapist up at Whispering Ridge.”
“Dr. Herman Sherman,” the fat man replied, licking jam off his chin with an unusually long and
dexterous tongue. “So what the hell are you doing wandering around my lab?”
“Ah, I was going to ask you for some anatomy charts. If you had any to spare. I’m setting up my office
and I… I didn’t bring any of my equipment with me. But I see that you’re busy, I can always come
back later.”
Dr. Sherman shook his head. “Don’t be silly, I was about to pack up for the night anyways. Just
ducked out to get me a little sugar hit before shutting up shop. God knows these two ain’t goin’
anywhere.”
He pulled the sheet from the old woman and waved at her with his donut. “Mrs. Bickmore here died
in her sleep last night, she can certainly wait till morning for her official report.”
Suddenly a blob of jam plopped onto the dead woman’s forehead from the waving donut. “Oh shit,
sorry about that Mrs. Bickmore.” Dr. Sherman wiped the jam off with a corner of his lab coat… then
licked it off the coat.
“And as for that one over there,” the medical examiner continued, “He’s the first murder victim this
town has seen since… well, forever! I need to spend some quality time with him tomorrow.”
Yoshi gulped nervously. “Does the Sheriff know who did it?”
Dr. Sherman shook his head. “Nope. But once I’m through with him, there might be a few more clues
to help catch the culprit.” Dr. Sherman shoved down the rest of his donut and through a full mouth
muttered, “Now, let’s see what anatomy charts we got here.”
“No, no,” Yoshi said, his entire aura give off a tsunami of nervous energy. “I should go. I can get them
from somewhere else.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Dr. Sherman groaned as he strained to kneel in front of a cabinet. “There’s
nowhere else in this town that’ll have them. You’d have to drive all the way over the mountain to St.
Sebastian hospital in Springdale. Here you go…”
Dr. Sherman turned with several rolled-up charts in his chubby paw, only to find that Yoshi had
already vanished.
Now, twenty-four hours later, with dirt under his fingernails and sweat still beading on his brow—
more from nervousness and fear than the effort it had taken to bury the body—Yoshi sat in the dark
of a room.
Not his own room.
He was sitting in Oz Cotten’s suite, waiting for Oz to open the door.
Zach opened the door to Adam’s place as soon as the knock came at the door.
Confident as ever, Rider smiled as the door opened for him.
Despite the fact that Adam had given him the keys to his house, Zach felt weird doing this at Adam’s
place. He knew Adam would be at work for at least another hour in the kitchen of the Bear and
Bones, and he was hoping this wouldn’t take long at all. But he was expecting Sam to deliver the
goods to the door. Not Rider.
“Where’s Sam?” Zach asked.
Rider shrugged. “He doesn’t wanna make himself too visible in town, if you know what I mean. So he
sent me.” Rider gave a curled smile before pointing out, “So are you gonna ask me in or what?”
Zach stumbled backward and Rider stepped forward before taking the door from Zach’s hand and
shutting it behind him.
“So this is your boyfriend’s place?” Rider smirked.
“Adam’s not my boyfriend,” Zach said automatically. Then tried to backtrack with a, “Well…” Then
didn’t know where to go.
“He lets you sleep here?” Rider asked.
Zach nodded, kinda proudly. Maybe Adam kinda was… maybe… something like a boyfriend.
Rider simply laughed. “You poor thing. You Boxers do know how to slum it.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Zach said angrily before he could stop himself. “Adam’s a good guy.”
Rider simply sighed, one eyebrow hoisted authoritatively, “Do you want this gig or not? Because if
you do, you don’t get to tell me to go fuck myself. Ever again. Understood?”
At that point Rider lifted his t-shirt to reveal his rock-hard abs—
—as well as the six sheets of tabs tucked inside his Diesels.
“Now,” he said, pulling the sheets out. “Do you wanna earn some cash or not?”
Zach had seen shit before, he knew the difference between ecstasy pills and—
“Acid? You want to deal in acid? I thought you guys were selling ecstasy?”
“Oh, that too,” Rider said with a cocksure grin. He pulled a small plastic Ziploc bag of pink smileyface pills from the pocket of his Diesels. “Wanna try the merchandise?” he asked with a sly smile.
“Dealer’s privilege.”
Zach hesitated for a moment.
Then his head filled with the blurred and beautiful memories of the night before.
The music.
The euphoria.
The taste of those lips.
Adam’s lips.
Did they kiss? He couldn’t remember. All he knew was Sam had slipped him an E, and Zach had felt,
well, something… for Adam.
Something good.
Something that perhaps he had been feeling all along.
Zach smiled at Rider. “Yeah, let’s try the merchandise.”
Rider shut the bathroom door behind them. The mirror caught the reflection of both young men;
both young, handsome, with the kind of tousled hair that begged to be squeezed during a fuck
session.
At least that was the thought that went through Rider’s mind as he smiled at Zach. “Turn around,” he
said.
“Why?”
“Because you’re gonna love this.”
Like a puppy Zach turned, his back now to Rider.
“Lift your arms,” Rider told him.
Zach did so, and Rider lifted the t-shirt off the solid 19-year-old’s body.
Rider quickly stripped his own t-shirt off and flung it to the floor of the bathroom. He pressed his
bare chest against Zach’s back, then reached around Zach’s narrow waist and unbuckled his belt and
jeans.
“What… what are you doing?” Zach asked, his voice soft and in no way defensive. He groaned a little
as Rider whispered, “Shh,” in his ear and slid his jeans down a few inches.
Not so far as to expose Zach’s cock—which was now bulging and straining against the denim—but
enough to reveal his trim pubic hair, and to drop his jeans down around his ass, fully exposing the
firm round cheeks.
From behind, Rider took Zach’s jaw and chin in his hand, then played with Zach’s lower lip with his
index and middle finger.
“Suck them,” Rider whispered, and as though under the spell of his voice, Zach took Rider’s fingers
into his mouth.
Groaning.
Mauling.
Juicing them up.
When his fingers were good and wet, Rider pulled them from Zach’s lips before reaching inside the
small zip-lock bag and picking out a single smiley-face pill with the tip of his wet middle finger.
“Sam taught me this,” Rider whispered his Zach’s ear.
A second later, Zach sucked the air from the room, every muscle in his body tensing as Rider
rammed his slippery fingers deep into Zach’s ass, spear-headed by the ecstasy pill at the tip of his
middle finger.
Zach panted, loving the attention that Rider’s fingers gave his ass, sliding in and out for a minute or
two while Rider nibbled on Zach’s earlobe, relishing the heaving of Zach’s chest, the yearning of his
ass as the E took hold of him.
Fuck, it was almost enough for Rider to strip the kid bare and fuck him right there in the bathroom.
Just hoist his ass onto the rim of the basin and start fucking.
But something stopped him.
Maybe it was the thought of Sam.
Maybe it was something else.
In any case, Rider—for once—fought off the aching boner in his jeans, turned Zach about to face him
and kissed him hard on the lips. After their tongues were done exploring each other’s mouths, Rider
pulled out and smiled.
“Delivery made,” he said. “You got the Es. You got the tabs. Sam’ll be watching you. But don’t worry,
I’ll look after you.” Rider gave Zach a friendly slap on the cheek and turned his face so that both
young men were looking in the mirror. “I like you. A lot. Look at the two of us. A pair of handsome
devils, that’s for sure. Anyone would think we were brothers.”
With that, Rider planted one last kiss of Zach’s lips before leaving the bathroom… and Adam’s place
altogether.
Zach’s young chest heaved with excitement as the pill really kicked in.
He pulled up his jeans and smiled at himself in the mirror.
Hopeful.
Confident.
Certain.
Maybe this was his break.
Maybe Rider and Sam would take him under their wings.
Maybe Zach was finally about to know what success was.
As he stepped out of the bathroom, still buckling up his belt, the front door opened—
—and in stepped Adam.
He saw Zach in the hall, wearing nothing but his jeans, and he smiled… coyly.
In Adam’s hand was a cake box.
He smiled shyly at Zach. “I was hoping you’d be here. I broke the rules in the kitchen. I made
something that wasn’t on the menu. I made something, well, just for you. It’s a cake. A lemon
cheesecake. Don’t tell your dads, they’ll bust my ass.”
Zach said nothing.
He simply charged at Adam, fuelled by the pill up his ass, and seized his best friend’s face in his
hands.
Fearlessly he laid a kiss on Adam’s lips so passionate, so forceful, that Adam dropped the cheesecake.
It slid out of the box and splattered to the floor.
Adam didn’t care.
It took all the strength in his legs to stop himself from splattering to the floor as well.
Oz opened the door to his suite and sensed straight away he wasn’t alone. After the last few days he
was on edge, his senses were heightened. He could smell someone in his suite, the scent of a man. At
first he hoped it might be Quinn. He resented the little bastard for bailing on him, and yet there was
something inside that wanted him back—
—or did he simply want to be held, to be kissed, by another man, no matter who it was.
Suddenly a lamplight switched on next to the chair by the window.
“Yoshi? What the hell are you doing here?”
Instantly Oz saw how agitated Yoshi was.
The jittering knee.
The darting gaze.
He was avoiding eye contact with Oz until he said outright, “I’ve done something. Something rash.”
Oz’s insides sank, his blood pooling to his liver. It was man’s most primitive bodily reaction, an
instinct to protect itself, stop as much blood loss as possible by storing it in the liver. That sinking
feeling came from an ancient ancestral need to survive an attack from a saber tooth tiger.
Now Oz felt the need to protect himself from a much more complicated danger. Oz shut the door
behind him and switched on the main light.
“Yoshi? What’s going on? What have you done?”
Panting with nerves, Yoshi said, “The guy you killed. I got rid of him. I did it for you.”
Oz’s face twisted in confusion and alarm. “I didn’t kill anyone! And what do you mean you got rid of
him?”
“Oz, I saw the ring mark on his face. You hit him before you killed him. And you left the imprint on
his face.”
“What imprint?”
“Your Exeter class ring! The imprint of it is on the dead guy’s face like a signature.”
Oz stormed over to Yoshi and knelt in front of him, sucking in as much air as he could to try to calm
himself down. “Yoshi, what have you done?”
A tear ran down Yoshi’s cheek. “I took the body. I stole it from Dr. Sherman’s lab. I buried it in the
woods, up in the mountains. I had to!” Yoshi leaned forward in the chair and grabbed Oz’s hand. “I
did it for you, Oz. I’ve always… I’ve always loved you.”
Oz pulled his hand free, at which point Yoshi looked to see—
—there was no ring on Oz’s finger.
“Where’s your Exeter ring?”
“At the bottom of the fucking Mediterranean!” Oz said through clenched teeth. “I lost it. Seven years
ago on a vacation, diving off Mykonos in the Greek Islands.”
“But I thought…”
“Yoshi, half this town went to Exeter. You went to Exeter. Why the hell would you think it was me
who did this?”
Yoshi shook his head, the tears rolling freely now. “I don’t know. I guess… I haven’t seen you for so
long, and since I saw you I haven’t stopped thinking about you. All I wanted to do was protect you! I
guess I panicked!”
Suddenly Oz rose to his feet, grabbed Yoshi by his jacket and hauled him to his feet, their noses
touching. Their lips were a mere inch apart. Yoshi’s cock pressed against his pants, his heart
hammering in his chest. But the sweetness of Oz’s breath so close was soured by his angry words.
“Yoshi, you’re gonna take me to that body right now. You and me are gonna dig it up and bring it
back to town before the Sheriff has to call in the FBI and all hell breaks loose. We gotta cover up your
goddamn cover-up!”
Yoshi’s eyes squinted, trying to read between the lines. “What are you saying? It was you?”
“I’m saying my family owns a multi-million dollar resort in the town. Missing bodies ain’t exactly a
Pied Piper call for tourists.”
With that, Oz hauled Yoshi to the door.
Outside the snow began to fall.
Oz didn’t let go of Yoshi the entire way to his sleek black Beemer, pulling him through the soft-falling
snow.
When he got to the car, Oz looked left and right to make certain nobody was watching before shoving
Yoshi against the car. “Is there a damn shovel at this place?”
Yoshi nodded fearfully. “I buried it under a bunch of leaves nearby.”
“Good,” Oz breathed. He tightened his grip on Yoshi’s jacket, pressing his body hard up against him.
“When we get back, you and I are gonna have a very serious talk. In the meantime, we’re sticky, you
get that? I’m not letting you out of my sight!”
Oz opened the passenger door and shoved Yoshi into the car before climbing into the driver’s seat.
He started the engine and followed the beam of the headlights into the falling snow.
He had no idea that hundred feet down the road, Trip had been sitting in his own car, watching to
the entire scene through his telescopic camera lens. He’d been stalking Oz for days now, but tonight’s
incident—with a hot young half Japanese guy being angrily slammed against Oz’s car for some
mysterious reason—finally piqued Trip’s interest.
“Well, well, well, Mr. Cotten,” Trip muttered to himself. “I do believe someone just hit a raw nerve.”
Trip took the gun out of the glove compartment.
Since finding Brandt’s body he didn’t trust anyone in this town anymore.
He shoved the weapon inside his jacket, zipped the jacket up and turned the key in the ignition.
*
The snow began falling just as Grady arrived at the fishing shack.
Conrad opened the door for him and pulled him inside, out of the cold.
The fire was already crackling and Grady melted at the warm touch of Conrad’s hand leading him
inside, then he melted a little more at the warmth of Conrad’s embrace.
“How did you know I’d be here?” Conrad asked, feeling like a guilty schoolboy. “I wasn’t expecting
you to come.”
“You weren’t?” Grady asked, looking at the fire, at Conrad’s half-opened shirt. At his hand still
resting on Grady’s forearm after their embrace.
“No,” Conrad muttered. Lied. “We’re not school boys anymore, Grady.”
“No,” Grady said, his fingers running through Conrad’s hair before he could stop himself.
Conrad said nothing, but smiled.
Without a word he slid the jacket off Grady’s shoulders and laid it over the back of a chair.
Then, with the softest touch of his hand, he led Grady to the rug laid out before the fire. “Do you
remember when we were young? Before we knew what we were doing. We’d just hold each other in
front of the fire. Knowing that something was right.”
The two sat on the rug. Conrad wrapped his arm around Grady’s shoulder.
“I remember,” Grady smiled.
Instinctively he nuzzled his face into the pit of Conrad’s arm. He smelled good, oh so fucking good.
He always did. Conrad always wore the finest cologne, the sexiest deodorant. And then there was the
smell of him.
Masculine.
Intoxicating.
Real.
Grady lifted his eyes, his face, his lips—
—to find that Conrad’s lips were waiting for him.
Grady never heard the phone vibrating in the pocket of his jacket slung over the chair.
Phil felt dizzy walking down the stairs of the house. Suddenly his feet slid out from under him and he
buckled, his ass slamming onto the stairs, forcing him down into an awkward seat on a step.
“Fuck,” he whispered to himself.
That was a second before the blinding headache struck like a bolt of lightning slamming into his
skull.
He winced in pain and curled up in a fetal position on the stairs, crying out in agony.
His hand fumbled into his pocket.
He managed to retrieve his phone in his trembling hand.
His fingers quivered as his head split open, the pain unbearable.
He managed to thumb Grady’s name into the phone and hit dial.
The phone rang.
And rang.
No pick up.
Phil gasped, “Please. Grady please, pick up.”
He hung up as another lightning bolt of agony ripped through his skull.
He spasmed in pain, sliding down a few more steps to come to a halt at the bottom of the stairs
facing the front door.
He managed to hit redial after several tries.
Again the phone rang.
And rang.
Until—
“Hi, this is Grady…”
“Grady, baby, I need—”
Phil’s words were suddenly cut off by Grady’s voicemail message. “Please leave a message after the
tone and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”
Phil gasped in despair, in pain.
He grunted in anger, trying desperately to bite back the pain, knowing he couldn’t keep it at bay for
much longer.
Frantically he scrolled through the names in his phone.
He hit call.
A voice answered. “Phil. Phil is that you?”
Phil nodded into the phone. “Tony. I need you. I need you bad. Right now.”
*
Quinn served up another gin and tonic at the bar as it began to fill for the night. The second he
sloshed the drinks onto the bar he made for the kitchen door and banged on that swinging sucker
with his fist.
“Adam, we need three damn burgers on table 12 and a tofu salad for the delusional pork chop on
table 9 right now.”
Quinn shot a wary glance at the guy on table 9, who in turn shot a wink and an airkiss back.
Quinn rolled his eyes and kept moving, hurrying back to the bar as Adam backed through the kitchen
door with two plates stacked on each arm. “Comin’ through,” he beamed.
Quinn eyed him suspiciously.
He filled a beer for another customer, but before handing it over he snagged Adam’s arm as he
returned from serving up food.
“Wait a second there, Mr. Sunshine. What the fuck’s with that smile? Either you just won the
lottery… or you kissed a boy and you liked it!”
“I always like it when I kiss a boy,” Adam smirked. “But this boy… this kiss… was kinda special.”
Quinn’s smirk spread into an ear-to-ear grin. “Well? Jesus Christ, boy, hints and innuendoes went
out of fashion in the fuckin’ fifties! Tell me every dirty little—”
Suddenly Quinn dropped the drink he was about to serve.
It shattered on the floor behind the bar.
Adam’s lottery win smile faded quickly as he saw the stunned look on Quinn’s face, then followed his
gaze toward the man who just walked in the door.
He was solid, tall, commanding… and dressed in army fatigues with a dusting of fresh snow on his
broad shoulders.
“Well hey there, skinny boy,” the large military man said as he sat his elbows on the bar. “How the
hell are you, Elliott?”
Adam turned back to the terrified look on Quinn’s face. A look nobody in town had yet seen. He
stepped in to defend his friend… Yeah, in that moment, he decided Quinn was his friend.
“Look, fella, I don’t know what business you got in town, but maybe you wanna take it somewhere
else.”
The man in uniform laughed, but there was a little admiration in Adam’s gallant stance. “Thanks for
the advice, kid. My name’s Blake, by the way. Captain Blake Hartnett. And my business ain’t with
you. It’s with Elliott here.”
“You know Quinn?” Adam asked.
Hartnett smiled and looked Quinn up and down. “So you took your mother’s name as well as her
hair.”
Adam suddenly grabbed Quinn by the arm. “Quinn, you okay? Do you know this asshole?”
Quinn simply nodded, his pale face even paler than usual. “Yeah,” he croaked nervously. “That
asshole’s my dad.”
*
Oz wiped his brow in the beam of the car’s headlights, plunging the shovel into the earth again and
again. Yoshi was pacing anxiously back and forth in front of the shallow grave that Oz was digging up
as fast as he could.
“Jesus, would you stop doing that!” Oz snapped without looking up, without even breaking his manic
dig-and-throw workout.
Yoshi stopped a moment and took a puff on his inhaler. “Oz, you know I only did this—”
“—for me! I know, you told me already! Now would you mind telling me how deep you buried this
damn…”
Suddenly Oz’s shovel hit something that wasn’t dirt.
“Get in here and help me with this, would ya!” Oz ordered.
Together Oz and Yoshi pushed the dirt away from the occupied body bag that Yoshi had buried the
night before. When they had uncovered it enough to retrieve it, Oz through his shovel out of the
shallow grave before he and Yoshi took the dead man’s feet and hauled the body bag out of the hole.
As soon as they got him onto the snow-covered earth, Yoshi turned to Oz, his face pale, and
muttered, “I think I’m gonna be sick.”
Before Oz could stop him, Yoshi bolted for the woods, covering his mouth the entire way before Oz
heard him yack in the dark.
Oz rolled his eyes and decided to get the body into the car himself. The snow was falling even harder
now and they needed to get back to town before the mountain pass snowed over.
His forehead smeared with sweat and dirt, his world officially up shit creek without a paddle, Oz
dragged the body in the bag around to the trunk. He pulled the keys of the BMW from his pocket.
At precisely the same moment, a torchlight shone on him.
“Oh my,” said a familiar voice, laced with vengeance. Venom. Ill-will. “What have we here?”
Oz knew that voice all too well.
As the man behind the torch stepped forward, shining his beam first on Oz, then the body, Oz’s
shoulders slumped.
“Fuck you, Trip.”
“Actually, no,” Trip smiled behind the torch. “This time it looks like you’re the one who’s fucked, Oz.
Finally. Is that a body you’ve dug up?” Trip started laughing. “Holy shit, how the hell are you gonna
explain your way out of this one? I mean, money can buy you out of a lot of dirty little secrets, but
what the hell is gonna get you out of this?”
“A shovel will!”
The answer didn’t come from Oz.
It came from behind Trip.
Before Trip could even turn, Yoshi swung the shovel and slammed Trip across the side of the head,
knocking him out on the spot.
Trip’s body thumped into the snow, out cold.
“What the fuck!” Oz shrieked as the snow came down even heavier.
“Oz, it’s okay! I did it for—”
“Yoshi, if you tell me one more fuckin’ time that you’re doing all this for me, I’m gonna pick up that
shovel and beat you with it myself!”
“What should we do?” Yoshi asked innocently.
Oz shot him an exasperated look. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m here with a body you buried in
the woods, and a man you just hit over the head with a shovel, and you’re asking me what we should
do!”
Yoshi reached into his pocket for his inhaler but couldn’t find it. He felt his chest tightening. The air
in his lungs abandoned him. He needed something to calm him down… and fast.
Hurriedly he staggered through the snow up to Oz, and before the angry heir of the Cotten Empire
could do a single thing, a panic-stricken Yoshi took Oz’s cheeks in his hands and laid his lips on him.
The two stayed frozen in that position for two, perhaps three seconds, before Yoshi opened his eyes
wide—
—and felt Oz’s tongue enter his mouth.
He felt the breath of air from Oz’s nostrils warm his upper lip.
He felt Oz’s teeth clack against his in a moment he thought would never happen.
Suddenly, out here in the middle of nowhere, with a body on the ground and an unconscious Trip
only a few feet away, Oz Cotten received the kiss he longed for.
From a nervous old friend.
Who had just gotten him into a shitload of trouble.
Eventually, Oz pulled away from the kiss. Reluctantly.
He collected his thoughts. Reluctantly.
“We need to get the body in the trunk. And we need to get him,” Oz said, pointing at the unconscious
body of Trip lying facedown in the snow, “into the backseat.”
“What are we gonna do with him?”
“We’re gonna take him to the Sheriff and take it from there! Before you get any more ideas about
burying anybody else in the mountains!”
Yoshi nodded obediently.
He would have done anything for Oz at that point.
And Oz sensed it. He couldn’t help but smile at Yoshi’s naughty puppy-dog face.
“Come on,” he said. “Help me here.”
Oz and Yoshi managed to get the body in the boot.
They grabbed Trip by the feet and shoulders and slid him onto the back seat of the BMW.
Oz revved the car’s engine.
As the snow filled the night, he followed the headlights down out of the mountain, racing back to
Boxer Falls.
Tony hammered on the Boxers’ door.
“Phil! Phil, are you in there!”
There was no answer.
Tony didn’t hesitate shouldering the door open with all his strength.
The lock gave, the handle rattled across the floor, and Tony burst inside to find Phil passed out at the
bottom of the stairs.
“Oh no, oh fuck, Phil!” Tony dived to his knees, scooping Phil up in his arms, fighting off tears.
“Oh God, Phil wake up! Wake up!”
There was still no response.
Phil’s head was limp in Tony’s arms.
His eyes were closed.
“Hang in there, Phil,” Tony said, sneering at the tears that wanted so desperately to flow. “Hang in
there, baby. I’m taking you to St. Sebastian right now.”
Tony knew that by the time an ambulance rushed over the mountain from Springdale and back
again, he could’ve got Phil there in a third of the time.
So with Phil in his arms, he ran through the falling snow to his pick-up.
He sat Phil as gently as he could in the passenger seat, buckled on his safety belt, then bolted to the
driver’s door, hauling it open on its rusty hinges and jumping behind the wheel.
Tony slammed his foot on the accelerator, desperate to get the man he loved to the hospital over the
mountains—
—as fast as he could.
*
Oz’s eyes were glued to the road. He wanted to get down the mountain fast, but the snow was coming
down hard and the winding road was getting more and more slippery by the second.
Yet despite his concentration—despite his panic and the speed of the car as it swirled down the
mountain bends—Oz felt the need to say: “I’m sorry I shouted at you.”
In the passenger seat, Yoshi looked at Oz. “I deserved it.”
“No, you didn’t. I’m sorry.” For a brief moment, Oz took one hand off the wheel and laid it on Yoshi’s
knee.
A bend appeared sooner than expected and Oz’s hand shot back to the wheel.
“You don’t have to apologize,” Yoshi said.
“Yeah. I do. I panicked. Something bad is going on in this town.” He gestured behind them to the
backseat at that point. “And I have a feeling he’s got something to do with it.”
“By ‘he’, do you mean me?” came Trip’s voice from the backseat.
It was followed by the hammer of a gun being cocked.
Oz locked his hands on the wheel and kept driving, the road slick beneath the BMW’s wheels.
Yoshi turned to see Trip sitting up, blood trickling from his temple and a gun in his hand pointing
straight at the back of Oz’s head.
Trip winked at Yoshi. “I wouldn’t try anything, Yo-Yo. Otherwise your precious Oz is gonna wind up
with a bullet in the brain.”
“You’re not a killer, Trip,” Oz said, eyes glancing in the rearview mirror.
“How do you know?” Trip smiled back.
“Because if you were, you would’ve done away with me a long time ago. Sure you hate me. Yeah, you
want some payback for what happened to your family. But murder?”
“Hey!” Trip shouted angrily, “You’re not the one who took a shovel to the head earlier tonight! I think
I’ve got every right to play this game however I damn well—”
Before he could finish his sentence, Yoshi lunged for the gun.
Trip struggled to hold it, his finger still on the trigger.
As the two fought, Oz wrestled with the wheel of the car, the BMW spinning through the snow
around a tight bend.
Suddenly a gunshot went off.
The windshield shattered.
Another shot was fired, and this time blood sprayed against the diced glass.
The BMW spun out of control.
At the same time, Tony’s pick-up tore up the mountain, racing through the snow, veering around a
bend until—
—the spinning headlights of Oz Cotten’s out-of-control BMW spiraled through the snow toward the
pick-up.
Tony gasped.
He reached across and held an arm over the unconscious Phil, slumped in the passenger seat, trying
desperately to protect him while at the same time tugging on the wheel.
But despite his best efforts, Tony was too late.
The BMW plowed into the pick-up at full speed.
Both cars knocked each other off course.
The Beemer ricocheted off the hood of the pick-up, hit the edge of the road and toppled over and
over down an embankment into the snow.
The trunk flew open as the BMW crumpled.
The body was hurled through the air like a wet rag and rolled into the snow.
Up on the road the pick-up pirouetted on the slippery bend before back-ending down the same
embankment, its rear plunging into the snow before the entire vehicle up-ended and smashed
upside-down into the icy ground.
For a moment there was no movement but for the spinning of wheels and snow falling in the beams
of smashed headlights.
Then, slowly, a door on one of the vehicles swung open.
An arm reached out of the car.
Someone dragged themselves out of the vehicle and into the snow.
As blood stained the icy forest floor red, the lone figure climbed unsteadily to his feet.
He was standing between two crashed vehicles.
He saw the faces of four men pressed against cracked glass.
Were they alive?
Were they dead?
And—who on earth were they?
But more importantly, the man thought, looking at his own bloody hands, not even recognizing his
own skin…
Who am I?
Episode 12
Kate Sherwood
Zach wondered whether it would be possible to stay on Ecstasy permanently. With the drug coursing
through his system, he was at peace, with himself and everyone else. He was invulnerable to
emotional pain, not because he wasn’t sensitive, but because he was sensitive enough to understand
everyone on the planet and care about feelings as much as his own. He was cosmic, metaphysical,
omniscient, and omnipotent. And horny. When he was on E, he was really, really horny.
He leaned back against the headboard and ran his fingers over his chest, lost in reminiscence.
Adam’s headboard. Adam’s bed. Zach had no idea why Adam had responded as willingly as he had to
Zach’s aggression; maybe it had just been too long since the poor, picky bastard had gotten laid. But
respond he had, with enthusiasm that had been-- fervent? Was that the right word? Zach had felt like
he was a god, being worshipped at the same time as he was being claimed, and it had been fucking
hot. Who knew Adam had it in him?
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. He’d shed his jeans before collapsing and he looked
around for them now. He was distracted by the shirt balled up in the corner of the room. Adam’s
shirt. He’d used it to mop them both up, Zack remembered. Jesus it had been hot. Handjobs, nothing
kinky, just Zack pushing Adam against the wall, both of them biting and straining and struggling to
get closer to the other. Unzipped pants, lined up cocks, shared grip, and Zach coming harder than he
could ever remember. Ecstasy was fucking awesome. Zach thought about the little baggie of pills. He
wasn’t going to be a dealer, he was going to be public servant. An evangelist for Ecstasy, the one true
god. And acid. But that would just be a sideline, he figured.
He heard his cell phone go off, and followed the sound to his jeans. He dug into the pocket and saw
the familiar number on the phone. It was tempting to ignore it, but he was feeling good enough to
handle a little nagging. “Hi,” he said cheerfully. “What’s up?”
“Zach, where are you?” Grady sounded frantic.
“What? I’m at Adam’s.” His fathers tried to keep him on a tight leash, but not usually this tight.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Phil,” Grady choked out. “I got home, and there was a message.”
“What kind of message?” Zach tucked the phone between his ear and his shoulder and pulled his
jeans on. Whatever this was, it sounded serious.
“From the highway patrol. There was an accident. A bad accident.”
“How bad?” Zach demanded. He stormed into the bathroom and grabbed his shirt, then looked
around frantically for his shoes.
“They couldn’t say. There was…” Grady sounded like he was on the edge. “At least one person died.
Maybe more. But everything sounds really confused. They said the cars were upside down, and
people’s phones and wallets had all fallen out and mixed together, and…” He continued in a whisper.
“They don’t know, Zach. They aren’t sure which one is Phil.”
“You’re going over there? You’re going to sort this all out?”
“I’m on my way out the door.”
“I’ll meet you downstairs. We’ll go together.”
“Okay,” Grady agreed softly. “Hurry.” And then he hung up.
Zach jammed his feet into his shoes and headed down the stairs at a run. He didn’t see Adam in the
doorway at the bottom of the stairs, watching him bolt. And he didn’t even think about the bag of
Ecstasy he’d left sitting on Adam’s bathroom counter.
***
The hospital was terrifying. Everything was terrifying. The man felt like he’d been dropped into an
alternate universe, one where he didn’t understand who he was or who anyone else was or why
anything was happening. People were kind, at least. Concerned doctors and nurses, and then the
neurologist who seemed more excited than concerned, waving a handful of images at the other
doctors as if he’d found something amazing. It was too much, and the man just wanted to close his
eyes and make it all go away.
Then the door to his room burst open and two men rushed in, one about the man’s age, one much
younger. Maybe more boy than man.
“Phil!” the older man cried, and the desperate relief in his voice was overwhelming. He rushed
toward the bed, and the man in the bed shrank back and raised a hand. The man skidded to a halt.
“Phil?” His face was like a video on fast forward, emotional scenes flying across it too quickly to track
or understand. Confusion, fear, alarm--guilt?
“Just give me some space, please,” the man said. He just needed some time to adjust to everything.
The neurologist arrived then, and that was a relief, because he spoke to the older visitor and kept him
busy. The younger visitor approached the bed, but he was cautious, and the man appreciated that.
“They said you don’t know who you are,” the young man said. “And I guess you don’t know who we
are?”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. It’s not your fault.” The boy pulled a chair over and sat beside the bed. “I’m Zach. He’s
Grady. We’re your family.”
“My family.” The man tried to put it together. He’d seen his reflection a few times in the past hours,
so he had a rough idea what he looked like. He knew how old he was. “You’re my… son?”
“Yeah. Zach Boxer. You’re Phil Boxer.” The kid jerked his chin in the direction of the older man.
“He’s Grady Boxer.”
“My brother?” the man guessed.
Zach looked startled. “Uh, no…” he began, but the doctor and the older man finished their quiet
conference and turned toward the bed.
“It’s a fascinating case, Mr. Boxer,” the neurologist said. He was a stereotypical egghead, all
intellectual excitement and no social graces. The man in the bed had no idea why he could recognize
the personality type so easily, but couldn’t manage to remember his own name. “We’re still running
tests. We’re going to be running a lot of tests. But it really seems as if the accident caused trauma to
the exact area of your brain where the tumor was growing. We couldn’t access it surgically; it was
buried deep under healthy tissue that would have been damaged irreparably by the surgery. But
preliminary results indicate that the blood flow was blocked to just the right part of the brain,
for justthe right amount of time to do significant damage to the tumor! As I said, we’ll need a lot
more tests, and we’ll need to give it some time to let the swelling subside. But I was just telling your
husband, the early indications are very exciting.”
There was a moment of quiet when the doctor stopped speaking, and then the man in the bed and
the boy beside him spoke simultaneously.
“Tumor?” the boy said.
“Husband?” the man in the bed asked. He closed his eyes again. Things needed to start making
sense. Fast.
“Mr. Cotten? Oswald? Are you with us, Mr. Cotten?” The nurse’s voice was fucking annoying, and Oz
was pretty sure that if he opened his eyes, her face would be just as harsh, so he kept them shut. He
didn’t want to deal with her, didn’t want to deal with anything. But her thumb was on his lid, pulling
it up, and then she shone a blinding flash of agony into his skull and he batted at her arm as he
jerked away. “Okay, Mr. Cotten, I know, it hurts. But it’s part of the exam.”
“Get a doctor in here,” Oz ordered. “If a doctor wants to examine me, he can.”
“Well, then, I’m in luck, Mr. Cotten, because I am a doctor.” She sounded as if she couldn’t decide
whether to be amused or disgusted. “It’s 2012, and you still think all doctors are men?”
He opened one eye, cautiously, and peered at her. She was wearing scrubs and a white coat. Damn.
“What do you want?” he grumbled.
“I want to ensure that you’re recovering well, Mr. Cotten.”
“What about the others?” he asked. “The others who were in the accident. Yoshi?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cotten, I don’t know. You’re in the recovery area—I know it doesn’t feel like it, but
you weren’t hurt too badly. The others… well, I’m not sure about all of them, but I know that at least
two were taken directly to surgery. One other is in recovery down the hall.”
“Is the one down the hall Japanese?”
“I haven’t seen him, Mr. Cotten. Now, if you’ll just cooperate, we can make sure that things are going
smoothly with you…”
The door opened, then, and a familiar face poked inside. “Mr. Cotten,” Vic said, and his voice was
more formal than usual. A warning. “Doctor. We need to speak to Mr. Cotten as soon as possible. The
state police are investigating this incident, and they’re looking for statements.”
There was a message in Vic’s eyes, but Oz couldn’t read it. Obviously, the state police being involved
wasn’t good; Vic couldn’t do much to cover things up if there was another law enforcement body
taking charge. But, it really felt like there was something more to it. Something Vic wanted Oz to
know.
Unfortunately, the doctor didn’t seem impressed. “I’ll be a while longer.” She frowned at Oz. “It
would go faster if you were a little more cooperative.”
“Yeah, fine,” he muttered. He let her poke and prod at him, but his mind was elsewhere. What was
going on outside the door of the room, and would Vic be able to get him up to speed before the state
police came in? But, surprisingly, that wasn’t the biggest concern on Oz’s mind. He was thinking
about Yoshi. The man was out of control, but he’d done it all for Oz. Had Yoshi paid the ultimate
price for his loyalty?
***
Adam needed to get ready. Breakfast rush was always grueling, even when he was well rested. On
this day, with only a few hours of sleep after cleaning up from the night shift, then coming up to find
Zach waiting for him--yeah , he hadn’t gotten much sleep, but it had been worth it.
He sat up in bed, and struggled to think about work, about what he needed to do, but it was no use.
His focus was totally blown.
The night before had been perfect. Zach had been perfect. Finally, it had seemed like Zach had
wanted Adam just as completely, just as desperately as Adam wanted him. They hadn’t made it to the
bed, hadn’t even gotten most of their clothes off, and it had still been perfect. Not so perfect that
Adam didn’t want to do it again, and do it better this time: fewer clothes, more actual dick-in-ass
action, and, hopefully, more post-coital bliss.
Adam had hoped for a little of that the night before. He’d snuggled up to Zack for a while, then gone
downstairs to make sure the servers had locked up properly and to get something to eat. But he’d
been planning on going back. Dreaming of going back, really. When Zach had charged past him out
the door, it had been bewildering, but Adam was trying to find a good reason for it. There must have
been a good reason. And maybe that same good reason would explain why Zach hadn’t answered his
phone when Adam had tried it.
He pulled himself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Eyes still half-closed, he peed, then
turned the shower on. He was already late, but he was tempted to jerk off; he could think about
Zach’s strong hands, his smooth skin, his hot, hard cock, and this time, it wouldn’t all be coming
from Adam’s imagination.
He was trying not to act like a kid with a crush, but it was pretty much impossible. He let himself go,
just for a while. He imagined how he’d be working in the kitchen, later, and Zach would come in.
He’d slip back to the kitchen, like he always did, and he’d play coy at first, sneaking a slice of red
pepper or a bit of cheese, acting like everything was normal, but he’d have that sweet, sexy smirk on
his face.
Adam would play along, trying to ignore the way that everything had changed, trying to pretend they
were still just Adam and Zach, best friends without benefits. Then Zach would ease a little closer, just
enough to make it clear that he was looking for something, and Adam would step closer too, and
then… Adam couldn’t decide which one of them would break first, but then he remembered the way
Zach had rushed at him the night before, the desperate passion of his body, and it was clear. Zach
would make the first move, slower in the morning than he’d be the night before, just coming in slow
and inevitable, as if he’d finally realized that their entire lives had been dragging them toward this
moment.
Yeah, Adam was definitely going to have to find time to jerk off. He checked the temperature of the
shower water and pulled his boxers off. He tossed them toward the hamper and his gaze caught
something unfamiliar on the counter. A little baggie, filled with pills. Adam took a step closer, and
then stopped. He didn’t want to look, didn’t want to know. But, he already did know, he realized. He
closed the rest of the distance, picked up the baggie, and felt the arousal that had been building in his
stomach turn into a tight, heavy ball.
It hadn’t been about Adam. Not at all. Adam had wanted Zach, but Zach had just wanted somebody.
Some body. He’d been high, he’d been horny, and Adam had been the closest willing person. God, so
willing.
Adam’s skin crawled, and he could feel the mortification burning his face. He’d made a fool of
himself. And Zach had been part of it.
The previous night, too, Adam realized. He’d thought it had been building, thought Zach had been
starting to realize... oh, God. Zach didn’t want Adam. He never had, and he never would. Adam
needed to get over this before he ruined whatever friendship they had left, and before he totally
destroyed whatever shreds of self-respect he was still clinging to.
His whole body was shaking as he walked naked into the kitchen and pulled the card down from the
top of the fridge. The restaurant in the city. It had sounded good. Great, even. It was an opportunity,
not so much for Adam to further his career, but to reclaim his life. He picked up his phone and dialed
the number. It was too early, of course, but the machine picked up and Adam tried to keep his voice
level as he said, “This is Adam Parish, calling for Mr. Forsyth. I know I’m probably too late, but
things have changed here, and if that job is still open, or if you have any other openings, I’d be really
interested. I’ll call back later to check in. Thanks.”
He hung up the call and tried to feel good about it. He couldn’t quite manage it, but at least
he’d donesomething. He hadn’t just sat around like a pathetic loser, waiting for his friend to get high
enough to touch him.
He headed back to the bathroom and stepped into the shower, then turned the water on hotter, and
hotter. He wanted to be clean. He wanted to forget.
Episode 13
Damon Suede
A small town survives like a wary animal.
Tucked in the underbrush, wary of predators, its heart and paws patter towards safety. Gossip and
tragedies and windfalls race along its nerves; news pumps hot through a town's veins, and the tiniest
nick can do terrible damage: extinguishing hope and smothering sense. Like all small animals, when
a town panics it fights or flies...
Dot Boxer had arrived at the Bear & Bones two hours early. It was a Thursday and Ira had given the
new bartender the night off. Family business he'd said. But Dot could cover the bar well enough;
she'd done it for twenty plus years.
Thursday's were her book club at the library. The ladies finished Light in August and admitted, with
no great embarrassment, that they'd found it boring and dated. Rather than keeping the ladies
trapped indoors on such a lovely March day, Cressida had suggested they break early and all go
looking for another title on their shelves at home.
Secretly Dot already knew what she wanted them to read: Myra Breckenridge, which was a sorta
queer novel, yes, but one she'd reread often cause it was so funny. Secretly she believed that the gals
had overdosed on Oprah books and she felt bound and determined to move them into the new
century and some culture. The other ladies in the group knew Grady and Phil lived together, did
"things" together, y'know, but Dot figured the town was growing up and they needed to get a grip.
When she got to the pub, she spent almost an hour going over the orders for the next month. They
were ahead on everything but beer, which always went fast in the spring. St. Pat's had wiped them
out and Quinn had sold triple the pints they had last year. Nothing like a hot coppertop bartender to
make patrons thirsty.
Tlink!
A noise in the kitchen got her out of her chair and in to investigate. She closed the little walnut door
and headed back down the tavern's narrow hall.
Probably Adam come to set up his ingredients for the dinner rush. Meezen Ploss, he called it. Or
something. She called it "ingredients," but what the hell did she know? His waffles had tourists
driving for an hour and her waffles could drive a nail.
Sure enough, the kitchen fluorescents were on, but Adam stood there wearing a coat with a duffel bag
over one shoulder. He was fiddling with something on the counter.
"You're early."
"I'm leaving." Adam's voice was hoarse. "Dot."
She laughed at that. Adam loved to get her goat and teased her about retiring all the damn time. The
fact that she was easily 50 years older than him made the joke endlessly funny to him for some
reason.
He looks like he's been diagnosed with cancer.
"I don't-" Adam wasn't laughing. "I can't take it. I can't take it. He-" He was crying in earnest. His
eyes were raw with pain and his hand shook. Then he began crying for real: slow-hot-silent tears that
slicked his face. A marble angel in the rain.
"Take what? What happened?" She realized that he had his knife roll open and worry blossomed in
her innards. "Hey. Hey there." She went to him and put an arm around his slim torso. "Hon, what's
all this then? Shhh."
Adam shook his head and said nothing. He was packing his two-thousand dollar knives, wiping them
down and carefully sliding each into the case. As a senior, he'd saved for six months to buy them and
then Zach and his dads had surprised Adam for his graduation. "I took a job. I accepted a positionthing. At a restaurant in Boston. This man Forsyth called-"
"Oh." Dot nodded, stroking his arm to calm herself as much as him.
That's that.
She and Ira had always known the boy would move on. Too talented for this little pimple of a town.
Big cities, he needed. And no good would come of keeping him trapped here. "But that's marvelous,
sweetheart." She pretended to be happy, and hugged him. "Good for you."
He looks about fifteen.
"I think I may be making a mistake, but I have to try. I'm 21. I have a future."
"Of course you do." She smiled.
"I haven't given you any notice. I'm doing this all wrong." A sniff. Adam looked wide-eyed over the
stainless counter, at the fancy pots he'd asked them to buy, as if he realized that someone else would
be using them. "But I have the strangest feeling that if I don't go now I never will."
"Then you go. We'll just close the kitchen for tonight. Somebody in town must be needing a short
order job." Dot winked and pursed her lips conspiratorially.
Adam shifted the duffel bag from his right to his left shoulders.
Dot knew that if she softened a moment, he'd stay. And if her grandson didn't have the sense to ditch
this tarpit, at least his best friend did. "Hon, we're not going anywhere. You can always come back."
He shook his head. "I don't know."
"Well, I'm an old broad, and I do. You need to leave."
"I do?"
"We'd be wrong to keep you. And you so talented." Dot nodded. "It's a good job, huh? I bet Zach was
excited."
"He's still at the hospital with his dad." Adam swallowed and stopped with the knives, wiping his
hands on his pants. His wet brown eyes said plenty, and the sigh said more.
"Adam, you should call him. He'll be happy for you."
He nodded like they both knew she was lying to him. Zach would be pissed. "For me to leave."
"To kick some Beantown butt!" Dot smoothed his hair back and opened her arms wide. "Show 'em
how it's done.
Adam stepped into her hug and hugged back. Kissing the side of her head. He felt so skinny and tall,
like a third son at the beginning of a fairytale.
She pushed him back to his full height and wagged a finger. "Call Zach."
"I will." And his feet were moving. "Soon as I can." Gone.
Only when she heard the front door close did she let herself sink against the stainless counter. What
in hell's name were they gonna do for the summer? She needed to call Ira. She needed to check with
Quinn.
***
A small town learns the places to lick its wounds and scavenge for prey in dark quiet places. Unlike
bigger predators, it risks little and worries much, careful to survive on the scraps it finds under rocks
and rotting logs.
Zach punched the Coke machine hard enough to rock it on its feet. Nothing.
Three fucking dollars and no soda. Whatever.
He wasn't even thirsty. He just had to get out of the room where Phil lay bruised and confused. He
still didn't recognize his own family, and seemed a little uncomfortable with the idea that he was
married to a man. Watching his fathers pick their way through that minefield had gotten too
embarrassing to watch so Zach had slipped out to the trauma unit waiting area.
Woo-hoo: hospital party zone .
Un-beveraged and restless, Zach stalked back to the vinyl armchairs and flopped down. No way did
he want to go back in and introduce himself again to a man who'd raised him from the time he was a
scabby, snotty twelve year-old. Grady had taught him manners, morals, and how to tie a tie, but Phil
had taught him to fish, to skim a wall, to shoot tequila, to run a dozer. Seeing a stranger looking out
of his eyes, the idea that anyone as strong as Phil could be taken away so quickly...or that his dads
could be taken away from him as easily as his biologicals, made Zach want to puke or flee.
Pulling his knees up to his chest, he twisted sideways trying to find a comfortable angle on the
molded blue seat. No chance. At this time of night, the room was empty of visitors.
"Rider?" Some old dude stood beside one of the columns looking at him. White hair, white beard,
well built. Fucking hell. That's Conrad Cotten. Waiting for him to answer to a stranger's name.
For a moment, Zach wondered if Phil would recognize him if he went in and gave a different name.
Maybe so.
Maybe I'm crazy.
Mr. Cotten spoke again; his eyes flashed. "Why haven't you seen your brother? What's wrong with
you?" He crossed the room with stern purpose.
"Uhh." As Zach spun in the chair, he tried to figure out how to answer that one. I don't have a
brother and that's not my...
"I'm so sorry! You're not my son. Good heavens." Mr. Cotten shook his head at himself and the
hawkish face relaxed into a white-white-white smile, too perfect to be real. "I beg your pardon. At
this distance, I thought you were-"
"Rider. We've met. I mean, I've met him around town." Zach decided not to mention that he'd spent
most of February trying to fuck the youngest Cotten. "It's the shaggy hair."
"That's part of it I guess." Mr. Cotten shook his head. He squinted at Zach again, looking him over
like a specimen jar. "I'm so sorry to have troubled you. You haven't seen him then. Rider, I mean?"
"Nah. I've been in with my dad. Phil, I mean." Zach jerked his thumb towards the room where the
stranger had stolen his father from him. "Tony was running him to the hospital and there was a
pileup."
"I know. They called me because..." Cotten stopped himself. "My son was in one of the cars. And
two...friends as well."
Oh.
Oz Cotten had been in the other car, had almost killed Phil. Conrad Cotten wouldn't leave their
fucking family alone.
"You're Grady's boy." Mr. Cotten looked embarrassed. And wiped his face roughly. "I'm sorry. I
should've thought-"
No wonder Grady looked so guilty .
"Zach. My name is Zach." Zach tried to keep his face calm. He tried to keep his hands relaxed. Phil
always said, if they know you're coming, you've already lost the fight. He'd deal with the Cottens
later. Fuckers had it coming.
"Is your father alright?"
"Phil's conscious. There were...complications. My other...Grady's with him now."
Mr. Cotten didn't nod or smile at that piece of information. He glanced at the nurse's station.
A thickset woman in blue scrubs and a doctor's coat headed across the waiting area. Mousy hair fell
to her shoulders. "Mr. Cotten? I'm Dr. Treadwell." Her eyes flicked to Zach, but he stood his ground.
"Mr. Pollack has regained consciousness, but not much else I'm afraid." Treadwell tipped her head as
if unsure how much to share. "He sustained significant spinal damage."
"He's paralyzed?" Cotten lowered his voice. "Have you told Oz?"
"We're trying to find a next of kin. Do you know the Pollacks?"
"Quite well. Our boys went to school together. You say he's regained consciousness? Has he been
able to make a statement to the police?" For the first time since he'd spoken to Zach, Mr. Cotten
looked anxious.
What is that old bastard worried about?
Treadwell shook her head. "I'm afraid not. At the moment, we're breathing for him."
"You said he was conscious. How can you be certain?"
Treadwell put her pen back in the breast pocket. "He's responding to questions. His eyes actually."
Mr. Cotton grimaced. "Eyes?!"
Zach could see Cotten's hands fidgeting in his pockets. Even Treadwell glanced down.
The fidgeting stopped. "But he can communicate."
"He's able to blink in response to yes or no questions. The police haven't gotten a statement and I
imagine it will take some time. At the moment he's resting."
"And Trip?"
Zach squinted at the older man. Again, something skimmed under the surface of his eyes. Crooked
old fucker.
"Mr. Whitlock is under observation, with that degree of damage to the occipital lobe, he runs the risk
of subdural hematoma or worse. We're trying to evaluate his options. But I'm afraid you'll need to
speak with the attending physician; I'll let him know you're here. If you'll excuse me."
Mr. Cotton bobbed his head as if dismissing her. He glanced up at Zach. "Right. I should get back to
Oz. If you see his brother-"
"I will." Zach nodded and smiled right at him, a greasy, knowing grin that made Conrad Cotten
blanch. But Zach couldn't figure out what the hell he'd just witnessed.
Adam would know. He needed to see Adam pronto. He needed to see Adam and kiss him and love
him and thank him for never giving up. Zach knew he didn't deserve that kind of faith, but hell if he
was going to squander it. Together they could figure out how to make something useful out of old
man Cotten's shame. Maybe they'd find a way out of town after all. He didn't need to sell drugs for
Sam. Adam would know what to do.
A pair of unpretty candystripers wandered past pushing carts with paperbacks and towels. They
giggled and pretended to flirt with him.
Zach pretended to flirt back.
He leaned against the stubborn Coke machine, not thirsty in the least.
Best three dollars for no soda I ever spent .
***
Like any feral creature, small towns flinch at strangers and protect their young without pity or
patience. Secrets keep a town's teeth sharp and its eyes quick.
Before Adam had been able to board the bus for Boston, he had been arrested. Stupid really.
Possession with intent .
Adam sat alone in a holding cell. A literal cell with bars and a bench. The pale blue walls sported
about five or six years of graffiti going by the names that he recognized. It seemed clean enough,
smelled like fake lemon, but for all that, it was a cell and chilly as hell. Adam's jacket had been
confiscated along with his belt and his sadly un-valuable valuables.
When he'd left his place, he'd wedged Zach's pills and tabs into his waistband. If he couldn't be here
to stop Zach's destruction, at least he could slow it down. Before he'd spoken with Dot at the Bear &
Bones, he'd written a note explaining the theft and the job offer.
The classy thing would have been to face Zach and tell him the truth. The smart thing would have
been to go to the Sheriff straight away and turn his best friend in before things got serious. The kind
thing to do was to sacrifice another job offer and sit with Zach in fucking rehab while he screamed at
the walls and clawed trenches into his skin while he detoxed from whatever the fuck he'd taken.
None of the above .
Adam did the fucked-up thing, stealing his friend's stash of drugs to remove temptation and then
getting them out of the house to remove any evidence. He'd toss them somewhere between here and
the bus station and be headed for his new life in Boston on the 5:09.
How was he supposed to fucking know that Sheriff Neale hung out at the rest stops waiting to bust
folks? How was he supposed to explain ducking into a public toilet with a hundred smiley-faced pills
and about fifteen sheets of dodgy acid stamps in his briefs? Who was he supposed to call to bail his
ass out and call his new boss for this career-ending update?
All he could focus on was what Zach would think after he read that note and saw the stash was gone.
Ordinarily, Zach would have been the person he called to come get him out.
I fucked up .
"That is fucked up, Parish." Sheriff Neale ambled towards him, a goofy grin on his bearded face.
"You-" With a jangle he tugged his keys out of his crowded uniform pants and unlocked the cell. "Are
free to go."
Adam goggled at the big man and stayed put. "The hell are you talking about?"
"S'bullshit." Neale waved his hand at the baggie and its miniature mob of smiling pills. "Fucking baby
aspirin. Stamped and all. I don't know what you paid for it but you got screwed."
"I didn't pay for them. They're not-"
"Illegal?" A snort. The sheriff picked up the baggie and swung it between them. "These wouldn't help
a headache, kid."
"Thank you." Adam shook the man's hand firmly. "You don't understand. And it doesn't matter now,
but thank you for that."
"I got enough bullshit with that wreck. Cottens making trouble. Townies asking questions. Grady
Boxer ready to sue anyone who breathes wrong."
"Okay." Adam waited for the punchline. His hands were squeezed so hard that his nails cut into his
palms.
"Parish, I don't need the paperwork. And Dot and Ira don't need the grief. You just head back and hit
the waffle iron." Sheriff Neale tore something off a clipboard, balled it up, and made a basket in one
throw. "I say we forget you ever had these."
Adam didn't say a word about his travel plans or change of employment.
The Sheriff grunted. "I don't know what that damn Kabir kid has been up to out at the Sherwood
estate, but I'm gonna have to bring him in for questioning."
Adam crossed his arms over his chest. So cold. "Who's Kabir?"
"Some bullshit showbiz type slumming it. Father directs movies. Mother's a model. And now, the
production company leased the old Sherwood place. Apparently some indie movie shit and no one
bothered to notify me that the permits had been filed."
"The drugs were a prop?" Adam finally stepped onto the grey linoleum of the station hallway.
"Let me get your things." He rapped the desk with his brown knuckles.
Adam ran a hand over his face.
Everything they'd shared had been real. Zach had been sober. It wasn't the pills. Did Zach know the
pills and tabs were fake? At most, they'd been a placebo, unleashing Zach to act on his impulses.
Adam felt like an idiot. Why the hell hadn't he waited to get a straight answer?
Sheriff Neale came back with Adam's duffel, his leather jacket, and two lumpy brown envelopes.
"Wallet and valuables in these."
Adam shrugged into his jacket. Since when were the Berkshires so cold at the end of March? Since
when did showbiz people turn up in Boxer Falls? Since when did he think running away to Beantown
looked better than staying to fight for his man. Everything seemed ridiculous to him. Suddenly his
life had turned into a demented clown car: garish, honking problems climbing out, one after another
after another.
He laughed without smiling. "This Kabir person has some kinda permit? Like a movie thing."
"Seems so. I dunno...shooting some kind of film school bullshit." Neale rolled his eyes and shook his
head. "If this was a prank it was a bad one."
"And you think they were filming me?" Or Zachary. "People in town? Is that even legal?"
"Show business has no business inside Boxer Falls. We'll get it sorted out." The sheriff held up the
ersatz dope. "I'll need to hold on to this for now, if that's alright by you? Might prove useful in getting
the truth out of Kabir and his crew."
Adam nodded, looking at the floor. He felt stupid for seeing danger in a bag full of smiley faces, for
agreeing to cook for Forsyth's restaurant, for doubting the only person he cared about.
When did my life become an afterschool special?
Adam scooped his wallet out one of the envelopes. He fished around for the key ring, and only when
he pulled it free did he realize it only had three keys that fit real doors in the real world: his house,
Zach's house, and the Bear & Bones. None of them fit the life he was headed towards. Part of him
wanted to simply hand the keys back to the sheriff and go back to the cell so someone else would
make the decision for him.
What do I do?
"You okay?" The Sheriff spoke gently, and Adam realized that the big man was trying to keep the
basket case from flipping out. As the basket case in question, Adam couldn't blame him. Most likely
because the last thing the sheriff wanted was more paperwork. And Adam had a bus to catch.
Right?
Neale stood at the desk and held the receiver towards Adam, mockery in his eyes. "You wanna call
someone to take you home?"
Dot? Rider? Zach?
Adam realized that he'd let every one of them down in different ways. What could he do?
The sheriff looked at Adam's bag. "Or I could call a cab for the bus station...if you're still headed that
way?"
***
A small town knows the places best for hiding, where to drag its kills and bury its lies. In quiet
crannies, it hunkers down and bides its time till the long cold fades and takes starvation with it.
About forty yards north of the highway, down a steep incline towards the lake, Brandt's body had
landed hard under a dense clutch of black chokeberry. A white-tailed deer grazing on lower branches
of nearby chokeberries gave the ripening flesh a wide berth.
Sprung from the trunk of Oz's BMW, battered by branches as it fell past them, the corpse had pulled
leaves and branches down on itself as it hit the damp soil. One of Brandt's legs protruded from the
pale spring leaves at a bad angle. In the half-light under the canopy, his dark pants looked like a
crooked shadow against the dirt.
Almost a half mile away, the Falls' churning could be heard faintly. The roar seemed softened by the
distance and the pine needles carpeting the forest floor.
Brandt's dead eyes watched as a breeze stirred the hissing trees overhead. A safe sound, and one the
deer probably knew. Then another.
The deer raised its head. Brandt's dead ears could hear clearly.
Tires on gravel .
On the highway above, a car passed as the deer held still as stone and Brandt's body did likewise.
The corpse couldn't know that the Sheriff was making his way to the Sherwood Estate on the other
side of the water to get some answers out of Sam Kabir.
As it whipped by, a loose oak leaf spiraled down, down, down. It floated in a corkscrew plunge past
its old branches and past the speckled alders and past the chokeberries and past the deer's gaze onto
Brandt's mottled hand.
Another shadow. Another secret. Another morsel tucked away.
And like a wary animal, weary with escape and watched by dead eyes, the town curled around itself
and dreamed.
Episode 14
KC Burn
This might be the worst day of his life.
Tony hung back, out of the way of the bustling nurses and doctors, positioned so he could see the
door to Phil's room. The sheer amount of activity scared the fuck out of him.
No one would tell him anything, even though he'd been driving and… his breath hitched. It wasn't all
his fault, was it? One handed, he scrubbed the fresh tears from his face, ignoring the pull of stitches
at his temple.
Miraculously, he'd emerged from the wreck with nothing more than a shallow cut on his scalp that
had bled like a bitch, a dislocated shoulder, and a variety of bruises and scratches. The sheriff had
interviewed him and the hospital had discharged him hours ago, but he couldn't leave. Not until he
saw Phil. Not until he knew Phil was okay. He didn't dare approach the room while either Grady or
Zach was there. Seeing them together, distressed, had been like a knife to the gut.
He was a fucking fool. The money had been good and so damned tempting, but he'd had sex with
every man in that family. How had he figured that was going to end well? Especially when the only
man he cared about was beyond that puke green door, status unknown.
Another tear traced a scalding path down his cheek. This time he ignored it as it dripped down to wet
his tattered T-shirt. The same tattered T-shirt stained with his blood and the blood of the man he
never expected to love.
By the time Grady emerged yet again from Phil's room, accompanied by a grim faced doctor, Zach
had been gone for some time. Grady's shocked pallor had aged him to the point he only vaguely
resembled the virile silver fox Tony had so recently fucked, and fear twisted in Tony's belly like a
thousand angry snakes.
The doctor nodded at Grady and strode off, white coat flapping. Grady's gaze flickered around, but
like the other night, Tony was almost completely insignificant, even when bringing the man to
orgasm. When Conrad Cotten appeared at the end of the hall, Grady moved toward him, clearly
seeking comfort and leaving the way clear for Tony to slip into Phil's room.
"Phil?" Tony whispered, not wanting to wake the man if he were sleeping.
Phil sat up. He frowned at Tony, gaze taking in the sling on his arm and the stitches at his hairline.
"Are you okay?"
"Me?" Tony stared at Phil's face. There were no signs of the excruciating pain Phil had experienced
before the accident, the whole reason Tony had been rushing him to the hospital in the first place.
"Did you want me to call a nurse, buddy?"
Buddy?
"Phil?"
A frown brought Phil's brows together. "I'm sorry. I guess… I know you?"
Agony, more blinding than anything he experienced so far, ripped through him. "You don't
remember me?"
"I'm sorry." Phil's confidence, Phil's strength, Phil's substantial presence, evaporated in a second,
replaced with hesitation and confusion.
"I'm sorry for bothering you." Tony fled, the emotional pain hammering at him more than the
residual ache in his shoulder.
Having sex with Phil and Grady together had only illustrated how insignificant he truly was to Phil.
He'd known Phil hadn't returned his feelings, which was why he'd never spoken of them, but to be
forgotten completely?
When he finally stopped running, he saw a sign for the cafeteria. A bar would be much, much better,
but his truck was wrecked and he was in no condition to drive. He stumbled inside and sank down at
a table in the corner.
Even worse, as the first responders began pulling people out of the wreckage, he'd recognized the
driver of the other car. Without Phil to corroborate his version of the accident, he might need a
lawyer, but his big, new bank account might not be big enough to take on the Cottens. Who was the
sheriff going to believe? The eldest Cotten son, or a part-time laborer?
***
Adam had been at the bus station for hours. His ass was almost completely numb from seats
designed to discourage loitering. He had his ticket to Boston, but he still had a few more hours to
stew.
Was he making a mistake, leaving like this? Should he give Zach the chance to explain? Problem was,
no matter what explanation Zach gave, Adam wasn't sure he'd believe it. Wasn't sure it would be
smart to give Zach yet another chance to trample his heart.
A determined stride caught his eye, and when he glanced up, the sight of familiar shaggy hair - hair
he'd twisted his fingers in during a mind-blowing orgasm - filled him with joy. Zach must have come
looking for him when he found the note. It had to be a sign. They could work things out.
Adam leapt up and jumped in front of the man he loved, arms outstretched for a hug. "Zach!"
Zach rocked back on his heels and his eyes widened. Adam froze. The hair was incredibly similar,
and the guy was hot, but he wasn't Zach. Standing mere inches away, the differences were obvious
and it was embarrassing that he'd even made the mistake. Ten years older, squared jaw, mesmerizing
pale blue eyes and a veneer of maturity Zach might never gain.
"I'm so sorry. I thought you were someone else."
The corners of the stranger's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Yes, I figured that out. Someone named
Zach. I'm a little disappointed I'm not him."
Adam tried to return the smile, reciprocate the good humor the stranger demonstrated, but a strange
tremor had taken up residence in his lip and the not-Zach blurred while tears welled. Adam was
more than a little disappointed. To come down from that sudden, heady rush of joy was devastating.
Bad enough he was going to cry again, but he wasn't going to do it in front of a stranger.
He whirled around, but a strong grip on his bicep prevented him from going anywhere.
"Hey, hey. Come on, now. It can't be that bad." The voice was low and smoky.
Adam twisted back around. "How would you know?"
Sympathy shone from the stranger's face. "Because I refuse to believe one of the best days of my life
is happening on the worst of yours."
Adam clutched the ticket in his hand and frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"It's a beautiful day, I'm starting a great new job in a new town, and the first person I meet is a
gorgeous guy. I'm Max. Can I buy you a drink? You can tell me all about it, and we'll see if we can
make it better."
Like an epiphany, the man in front of him was no longer some stranger in a bus station, but an
individual. Max. And from all appearances, a nice guy. Adam found himself wanting to spill his
problems. If nothing else, at least he wouldn't be alone.
"Okay."
"So where's the best place in this town to get a drink?" Max rubbed his thumb across Adam's cheek,
wiping away the one tear he hadn't been able to prevent escaping.
"The Bear & Bones." The reply was automatic, but he couldn't go back there, could he? "But I just
quit work today."
***
Quinn slunk into work, scanning the interior as he did so. The pub was as empty as he expected for
the beginning of his shift, and the wicked gnawing in his gut began to recede. He'd used work as an
excuse to avoid his father, and hightailed it home right after and stayed there. Which had the added
bonus of keeping him out of Oz's sights. He didn't know why the fuck his father was in town, nor how
he'd found him, and he didn't fucking care.
As for Oz, he was a problem for another day. The guy had started getting clingy. Even though the sex
had been spectacular, the last thing Quinn needed was some naïve newbie imprinting on him.
Straightening his shoulders, he swaggered into the kitchen, only to come to a sudden halt.
"Dot? What are you doing here?"
Dot turned, her apron speckled with flour and her hands covered in dough. "I'm afraid it's just you
and me, Quinn. I tried to call, but I couldn't get through."
No, of course not. The first thing he'd done after he left work was turn off his phone, and he hadn't
bothered to turn it on again.
"Sorry, my phone must be off. Is Adam sick?"
A sparkle lit Dot's eyes for a fraction of second before he realized she was tearing up. The tension
he'd been carrying around in his gut since last night trebled, and he found it difficult to draw a
breath.
"Shit, he wasn't in that car wreck, was he?" Quinn had been unable to avoid seeing the newspaper
headline this morning, but he hadn't read the story. What were the odds of it involving anyone he
knew?
"Oh, honey, no." Dot managed a tremulous smile. "Though that was quite a shock. Heavens. Adam
gave his notice. He's taken a job in Boston."
Quinn's eyes widened. "He's gone already?"
Dot shrugged. "It was time. He was wasting his talents here, and well…"
"Well?"
"I don't like to gossip. But it's better for him." She turned back to the sloppy mess of dough. The pub
wasn't going to benefit from Adam's departure.
Quinn began his preparations for the shift. He'd liked the little shit, and he never would have thought
Adam would have the guts to get up and go, and certainly not without notice, but then again, Quinn
had been wrong before. Like assuming he'd never see his dad again. Wrong.
Another little sniff from Dot's direction made Quinn wrack his brain for something to say, something
to take her mind off Adam's departure.
"I missed the news about that accident. Are there a lot of accidents on that stretch of road?"
"Oh, my, no. Often out on the interstate, sure, but nothing like this. Horrible business. Although
there was one time…"
Quinn listened with half an ear as Dot prattled on about various accidents in Boxer Falls over the
years while she kneaded.
"I just can't imagine what that poor man is going through. He may be wealthier than Midas, but
that's nothing when your son's hurt. I hear he hasn't left the hospital since it happened."
Midas? "Who's that now?"
"Conrad Cotten."
"Holy f-udge." Quinn barely managed to swallow the word he'd truly meant to say. "Conrad Cotten
was in that pileup?"
"No, his son, Oz."
Quinn blinked. Then blinked again. His fingers were numb, and his vision blackened a bit at the
edges. Despite the undeniable and unwelcome urge to rip off his own apron and dash to the hospital,
something kept his feet nailed to the floor.
The front door slammed open, making both Dot and Quinn turn.
"First customer," she said with a tremulous smile. Quinn tried desperately to return the smile but his
muscles were frozen.
"Adam!"
Great. Their first customer sounded angry, and finding Adam gone was likely not going to improve
the situation.
"Oh." Dot wrung her hands, and Quinn took a deep breath, forcing the knowledge of Oz's injuries
into the deep, dark lock box where many other unpleasant things lurked. Dot needed him.
"I'll take care of it." He cracked his knuckles, ready for anything.
A disheveled Zach stood in the middle of the flock of empty tables, looking wired as hell, clutching a
piece of paper.
"Adam's not here."
"He's got to be here. This has to be a joke." Zach waved the paper, but if he expected Quinn to be able
to read it, he was nuts. "He can't have left me."
Oh. A note. That sucked, and not typical of Adam at all. No one was having a good day in Boxer Falls.
***
Adam pushed around a tiny pile of napkin scraps with a forefinger. Shredding the napkin had just…
happened while telling Max about himself and why he was leaving Boxer Falls. He hadn't gotten too
specific. Hadn't divulged all the details. No. Some were too private, some too humiliating.
Not once did Max's intent and interested regard ever waver. It had been so long since he'd been the
sole focus of anyone's attention. Rider didn't count. Rider wanted his ass, or he wanted an Adamshaped notch on his bedpost. And Zach was always on the lookout for his next pickup, gaze dancing
from Adam to every male that walked past. Max, on the other hand, never once took his gaze from
Adam, and it felt good. Adam's words had meaning and import, not merely sounds to fill up the
silence.
"Do you believe in fate?"
Adam blinked. How had they gone from Adam spilling his guts to Max hitting on him with a tired old
pickup line?
"Uh."
Max chuckled. "I know what that sounds like. But I'm serious. I'm a big believer in destiny and in
signs from the universe. Meeting you is definitely a good omen."
Adam swallowed heavily. Max's words were crazy, but he couldn't deny how pleasant Max's company
was, even if he was a little nuts.
"It is?"
"Oh, yes." Warm and sincere, Max's smile soothed Adam and provided him with a strange sense of
safety and security. "You see, I'm here to oversee the construction and opening of a new restaurant."
What? With all the gossip flowing through the Bear & Bones, he would have heard about something
as big as this, wouldn't he?
"You are?"
"Yep. And I want to offer you a job."
"But you've just met me. How could you possibly consider hiring me?" This had to be some sort of
weird hallucination. Maybe he was still at the bus station and delirious from carbon monoxide
poisoning.
"If you're good enough for Forsyth, you're good enough for me. You'll be an invaluable asset and your
knowledge of the local customer base will be a huge bonus."
"I don't know what to say." He'd quit his job. Left a note for Zach. Been arrested. How long did it take
to open a restaurant from nothing? He could be out of work for weeks or months.
"I'll pay you fair market value, what Forsyth was offering at the minimum."
"It sounds awesome, Max, and I'm flattered." It sounded like a dream come true. He wasn't looking
forward to moving to an unfamiliar city, all by himself. Without Zach. "But Forsyth's offer is a lot
more money than I'm making now."
Max nodded. "And Boston is a lot more expensive to live in than Boxer Falls. Trust me, you might
even have less disposable income than you do now."
"I need a job now. I've already quit my position here." Even though he didn't want to go, even though
he didn't want to leave without Zach, he couldn't live with him anymore. Not until he figured out
whether Zach had just been toying with him or not. An increase in salary would let him afford his
own apartment.
"Got any objections to asking for your old job back?"
Surely Max wasn't offering him more money to go back and work the exact same job he'd just left.
Was he?
"I can already tell you feel guilty about leaving them in the lurch. So, go back to work with them for
now, be available for consultation with me, and I'll top up your wages to Forsyth's rate. When the
time comes, you can put in your notice again, and come work for me full time. How does that
sound?"
Episode 15
Jaime Samms
Adam hung back at the door to the Bear and Bones. What was he going to say to Dot?
Sorry. I just had a moment. But I’m okay now. But I’ll be leaving again soon…maybe…
Right. Because that would go over well. He bit his lip and adjusted the strap of his gym bag ,
reluctant to move forward. Coming back had seemed like such a good idea when Max had said it in
the bus stop. Now it just sounded like a page out of Zach’s book. Adam was supposed to be the
responsible one. The together one. He was supposed to be the one who made everything work.
Except that was a fat-ass, laugh a minute, joke. If he could make things work, he and Zach would be
set up in a nice place, a shared bed, and a dog curled up on the rug somewhere far, far away from
Boxer Falls. He ran a hand through his short hair and sighed.
“Hey.” Max had walked in ahead of him and he came back out now to peer at Adam. “Second
thoughts?”
“Third or fourth or fucking eight millionth by now,” Adam admitted, once again spilling shit out of
himself he hadn’t told anyone before. What it was about this guy, he had no idea, but finally, he
looked up from the cracked concrete pad outside the Bear and Bones door and looked into eyes full
of steady patience. “She’s going to be pissed.”
“Well.” Max put a hand on his back and lead him away from the doorway to allow a stomping,
muttering couple through the entrance, and give them a little more privacy as he continued. “Here’s
the thing. You have to figure your shit out. You want something, you go after it. You do it. If you want
to cook, this is what you need to do. You need money, you need stability.” He shrugged and
something hard passed over his face and was gone. “This Zach person clearly needs stability, if you’re
going to get him.”
“I—“
“Shush.” Max softened the admonishment with a smile. “Trust me on this. You need this job and I
need you around for when I’m ready to open. I need you accessible to consult with. I can run a
business, but I need someone, a partner, who can run a kitchen. You go in there and talk to your
boss. Make it up to her. Show me you have what it takes to run my place. This is the first step.” He
patted Adam on the back and winked. “Own your own shit. That’s all.”
Own my own shit.
Adam nodded. He could do that. He’d screwed up, then tried to run away. He couldn’t leave Zach
behind, or leave Dot and Ira in the lurch. Maybe he didn’t need a better job or a better place, or even
a boyfriend. Maybe he just needed a plan. A thought-out one, that got him what he needed and he
could worry about what he desperately wanted later. A plan that was about him and not Zach.
That thought left a hole the size of a fucking Mac truck in his gut. Everything was about Zach. Always
had been. And maybe that was his problem. Even running, hell, even being in jail, had been more
about Zach than about himself.
“Look where you are, Adam,” Max advised, once more placing that comforting hand on his back. “Is
it where you thought you’d be now?”
Hell no. He and Zach were supposed to be long gone…
“You want something,” Max said again, “You have to take it. You. No one else is going to do it for you,
and you can’t do it for anyone else. That way leads to people sitting at bus stops with their world
packed up in a gym bag and everything they wanted spilling out of a broken heart.”
Some fucking guru this guy was. Adam chewed his lip, wincing at the raw edges where his teeth had
worried away the top layer of skin.
But he was right. How long now? Ten years? And he was still where he’d been in high school, waiting
for Zach to notice him. Waiting. Wanting something that was never going to happen. The hand on his
back felt warm. Comfortable, steady, and he gravitated a step toward the man offering those things.
“Why are you doing this?” He asked, knowing he’d already put an unwarranted amount of faith in
the word of a complete stranger.
“Because it’s my job to see potential. My mission is to fix broken things.”
Adam blinked at him.
“You’re both. There’s nothing wrong with letting someone help, is there?”
Adam studied the older man’s face, studied that thing in himself that wanted the comfort—the safe
feeling curling around his fears and containing them securely where they couldn’t hurt him—to be
real. Finally, he nodded, squaring his shoulders as he straightened. “Okay.”
Adjusting his bag one more time, he opened the door to the Bear and Bones and plastered a smile on
his face over the hollow hole in his gut where Zach had been for so long.
“Hey,” he announced as he stepped inside. “Guess what?”
****
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!”
“What?” Zach looked up from his contemplation of the linoleum on the waiting room floor to glare at
Grady.
“It’s after three.”
“Yeah, and?” He couldn’t see how the time of day mattered. Phil didn’t know them any more now
than he had an hour ago, or than he would an hour from now. He’d kicked everyone out of his room
hours ago, but Grady refused to leave the hospital, in case something changed.
Zach sighed, pulled out his cell, and glanced at it. Grady was right. It was almost half past. And Adam
hadn’t called. Or texted. The euphoria he’d felt standing next to the soda machine was wearing off.
“We had guests checking in today,” Grady said. He was slumped against the wall staring at the floor.
“Oh.” Zack fingered the note in his pocket, imagining his best friend on a bus, speeding as far away
from him as he could get. He closed his eyes, trying to hold back the churning in his gut. What had he
done? Why had he…?
Fuck. Everything he touched, everything he thought was a good idea, turned to complete shit the
moment he laid a hand on it. Maybe it was best that Adam was gone; escaped the Touch of Zach.
He pushed the phone back into his jeans pocket and stood. He should go by Adam’s place and see.
Maybe Adam had put the stash somewhere out of sight. The note was just to scare the shit out of
him. Glancing around for his jacket, Zach tried to for a plan. He needed to see Adam. To grab
another of those little joy-pills and then grab Adam. There was nothing like that shit. Better than any
other lay, ever, and they hadn’t even done much. Yet.
And after, he could just be there, with Adam, and maybe not feel like his entire world was falling to
shit. Because Adam was always there to hold him together and pick his shit up and put him back
together. He could count on that.
Except that Adam had gone, left a note and hidden the pills, and the tabs Sam had given him. What
was he supposed to do when that bastard came back looking for the money Zach wasn’t going to have
from selling them?
Every. Fucking. Thing. He. Touched.
Including Adam, and that was the worst part. Because Adam was supposed to be untouchable.
“Place is locked up tight.” Grady said, drawing him back to the waiting room. His voice was flat, the
words dull, but factual. “Maybe I could call Conrad.”
“No!” Fury sliced through Zach, for the moment carving away thoughts of Adam and everything else.
He turned on. “You can fucking go back in there and talk your fucking husband!” He pointed at the
door to Phil’s room.
His entire body shook with the force of his emotion, backed by panic that Grady was about to walk
out on them both, too. “And leave Conrad fucking Cotten out of this!”
He slapped a hand over his mouth. His eyes went wide as his father slowly turned to look at him. He
never talked to Grady like that. Not ever. Bracing for the wrath only this stern man could muster for
him, he swallowed hard.
The anger never came. He just got a look—so lost, so frightened, that Zach’s throat closed. Grady
looked exactly like he usually felt. Out of his depth. Alone. He took a step forward and the next thing
he knew, his father was collapsing into his arms, sobbing.
This was not how these things were supposed to go. Stumbling them both over to the uncomfortable
chairs, he sat them down and stroked a hand over his dad’s back, unsure of what else to do.
Of course, that’s when Conrad Cotten had to come around the corner. Zach shot him a scathing look.
“What’s wrong?” Conrad asked, coming a few steps closer. “What happened?”
“Fuck Off,” Zach spat, drawing his broken father closer and turning their bodies so Grady was
somewhat shielded from the older man.
“I just want to help—“
“We don’t need you,” Zach growled. “He doesn’t need you. He has his own family. Go back to your
own screwed up life and leave us alone.”
God. He sounded like a six-yr-old. Grady shuddered in his arms, and Zach held on a little tighter.
After a few moments, feet shuffled and he sensed that he and Grady were alone again.
“Dad?”
Grady sniffled but didn’t otherwise move.
“Okay.” Drawing in a breath, Zach fought off the shaking fury, the doubt, and reached for his phone
again. He didn’t have to look to dial Adam’s number. He didn’t have to let go of the pieces of his
family to call his best friend. Adam would know what to do. He always knew what to do.
He got only voice mail. “Damn. Adam? I need you. Where are you? Call me? Please?”
****
Pandemonium greeted Adam’s announcement. In fact, he realized that probably no one had even
heard it.
Disgruntled patrons poked at their plates, grumbling loudly over the quality of the food. Quinn
practically ran from one end of the bar to the other serving drinks to pushier-than-normal
customers, and, curiously, not taking any money for them. Odd.
The couple who had stormed past Adam and Max on the sidewalk stood next to Dot. The woman
glowered and crossed her arms over her expensive ski coat, and the man shouted, leaning slightly
forward, spittle flying into Dot’s face as he hollered.
Quinn jumped the bar and grabbed his arm. “Back off, asshole!” He hauled the man back and a few
other men in the bar stood, or shoved their chairs back.
“I’m s-sorry,” Dot stammered. “Please, you’ll have to forgive the Boxers. It’s been a very difficult few
days…” she trailed off, clearly flustered.
“What’s going on?” Adam moved into the room, Max at his side, and Dot did a double take.
“Adam, dear.” She frowned slightly. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a bus…”
“Change of plans, Mrs. Boxer.” He turned to the belligerent man in Quinn’s grasp. “What’s your
problem?”
“We had reservations at the Boxer’s B&B.” He made a face. “Place is locked up like Fort Knox. No one
answering the phone. What kind of business do they run in this town?”
“We had reservations,” his wife muttered, still frowning.
“Okay.” Adam drew in a breath and let it out, thinking fast and settling back into his familiar place in
the flow of the Bear and Bones. Front of house wasn’t his forte, but he’d been doing it long enough to
know the ropes.
“Mrs. B, maybe I should get back in the kitchen.” He glanced around at the tables and the plates of
picked at food. “Sort this mess out,” he muttered under his breath. “If you want to go to the B&B and
get it straightened out, I know Zach’s folks would appreciate it.”
He turned all his tired, shaky charm on the bully still in Quinn's grasp. “I’ll fix you a nice, hot meal,
and a drink on the house?” He managed a smile. “Quinn, want to give these folks a table?”
Quinn grinned at him. “Yes, sir!’ He saluted and winked and led the annoying, belligerent tourists off
to a table in the corner, took their drink order and got back behind his bar.
“Adam?” Dot looked up at him. “Honey, what’s going on?”
Adam gave her a weak smile. “I thought things over. Do you mind if I go back to the kitchen and start
cooking?” Chairs shuffled against the floor as everyone settled back to their meals, though no one
really appeared to be eating anything. “Looks like things need a bit of salvage work.” How he would
manage to feed a room full of grumpy, hungry customers with no prep done and a kitchen Dot had
been cooking in, he had no idea.
“A bit?” she raised her eyebrows and at last, her usual smile broke across her face. “You know me,
dear.” She untied her apron and handed it to him. “Welcome back.”
“Dot—Mrs. Boxer—“
“For tonight,” She interrupted, giving him her best, stern expression. “Get these folks fed, and then
we’ll talk.”
“Right.” It was fair.
“If it’s all right with you, Ma’am,” Max spoke up and Adam almost jumped, having nearly forgotten
his unobtrusive presence. “I can go on back and help out. Clean dishes, cut veggies. I know my way
around a kitchen well enough. No need to pay me. I’ll just help Adam out for tonight.”
Dot’s brow creased. “And you are?”
“Name’s Max. Max Woolsworth. I’m a friend of Adam’s. Thinking of moving into town. He’s agreed
to put me up.”
I what?
Adam shot him a look, but the man’s attention was all smiling and open and directed at Dot as she
took his hand and shook.
“Well, then,” she smiled warmly as she glanced between them. “This is good. Thank you.”
****
“Friends?” Adam asked as he hurried through the door to the kitchen? “And I agreed to what now?”
Max just smiled, removed his jacket and his sweater to reveal some very nice, smoothly muscled
arms. One arm sported a delicately winding rose vine that began somewhere under his t-shirt,
twining downward to end at his wrist. .
Dot seemed to have stuck something gooey and black to the bottom of every single one of Adam’s
lovely pans. He frowned. The temper would be ruined, and some of them would have to be replaced.
“Just for tonight,” Max said, voice mild as he worked. “It’ll be late when we’re done here, and it’s
hard to get the lay of the land in the middle of the night. I can sleep on the couch.”
“Pretty presumptuous of you.”
“You can always say no. I said it to get me into the kitchen. You didn’t seriously think you could feed
that mob on your own, with no prep, did you?”
He had a point, and Adam relented. “Fine. But when we’re done, I’ll give you a cab to the hotel.”
“Whatever you want.” Max hummed quietly as he rinsed and loaded the dishwasher.
****
Quinn hauled an armload of plates, still full of food, into the kitchen as soon as the bar was quiet
enough to give him a chance to sneak away. The wait staff had gone into hiding, and he didn’t blame
them, given the mood of the crowd
“Calling it a wash tonight, boys,” he announced. “Just get them something hot and filling, Adam, and
I’ll keep ‘em watered until it’s ready. Won’t be making any tips tonight unless you can wow ‘em.”
“Long as we don’t get lynched, I can live with it.” Adam said. “Hopefully, I’ve got enough ingredients
to throw together something that will make up for the flood of free drinks and fill your tip jar.”
“Sure.” Quinn wouldn’t hold his breath on the tips, but if Adam could get even a few of those sods out
front to pay for something, it might mean Dot and Ira wouldn’t go completely bust on the night. He
spared a glance for the stranger at the sink, quietly minding his own dirty dishes. He wasn’t bad
looking with that mop of dark hair and his lean features. He obviously had a fascination with tats,
and Quinn approved of that much at least.
The guy looked up at him and offered a sly smile. Not a flirty one. A competitive one. Quinn bristled
and took a step closer to Adam.
“Dude.” He dumped the dishes on the counter next to Max and turned to Adam. “What were you
thinking? No notice?”
“I wasn’t.”
“Thinking with your dick.” Quinn punched Adam’s arm, a little bit harder than playfully, to get his
attention.
He couldn’t help notice the flinch, or the way the kid’s fingers tightened on his knife case. “Don’t,” he
managed, though not very loud, and definitely hoarsely.
“You here to stay, or what?”
Adam shrugged.
“Sort it out, kid,” Quinn advised. “You can’t be doin’ this shit to the Boxers. They’ve been nothing but
good to you.”
“I know.”
Once more Quinn glanced at Max. “Who’s he?”
Another shrug.
“You don’t have to run off to the big city to find trouble, kid. Be careful, yeah?” he said, more quietly.
He couldn’t help feel a little bit protective of the young cook. For whatever reason. He didn’t want
him in the way this Max guy seemed to, but recent events had him punchy. Jittery. Anything could
happen between one breath and the next, and you wouldn’t notice.
Then cars crashed, and shit hit the fan, and the next thing you knew, you couldn’t breathe or think,
and everything could go tits up in a second.
Shaking himself, Quinn moved off a few steps. “I gotta get back out there.”
“Sure,” Adam said, looking up at him and offering a weak smile.
“You do what you do, bartender,” Max said from his position elbows deep in the sudsy water. “Let us
worry about the rest.”
Quinn backed out the kitchen door, hands held up in front of him. “Chill, dude.” The door swung
back behind him and he made his way back to the bar. He couldn’t decide about the newcomer, and
that was weird. Usually, he could tell what a guy wanted. Now, he didn’t even know what he wanted.
Oz Cotten.
Oh hell no. Fuck that shit.
Standing behind the bar, he felt that narrowing sensation again as he thought about it, about Oz and
about That Night with him. Then about car crashes and hospitals and how he was not ever going to
step foot in a hospital room to look at what car crashes left behind. Not ever, ever again. Ever.
Not even for Oz.
Probably.
****
“What’s that about?” Max asked after a few minutes. He was letting the water out of the sink and
slamming the lid of the dish washer down. The noisy rattle and hum of it starting up filled the
stretched silence.
“Nothing.” Adam set the knife case down and began unpacking the blades. “I need that counter
cleared.” He pointed to the longest expanse of counter where a large chopping block was buried
beneath mixing bowls crusted with dried...something. “I’ll get...stuff.”
After that, he and Max fell into an easy pattern. Max did know his way around a kitchen and with a
restaurant full of grumbly patrons, Adam was glad of the competent help. I didn’t matter that Max
was a good ten years older than him, and probably ten years more experienced. He just did as Adam
asked quick and efficient, and it was like having a second set of hands.
“I could get used to this,” Adam admitted as they worked on trays of apple betty and chocolate
mousse for desert.
“What’s that?” Max asked, smiling at him, hands covered in the flour he had mixed into the crumble.
He’d pulled his hair back into a tail that stuck almost straight out from the back of his head, pulling
the otherwise invisible hair net out to encompass it. It left the long lines of his neck, his strong jaw,
and the other end of the rose vine peeking from his collar, visible. His tight t-shirt rode up under the
ties from his apron and Adam couldn’t help glancing repeatedly at the glimpse of skin and more ink
not quite revealing itself at the small of the man’s back.
“Company,” he blurted, when Max had stopped what he was doing to look at him curiously. “I could
get used to the company.”
“And the extra set of hands?” Max flexed his messy fingers, catching Adam’s attention with the way
the tendons moved and the muscles in his forearms rippled ever so slightly.
“Yeah. That.”
Max laughed and went to rinse off. “Just another few hours,” He reminded Adam, “and we can get
out of here.”
“Yeah.” Cool pain touched Adam’s finger and he swore. “Shit.” Hurrying to the sink, he stuck the cut
under the running water.
“Clumsy.” Max took his hand and examined the damage.
“Distracted,” Adam replied, glancing up at him and smiling through the heat that rose into his
cheeks.
That earned a softer smile and a wink, then Max was all business, bandaging the cut and wrapping it
in protective gauze and a glove. “Cook now, get distracted later.” Max patted his hand and shooed
him back toward the task of slicing apples. “I’m going to go help clear tables. Maybe that way, you
can focus on the dangerous bits of your job.”
Adam managed to curb the goofier side to his smile a bit. He was being completely ridiculous. No
one had ever got to him like this. No one except Zach.
That shut him down and he dropped his attention back to his work as Max swung out to the dining
room. There was that hole again. Still there under the temporary balm of doing what he loved. What
he was good at. He’d managed to cover it over for a while, but not fill it up.
Eventually, the last drunks went home. The wait staff left, and Quinn, looking exhausted but
satisfied, divvied up the tips.
“Well done, kid,” He handed Adam his share and pushed a pile of bills towards Max. “And thanks.
Couldn’t have managed without your help.”
Max shook his head. “No need. I was helping out a friend.”
Quinn eyed him, but shrugged and divided the money, handing another wad to Adam. “Suit
yourself.” He pocketed his share and leaned on the counter, fixing the tall stranger with a look. “Need
a ride somewhere?”
Max grinned at him, a cool expression that tipped his eyes from chilly to frosty. “Thanks. I’m good.”
Quinn turned his attention to Adam, one brow raised in question.
“It’s fine,” Adam assured him.
Quinn continued to look dubious, but after the afternoon and evening in the kitchen with Max, Adam
was feeling much less nervous about the other man. Whatever reason he had for helping, it had
meant, for once in a very long time, Adam had been fully immersed in something other than
thoughts of Zachary Boxer. That had to be a good thing. Didn’t it?
“If you’re sure.” Quinn reached out a hand, palm up. “Give me your phone.”
Puzzled, Adam held it out.
Quinn tipped his head. “Contact list?”
“Oh.” Adam punched a few buttons before handing it over so Quinn could enter his number.
He kept glancing at Max as he did, something like warning in his eyes. “There.” He handed the phone
back. “If you need anything.” One more look at Max. “I’ll see you here at nine sharp, yeah?” he asked
Adam.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t be late, or I’ll be at your door with the Sherriff.” He didn’t once take his gaze from Max.
Max just smiled that chilly smile and placed a hand on the small of Adam’s back.
It was a touch he could quickly become used to, Adam thought, but he reassured Quinn everything
would be fine and the three of them left the bar, locking up behind them.
“He hot for you or something?” Max asked as Adam led him across the street toward his apartment
complex.
“No. He’s so not my type. He’s a slut.”
“Doesn’t mean he’s not hot for you,” Max pointed out.
Adam had to laugh at that. “I’m a little young for him. He likes…experience.” Adam shivered and
quickened his pace a bit. “Not me.”
“If you say so.”
“Probably afraid he’d break me in half if he tried.”
“I think you’re probably a lot tougher than you look,” Max matched pace with him. “And he’s not half
to mean as he wants people to think.”
“Whatever. I barely know the guy. He’s a good bartender. People like him. They tip. All that matters.”
“Hmm.”
“You don’t like him?”
“He thinks I’m going to do something to you.”
Adam stopped dead, turning in the street to look at him. It was too dark to see much but the shadowy
outline of handsomeness. Pretty things could be dangerous. He’d already learned that the hard way.
“Are you?”
“Depends.” Max moved a little closer. “Do you want me to?”
“Um.” Adam shivered more violently and almost sprinted towards his home.
“Hey!” Max chuckled as he caught up. “Relax. I don’t bite. Promise.”
“Not worried about biting.” Adam shoved his hands into his pocket, fumbling for his keys and sliding
them between his fingers. How stupid was he? Hadn’t he already learned this lesson? He gripped his
phone in his other fist and wondered how he was going to get out of this one?
“What do I need to do to convince you I have no intention of hurting you? I want to work with you,
Adam. I want to help you.”
“Why?” That was the one question this guy seemed most unwilling to answer.
“Do I need a reason?”
Adam snorted. “Nobody does a damn thing for anyone around here without a reason. Usually, it has
something to do with getting laid.”
This brought out another of those spontaneous, infectious laughs from Max. “Rest assured, Adam, if
either one of us gets laid by the other, it’s because we both want it. That’s one thing I’m very
particular about.” He touched his fingers to that spot on Adam’s back. “I already know my limits.”
That stopped Adam cold in his tracks.
“What?”
“Ah.” Max stepped away. “Here’s the B&B. Do you think if I ring, someone will answer?”
“I-I wouldn’t know.” Adam stared at the man, fear coiling in his gut. What the hell did this guy know?
What could he possibly know? Why would he say that?
He didn’t have a chance to ask because the door to the B&B opened and there was Dot, all smiles and
welcome.
“Adam. How was service? Are you headed home?”
Adam stood rooted, staring, mouth too dry to speak.
“Service was just fine, Mrs. Boxer,” Max stepped forward. “You are a lucky lady to have Adam here.
He pulled a number of miracles tonight. You’d be proud.”
Dot smiled. “Oh, I am. He’s too good for us.”
“Nonsense. He’s just spreading his wings. You’ll see. He’s going to do wonderful things for your little
pub.” He turned to face Adam. “Do you need me to walk you home?”
“No!” Adam jolted back into the moment. “No. Thanks. I’m fine.”
“Good. Than I’ll see you tomorrow.” Moving toward the steps to the front door of the B&B, he
addressed Dot. “Think you can spare another room?”
“Certainly, dear. Come on in.” She waved him forward and Max sprinted up the steps. The movement
revealed another of his tattoos and Adam could make out a Boston University logo splashed across
his lower side, but it was distorted somehow, obscured by more ink, like he’d tried to have someone
deface it. Weird, considering the sterling quality of the rest of his ink.
At the top of the stairs, Max turned. “Good night, Adam.”
“Yeah.’ He forced himself to meet the older man’s gaze. There was nothing sinister there. Not that he
could see, anyway. “Night.”
“Goodnight, Adam,” Dot called as she ushered her guest inside. “Welcome to Boxer Falls, Max.”
****
Quinn watched the two walk away before turning toward his own apartment complex. Then turning
again and heading somewhere else. He wasn’t interested in those four particular walls, the bed where
he already knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, or the images of Oz Cotten.
How lame was that?
He craved a smoke. Something that hadn’t hounded him in a long time.
“Man up, Asshole,” he told himself. No way was he going to wander aimlessly and let his
subconscious lead him where he’d been resisting going ever since news of the crash had spread
through town. If he was going to Oz, he was doing it on purpose, of his own free will, to put the whole
sentimental crap to bed, once and for all.
He pulled out his phone and dialled.
“What?”
“Hello to you too, handsome.”
“What do you want?”
Quinn almost hung up, but no. He had to get this out of his system now, and move on. “Where are
you?”
“Why do you care?”
“You drove off the road. Thought maybe I’d see you were okay.”
“I’m fine.” The line went dead.
Quinn frowned at the phone in his hand, but redialled. No way was this asswhipe hanging up on him.
“Where are you?” he asked as soon as Oz’s voice came on the line.
“With Yoshi. Fuck off.” Again, the line beeped out and Quinn snarled. People did not hang up on
him.
It didn’t take long to get to the hospital. Getting inside was a whole other matter. He paced the dropoff zone jonesing for a cigarette and wishing he was anywhere but Boxer Falls. What the fuck kind of
small town was this screwed up?
This was supposed to be a sleepy tourist trap where he could work and make tips and offer
hospitality to vacationers he’d never see again. He was not supposed to give a flying rat’s ass about
anyone who actually lived here, and who gave a shit if he was mixing his metaphors?
He wanted a cigarette.
“Fuck!”
An ambulance attendant sitting on a bench just outside the bay looked up at him and smirked.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
“Nervous dad?” he asked. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure she’ll be fine.” It took a moment for Quinn
to figure out what the hell the man was talking about. “Nervous…? Oh hell no!” he paced away and
back again. “Hey,” he stopped in front of the driver. “You know anything about that car accident?”
The guy’s face grew serious. “You know them?”
Quinn shrugged without committing.
“Sorry, dude. No idea. I wasn’t even on duty. Just heard it was one hell of a mess. Duty nurse will
know.”
Duty nurse. Quinn knew all about duty nurses and hospital procedures…fuck if he was going to go in
there. No way in hell.
He dug out his phone again and rang Oz. It took three call backs before the bastard finally answered.
“What the fuck do you want?” He sounded pissed.
“I’m outside.”
“So?” There was a pause. “Why?”
“Told you,” Quinn muttered, wandering away to a more secluded spot where he might have a bit of
privacy. “Came to see you’re okay.”
“Like you care.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” That was about as much concession as anyone was ever going to get out of him.
****
Oz stared at Yoshi’s still form on the bed. He seemed to be asleep, but it was hard to tell. Leaning
over, he touched a finger to his friend’s lips. “Hey.” He said softly, moving the phone away. There was
no response.
He pushed back in his chair and leaned his head back, speaking into the phone once more. “Why are
you here, Quinn?”
“Come on down and find out.”
That stupid, seductive son-of-a-bitch. Just his voice got to Oz, and that pissed him off. “I’m busy.”
“Doing what? Keeping an eye on Yoshi? Not like he’s going anywhere.”
“You’re a special one, aren’t you?” Oz replied, anger finally getting him out of the chair. There was no
way a slut like this bartender was going to get under his skin. “I’ll be right down.” No way was he
getting anywhere near Yoshi. He was just a good lay. Gender didn’t figure into that, Oz decided, and
he had no right coming around now and acting like he gave a shit.
He left the room as he hung up and almost ran into his father, backpedalling in a hurry. “What are
you doing here?”
“Looking for you, son. Why are you still here?”
“Yoshi—“ He pointed back at the room.
“How is he?” Conrad’s gaze flitted past Oz to the closing door and he fidgeted, hand sliding into his
pocket to play with something.
“No change.” Oz narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“Just…checking… on things. Everyone.”
“Checking?” Oz frowned and glanced through the window to Yoshi’s still body. “Why?”
Conrad didn’t answer. His gaze was fixed on the window as well, but he didn’t seem to really be
seeing anything.
“Dad, I have to go. You should go, too. Home.”
“Right.”
Something was definitely not right with his father. He was distracted, and Oz realized he was still
wearing the same clothes he’d had on when he’d come to the hospital right after the crash.
“Dad. Go home. I’m fine. No reason for you to be here anymore.”
“Yeah.” Finally, Conrad looked at him. “Yes, son, of course.” He smiled, but it was strained and
preoccupied. “You’re right. Go on. I’ll be heading home.”
“Okay.” Oz walked away, leaving his father standing in the middle of the hallway looking slightly lost
and confused. He shook himself. Not his problem. Whatever his father was doing or thinking it was
not his problem. The old man had made his own bed, and whatever, or whoever, he’d dragged in
there with him, Oz wanted nothing to do with any of it.
****
Quinn waited at the front entrance, pacing just outside when Oz slammed through the doors to greet
him.
He stopped, stared, gaze raking over Oz’s body. He was wearing sweats, ugly, but clinging, and
revealing the same tall, straight strong body Quinn remembered. There were a few bruises, some
scrapes on his face and the back of one hand, but nothing that was going to leave a permanent mark.
Quinn didn’t know why he could suddenly breathe again, or why the craving for a cigarette vanished,
just at the sight of a mostly unhurt Oz.
“You’re not hurt,” he blurted.
“What?” Oz frowned. “No. Just…a few bruises.” That had so not been what he was expecting.
“Good.”
“I thought so.”
Oz watched him warily, and he tried to relax. This was crazy. He moved before he really thought
about it, and had his mouth over Oz’s, his fingers tangled in blond hair before either of them could
stop it.
Oz grunted, stiffened, but the hand that came up to his chest didn’t push for more than a split
second. The lips under his didn’t resist when he pushed his tongue in, either. It was only the need to
breathe that had either of them pulling away.
“You’re not hurt,” Quinn said again, like an idiot.
“Not yet,” Oz muttered. Then he was pushing Quinn away, less roughly than Quinn might have
expected. “Fuck, are you nuts?” He glanced around them but there was no one staring back. Quinn
had to grin at the sudden panic on the older man’s face.
“Geez, chill, dude. It’s just a kiss.”
Oz took another step away. “I don’t kiss men,” he snarled.
Ouch. But maybe he deserved that after the way he’d kicked the guy out of his bed.
“Sure you don’t,” he said, smiling and reaching for Oz again.
Oz stumbled out of his reach, head shaking, then turned and scrambled back inside. He almost ran
over his own father in the airlock, but didn’t seem to notice.
Conrad Cotten didn’t slow one bit as he hurried outside and towards the parking lot like he thought
someone was chasing him. If he’d seen the kiss, or Quinn standing in the nearby shadows, he didn’t
give any indication.
A second later Quinn’s phone trilled. He dug it out and glanced at the caller id. Oz.
He hit call answer. “Guess you don’t call men, either, huh, douche bag?”
Oz’s panicked plea had Quinn moving the phone away from his ear and his heart pounding.
“STOP HIM!”
A car squealed out of the lot, and Quinn jumped back, dropping his phone in his haste not to get run
over.
Episode 16
Xara X. Xanakas
Conrad stoked the fire and wondered just when his life turned into the clusterfuck it had become.
Sitting in the boathouse with the curtains drawn, hiding away from the world, he knew Grady was
going to be a no-show. Seeing him broken and sobbing in that boy's arms, it became crystal-clear to
him. Grady would never mourn him like that, no matter how much he hoped.
He stabbed at the fire until the log broke apart in a spray of sparks. One of the cinders popped as it
split, landing on the rug. It smoldered there for a moment before he smothered it. Wispy streams of
smoke spiraled up from it, an apt metaphor for his life.
"Up in smoke," he muttered, reaching for the bottle again.
"Thirty-year-old scotch deserved better than that," a voice said behind him. "At least pour it in a
glass." Grady stamped his feet on the rug by the door and slipped out of his parka. Conrad couldn't
do anything but watch as he hung it on the coat rack and went to the counter to get a couple of mugs.
"I thought you were…." Conrad started as Grady sat on the floor next to him.
"I am," Grady said quietly. He took the bottle and poured them both a shot. He stared down into the
cup. "I loved you, you know."
"Grady, I-"
"Don't." Grady put his hand up to stop him. "If I don't get this out now, it'll never get said."
Conrad wasn't sure he wanted to hear what Grady was about to say. Especially if it was that they were
through. "We had such good times here," he said looking around. "Remember our first time?"
"Connie, please." The pain in Grady's voice sliced Conrad's heart.
"Sorry. I just don't think I can hear you say it."
"I know," Grady said with a sigh. "But it has to be. I'm sorry."
"Please," Conrad said, wincing at the pleading tone of his voice. He covered it by gulping the rest of
his drink.
"Damn it, don't you get it?" Grady slammed his cup down on the mantel in front of them and turned
toward Conrad. The handle broke off, and rather than look at Grady, Conrad watched it spin across
the tile and come to a stop in front of the fire. Grady stood and started pacing. "Do you know where I
was when my husband started having seizures? What we were doing when your son was hurt in that
accident?"
"Oz is fine. A few bumps and bruises. He's more pissed about having his precious routine interrupted
than about this minor accident."
"Minor?" Grady shouted. "My world was in that truck."
"Part of your world is right here, with you."
Grady's shoulders slumped, and he looked around the room. The desk and chair were covered with
boxes and papers Conrad had been looking through all morning, so Grady turned and sat on the end
of the bed. "That's why this is all my fault."
"Don't be stupid," Conrad said, pushing up from the floor. He crawled onto the bed to scoot behind
Grady and hold him.
"Don't. Just let me go," Grady said, trying to free himself from Conrad's arms.
"None of this is your fault," he said, holding tight as Grady resisted. "You didn't wish for any of this
to happen."
"But what if I did?" Grady asked as he stopped fighting. He turned to the side and sank against
Conrad's chest.
"So you wished for your husband," Conrad still couldn't say Phil's name, "to have a seizure so he
would have to go to the hospital at the exact time my too-high-strung son would be barreling down
the mountain?"
"Don't be a jackass," Grady said.
"Okay," Conrad chuckled. He ran a hand along Grady's spine. He didn't know if it was for Grady's
comfort or his own.
"I started up with you again because I thought Phil was going to die. I couldn't handle it."
"And now?"
Grady snorted. "He's going to live, but I've lost him anyway. He doesn't have a clue who I am, who
Zach is."
"Can the doctors give you any idea how long it's going to be?" Grady shook his head and took a
shuddering breath in. "Okay. We'll figure this out, all right? We'll figure it out."
Grady lifted his head, and Conrad could see the strain it had been taking on him.
"Don't worry, okay?" Conrad said, trying to be reassuring. He pulled Grady closer and kissed his
forehead. Grady tucked an arm around Conrad's waist and looked up at him.
Conrad knew he shouldn't. It was wrong. He should quit while he was ahead. But the feel of Grady in
his arms, accepting his strength, was so right, hecouldn't stop himself. Conrad put one hand on the
side of Grady's face and held him still as he leaned in for a kiss. A small one. A good-bye kiss. But
when their lips touched, that old magic ignited. Grady wrapped both arms around Conrad's neck and
pulled him along as he laid back on the bed. Conrad's hands trembled as they started unbuttoning
Grady's shirt with little guidance from his brain. It was a good thing, because his brain had shut
down, and his body was in control.
Grady had his hands were all over Conrad, ripping his shirt open and combing through his chest
hair. Conrad groaned as Grady buried his face against his neck and wrapped his legs around his waist
to grind into him.
"Please," Grady whispered, as he continued to pump his hips against Conrad's. "Don't."
Conrad settled his weight onto Grady and grabbed a handful of hair to pull Grady's head up. "Don't
what?" He searched Grady's eyes as he waited for an answer. Please be 'don't stop'. Please be 'don't
stop.'
"Stop," Grady said before surging forward to take Conrad's mouth in a hard, sloppy kiss. He clutched
Conrad's shirt in both fists and broke the kiss with a growl. "Don't. You. Dare. Stop. Now."
Conrad smiled, and all his blood surged into his dick. "Not planning to." He took Grady's hands and
pinned them to the bed. "Stay," he said.
Grady licked his lips and nodded.
Conrad sat back up on his heels and looked down at the man that had his heart. Slowly, he peeled
Grady's shirt open, working it over first one shoulder, then the other, and slipping it out from under
his body to drop it on the floor. Then he worked on his undershirt. Inching it up, kissing the skin he
exposed as he went.
Grady's belly was still flat after all this time. Softer than it used to be, the ropes of muscle not visible
under the weight of the years. But still just as perfect to Conrad as he'd been over thirty years ago
when they first met.
"Please, Connie," Grady whispered, pushing his hips up.
Conrad chuckled against Grady's skin, but he didn't move any faster. If this was to be his last ride, he
was damn well going to enjoy every second of it, and make the journey worth remembering. For as
long as he had to. Forever if it came down to it.
Conrad remembered Grady's nipples being particularly sensitive, hardwired directly to his cock.
When Conrad rolled the T-shirt up to expose them, Grady rolled onto his good shoulder and grabbed
Conrad's head. Conrad took his wrists and pinned them back to the bed.
"I said stay," he said. He pulled the shirt over Grady's head and wrapped it around his wrists.
"Oh God, Connie." Grady moaned and undulated his hips. "Will you just take me already?"
Conrad shook his head and went back to work on Grady's chest, nibbling along Grady's collar bone to
his shoulder. The little grunts and groans Grady made threatened to take Conrad over the edge. He'd
have to quit the teasing and move on, or he'd be done before they ever got started. He worked his
hands down to Grady's crotch and felt a wet spot on the front of Grady's slacks.
"A little anxious, are you?" he teased.
"Fuck, yesss." Grady's answer turned into a hiss as Conrad licked a nipple. "Enough playing. Start
fucking."
Conrad pulled back to look down at Grady's face. Flushed with passion, his pupils blown wide open
with lust, he was the most incredible thing Conrad had ever seen.
Grady must have seen something in his expression, because he stopped writhing under him and
smiled up at him.
"I'm here now," he said. "Make love to me. One last time."
Conrad smiled, even as his heart broke apart. He knew why Grady had to end things. That didn't
mean he had to like it. But that was a battle for another day. Right now, Grady was his. His alone,
and no one else was between them. Thoughts of spouses and sons, businesses and betrayals, past and
future heartbreaks were gone. It was just him and Grady.
And far too many clothes. He undid Grady's belt and opened his pants. Then he eased them down his
legs and off. Standing at the end of the bed, he pulled both socks off until Grady was naked and
waiting for him.
"Now you," Grady said, his eyes hooded. "Let me see you."
Conrad took his time undressing. "I can't believe you ripped my shirt," he said shaking his head.
"I'll rip those pants off you if you don't hurry."
"Pushy bottom, aren't you?"
Grady laughed. "No one's called me that in years."
Conrad kicked out of his pants and toed his socks off. He lost his balance when his toe stuck in one of
the elastic bands. He reached out to catch himself before he crashed into the footboard. Grady
chuckled.
Episode 17
Poppy Dennison
Whispering Ridge. Blake stared at the massive columns and shook his head. Country home, his ass.
He'd never get used to working for people who loved their ostentatious shows of wealth. The Cotten's
may have converted it into their luxury resort, but nothing could hide what it used to be, what it still
stood for.
Adjusting the duffle on his shoulder, Blake continued into the lobby of the resort. They paid him
well, and that's all that mattered now. The front desk clerk smiled pleasantly as he approached.
"May I help you, sir?"
"Blake Hartnett to see Conrad Cotten."
"Do you have an appointment?"
"Yes. He's expecting me."
She picked up the phone and dialed an extension. Moments later, she directed Blake to the family
wing of the resort where she assured him the headman himself waited.
Conrad sat behind a large desk with a laptop on one side and a stack of paperwork on the other. He
looked up when Blake entered and gestured to a seat. "Mr. Hartnett. It's nice to finally meet you. You
came highly recommended by the Sergeant Major. "
"Thank you, sir. Now that I'm retired, I'm looking for new ventures. The major suggested you needed
someone with my skill set."
"That remains to be seen. Did you take care of it?"
No more pleasantries, then. "I did." The orders from the Sergeant Major had been clear. Conrad was
an old friend who needed security help. Blake was to solve his problems, quickly and quietly.
Blake hefted the bag onto the desk and unzipped it. He held the sides open so Conrad could peer
inside at the equipment he'd confiscated.
"Damn it. Is that everything?"
Blake nodded. "I swept the fishing cabin as you requested and found several listening devices there.
I'll do the family suites as soon as I have the keys."
"And that?" Conrad gestured to the second worst of Blake's discoveries.
"Found it at the accident scene. Missing a couple bullets."
Conrad visibly paled. "And the body?"
"Disposed of."
Conrad reached into a desk drawer and removed a thick envelope. He handed it to Blake, with a grim
smile. "I doubled your fee."
"I appreciate that, sir."
"Rider's never gotten into this kind of trouble, and I thought he'd be the one to watch out for. I'd
never have expected this kind of scandal from Oswald."
He was right. From Blake's research, he'd discovered that Rider liked to get into all sorts of mischief,
including showing off photos of himself in compromising positions, but dead bodies had never come
into play with that kid.
"Neither would I, sir. I've done some preliminary investigating, as you requested. Problem is, there's
more to this story than we know. According to my resources, Brandt wasn't working for Oz."
"Trip," Conrad growled.
"Exactly."
"And something is going on between Oz and that sheriff. Just how big is this mess?"
Blake shrugged. "Big. I don't know how it's all connected yet, but I think you need to have a
discussion with your oldest son."
"Keep working on it. The more information I have, the better."
"Yes, sir."
"And Blake?"
"Yes?"
"Any more trouble from Trip and we'll have to do something about him. Understood?"
"I'll take care of it, Mr. Cotten. You don't have to worry about him. The security of your family is my
highest priority."
***
Rider entered the hospital room with hesitant steps. He hated hospitals. Everything smelled like
death and antiseptic. Enough to make him gag. Yoshi's room was right across from the nurse's
station and had glass walls and little privacy.
He pulled the curtain enough to keep from feeling like he was in a fishbowl and sat down next to the
bed. Yoshi opened his eyes and Rider leaned forward so Yoshi could see him. "Hey, Yo-yo."
Blink.
"Right. One blink means, yes."
Blink.
"This is weird, man. Sorry I haven't been to see you before now. You know I hate shit like this."
Blink.
Rider propped his chin on his hand. "So I bribed the nurse to tell me what was going on, and she says
you're getting better. Something about the swelling going down slowly and they think you'll be better
in time."
Blink.
"Don't worry about anything, okay? I'll make sure you get the best treatment and all that. I mean, Oz
is probably doing it, but I'll make sure. What were you doing with Oz anyway?"
No blinks.
"Right, that wasn't a yes or no, was it?"
Blink. Blink.
"Fuck, I suck at this."
Blink.
Rider chuckled. "Asshole. You can't even talk, and you can still make fun of me."
Blink.
"Yeah, some things never change. I know you've got the hots for Oz and all, but man, I told you that
would only get you into trouble, didn't I?"
Blink.
"Well, I know a thing or two about trouble. I want to know what happened though. Maybe I can
help."
Blink.
"Yeah? You want me to help?"
Blink.
The curtain jerked back and Rider jumped up. Oz stood there, looking furious. "What in hell are you
doing here?"
Rider slouched back into the chair and shrugged. "Came to see Yo-yo. We're having a chat."
Oz glared at him, then leaned over the bed. "You okay, Yoshi?"
Blink.
"I can have Rider leave."
Blink. Blink.
"No?"
Rider smirked. "That's right. He wants me to stay. And he wants me to help."
Oz laughed and shook his head. "We don't need your kind of help, Rider."
"Well, Yoshi thinks you do. So, you can either tell me what's going on, or I'll play twenty questions
with him until I figure it out."
Oz looked at Yoshi, then back at him. "There's nothing to figure out. It was an accident."
Rider laughed and leaned into Yoshi. "Hear that, Yo-yo? He's trying to pretend nothing's wrong here.
Do you think he thinks I'm stupid?"
Yoshi glanced at Oz, then back at Rider.
Blink.
Rider chuckled. "Yeah, he does, doesn't he? Just like Daddy Dearest. So let me see if I can get it on
the first guess."
"Rider-"
"No, really. Let me guess." Rider stood up and walked to the end of the bed. He grinned at Oz. "You
and my buddy here were in a car accident with none other than Trip Whitlock. The same Trip
Whitlock who hates you. How am I doing so far?"
"Enough."
Rider laughed and looked over at Yoshi. "Guess I'm getting warm, huh?"
Blink. Yoshi's eyes had that familiar sparkle that they had when he laughed.
"You know, Yo Yo, for a guy who can't speak, you sure can say a lot with your eyes. This isn't funny.
Okay, well, it is a little. Now, I happen to know that Trip's wanted to get even with us since that
whole bankruptcy and his dad killing himself thing."
Oz winced. "Rider, come on."
"Oh, I must be getting really warm now. So, my perfect big brother is in a car with the family's mortal
enemy. My question is-why?"
Blink.
"Exactly. Now, if I'm really thinking-and I know it comes as a surprise that I can, but this isn't such a
challenge-I have to think that Trip was up to no good. And, knowing my buddy Yoshi like I do, he
was trying to play the hero. Still warm?"
Yoshi blinked again, and this time is eyes shimmered with tears.
"I swear, Yoshi. You're always trying to save one of us."
Blink.
"We don't deserve you." Rider reached over and wiped away a tear that trailed down Yoshi's cheek.
"Okay, so that leads me to the conclusion that Trip has something on my big brother here-something
bad. Something Oz isn't quite equipped to handle, being the good brother and all."
Blink. The monitor recording Yoshi's heart rate began to beep at a more panicked pace. Rider leaned
over his friend and smiled. "It's okay. Calm down. Everything's going to be just fine."
Rider turned back to Oz. "So? Do I have to keep guessing?"
Oz huffed out a frustrated breath. "No. I think you've played your game well enough." He turned
away and ran his hand over his hair before turning back to glare at his brother.
"Well, I'm not finished yet. I have two questions for you, Oz. One, are we doing everything in our
power to make sure Yoshi gets the best treatment available?"
Oz looked down at Yoshi. "Of course."
"And two, are you going to let me help get you out of this mess?"
Oz turned his gaze to Rider, doubt and suspicion on his face. "Why?"
Rider grinned. "Because the only person allowed to fuck with my family is me."
***
"I'm sorry. I was wrong. He's gone. He left me. I was so wrong. And he's gone. And so are you. And
I was wrong. So wrong to keep it secret for so long. Just so wrong, and I'm sorry."
Zach hung up his phone and threw it into the passenger seat of his car. Secret? Did his dad really
think he hadn't heard the rumors? He knew exactly what his other dad had been up to all these years.
Hell, everyone in town knew that Phil fucked around.
But Phil leaving Grady right now? Not going to happen. Not on his watch. If Phil left, chances are he
was with that asshole, Tony. Grady had done too much for both of them over the years, and he didn't
deserve this.
Zach drove to the edge of town and pulled up in front of the little house where Tony lived. Phil's
truck wasn't in the drive, but that didn't necessarily mean he wasn't here. Zach crept up to the side of
the house stood beside an open window.
"I hate this."
Bingo. Phil's voice drifted out through the torn screen.
"I know you do."
And the asshole was there too. Zach started to go around to the front and bang on the door. He
wanted to demand that Phil go home where he belonged, but Phil's next words stopped him in his
tracks.
"I didn't mean to kill him."
Phil's voice.
Zach gasped and leaned back against the side of the house. Kill him? Kill who? The only person killed
lately was that investigator guy from the city. What did Phil have to do with him?
"I know, babe, but he was blackmailing you, going to hurt your family. What else could you do? You
know I'll cover for you."
"I don't want to hurt you either."
"You won't." Tony murmured. "Grady couldn't handle this; I can."
Zach stomach roiled and bile rose into his throat.
"Zach either. God, if he ever found out the truth."
"Would it really be so bad? So what he's some Cotten's abandoned brat? Maybe if it came out he'd get
some of that cash they throw around."
Zach swallowed quickly, but the bile got the best of him. He threw up what little he had on his
stomach and retched a few more times.
"What was that?"
Zach looked up and saw Phil staring out the window at him. "Zach!"
He jumped up and ran for his car. Phil ran out the front door, completely naked. "Zach wait!"
"Stay away from me." He managed to get into the car and lock the door before Phil caught up with
him. The keys slipped out of his hand and landed on the floorboard.
Phil banged on the window. "Zach, open the door."
He reached down and grabbed the keys. He jabbed them into the ignition and started the car.
"Wait, Zach. Please."
"You lied. You pretended you didn't know us, you broke Dad's heart. And for what? What, Dad? To
hide that I'm some bastard that the perfect Cotten's didn't want? Because you don't trust us to keep
some stupid secret? Don't think we're strong enough? Well, fuck you. You can stay here with your
little asshole toy. He's a great lay, by the way. He sure did fuck me good."
Phil blanched and backed away. "What?"
"Oh, he didn't tell you? No surprise there, Dad. Looks like you aren't the only one who's good at
lying."
Zach put the car in gear and slammed on the gas. He spun out and Phil had to jump out of the way of
the spinning gravel.
***
When the Sergeant Major had asked Blake what he intended to do after he retired, Blake had shared
his plan to go to BoxerFalls and mend his relationship with his son. The major got a speculative
gleam in his eyes and made Blake an offer he couldn't pass up.
Private security. Discretion paramount. And right in BoxerFalls where he needed to be anyway.
Added bonus? Victor Neale.
Blake had spent a lot of years not asking or telling. That didn't mean he hadn't gotten off, but it did
mean he learned the art of keeping his activities to himself. He'd had a run-in with Vic a few years
before, back when the man had been spiraling out of control and headed for a fall.
Seems like he'd landed.
The little house with the sheriff's car parked out front didn't have any lights on except for the
flickering blue coming through the window. Probably watching porn and beating off on the couch.
Blake banged on the door and heard a mumbled "What now?" from inside. He smirked and kept the
expression in place until Vic flung open the door and glared.
Vic's expression quickly changed when he saw Blake.
The sheriff had only boxers on, and they did nothing to hide the bulge. Neither did Vic. He widened
his stance and Blake looked him up and down.
"You going to stand there showing off or you going to ask me in to take care of that for you?"
Vic grabbed his dick through the underwear and gave it a stroke before stepping back. "Come on in."
Blake got far enough inside to shut the door behind him.
Vic dropped to his knees and buried his face in Blake's crotch. He took a deep breath and sighed.
Kinky bastard.
"Crawl on back to the bedroom, sheriff. It's going to be a long, hard night."
Vic grinned up at him and did as Blake ordered. Blake followed, stopping only long enough to grab
Vic's handcuffs from the utility belt that hung on the coat rack by the door.
Shouldn't be too much of a challenge to get Vic to tell him everything he knew about Oz Cotten. The
man never could keep his mouth shut once his ass was full.
Episode 18
Zahra Owens
Tony watched his man run out after his son, stark naked.
One moment he was up in the air and the next, he might as well be buried under six feet of dirt.
Would Phil ever return his feelings?
Earlier that night Tony was elated to get Phil’s phone call and had thoroughly prepared himself for
his arrival, but Phil still seemed confused. He kept talking about not having a choice in Brandt’s
killing, so his memory was obviously coming back, but he was still talking about Grady as if he didn’t
really know the guy, which meant he probably didn’t remember how he’d invited Tony to fuck Grady
for him either.
Although Tony went ahead with his seduction, and Phil seemed receptive enough to let Tony help
him take his clothes off, Tony hadn’t been able to keep Phil from running out after they’d spotted
Zach.
Tony didn’t have time to reminisce because Phil walked into the house again. This time he seemed
almost shy about his nakedness, covering himself with his hand while he searched for his clothes.
“Phil?”
Phil looked up at Tony. “You need to help me cover this up.”
“Cover what up?” Surely he didn’t mean his body?
“Brandt’s body.”
Tony shook his head. “It’s missing from the morgue.”
“How does a dead body go missing?” Phil looked like a light bulb had gone off in his head. “That
means somebody else knows about the blackmail too!”
“Maybe he was blackmailing more people?” Tony tried, hoping to calm Phil down. “Maybe he shared
his info with someone else? These sorts of guys do it all for the money and they maximize the impact.
I wouldn’t put it past Brandt to try to sell his info to anyone who could be damaged by it.”
Phil sat down on the chair covering himself up with the shirt he’d found on the floor. Despite the
tension in the air, Tony’s eyes raked over Phil’s toned body, which was still a little bruised in places,
but in Tony’s eyes, that only made it more real.
“The Cottens would be hurt by Brandt’s information,” Phil said calmly. “Conrad would have a fit if he
found out.”
“You could try to find out what Conrad knows,” Tony suggested.
Phil jumped up and started getting dressed. “No way I’m talking to that man.”
Tony knew he was playing with fire but he had to try. “If Conrad is upset, he could possibly turn to
Grady for…” He braced for impact.
If Phil’s early confusion over Grady was still there, Phil might actually think it was a good idea and if
Conrad and Grady got back together, Phil would be free to pursue other avenues. The coast would be
clear for Tony to move into the picture. Phil’s picture had a lot of ifs, but it was worth a shot. “I work
at the place. Conrad calls me into his office from time to time. I could try to talk to him for you.”
Phil looked straight at Tony, as if he was actually contemplating telling Tony it was a good idea.
*****************
Blake looked at the bed, trying to calm his heartbeat.
They were at Vic’s place and Vic had sucked him off earlier, Blake standing tall and proud while Vic
was on his knees in front of him. It had taken all of Blake’s determination to not come down Vic’s
amazingly talented throat, but he’d roughly pushed Vic’s head away just in time. Since Blake had to
stay in control, a not exactly pain-free pinch at the base of his cock had prevented the inevitable.
“Prepare yourself,” Blake had ordered.
“On the bed, Sir?” was all Vic had asked.
“Call me Captain,” Blake had barked.
“Yes, Captain!”
“On the bed, on all fours,” Blake replied.
How that big lug of a man moved so fast, Blake didn’t know. Then again, he wasn’t a lightweight
either. Years of training had sculpted his own 190-pound frame into a lean, mean, fighting machine.
Blake had taken a step back, since he needed time to cool off, but he hadn’t predicted just how hot
the sheriff looked with his fingers up his own ass. Or was it the eagerness with which Vic attacked his
task? God, how Blake loved a man who could do as he was commanded without raising a fuss.
Blake looked forward to whipping this man into submission. Too bad he wasn’t getting a lot of
resistance, as Vic was eagerly stretching his asshole to accommodate something that was bigger than
Blake could supply. For a moment he contemplated fisting Vic, but then decided he wanted
to feelhim, feel that big, hairy ass against his groin, feel those meaty shoulders work to push his body
back against Vic onslaught.
Damn, staying in control was going to be the hardest thing Blake had ever done. He just wanted to
fuck Vic with abandon, but he knew Vic expected more.
Blake had rolled the condom over his erection, trying to touch himself as little as possible before
looking back at Vic. “Stop touching yourself.”
Vic complied immediately, raising himself to all fours.
Blake threw him the handcuffs.
When Vic returned a questioning look, Blake answered curtly. “Both hands on the headboard.”
Blake looked down at his erection pointing the way as he moved around the bed, fastening the
leather belts already around the bedposts to Vic’s ankles. For a moment Blake had wondered
whether Vic did this with a lot of other guys, since all the tools were so readily available, but then lust
took over again, and Vic’s winking asshole hadn’t helped either. Damn, how that man turned him on.
Blake picked the Sheriff’s hat off the peg and put it on his head. “Giddy-up, cowboy. I want to ride
that bronco!” He stepped up on the bed and squatted over Vic’s ass, losing no time plowing into him.
Vic grunted his appreciation in a loud voice. He'd no doubt alerted every dog within a three mile
radius.
Despite all the preparation, Vic was as tight as a vice and hot as a furnace. He grunted loudly with
every thrust and pulled on his ties, but there was no doubt in Blake’s mind that it was all for show.
Vic eagerly pushed back with every move forward Blake made. They were so in sync Blake ignored
the signs his own body was giving him and before he could stop himself, sparks were flying through
his body and he came like a volcano inside Vic.
Damn, this wouldn’t do. Vic deserved better than that. He still had some work to do and come on, he
had more stamina than that, right?
“Stay absolutely still,” Blake ordered in as commanding a voice as he could muster while he held onto
the condom and slipped out of Vic.
Vic was panting hard, but he hadn’t come yet. Blake owed him one.
The trouble was he liked Vic’s body a little too much. Big and hairy, sweat beading all over that
delicious dark skin, Vic was a crumbling mess of desire, but since Blake had ordered him to stay still,
and he was trying very hard to comply with his master’s wishes. Vic's muscles trembled, much to
Blake's satisfaction.
Oh, what the heck, Blake chuckled. Why not have himself some fun?
****************
Adam flopped into the first chair in his living room, exhausted after his long shift at the Bear and
Bones. The last 72 hours had been a whirlwind of emotion, and he craved peace and quiet, time alone
with his thoughts. He was happy having made amends with everyone after skipping town so
abruptly. Everyone but Zach. He shook his head against the memories of his and Zach's rushed
encounter. Oh, God. His jeans grew tight just thinking of Zach’s mouth on his, of Zach’s hands all
over his skin, of Zach’s hard cock wrapped in the same fist as his own.
It was useless dreaming of Zach. Zach didn’t want him unless he was horny from the drugs he
thought he’d taken.
Adam got up and walked to the rarely opened kitchen cabinet next to the fridge where he took out a
bottle he hadn’t laid eyes on in what? At least six months. He took a swig, and while whiskey wasn't
his favorite drug of choice, he savored the burn. "It'll get the job done," he said aloud, staring at the
half-empty bottle; get him happily buzzed and asleep in a matter of fifteen or twenty minutes. Christ,
he was such a wimp when it came to alcohol. .
Adam took another swig and coughed against the burn. Lightheaded, he sagged against the side of
his bed.
Everything was falling into place. He was going to get the chance Dot always told him he deserved
and he was going to make the kind of money he knew he was worth. But what was more money, if he
couldn’t share it? Why did he even bother staying in Boxer Falls where he’d constantly run into Zach,
chasing tail and blowing his mind all over town?
Adam poured some more liquor down his throat and marveled at how smoothly it trickled down. Ah,
sweet oblivion beckoned. Might be wise to get into bed while he could still keep one eye open.
Noises from the front door disturbed his twilight sleep, as if someone was fiddling with his lock.
Adam struggled to lift himself, but didn’t make it any further than his leaden elbows. Though blurry,
he focused on the figure looming over him. Tight body, floppy brown hair, beautiful eyes. Zach. He
closed his eyes to let the familiar feeling wash over him. When Zach kissed him, he was rougher with
Adam than when they’d kissed the last time. Zach’s stubble was coarser than Adam remembered too
and a faint whiff of after shave didn’t stroke with Adam’s memory of their earlier encounter. He
couldn’t think straight, though. He knew the whiskey was to blame, and the hands touching his skin,
determinedly making their way underneath his shirt, were making him horny. He didn’t want to stop
at a rushed handjob this time. He wanted more. He wanted it all. “Yeah, Zach, fuck me, baby.”
******
Blake cracked one disturbed eye open. He wasn’t used to waking up next to a well-built, warm body,
let alone one that sounded like a buzz saw.
When he looked to the side, he bumped into an elbow, so he raised his head and saw Vic’s face, in
between hands still holding on to the headboard.
“Fuck,” Blake muttered, sitting up completely. He breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment he thought
he’d forgotten about the handcuffs, but he was glad to see that although they were still wrapped
around the latticed headboard, they were no longer around Vic’s wrists. When he inhaled, he got a
whiff of man sweat and sex; a powerful combination that made his dick take notice.
He swung his legs over the side and got up from the bed while Vic’s buzz saw continued to work his
way through an entire forest. Once he was alone in the bathroom, he realized he’d screwed up. So
much for making plans to extract information from Vic. He wondering what had crawled up his brain
during the night to forget his mission? He was never going to play with that man again. It just fucked
with his mind too much. He was going to go back into the bedroom, retrieve his clothes and walk out.
End of story. He’d find other ways to get the info he needed.
Blake threw some cold water in his face and did a cursory wash of his armpits and groin, purposely
ignoring his half-mast cock. This would have to do.
As he walked back into the bedroom, Vic was propped up against the headboard, handcuffs dangling
from his hand, huge grin on his face and his humongous dick rock hard on his belly.
Blake took one look at the alarm clock next to the bed and saw it was still early. He dropped the pair
of fatigues he’d already found back to the floor and gestured with his head in the direction of the
cuffs.. “Put those back on.”
*****
After driving around for what felt like hours, Zach, had only one place he could go to help him get his
head on straight. As he walked around to the back of the restaurant on his way to Adam’s room, he
brushed against a man who was leaving in a hurry. It was still dark so he couldn’t make out who it
was.
Rider? No. Zach backtracked to see if he could catch another glimpse of the guy. This one was shorter
than Ryder. Looked like him, though. But what was this guy doing here? Surely the restaurant closed
hours ago. He must have come out of Adam’s then.
Zach stopped dead. His one place of refuge didn’t exist anymore.
**********************
Quinn was actually early for work. Even he barely believed it. The problem was, the door to the Bear
and Bones was still locked and although he’d pounded on the doorframe, Adam, who was supposed
to open up for him, hadn’t made an appearance. So he leaned against the doorjamb and lit a
cigarette, just to pass the time. Although Adam was usually accurate like clockwork, he couldn’t
blame the guy for being late. That would be the pot calling the kettle black.
Quinn had just looked at his watch for the umpteenth time when a sleek, black BMW slowly
approached. Not a lot of these kinds of cars drove through Boxer Falls, so Quinn felt his heart rate
speed up. Oz. What was he doing here? Slumming?
Quinn walked to the curb, arriving just when the car reached him. He tried to look inside, but the
tinted windows didn’t allow it. He knew Oz could see him, though.
The car stopped and Quinn waited for something to happen. When nothing did, he knocked on the
window. After long moments, the tinted window rolled down and Oz was behind the wheel. He
looked sleek in his white shirt, dress slacks and Ray Ban sunglasses and Quinn tried not to show how
nervous Oz’s presence made him.
“Hey,” Oz said softly.
“Hey,” Quinn replied, sounding a lot more cocky in an attempt to feign disinterest.
“I thought you’d be working.”
Quinn shrugged. “Waiting for Adam to open up.”
For what seemed like forever, Oz didn’t say anything, then he suddenly turned to Quinn. “Get in here
for a moment. We need to talk.”
Quinn put his hands on door and looked intently at Oz. “Why? We can talk here. It’s a free country.”
“Quinn, just… you know I’m not comfortable…”
“Right,” Quinn said resolutely. “How Yoshi, by the way? Shouldn’t you be sitting by his bedside?”
“Yoshi’s okay, I suppose. The doctors seem to think he’ll recover. But that wasn’t why I was here.”
At that moment, Quinn heard the door of the Bear and Bones open and he turned around. Adam’s
head peered out and Quinn thought he looked like shit. He turned back to Oz. “Listen, I need to open
up today, but you can come inside and talk while I work.”
Oz sighed. “Are there going to be any customers?”
“Probably not for the first fifteen minutes or so. Take it or leave it.” And with that Quinn walked
away from Oz.
Inside, Adam was leaning his outstretched arms against one of the tables.
“Tough night?”
Adam nodded. “Don’t ask.”
The door jingled and Adam stumbled in the direction of the kitchen as Oz walked in. Quinn wet his
washcloth, just to have something to occupy his hands with, wrung it out and walked around the bar.
“Okay, so talk.”
“I wanted to say ‘Thank You’ for the other night.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow. “What other night?”
“At the hospital. You tried to stop the car.”
Happy Oz wasn’t actually thanking him for the sex, which would be just too weird, Quinn smiled.
“Almost got run over too. What was that all about anyway?”
“It was my father. Running out of the hospital. He was carrying a knife.”
“A knife?” Quinn parroted.
Oz nodded. “I only saw it in a flash. It didn’t look familiar. He’d been acting weird at the hospital and
this was just one more thing. I didn’t know what to do, just that I had to stop him. And then I
remembered you were outside and you’d be there before me.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to—“
Oz stopped Quinn’s rambling with a kiss that stole Quinn’s breath.
Episode 19
Kiernan Kelly
Adam left his dreams only under duress. Asleep, a whirlwind of imperfect memories mixed with a
healthy dose of perfect fantasy swirled one after another. Boxer Falls was idyllic in his dreams; a
place where he and Zach loved one another, lived together, and happily fucked each other's brains
out every five minutes. He didn't want to leave it or Zach, and fought hard against waking.
Eventually, as was usually the case, sleep lost the battle and his eyes fluttered open.
A half-memory surfaced along with his consciousness, foggy with the last cobwebs of sleep. Had they
made love the night before, he and Zach? He frowned, trying to bring the memory into focus,
wanting desperately for it to have been real and not a dream. Hadn't he felt Zach's hands on him?
The sex had been passionate and hot, and he'd come hard, shuddering and crying out Zach's name,
hadn't he? Or had he only dreamed it?
No. He tried to convince himself it hadn't been a dream. How could it be when his body remembered
every touch, his skin prickling with the memory of Zach's fingers and lips? When his fingers and
palms tingled where they'd wrapped around Zach's hot prick, and his mouth salivated with the ghost
of Zach's taste on his tongue? Hell, the smell of sex still clung to the sheets!
Sometime last night, after he'd nearly drunk himself into a stupor, Zach had come back to him,
forgiven him for being a suspicious dickhead, and explained about the baby aspirin. They'd shared a
kiss, long and deep, and Zach touched him, ran teasing fingers over Adam's chest, belly, and thighs.
He'd been smashed and half-asleep at the time, but he couldn't have made it all up. He just didn't
have that good an imagination. No, it was real. It had to be. The corners of his mouth lifted into a
smile, and his morning wood hardened into steel as he rolled over, reaching for Zach.
The other side of the bed felt cold, the blankets smooth and tucked tightly, the pillow still fluffed. It
was obvious no one had slept on that side of the bed.
He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress, and ran a hand over his belly. His fingers
found dried, sticky spots. The evidence said he'd orgasmed, but had it been with Zach, or alone,
jacking off while thinking about Zach? Had it all been nothing but a drunken wet dream?
If it'd really happened, then why hadn't Zach spent the night? Why would he leave without even
saying goodbye?
He groaned, letting his head hang forward, feeling the beginnings of a hangover of epic proportions.
His head throbbed, bolts of pain ricocheting around the inside of his skull, his stomach roiled, and
his mouth tasted like he'd been chewing dog turds. He couldn't think, couldn't decide what was real
and what was imagined.
Maybe a shower would help clear his head. A hot shower, followed by a shitload of caffeine,
preferably delivered intravenously. Or better yet, hair of the dog. A stiff shot would take the edge off,
let him feel halfway human again.
He walked to the bathroom, then turned and gave the room one last, befuddled look. Why couldn't
he remember what was real and what wasn't?
Zach. Somehow, he got the feeling it all had to do with Zach. In fact, he realized most of his problems
centered around Zach. He huffed, frowning. What was he doing? He really was being a schmuck. Not
twenty-four hours ago he'd been ready to leave Zach behind and start fresh somewhere else, far away
from Boxer Falls and every-fucking-one in it, and yet here he was, still in town, still chasing after
Zach. Then what happened? Some guy named Max shows up out of nowhere and offers him a great
opportunity and a reason to stay in town, and Adam falls for it.
Instead of starting over, forgetting Zach and finding somebody else, somebody stable, somebody who
would look at him as more than just a best friend. Why? Because it would give him an excuse to see
Zach again. How sick was that?
True, finding out that Zach's bag of drugs wasn't anything more potent than a baggie of baby aspirin
had removed the doubt he'd harbored that Zach's desire for him had been pharmaceutical in nature,
but still...his relationship (or lack thereof) with Zach had been such an ongoing source of
disappointment and heartache for him for so long that anyone with half a brain would've jumped the
first Greyhound out of town a long time ago. But no, he evidently didn't have enough gray matter to
stop coming back to Zach for more punishment
Well, he was sick and tired of it. He refused to let Zach take advantage of him anymore. No more
allowing Zach to depend on him, solving all of Zach's problems, or cleaning up Zach's messes. As far
as he was concerned, Zach didn't exist. In fact, he figured he'd be better off if Zach had never been
adopted by Grady and Phil in the first place. Then he and Zach wouldn't have gone to school
together, and their friendship wouldn't have led to his heart being broken so many fucking times.
***
The shower helped some, but not nearly enough. Since the very thought of downing anything
stronger than coffee made his stomach threaten to hurl itself free of his body via either his mouth or
his ass, he opted for a cup of mud made in his one-cup coffeemaker. The caffeine helped clear his
mind a bit more. His headache retreated into a dull ache, and his stomach settled enough for him to
contemplate getting dressed.
Neither did anything, however, to improve his memory of the night before. He still couldn't decide if
his encounter with Zach was real or imagined. In fact, there were times when Zach's face
metamorphosed into Max's, which was really weird and just made his headache worse.
He pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, and slicked back his hair. Ignoring the residual pain in his head, he
opened the front door to face the world at large with one goal in mind: find Zach and end their
relationship once and for all, before his heart could be broken yet again. He could stay on at The Bear
and Bones until Max's restaurant was ready to open, or save up a little cash and leave Boxer Falls,
this time for good. He wasn't sure at this point what he wanted to do, but he knew one thing -whatever he did, it would be without Zach.
Outside, snow was falling again. The fat white flakes drifted down, muffling sound, making the street
appear eerily quiet. Indeed, the only sound he could hear was the crunch of his boots on the newly
fallen powder as he walked down the street in the general direction of the Boxer B&B. He figured
after leaving his place, Zach would've gone back there to crash.
He looked up just as he reached the front of the B&B, and was immediately struck by a disturbingly
odd sight. The sign still read "Boxer's B&B," but the building with its clapboard façade and tall,
shuttered windows was different. It looked shabbier, unkempt. The clapboard, which Adam always
remembered as a deep cranberry red, kept freshly painted and immaculate, was now dingy, dirty,
and sun-faded. He'd spotted a few missing shingles on the familiar, dramatic Mansard roof. Several
of the windows had long, jagged cracks, and the curtains that hung behind them, the rich, burgundy
brocade ones Adam had always admired, looked worn and threadbare.
What the fuck had happened here? He knew things were out of sorts for everyone since Phil's
accident, but they were really letting the place go to pot.
He climbed the few steps to the front door and let himself in as he'd done a thousand times before. A
snarl, deep, throaty, and menacing, stopped him in his tracks. His breath caught in his throat when
his gaze cut to his left and he spotted a ferocious-looking Doberman glaring at him, baring its teeth.
"Down Samson." Phil Boxer stood up from the armchair in which he'd been sitting. He looked at
Adam with a blank expression. "Do I know you?"
Adam blinked. He was a little surprised to see Phil there. Hadn't Phil left Grady for Tony? Guess they
made up. That's good, at least. There was obviously something wrong with Phil, though. He looked
old. Old, worn, and tired. Cut the guy some slack, he chided himself. Phil was just in an accident.
Lost his memory, remember? Yeah, that explains not knowing me. But when did they get the
fucking dog? "It's me, Phil. Adam. I've been your son's best friend forever." He tipped his head in the
dog's direction. "What happened to Tick and Tock? What's with Fido over there?" He shook his head
in confusion. Whatever was going on, he really didn't want to deal with it. He waved a hand. "Wait.
Never mind all that. Just tell me where Zach is."
"Who? Look, I don't want any trouble. We're not renting rooms anymore, not since fucking Conrad
and Grady Cotton started foreclosure proceedings on the place. But just because I'm losing my home
and business doesn't mean I'm an easy target. I got Samson here for protection, so you can turn your
ass right around and leave in one piece, or go out later in bite-sized chunks. Your choice."
Adam gaped at Phil. "Whoa, back up! Conrad and Grady Cotton? When the fuck did that happen?"
Phil threw him an arch look. "Years ago. What difference does it make to you, anyway? Go on, get
out. Now, or I swear I'll sic Samson on you!"
Wow, that accident did more to scramble Phil's brain than just give him amnesia. He's gotten
positively hostile. Adam eyed the dog, which was growling again. "Okay, okay. Just tell Zach Adam
needs to talk to him, okay? He knows where to find me."
He took a few slow, careful steps backward, until his rear bumped the door. Reaching behind him, he
opened it and, not ever taking his eyes away from the dog, backed through it. He shut it again with a
sense of relief.
Trotting down the stairs, he gave the house a long look from over his shoulder. Damn, that was
weird. Poor Phil. Imagine not recognizing the people who've always loved you the most? It's tragic,
that's what it is, fucking tragic.
There was nothing left for him to do except head over to the Bear and Bones and start his shift. He'd
make a point of catching up to Zach later, though. He needed closure before the day was out.
***
He trudged across the street to the Bear and Bones. The snow was falling thicker now in a soft white
curtain, softening the contours of the bare tree limbs and covering his previous footprints.
Adam pulled open the front door and walked inside. There were only a few patrons inside, town
diehards who routinely come in for breakfast despite the weather. He shrugged out of his jacket and
headed toward the back of the room.
"Here for breakfast?"
He looked over at Dot, who was coming out of the kitchen with a tray of limp, blackened squares that
may or may not have been a sad attempt at waffles. She plopped a plate of them in front of a man
who didn't seem very enthused to be getting it, if the way his shoulders slumped was any indication.
Damn it. Ira must've been trying to cook again. Why didn't they just wait for him to get in? He was
only a few minutes late. "Yeah. Sorry I'm late."
"Late for what? We serve breakfast until ten. You still have plenty of time. Have a seat anywhere. I'll
be right over to take your order."
"What are you talking about? I'm not here to eat. It's not my day off, Dot. I'm here to cook." He shook
his head and headed toward the kitchen. Maybe Dot was getting old, or just working too hard. She'd
never forgotten the schedule before.
To his surprise, Dot hurried to cut him off. "Young man, I don't know what you're talking about, but
we're not in the habit of letting strangers off the street into our kitchen."She pointed her chin toward
the door. "Now, you just turn that fanny of yours around and head out. We don't need trouble from
the likes of you."
"What the hell is going on around here? I went to see Zach over at the B&B, and Phil was acting
nuttier than tree full of squirrels. Now I come to work, and you pretend you don't know me."
Dot glared at him. "I don't recall meeting you before. Now, I believe I asked you to leave."
Adam took a step toward Dot, his hands spread in confusion."Come on, Dot. What is this, some kind
of joke?"
Dot took a step backward. "Do I look like I'm joking? You've got five seconds to clear out of here."
She called out over her shoulder. "Ira! Call the Sheriff. We've got trouble!"
"I don't understand any of this. Dot, it's me, Adam. I work here, for God's sake!"
"I don't know anyone named Adam. Are you high on that crack stuff?" She took another step
backward. Her hand slid to the silverware setting on the table next to her, sliding out the butter
knife. She shook the knife toward Adam. "You've got problems, thinking I know you, thinking you
can come in here and start messing around in my kitchen. You need to leave, now. My husband is
calling the law right now."
Adam twisted his fingers in his hair, unsure of what to make of anything. Had Dot gone crazy
overnight? Was Phil's amnesia contagious? He'd never heard of such a thing, but how could he
explain it?
Ira chose that moment to step out of the kitchen wielding a large butcher knife. "Sheriff's on his way.
Dot, you get back here by me. Boy, I'd take off if I were you. Sheriff Neale doesn't like drifters in
Cotton Falls."
"You mean Boxer Falls." Adam began shaking his head, and backing toward the door. "Boxer, not
Cotton. Dot, maybe you should go see a doctor. Something's not right."
"I guess I know the name of the town I've lived in all my life! There's nothing wrong with me, but I
guarantee there's something wrong with you!"
"Okay, okay. Look, I'm going. I'm going to find Zach, and figure out just what in the blue hell is going
on around here. I'll be back later, okay?"
"Don't you dare show your face around here again, or I'll have you arrested!"
Adam put up his hands as if to ward off a possible attack, then turned and nearly ran out the door.
Had the whole town gone nuts? God, all he wanted was for somebody to act fucking normal! Nothing
had gone right since the night before. He wanted a do-over.
"Adam?"
He started, and turned, peering through the snow at the approaching figure. He recognized Max, and
stopped, waiting. "Hey, Max. You know me, right? Please tell me you know me."
Max smiled, and Adam was struck again by how much he looked like an older version of Zach. "Yes,
Adam, I know you."
"Good. For a few minutes, I thought I'd lost my mind. Something crazy is going on in town, Max. I
can't find Zach, and nobody seems to know me. I know Phil is having issues, but now something's
wrong with Dot and Ira, too! Do you know anything about what's going on?"
"Of course, I do."
"Well, what the fuck is it?"
"That's easy. Look, we think we live in our own little universes, each of us an island unto ourselves,
but that's just a lie we tell ourselves when things get tough and we want to cut and run. The truth is,
our existence has direct impact on the existence of everyone we ever come in contact with, from our
family to our friends to our acquaintances. People are like a long line of dominoes, set up in an
intricate pattern. Take one away and the whole pattern is destroyed."
Adam blinked snow out of his eyes. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"You wished Zach had never been born, never been adopted, never come into your life. Well, this is
the way your life would be if he hadn't. In this reality, Grady didn't choose Phil thirty years ago. He
chose Conrad Cotton. Because of that, Conrad never married his wife, and Oswald and Rider were
never born.
"Phil doesn't know who Zach is because he never adopted Zach. He never got over losing Grady to
Conrad, and started drinking soon after. He drove the B&B into the ground, and now is losing it to
the Cottons, which just compounds his bitterness.
"Dot and Ira don't know you because you never made friends with Zach in school. You were a loner,
and left town right after high school to pursue a culinary career in New York."
Adam snorted. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! I don't know what sort of game
everyone's playing, but I do know this isn't "It's A Wonderful Life," and I'm not Jimmy-fuckingStewart. "Look, you go on playing your little head games. I'm going to find Zach, and figure out what
the hell is going on."
"You won't find him. He's not here, Adam. I told you Phil and Grady didn't adopt him, remember?
He grew up in the orphanage, and ran away when he was sixteen. He had no money, no friends, and
lived on the streets. Heroin was his drug of choice, when he could turn enough tricks to afford a fix.
He died in an alleyway, strung out and alone."
Adam's mouth fell open. "What the fuck are you talking about? That's crazy! He's not dead!"
"Sorry, Adam. He is, and do you know why? Because he didn't have you in his life. You were fated to
be together. You protected him, kept him on the straight and narrow, saved him from himself time
and time again. Without you in his life, his depression sent him into a downward spiral that he could
never reverse."
"You're lying! This is all some sort of prank, right? A Boxer Falls version of "Punk'd? Who are you
supposed to be, my fucking guardian angel?"
Max laughed. Adam could see his eyes sparkle with amusement, even through the snow. "No, not by
a long shot."
"Then who are you? Why are you doing this to me?"
"I'm someone who's been sent to keep you from making the biggest mistake of your life, Adam."
Adam narrowed his eyes. He didn't -- couldn't -- believe any of this. "Sent by who?"
Max took a step closer. The smile on his face was soft. "By you."
Adam's temper finally escaped his control. He reached out and tried to push Max, but to his shock,
his hands met empty air.
Max was gone.
Adam twisted around, peering into the snow, looking for Max, but there was no sign of him. Worse,
when he looked down, he saw only one set of footprints in the snow...his own.
He backed away, shaking his head. "It can't be. I'm not crazy. I'm not, but this can't be happening."
Who was Max? For that matter, what was Max? Had he been a figment of Adam's imagination all
along? Or was he...something more, something else? He felt cold and clammy, but nervous sweat
trickled down between his shoulder blades. He felt like he'd lost his mind.
One thought broke through his fear, and gave him something to cling to, a life preserver in the
tumultuous ocean his life had suddenly become. Zach. He had to get to Zach.
Finding Zach had been his objective since he'd left home that morning, but now he needed to find
Zach for a completely different reason. He desperately needed somebody to ground him into familiar
reality, to assure him that he wasn't crazy, to give him a sense of normality, and the best person for
the job was his best friend, and the one person he loved more than anyone else.
Forgetting he'd been ready to end it with Zach for once and all just an hour or so ago, he broke into a
run and dashed back to Boxer's B&B.
***
He burst into the B&B, forgetting that the last time he'd been in there he'd nearly become a chew toy
for a vicious canine. Never slowing his step, he took the stairs two and three at a time, heading up to
the attic where Zach lived.
Had lived.
Did live, he kept telling himself. He'll be there. He will!
He didn’t bother knocking on Zach's door. Instead he pushed it open and ran inside. "Zach! Zach,
where are you?"
For one heart stopping moment he heard only silence, his voice echoing in the apartment. Was it true
then? Had he somehow wished Zach away, out of his life? Or had he simply gone insane?
"Adam? What are you doing here?" Zach walked out of the bedroom, wearing nothing but a towel
wrapped low around his narrow hips. His hair was dripping wet, rivulets of water running over his
pecs and ropy abs.
"Zach!" Adam leapt forward, dragging Zach into his arms. He held Zach tight, reveling in every inch
of firm, solid flesh that pressed against his body. He nuzzled Zach's neck, breathing deep, filling his
lungs with Zach's scent. "You're here. You're really here."
"Dude, you're crushing me. I can't breathe." Zach wiggled a bit until Adam was forced to loosen his
death grip. "Of course, I'm here. Where else would I be?"
"I thought...it's nuts but, I was afraid..."
"Adam, are you okay? You seemed all right last night when I left, but you--"
Adam hugged Zach closer again, ignoring Zach's overly dramatic wheeze. "That was you last night!"
"Of course it was me! What, you thought I had a fucking twin?"
Adam grinned happily. "No. Why did you leave, though? You didn't say goodbye or anything."
"You feel asleep, you jerk. I didn't want to wake you. I needed to come home." Zach pushed Adam
away. "Look, I know you found my stash, and I can explain--"
"Don't. Please. I don’t want to talk about that now. I need to talk about us."
"Us? You mean, last night? Look, Adam, you don't need to worry about that. I was feeling a little
needy, that's all. I came over to your place, and found the door unlocked. I let myself in, and when I
saw you all sexy and sleepy on the bed, I just...lost control. That's all." Zach lowered his head,
refusing to look Adam in the eye. "Look, can't we just forget it? It was a mistake, that's all."
"No, that's not all. Not this time. Look at me, Zach. I said, look at me!" He caught Zach's chin and
forced his face to tilt up. "I love you. Is that clear enough for you? You're my best friend, and yeah,
you're a major fuck up sometimes, but I love you anyway. I always have. You and I are meant to be
together. And this time I'm not going to take no for an answer!"
He drew Zach closer and kissed him, hard and deep. His hand slid over the small of Zach's back to
his hips, and ripped the towel away before cupping a handful of Zach's firm little ass and giving it a
proprietary squeeze. He smiled against Zach mouth when he felt Zach cock fill and press against
him.
Zach broke their kiss, although he made no effort to pull away. Instead he locked his arms around
Adam's back, as if afraid Adam would let him go. "Everything I touch turns to shit. Tell me I'm not
fucking up the one good relationship in my life."
"You're not. This is the way it's supposed to be. You're mine, Zach."
"Good. But we have a problem already."
"We do, huh? What's that?"
Zach looked at Adam with the sexy, saucy grin Adam loved so much curving his lips. "You've got way
too many fucking clothes on."
Episode 20
S.A. Meade
Well, shit.
Blake blinked in the cold, grey light.
What.The.Fuck?
Most people got to wake up to the sound of the dawn chorus, or the sound of their loved one
preparing breakfast in the kitchen and the aroma of coffee drifting up the stairs. There was no dawn
chorus, only Vic sleeping like the proverbial dead beside him.
The distinctive, sweet funk of sex hung in the room, the tumult of bedclothes and the discarded
handcuffs gave testament to the wild night, the wildest night of sex he’d had in years.
Blake rolled over. Vic slept with his mouth open, his chin silvered by a thin stream of sleeper’s
dribble. At least the buzz-saw impression had stopped, replaced by steady, warm huffs of morning
breath. Stubble shadowed Vic’s cheeks. He should’ve looked like a drunken night’s regret. But he
didn’t. There was something touchingly…vulnerable, something that triggered a whole host of
memories, memories of a younger Vic. Christ, the nights they’d fucked each other senseless. Pretty
much like last night. Just the thought of burying his dick in that tight, grasping heat, was enough to
get Blake ready to face the day…or at least a nice wake-up session.
There’s nowhere I have to be. I can take my time. Hell, there’s a lot of years to catch up on. There’s
plenty of games we can play.
Vic’s huffs turned to a waking snuffle. His eyes flickered open. They were a tad blurry with sleep at
first and then focused. A slow smile brought the dimples out of hiding.
“Hey.”
Blake shifted, pulling the sheet up over his erection. “Hey yourself.”
“That was some night, huh? My ass sure feels it this morning. You gave it quite a pounding.”
“You’re not regretting it, are you?”
Vic raised his hand to Blake’s face, fingers scraped across the stubble. “Hell no. I don’t regret a
moment. I haven’t been fucked like that in years. In fact, I wouldn’t mind being fucked like that
again…if you’re willing.”
“What do you think?” Blake took Vic’s hand and guided it beneath the sheet. He gasped when Vic
closed his fingers around his dick.
“Well, isn’t this nice?” Vic grinned and trailed his thumb along the ridge. “Early morning cock beats
early morning coffee any day of the week.”
“Any condoms left?” Blake was already finding it hard to speak. “I’m thinking we went through a fair
number last night.”
Vic rolled away and leaned over his side of the bed, his butt open to view. Blake reckoned the sight
was better than any sunrise. Hi bit his lip and let his hand stray over one hairy globe, revelling in the
warmth of his skin and the promise that waited between those cheeks.
“Here we go.” Vic’s voice was cheerful. He clutched a square of foil and the lube. “We didn’t use ‘em
all.”
“Thank fuck for that.” Blake primed his dick, thinking of nothing but that glorious, plundered ass, his
for the taking again.
“Do you want to cuff me?” Vic rolled onto his stomach and grasped the bed rails, knuckles whitening.
“No.” Blake rolled the condom over his dick. “Get on your back. I want to see you when you come.”
How long had it been since he’d done that? Since he’d wanted to look a man in the face at that
moment when the goods were delivered.
Vic rolled onto his back with a smile, his legs splayed. “Like this?”
“Just.Like.That.” Blake scrambled to his knees, ignoring the gentle sway of the aged mattress. He
crept between Vic’s legs and leaned low, sucking at a nipple until Vic whimpered and shifted with a
whisper of skin on bed linen.
He reached for the lube, smeared some over his fingers and his sheathed cock and then plunged his
finger into Vic without preamble, biting his throat at the same time.
“Jesus.” Vic’s hips rose convulsively from the bed.
“You ready for this?”
“Fuck yes.” Vic’s voice was a breathless whisper. He curled his hand around Blake’s neck and pulled
him close. “Fuck me.”
Blake inhaled sharply and pushed in, slowly, carefully, waiting for Vic to adjust.
“Oh yeah. That’s it.” Vic’s fingers tightened on his shoulders.
Blake pulled back and then went for it, slamming in to that refuge of hot, tight muscle until his eyes
watered and Vic gasped for breath. He stumbled into an early morning rhythm, mindful of the
punishment he’d doled out on that ass the night before.
Vic looked at him, surprise and pleasure in his eyes. It was enough. It was a change Blake welcomed.
He’d been a selfish prick for too long.
No, Conrad wouldn’t get the information he needed from him. Vic deserved better. For all his faults,
there was something in him that called to Blake, something close to home, to a fireplace in winter,
and cool shade in summer.
“Oh…crap.” Vic’s hands fell away. “Crap, crap, crap.”
Blake bit his lip and stopped mid-thrust. “Are you all right?”
“What day is it?”
“Monday, it’s a three day weekend. Shit, man. I know we went for it last night, but I didn’t think I’d
knocked the memory out of you.”
“It’s Memorial Day.” Vic fell back onto the mattress. “It’s fucking Memorial Day, isn’t it?”
Blake felt his erection shrink away to a flaccid nothing. He withdrew, removed the condom and
tossed it into the bin with a sigh. “It’s Memorial Day, a great day for staying in bed and fucking your
brains out.”
Vic scrambled out of bed, rooting through the mess of discarded clothes on the floor. “It’s the big
Memorial Day picnic out at Whispering Ridge. I have to do the goddam potato salad.” He hurried
into his jeans, hopping from one bare foot to the other. “Shit!”
Blake stared at him. “Potato salad? You’re making potato salad?”
“It’s Mom’s recipe. Everyone round here loves it. The Bear and Bones have been trying to get hold of
it for ages.”
“So, let me get this straight. You’re throwing aside the chance of a wake-up session to make potato
salad?”
Vic leaned over and kissed him, a quick smear of lips over his. “A promise is a promise. I gotta do it.”
Blake slid from the bed and searched for his clothes. “Do you want me to help?” He was rewarded
with a huge, guileless grin.
“Sure you can. Wanna peel some potatoes?”
****
Tony kicked his way through the previous year’s fallen leaves. It wouldn’t be long before this year’s
leaves covered them. There was already a hint of fall in the air, a chill in the thin mist that clung to
the ground and shifted between the trees. There was that damn picnic. He didn’t want to go, but the
whole town was going to be there. Maybe Phil would be there too. That was the main reason for
going, in the vain hope that he’d see Phil.
His dick stirred when he remembered seeing Phil naked. God, he wanted him. He hated that just
about every waking thought was about him, about giving him the best damn blow job of his life,
about being fucked by him.
He had to hope that, one day, he’d get those things. But, for now, he made do with scraps and
daydreams, putzing around Whispering Ridge, unplugging drains, and doing the boiler maintenance
before the cold weather moved in. Well, at least it kept his mind on other things…sometimes.
Tony glanced at his watch. It was time to head back. Everything had to be ready for the picnic. The
marquee company would be delivering and setting up before too long and he needed to be there to
make sure they didn’t pitch the damn things up in the wrong place.
He turned around and headed back for Curtain Way. It wasn’t much of a walk, but it got him away
from the resort for a while. It gave him time to think. Now there was a job to do. A picnic to endure.
There’d be fireworks over the lake later. The firework company were setting up on the island. They’d
be spectacular, according to Conrad, who claimed to have blown a small fortune on the best money
could buy. Summer’s last hurrah.
One or two cars headed up the road and then one slowed right down. Nothing special, a Ford or
Chevy, mid-range, a businessman’s car. Probably a rental because the locals tended to use cars that
went in the snow. Instinct made Tony pause and hide. He didn’t feel like being seen. He didn’t like
that the anonymous car had chosen this place to slow down. He took a deep breath and pressed back
against a tree, the bark rough and cold beneath his fingertips.
Probably some asshole going to dump some trash.
Sure enough, something sailed out of the window and bounced off the verge into the trees. Black
plastic gleamed in the sun. The car sped up again, tires squealing on the tarmac. The package rolled
into the trees and came to rest at Tony’s feet. He gave it an experimental kick, expecting to hear the
rattle of tin cans or the rustle of paper.
It was solid and whatever was inside gave a little when his boot connected with it, a soft, squishy
sound. Tony looked at it for a moment, hoping it wasn’t a litter of kittens or something once alive.
Then there was the smell, ripe, rotten, like a garbage can that hadn’t been emptied for months. A
pungent mix of mouldering nasty, leaking from the tear his boot made on impact. A glimpse of
something, pale like flesh, like dead flesh. Something glinted in the silvery morning light, a lifeless
eye stared at him with all the passion of a dead fish.
“Jesus H. Christ.” Tony turned away and threw up. There didn’t seem to be much else he could do.
****
Blake watched Vic spoon the potato salad into a series of large, worn Tupperware containers. The
aroma of boiled eggs and celery lingered in the kitchen, battling with the last traces of scallion and
mayonnaise. It wasn’t a smell he cared much for in the morning. It reminded him of long-ago family
picnics, when the old man got drunk on fortys and fell asleep under a tree somewhere. Those days
always ended with him and his mother having to drag the bastard into the backseat of the car, where
he’d sleep it off overnight and wake up in the morning, red-eyed and bad-tempered.
“That’s the last of it,” Vic announced, tossing the spoon into the sink with the other dirty dishes.
“Thank Christ.”
Blake cradled his coffee cup in his hands and smiled when Vic sank into the seat across the table.
“There’s enough there to feed the Five Thousand.” If he never peeled another potato again he’d die a
happy man. The bin in the corner of the kitchen overflowed with potato peel and discarded egg
shells.
“Yeah. Better to have too much than too little. Everyone loves Mom’s recipe.”
“Every family has their recipes.” Blake sipped his coffee.
Vic glanced at the clock on the wall above the kitchen window. “I guess it’s time to get dressed and
drop this off. You wanna come with me?”
“To watch you get dressed? I’d rather undress you, if that’s all right.”
“You can do that later.” Vic rose. “I’d better get a move on. Last thing I need is someone on the phone
nagging me for the potato salad.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Giving Vic a good seeing to later was as good an offer as he was going to get. Perhaps
he’d stop by the picnic while Vic was working and see what the Big
Deal was. Small town Big Occasions were always interesting. He rinsed his mug out in the sink and
followed Vic into the bedroom.
“So you’ll be here tonight?” There was a wistful note in Vic’s voice.
“Sure, why not?”
Vic buttoned his shirt. “Good. I think I can summon up the energy for another round.”
Blake couldn’t help himself. He put his arms around him, kissed the corner of his mouth. “You’ll
need all the energy you can get, big boy.”
“Big boy, eh?” Vic kissed him back, a bulge already conspicuous beneath his uniform trousers.
The phone shattered the moment.
“Fuck.” Vic fumbled for his phone on the nightstand. “Yeah?”
Blake watched his face turn to parchment and ash.
“Where? Curtain Way? Yeah, I’ll be right there.” He shut the phone and stared at Blake. “Gotta go.
Someone’s found a severed head in a bag.”
Episode 21
Ellis Carrington
"Motherfucker!"
Oz ran. He pushed through the well-dressed crowd and ignored the startled shouts and dropped
plates full of Waldorf and potato salad as he raced full-tilt towards his brother's screams, punctuated
by the unmistakable growl of a chainsaw. Oz barreled by a professionally draped table full of sidedishes and a chocolate fountain, slid through a spilled pile of baked beans just as he got near the
chaos, and kept on going toward the ice bar where a leery band of folks had formed a half-circle and
were trying to talk Rider off a ledge.
Holy, holy shit. His brother had gone right off the deep end.
After all the recent tragedy, their father had really wanted to do it up big for the Memorial Day
celebration. Party planner. Decorations. Everything catered, Sheriff Neale's extraordinary potato
salad being the exception. The pièce de résistance? A specially sculpted sixteen foot bar made out of
massive slabs of ice, guaranteed to stay intact for hours, even outdoors.
Unless your family member goes psychotic and takes a chainsaw to the damn thing.
"Rider, what the fuck are you doing?" Oz edged closer than anyone else had dared. Including the
deputy, who hadn't yet drawn his gun but was talking rapidly into his radio in a way that put Oz's
entire system on high alert.
He had to get his brother to calm the hell down before something serious happened.
The chainsaw whirred.
"See what I think of your fucking fancy-assed bar, Dad?" The blade sank into a chunk of the bar.
Quinn, who'd been casually cleaning a glass on the other side of the thing, and apparently the one
person in the area who wasn't taking Rider seriously, dropped the glass and took a healthy step back.
Behind Oz, the crowd shuffled and murmured.
Oz cut his gaze over to where their father stood, arms crossed over his chest, and his stare icy. What
in the holy hell was going on? He took another step, carefully measuring the reach of the blade arm,
just in case Rider turned on him.
"Come on, Rider. What's going on?"
"Found a doctor who can do Yoshi's surgery. Guess who's the only person in this town with access to
a helicopter?"
Their father. That was an easy one. It was a recent addition to the resort, to rent out for tourist rides.
Local talk was, the hospital board had cut their's some time ago for budget reasons.
"And this asshole doesn't want to let me use it." The statement was punctuated by another rev of the
chainsaw, and another swing at the bar. More flying ice shavings.
"Rider." Their father's voice was low and stern. "The helicopter isn't suited to carry an injured body,
and Yoshi's medical care isn't your concern. His family has the means to care for him."
"Bullshit!" The blade whirred, the ice flew, and the peanut gallery murmured and speculated behind
all of their backs.
Well, fuck them.
Oz's head swam. Yoshi? This was about Yoshi? The cop inched closer with his hand on his gun and
Oz held up a hand, for what little good it would do. He needed to diffuse this--now.
"Rider, you gotta put the fucking saw down. Put it down, and I will help you fix this. I didn't get it
before, how serious you were about Yoshi. I didn't understand you guys had a history." He tried to
suck in a breath, but something heavy sat on his chest. "So now I do, and we'll work it out. I'll help."
He aimed a pointed glare at their father. "We'll all help. All right?"
Rider hesitated. The chainsaw motor still ran but he took a step back. A tear slipped down his face.
Rider. The guy who emailed compromising photos of himself to people as a hobby. "His family hasn't
even come to see him."
"So let me help." Oz's stomach rolled. "But you gotta put that thing down. You've gone past your
standard wacky behavior and right on toward psycho, bro. You get in trouble for this, I can't help
you, and you can't help Yoshi."
In the wake of the ignition being cut, the rumble of crowd chatter was deafening. He put one hand
over Rider’s and grabbed the handle. With his focus on his brother, thing was surprisingly unwieldy
as he carefully swung it behind his back. Whoever the hell took it, he wasn’t sure. The deputy,
probably. He wasn’t paying attention. His eyes burned. “What the hell is going on, man?”
“I promised him I’d help,” Rider mumbled into his shoulder. “You guys think I’m such a fucking
fuckup, but I said I’d help and when I make a promise, I fucking follow through.”
Jeez. “All right. All right. We’ll see what we can do, okay?” Jesus, he hadn’t realized. Things had been
such a mess lately, and Rider was…well, Rider was the family fuckup. The perpetual class clown.
Only thing the kid ever took seriously was having a good time. At least, that was how it always
looked.
Then again, Oz could admit he’d had his head a little too far up his own ass to notice much of
anything lately, anyway.
Oz’s fingertips tingled, on the verge of going numb. He looked over Rider’s head to see how Quinn
was doing. Not too surprisingly, Quinn was just freaking great. Quinn was… Oz’s heart skipped and
thumped hard like it had tripped and fallen over something. The copper top had prodded the other
servers back into action, was cracking jokes, and getting everyone distracted and back to partying.
Guy just kind of had that way about him, didn’t he?
Oz hugged an arm around his brother’s shoulders and tried to ignore the way his chest got tight over
the sun glinting off the hair on Quinn’s bare forearms. Today, he was dressed in a nice short-sleeved
polo and Chinos much like what Oz himself wore, and he had to say the guy cleaned up nicely.
Oz swallowed. He wasn’t just staring, but salivating. How…base.
Quinn paused from slinging drinks to give a small wave of acknowledgement, and then Oz couldn’t
ignore things anymore. The guy’s hand was bleeding. That was a health and safety issue. Moreover, if
Oz were being really honest with himself, he’d been looking for an excuse to talk to the guy alone
since the event started. Now, he had one.
He glanced over at Rider. “Come on,” he said. With his arm still hooked around his brother’s
shoulders Oz walked over to where their father stood, nursing a Merlot and reviewing things on a
clipboard with the party planner, Jessica. With her ample breasts and strawberry blonde hair, Oz
couldn’t help but think of that cartoon bombshell who had been married to a bunny rabbit.
“Dad, a word.”
Conrad Cotten held up a finger.
“Dad.”
Their father put a hand on the small of Jessica’s back, guiding her forward. “Oz, have you met
Jessica?”
Oz knotted his fist. So. Not. The time. He tightened his grip around Rider’s shoulder. “Dad, you need
to help Rider figure this thing out with Yoshi.”
His father sighed and scrubbed a tired hand over his face. “I hardly think it’s appropriate—“
Rider spun around, ready to storm away. “This is such bullshit—“
Oz grabbed Rider and forced an about face. “Dad. It’s very fucking appropriate. C’mon, how often
does Rider actually try to do something responsible, huh?” He turned to his brother. “No offense.”
Rider shrugged sadly and toed at a discarded watermelon kabob on the ground.
“Besides,” Oz said. “It would go a long way toward showing some goodwill in this town, don’t you
think? Things have been a little off the rails around here lately.”
“That was the whole point in shelling out a ton of cash for this frou-frou holiday celebration,” Conrad
hissed through gritted teeth.
Across the way, some perky brunette with bobbed hair leaned so far across the frozen bar to flirt with
Quinn, her tits practically fell out of her dress. Oz’s already amped-up pulse climbed higher. He
leaned in close to his father’s ear, and dropped his voice. “I’ve got to go take care of a bleeding
bartender over there, but keep this in mind, Dad: I’ve got power of attorney over more than one of
the business accounts. So I’m gonna leave Rider here with you, and you’re gonna be a good guy and
fix this, okay?“
He’d only taken a few steps when Rider caught his arm. The wild look on his brother’s face was gone,
replaced by one of shame. An equally foreign expression, on Rider. “Look I’m sorry. I don’t know
what got into me.”
Oz forced a laugh. “Not like you to apologize for making a scene.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. I do. You know,” He squeezed Rider’s shoulder. “I feel like I owe you an apology. We’ve been
so busy with our own problems, we haven’t noticed yours.” He glanced at Quinn, laughing at
something the brunette said, and the angry thing in his chest thumped harder. “Call me later, all
right? If Dad doesn’t help you smooth this over, I will.” He turned and stalked away, wondering who
he hated most right then: his father for being an asshole, Quinn for reciprocating the busty brunette’s
advances, or himself for actually being jealous at all.
***
Phil pulled into the drive of the B&B and rested his head against the steering wheel. God, he was
exhausted. Already, it had been a trying, total wringer of a day. He’d sent a text to Tony telling him
never mind about talking to Conrad, and gone into the sheriff’s office ready to confess to killing
Brant for blackmailing him. Too much guilt to handle, tying his gut in knots. He’d already wrecked
his marriage, least he could do was let Tony off the hook.
Only his phone kept giving him error messages and the sheriff broke the dubiously good news that
the angry slam Phil had given the guy’s head into the wall behind Slappy’s Bait Shop when they
fought had probably only given him a really good goose egg. Turned out the ME went over the body
before it went missing from the morgue, and the skeevy worm been stabbed to death by some fakey
magic knife or something. The head, at least, was back in custody. Weird, totally, but not Phil’s
doing.
On the one hand, Phil had been utterly relieved. He hadn’t wanted to believe himself capable of
murder even the accidental kind. His doctor had confirmed it’d likely been the tumor affecting his
ability to control his angry impulses, but still… The drain of unspent adrenaline after walking out of
that police station…Dear Lord, he could have slept for a week. He’d been about to park his truck
somewhere and do just that when he got the call from Zach.
A bang on the window startled his head up. He cut the engine as Zach pulled the door open.
“’Bout fuckin’ time you got here.”
“I came as soon as I could,” Phil mumbled.
Clumsy fingers ran over his stubbly head. He kept forgetting he didn’t have hair anymore. He’d slept
in his truck the night before, not sure where to go. Surely he looked a mess. Heading back to Tony
hadn’t seemed the right answer though. Back to Grady didn’t either. The guilt gnawed at him, and
anger at knowing Tony had fooled around with Zach followed close behind.
Damn, talk about awkward.
He followed his son into the house they’d shared. Zach turned to glare at him, and Phil almost
thought jail time would have been easier to deal with than his son’s disapproval. “He keeps drinking
since you left, and we had an out of town couple show up looking for a room this afternoon. I figure
we needed the money so I checked ‘em in, but he’s not fit to handle things and I can’t stick around. I
have to get to work.”
Phil stopped in the foyer. “You have a job?”
“Don’t seem so surprised, Dad.”
“Sorry.” Phil, once the hard-ass between the two fathers, suddenly felt like he stood about three feet
tall next to his son.
Zach nodded. “It’s nothing big. I’m helping Adam refinish the floors over at the restaurant while the
big Memorial Day thing is going on. And, uh…” He scratched his ear a little. “That ranch outside of
town, they needed housekeeping help and I start over there next week.” He gestured inside. “I put
the guests in one of the deluxe rooms. You know where to find him.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “That’s great, son. Proud of ya.”
As Zach headed back out across the street without a word, Phil stepped slowly and quietly through
the house, careful not to disturb anyone. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected much more than
he got from Zach just then. When he reached the master suite he found Grady passed out on top of
the covers of their sleigh bed, one arm being used for a pillow.
He huffed a quiet breath. Poor man looked so tired. Sad. That would be Phil’s fault, wouldn’t it?
He ran his hand over his head again. Greasy. Grimy. Turning toward the bathroom, he decided to go
ahead and get cleaned up while Grady was passed out. It was getting on toward evening. Maybe after
he showered he could get his husband to rouse, and they could talk. Maybe Phil could at least stay
and help out long enough to make things look good while the guests were around. He owed Grady
and Zach that much.
In the shower, a strange flood of emotion overtook him. The familiar scent of almonds from the soap,
and Grady’s kiwi-lime shampoo. For a brief moment his eyes burned with grief and unshed tears.
He missed this place far more than he’d realized.
He slapped off the water and ran a self-conscious hand over his prickly head. Grady might not even
want him anymore, for all he knew. With a towel around himself, he went to check on Grady, who
was still sleeping. He poked his husband’s shoulder. When that didn’t work, he grabbed hard and
gave it a good shake. “Grady.”
Nothing.
“Grady. Wake up.”
Grady shifted and rolled onto his back.
Charged now with a mix of impatience and concern, Phil got on his knees by the bed and put one
hand on each shoulder, shoving him hard like Grady used to do when Phil overslept for work. “C’mon
dammit, how the hell drunk are you?”
Grady’s sucked in a sharp breath and his eyes fluttered. “What—oh my God, what’s going on?” His
breath sawed in and out, his mouth was slack and his eyes were wide and full of confusion.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay. We’ve got guests checked in and you’ve been passed out here
on the bed for I don’t even know how long.”
“Oh God. Phil.” Grady’s arms went around him, pulling them chest to chest. Grady’s body was warm,
and with the lingering moisture of his shower, cool air of the overhead fan blowing on them and the
top few buttons of Grady’s shirt open, Phil was surprised to find his body responding for the first
time in a long time to his husband’s touch. Very pleasantly surprised.
It wasn’t at all clear where they stood after everything that had happened, though. Phil’s body was a
mess since the accident, and—
Grady’s lips brushed across his. The kiss was simple and undemanding, but it anchored Phil and
reminded him for the second time in only a handful of minutes, that they had so much history
together. Phil’s brain was still fuzzy in places, but his body remembered Grady with crystal clarity. If
he reached out and touched the man, every hill and valley would be familiar to his fingers.
But Phil pulled away from the satisfying scrape of stubble against stubble. “Grady, we need to talk.”
“Later. Please. God, I’m so sorry. About everything.” Grady’s hands rubbed alongside his jaw. “The
shit with Conrad, not being there for you like I should’ve been…” He shook his head. “God damn,
Phil, I’ve fucked up so badly. I still love you so much…”
“I’m sorry, too.” Wasn’t like Phil hadn’t made his share of the mistakes. Grady kissed him again,
pulling their bodies together and licking into his mouth. The taste of whiskey lingered in his mouth,
and Phil groaned and pushed against Grady’s chest. The man’s heart thumped fast and reassuringly
against Phil’s hand. Less authority behind the shove, this time. “You’re still drunk.” This wasn’t right.
Talk first. Get on the same page. That was what they needed.
“Hardly drunk at all.”
Phil’s tired arm wobbled a little, and when Grady refastened his mouth against his and kissed him
like his soul was in it, it was far too easy to give in. With the afternoon sun coming in through the
parts in the drapes, Phil’s towel fell away. Divesting Grady of his clothes was both comfortingly
familiar and breathtakingly brand new. It all happened so fast he could hardly take in what was
happening.
The blood rushed in his veins. Every nerve ending lit up like Christmas and the Fourth of July rolled
into one. It was amazing to be so alive again.
That day he’d driven to Tony’s, thinking that he was making a new start, the excitement had been of
a different kind. A heady, giddy thrill like a kid sneaking away from his parent’s house to attend that
rock concert they kept saying no about. He’d been angry before, about Grady not being there when
the seizures came. But now? He had been so stupid. Spiteful, to throw all those years away. They had
both made mistakes.
Phil was no kid anymore. And as Grady trailed kisses down his neck and over his collarbone, careful
to worship the leftover scars from his accident as he sucked at one nipple and then the other.
Worshipful of the muscles Phil had worked hard to hone at the gym—the ones Phil had come to think
maybe his husband wouldn’t so much appreciate anymore now that he was injured and out of shape
from his hospital stay… As Grady did those things, as the man applied firm, hot suction to his—
holycowyesGLORYhallelujah!—achingly hard cock, and then scissored Phil’s legs and motioned for
him to roll onto his stomach so he could lick a trail up Phil’s back, thread their fingers together, and
whisper “God, I love you. I’m gonna show you just how much,” into Phil’s ear…
Phil was already home. And he wanted to stay there.
***
Quinn tapped his feet impatiently in Oz’s dim office. Damn, but the place was as big as his whole
apartment. Talk about different worlds. “You wanna tell me what we’re doing in here, college boy?”
Oz flicked on a desk lamp—nice desk—big and dark and covered with one of those glass covers and a
huge-assed blotter thing with nary a stray doodle on it. He sat down in the desk chair adjacent to
Quinn’s and swiveled until their knees were touching. A first aid kit plunked down in-between them.
“I’m helping you clean up your hand. Can’t have you bleeding into the drinks.”
Quinn raised his eyebrows. “Mighty nice of you, but I’m a big boy, and I’ve been bandaging my own
boo-boos for quite some time.”
Oz’s nostrils flared and he dug his thumbnails into Quinn’s palm harder than necessary to push the
cut closed.
Ow. “Hey, watch it, asshole!”
Oz pressed his lips together. “Trying to help you out here. If I don’t put a butterfly on it then you’re
gonna need stitches. What happened, anyway?”
“Your brother happened. He went all murder-me Ken Doll, I dropped the glass, got cut picking it
up.”Yanno, cuz I had a major case of the jitters thinking maybe you were about to meet up with the
business end of an implement used for beheadings in most respectable slasher films, but never
mind that.
Oz swabbed some antibiotic ointment over the gash. “You should be more careful next time,” He
murmured. Had his lips been so full when they kissed that night? Must have been.
“Yes, Mister Cotten, sir,” Quinn mumbled. Goddamn, fuck this feelings bullshit already.
This time, Oz kicked him in the shin. “You’re so fucking juvenile.”
“You’re a fine one to talk, you just kicked me in the fucking leg.”
“I don’t know why it is you’ve got such an attitude but it’s grating as almighty hell.”
“That’s real rich, coming from a guy whose daddy just bought off everyone in town so they’d forget
about that big car crash.” Quinn squeezed his eyes shut. Instantly, he hated himself for spitting that
shit out. He was an asshole, sure, but that was a low blow even for him.
For a breath or two, Oz was quiet. He slapped a square bandage over Quinn’s palm and pushed the
chair back. “Look I get it, okay? I was just some rich jerk who hadn’t had a dick up his ass before and
you seem on a constant mission to take me down a peg since then for some reason. Whatever. Not so
hard to do these days.” He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “But you try driving on an icy road with
one crazy fucker pointing a gun at you from the backseat and another one in the passenger’s seat
losing his marbles because he tried to steal a body in the morgue to protect you!” Oz stood in a huff
and started pacing the room with his hands jammed into his usually neat head of hair.
Ho-lee dancing Jeebus. Quinn pressed his brows together. “You didn’t actually…”
“God no, are you fucking kidding me?” Oz stopped pacing and perched on a small table nearby. “No.
Yoshi’s…a sweet guy. A really sweet guy.” He cocked his head to the side. “Seriously though, a little
nuts. We were trying to get the body back to the morgue when Tripp threatened us with the gun, and
that’s how the accident happened.” He breathed a dry laugh. “I’m sure my dad and my lawyer would
both shit hockey sticks if they heard that. I’m not supposed to talk about what happened. Part of the
settlement.”
Quinn found his fingertips digging into the arm of his chair at the wistful tone in Oz’s voice when he
talked about Yoshi, not to mention the reminder that the guy could have been killed not too long ago.
Fuck it all to hell. He sank lower in his hair and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Look, Oz, I—“I’m
sorry I was a dick that morning you wanted to hang out in bed. I’m glad you weren’t hurt worse in
that wreck. I’m being a tool right now because the thing is I keep thinking an awful lot that maybe I
was wrong when I said no second dates. Only, it’d be nice if I actually thought you’d be willing to
be seen with me in public and stuff. Looking around this huge-assed office and your dad’s massive
fucking mansion, I don’t see how I’ve got the first thing to offer that would possibly make you
wanna do that. Sure as hell I ain’t gonna magically grow a set of bangin’ D-cups. “I think it’s real
manly sounding when you talk about sports equipment like that.”
Oz laughed. A real, deep, rumbly laugh that Quinn liked the sound of more than he should have. He
stood and it was like the office had gotten smaller and darker. His clothes rubbed and constricted
uncomfortably. He wanted his T-shirt and his kilt and his boots back.
He jerked a thumb toward the door. “I’d better get back out there. Thanks for patching me up, Oz.”
He held out a hand, an effort to be well-mannered and civil.
When Oz slid his palm against Quinn’s and blue eyes met green, the spark between them was back
again. Undeniable.
“You don’t have to go yet do you?” Oz’s voice was almost a whisper. A dangerously low, guttural, sexy
as all fucking hell whisper.
“Oz.” Quinn glanced at the door. “You’re down a bartender out there, and after that stunt your
brother pulled, the folks are gonna wanna get soused. Trust me. Besides, I’m still on the clock.”
But somehow their bodies got smashed up together and Oz was snuzzling his neck. Warm puffs of air
against Quinn’s throat and ears made his cock throb, hard and furious. “I’m the boss. If I say you
don’t have to go back yet…”
Ah, yes. “Ding, ding, ding! Yeah, see, that’s not cool, Oz. Actually, it’s a little creepy-sounding.” Only,
Quinn didn’t pull back like he meant to. Why that knowledge wasn’t wilting his stiffy, he couldn’t
have said. It was dirty, and strangely hot, all at the same time. Like one of those get-it-on-with-theboss pornos or something. Maybe that was it. For some reason, he’d wound up not really taking any
offers for tail since he’d last visited the land of Oz, as it were. Too much porn. That was his excuse
and he was sticking to it.
Come to think of it, I bet we could fuck on top of that really choice desk over there…
That it was a stupid idea didn’t stop him from grinding against Oz and pushing his tongue into the
guy’s mouth. Oz groaned and deepened the kiss, thrusting back. Quinn’s hands stroked up the man’s
arms—he’d forgotten how great those arms were, all toned and hairy—and pulled up his polo shirt to
expose the golden, ridged skin of Oz’s abs. He worked his hands up to a pair of hard pecs dusted with
dark, curly fur, and before long Oz was going for both their belts, and had their pants and boxers
halfway down. Dicks out and sliding together.
Oh, hell yes.
Quinn wasn’t sure if Oz had locked the door, and as he jacked both of them furiously, the realization
that the lock might not be set excited him even more. And when first one, and then another of Oz’s
hands slid down Quinn’s back, parting his cheeks…
“Holy. Shit. Oz…” Quinn breathed out hard air at the burn of two wet fingers pushing into his ass.
See normally, he didn’t go for that. But before he knew what was happening, he was biting down on
the crook of Oz’s neck. Losing it, knees shaking, spilling over his hand and both their cocks.
“Aww,” Oz breathed. “I wasn’t done yet. I’ve been doing research. Kinda wanted to see what I could
do with my tongue down there.”
Aw, shit. Quinn shuddered and worked Oz faster. “Next time, baby,” he growled. Holy fucking
Montezuma, did he really just say that? Oz was getting off with a shaky breath and a litany of curses
and a smile that Quinn could admit lit up the room a little, and Quinn could hardly think. In his
confusion he stumbled back to pull up his khakis, grabbing the edge of the desk chair with his other
hand. “Ow, hell.”
“Careful,” Oz, said. “Be nice to keep you in one piece for a little while.” He came forward and lifted
the hand to kiss the palm. Quinn was transported back to that watery, cold morning after they’d first
fucked. When Oz had kissed Quinn’s palm, and tried to curl up in bed, and Quinn had kicked him
out.
He clamped his jaw shut and scanned the office again. The elegant, dark, masculine, and very
expensively furnished office. The desk alone probably cost more than any car Quinn had ever paid
for. And Ganesha knew, Daddy Cotten would never approve. Far as Quinn could tell, Daddy Cotten
didn’t approve of much of anything. That thought alone almost made it tempting. Almost.
He looked back into Oz’s blue-eyed gaze and a weird lump formed in his throat. “Yeah,” he said
quietly. “You too, huh. No more car rides with crazy psychos.” They both smiled, and Quinn realized
they hadn’t let go of each other’s hands.
Maybe Quinn was being a dipshit, here. Maybe if he’d stayed in bed that morning instead of flipping
out like a douchey asshat, Oz wouldn’t have had that wreck. Maybe a second date was worth
considering. Maybe—
Banging on the door brought both their heads around.
“Yo, Oz, you in there? It’s Vic Neale. Need you to answer some questions for me.”
Or maybe it was too late.
***
Tony was busy picking up discarded plates—the fancy plastic kind that were made to look like they
weren’t really disposable—and throwing them in the trash, when a hand landed on his shoulder.
Conrad Cotten, the big man himself, smiled at Tony warmly. “You don’t need to do that. You’re not
working today.”
Tony shrugged. “The catering folks seemed busy, and I don’t mind helping.” He’d given up on
looking for Phil, truthfully, and was using the picking up as an excuse so he didn’t look like a total
idiot. People knew. It was a small town, of course people knew. Folks saw him looking around, they’d
know who he was looking for. Not that picking up trash was much in the way of saving face, but at
least everyone knew that was usually one of his jobs.
Conrad reached forward, brushing a finger along the sleeve of Tony’s button-down shirt. “You’re
dressed up today.”
“So are the caterers.”
Mr. Cotten made a small nod. “True. So…” He looked around. “Your man isn’t here, is he?”
“I don’t have a man, Mr. Cotten.” Seemed true enough at this point. He thought about Phil’s request
to talk to Mr. Cotten about Tripp’s blackmail, then thought better of it. Not now, not yet anyway.
The Cotten patriarch made a sympathetic “hmm” noise, and nodded slowly, putting an arm around
Tony’s shoulders. “Yes, I do believe we’ve both been ditched.” The man’s hand squeezed Tony’s
reassuringly. Word around was the guy had a dirty old man vibe, but Tony wasn’t picking that up at
all. Guy actually seemed kind of…nice. “So. Wonder why it is both of us were busy wasting our time
with unavailable married men, Tony.”
Tony shrugged slightly. “I like older men. Dad issues. Plus, Phil made me feel special. Everyone’s
nice to me here, but I’m kind of just the friendly guy who’s an easy fuck. Who’s sort of smart enough
not to be the village idiot but not smart enough to take home to Mom. Guess I thought I finally had a
shot at being something to someone.” He clamped his mouth shut and frowned. What in hell’s name
had possessed him to spit that shit out? To his boss, no less. No wonder everyone thought he was sort
of a moron. He never thought before he spoke. No filter at all.
Up above there was a splash of bright red and green in the dusky sky, and Tony sighed in gratitude
that there was something to focus on other than his stupidity.
“Dad issues, huh?”
“Guess so.” Tony’s face got hot. Apparently they weren’t done with the subject after all.
Another rocket, this one white with a fizzly tail shot into the sky.
“What time you due to work ground crew tomorrow, Tony?”
“Eight a.m., sir.”
Conrad Cotten pulled his arm away, taking a drink of the dark wine in his glass. His eyes were blue
and intense when he stared at Tony. “Well. Seeing as how we’ve both been stood up tonight, and I’m
not your boss again until eight o’clock tomorrow, what say we check out the excellent view of the
fireworks from my office and make each other feel better for a little while?”
Episode 22
S.A. Garcia
Quinn scowled at the door. He dropped his voice to a disbelieving whisper. “What the hairy fuck?
What does Sheriff Handcuffs want now? Hey, invite him in. I bet he’d get his big rocks off over a
impromptu threesome.”
The possessive look Oz aimed at him shouldn’t have excited Quinn in such screaming volume. “Don’t
even think about it.” The look transformed into a demeanor Quinn had never seen on Oz’s face, a
cold, hard expression better suited to the senior Cotten. “All I know I am sick as fuck of our sheriff
acting like a lawman only when the manner suits him. Finish tucking in already.”
Quinn watched Oz adjust his expensive clothing and turn into someone he didn’t know, a person he
wasn’t sure he ever wanted to meet, inflexible and prepared to do damage. Ah fuck, this destructive
side of Oz turned Quinn on even more. “Should I leave? I can sneak out through the garden door.”
Quinn cocked his thumb toward the diamond paned glass door. “Or I can hide in yer bedroom.” He
winked in tease.
“Why leave me?”
“Yo, you wanna talk to him with me here? I thought I need to serve the guests?”
“Fuck the guests. Sending you away is a mistake.” A determined smile stretched Oz’s lips. “After all,
I’d like an audience for this upcoming confrontation. I want you to be my audience.” Oz grasped
Quinn’s palm and kissed the bandage. “Today you bled for my family. I think I owe you.”
The door rattled again. The knob twisted. The brass fixture tried to leap free from the ornate screw
plate and commit metallic suicide. For some reason the knob didn’t want any part of the impending
situation. “Open up already!”
Fuck, Voyeur Vic sounded ready to pop a blood vessel. Something nasty twisted his balls. As much as
Oz’s sweet request to remain created smarmy warmth in his brain, Quinn wondered if lingering for
the action seemed smart. The bar did need his skills. Fuck, really, the two other hayseeds working the
bar barely understood how to mix a proper rum and cola. If someone ordered something fancy like a
Vesper Martini or a Zombie, the ass-wipes would look for a motorbike or a horror flick.
Yeah, right now Quinn wanted to knock back a few emotion-squashing shots. He glanced around at
the polished wooden surfaces. Huh, no crystal brandy decanter occupied a fancy silver tray. What the
balls, TV rich folk always had booze decanters in their office.
Ah hell, instead of protesting, he reached out and mussed Oz’s hair. “Fuck, let the mooching asses go
thirsty. Ya just make sure I get paid for the entire time, boss.”
“Deal.” Oz smoothed back his hair and turned toward the door.
Vic’s voice hammered the door in wrecking ball intent. “Oz? You think I’m deaf? A maid said she saw
you come in here to administer first aide. In case you did experience a hearing-impaired moment, I
said I need to talk to you about Rider’s chainsaw stunt and the discovery of a rotting head.”
The sheriff acted like a primo dick. Quinn made a decision. “Oz, hold up.”
The older man twisted back toward Quinn. “What?”
Power flowed through Quinn’s muscles. “Did I ever tell ya that Vic is a voyeur?”
“How do you…”
Oz’s sharp intake of breath made Quinn smirk. “Yep. He’s a fuckin’ Peepin’ Tom. A sleazy windowpane licker. I never checked, but there’s probably a slimy spunk bush growing under my window.”
“Thanks, baby.” This time Oz’s smile matched a shark’s smelling blood.
Baby again. Sorta sweet but too fast in the timeline. Not the time to creep out over the word, not
when showtime had arrived. Quinn collapsed into a chair and watched Oz stride across the room.
The elegant man unlocked the door. His stern demeanor reminded Quinn of a P-town summer when
someone had made the brutal mistake of mocking one fierce drag queen’s summer frock. “Sheriff,
will you please stop bellowing in the hallways? We are hosting a civilized party, not a hog-calling
contest. Come in already.”
****
This must be an out of body experience. Tony’s rational brain refused to believe that he followed
Conrad up to his office in the main building. Wait, the situation seemed perfect. Being alone offered
him the chance to get Conrad to open up to him, to maybe drop a secret or two. He kicked the
common sense urge that had told him not to pursue this avenue under the rug. Not under dead
leaves, no fucking way. The sick event earlier in the day made him swear off dead leaves and strolling
in the woods maybe forever. He wanted to tell someone about the disgusting head, but Sheriff
Neale’s stern admonishment to remain silent or else convinced Tony to shut up. He had heard
rumors about the sheriff’s sexual proclivities, but the big man still owned the ability to scare even the
innocent.
He still wondered why the gruesome sight didn’t freak him out more. Some weird form of latent
shock? Yeah, maybe the same shock made him accompany Conrad to his office for… what?
Wait. Did he hear someone yelling over in the family wing? “Mr. Cotten, did you just hear a raised
voice?”
Conrad’s harsh, dismissive laugh did nothing for Tony’s twitchy nerves. “No doubt it’s Rider pitching
a typical fit. I locked him in his room and took away his iPhone. His little stunt at my party
displeased me.”
“Umm, yes, he did act strange.”
“Strange? His stunt sailed beyond strange. He made a dangerous, juvenile decision to act out because
he expects me to play Lord of the Manor to someone I don’t even know or care about. I refuse to
suffer any more of his nonsense. I want Rider out of here, but first I need to discuss the situation
with Oz. Perhaps we can convince my wastrel son to enjoy an extended European vacation.”
Tony swallowed. The tone of Conrad’s voice made Tony think the father wanted to pay for the son to
be kidnapped and abandoned in a ruined Transylvanian castle. Why did Conrad reveal such details
to him? “Mr. Cotten, it is a shame how things have played out for you.”
“Is it?”
Way to not encourage answers! “Well, with the accident, and the surrounding hub-bub…” Tony
trailed off in hope of gaining a response. He also halted before he said anything rash about Grady
and Phil or Grady and Conrad.
The older man’s right hand waved at the air. “Mere unfortunate events which I strive to overcome.
Here we are.”
Conrad’s welcoming tone didn’t match his smile. Something hungry lurked in the smile. Tony hoped
he viewed mere lust, nothing more.
****
Vic’s eruption into the room reduced the office’s grand scale. His angry stare focused on Quinn.
“What the hell are you doing here, bartender?”
Years of enduring too many dismissive stares tripped Quinn’s bitch switch. He held up his bandaged
hand and wagged his fingers. “Boss Cotten wanted to make sure I didn’t bleed into the guest’s party
drinks. Ya know, I mix a kick-ass Bloody Mary, but I never seep real blood into the drink. Surprise,
the rich dude is a regular Flo Nightingale.”
“Isn’t that a delightful revelation? Thank you for the useless details.” The voyeur’s insulting tone
raked across Quinn’s nerves. “Well, Quinn, I want to talk to Oz alone. Take a quick walk back to the
bar.”
Oz shook his head. “Excuse me, Vic, you are in my home, and I don’t appreciate you ordering around
my—dear friend. If you want to talk to me alone, give me a good reason.”
The handsome sheriff propped one big hand on his hip. He glowered at the smiling Oz. “Pushing me,
are we?”
More than ever Quinn wished he had popcorn and a beer. Forget seeing titans clash on the big
screen. This small scale live event suited him fine. Watching two studly males taunt each other
stiffened his cock. He hoped the clash didn’t end with Vic snapping cuffs on Oz’s fine wrists before
Quinn had the chance to force them over the handsome man’s head. Speaking of heads, what the hell
did Oz have to do with a rotting head? Gross.
“I don’t push at all. I resent you barging into my private suite after yelling in the hallway. What if the
guests hear your commotion?”
“They are too busy gathering to watch the fireworks to worry about the commotion. Hell, man, after
the commotion your shithead brother created, nothing I yell will top that. Wait, I could march out
there and ask if anyone knows anything suspicious about the rick folks who run this place.” Vic
crossed his arms and cocked his head in open antagonism.
Quinn swallowed. No shit, Vic’s mammoth cock pressed hard against his uniform trousers. This
scene excited him just as much as it did Quinn. He glanced at Oz’s expensive Chinos. No, okay, Oz’s
cock didn’t tent his trousers. Why did Oz’s defiance excite Vic? What had Quinn missed here?
****
Rider stalked around his suite raking his fingers through his hair. His fucking dad was a piece of
maggot-infested shit. Yeah, dear Daddy had paid lip service to Oz before he strong armed Rider to
his room with the help of that fucking cop. The rage filling his father’s muscles made Rider realized
his stunt had backfired. Imagine Oz stepping in to help. What a sick joke. Goody-two shoes Oz could
bluster and threaten all he wanted to, but he had forgotten dear daddy’s dark, vindictive streak.
No one planned to do anything for Yoshi. Fuck it, if Yoshi remained in that Podunk hospital, he’d
never recover.
If Yoshi didn’t recover, Rider couldn’t enjoy his revenge. Fucking bitchy bad luck. Imagining taking
revenge on Yoshi helped Rider keep a little piece of his soul intact. Yoshi’s suffering in the hospital
didn’t count. Rider needed to make the suffering personal. The dumb prick didn’t even understand
what he had done to Rider. Rider planned to remind Yoshi in fucking clear terms.
Another prowling circuit brought him to the tall windows facing the rolling lawns and the lake. Not
as fine a view as the paying guests enjoyed, but what did that matter?
“Fucking old bastard!” Rider slapped a wall. Everything foul spun back to Dad. Old Conrad Cotten
wanted everything. The old prick imitated a sucking black hole. When Mom had stuck it to the old
man, Rider celebrated. He didn’t care, as long as the money remained in the family. Mom’s checks
came in handy.
Tonight Mom’s money didn’t buy Rider out of this mess. What the fuck had he been thinking? A
fucking chainsaw? He was lucky he hadn’t chopped off his own head let alone another guest’s arm.
Sam. He need to reach Sam. Wait, fuck, what if the covetous old bastard had gotten to Sam first?
Rider remembered how Daddy Perv had ogled Sam like he was a prime steak cut. Sam wasn’t above
being paid off for services rendered.
Rider ran and slammed his fists against the door again. Locked in like a naughty child!
He needed to escape. Rider turned and stared around the room in frantic intent. His stare fixed on a
decorative hot chili pepper and lime scented candle he had received as a gag gift. Hmm. He studied
the filmy lace inserts hiding beyond the thick blue drapes. He hated those dainty things. Or at least
he had until now.
Despite the cooling night temperature, Rider opened the windows. The frisky breeze fluttered one
insert over his small oak desk.
A pack of matches from the Bear & Bones came in handy. Rider snickered, yeah, the B&B located on
Candle Street. How cute. “Thanks, B&B.”
He lit the candle and carried the weight to his desk.
*****
“Don’t you like the port?”
Tony obediently sipped more and shrugged. “The flavor is a little, well, thick.”
“The flavor needs to sink in. Drink more for me.” Tony obeyed. He winced at the medicinal flavor.
This night turned a little strange. Tony drank down half the glass before he gasped for air. Conrad
tapped the crystal to Tony’s lips in command. He drank the remainder. Wow. What potent shit.
“There. Please relax already. I’m not going to bite you, well, not unless you want me to nip. Look,
what a wonderful light show! The silver and purple blast looks spectacular.” Conrad’s powerful hand
gripped the back of Tony’s neck and squeezed. “Strip down for me. You are such a beautiful man. I
want to see if your body matches your face.”
Tony swallowed in surprise. The advantage in height the older man had on him made Tony feel oddly
powerless. Well, he had come up here expecting something to happen, not just to chat. The strong
port made him feel fuzzy and warm. “Okay, sure.”
Conrad stepped back and pushed his office chair into the room’s center. “Stand before the window.
That way I can enjoy both shows.”
Tony posed before the window. His fingers started unbuttoning his dress shirt.
“Please, Tony, do you plan to stand there like a statue? Come on, young man, you are the center of
my attention. Act worthy of my regard.” Conrad smiled in anticipation. “Maybe dance for me?”
Dance? Okay, that sounded peculiar but why not? Tony urged himself to relax and let the port’s
warmth defeat his muscles. He swayed his hips, back and forth, round and round. Why the fuck not?
He flapped his shirt open and shut in what he hoped looked like enticement. He decided gaining any
answers from slick Conrad didn’t seem likely. He worked off his trousers and kicked them off along
with his shoes and socks. His stiffening cock pendulumed from thigh to thigh. The firework’s flashes
created light streaks on his skin.
Conrad’s applause made him grin. He took a little bow and twirled.
“Excellent. Mmm, you are a beautiful man. How far will you go for me tonight?”
“Mr. Cotten?”
“Tony, please, call me Conrad.”
Tony felt ridiculously thrilled. “Sure, Conrad.” He swayed his hips again. “What do you want me to
do now?”
“Open the lower desk drawer. Extract what you find in the black velvet bag. Keep dancing but turn
toward me.”
Tony swayed his ass at Conrad and leaned down. His fingers extracted a battery-powered dildo and
lube from the bag. Oookaay, this scene turned a little kinky.
Across the room, Conrad sounded breathless in excitement. “Do you think you can dance and
pleasure yourself? I’d love to see the sight.”
*****
“Before you run around asking meaningless questions of the guests, care for a drink? I know you are
on duty, but that never stops you from the occasional indulgence, eh, Sheriff?” Oz stood and opened
the bottom cabinet in the tall bookshelf. Quinn smirked in satisfaction. There, the rich dude hid his
hooch.
“Cognac?”
“No thank you, sir.”
“Yo, count me in.” A tense silence accompanied Oz serving the tawny-hued liquor. Quinn had never
developed a taste for the expensive shit, but he appreciated the numbing warmth. Great, Oz left the
decanter within reach.
Oz settled back behind his desk and gestured to the seat next to Quinn. “Please, Sheriff, don’t stand
on ceremony. Sit.”
A sound more suited to an angry bear slipped free. The big man shifted from foot to foot in prelude
to aggressive attack. “I prefer to stand.”
“Suit yourself.” Oz leaned back and tented his fingers. He tapped the tips together. “Now, to answer
one of your accusations, my brother Rider performed a little entertainment for the guests, a
performance art stunt. Judging by the excited reaction, his act hit the proper chord.” A saintly smile
appeared.
Quinn somehow halted his snort of disbelief. Man, that lie stank like a bean fart. He glanced between
Oz and Vic. The sheriff’s incredulity tried overpowering Oz’s confident smile. “Oswald Cotten, in my
years in the law, I have heard some fucking whoppers, but your lie just set a new extreme.”
Oz examined his fingernails. “Not only do you barge into my personal space, but you also accuse me
of lying. Vic, you certainly aren’t racking up the popularity points.”
“Playing Sheriff Popular isn’t my plan. When you spin out lies, it makes me wonder what else you lie
to me about during questioning.”
“Questioning? When have you ever officially questioned me?” Quiet triumph coated Oz’s tone.
This skirmish kicked a movie’s ass. Quinn sipped and regarded Vic. The sheriff’s initial rage had
diminished into beginning bewilderment. Old Vic had never expected this level of what, play,
offensive play, hell, call it outright attack from Oz. “After how I have prot—“ Vic swallowed. He
turned his glare to Quinn. “I’m sure I can find something to take you in for questioning about,
smartass. I don’t need you sitting here smiling at me. Beside, isn’t it about time for you to pull up
stakes and sneak off somewhere else for the summer? That’s your usual procedure, right? Kick back
for the season then when you get in hot water or annoy the wrong person, you split the scene. Where
are you off to next? The summer season starts reaaaaalll soon, reds.”
The injured look Oz tossed his way infuriated Quinn. Yeah, he shouldn’t feel surprised that Vic had
investigated him. “Sorry, dude, this time I plan to park my pale ass here for the summer. There’s too
much going on in the Falls for me to want to, as you say, split the scene.” He had received an offer
from a great bar at Rehoboth Beach but had turned them down.
Oz’s take control tone dominated the room. “Sheriff, pardon me, but we are not here to talk about
Quinn. Now what is this about a rotting head?”
*****
Tony worked the lubed dildo up his ass in easy motion. His muscles relaxed to accept the slick hard
plastic. Conrad stood and walked until he stood next to Tony. His fingers trailed down Tony’s back to
carefully rock the dildo inward. Tony gasped in acceptance. “Do you need help, dear Tony?” The
dildo urged in for another half inch. “There you go.” Conrad’s hand started moving the dildo in a
smooth, steady motion. “Do you want me to turn it on for you?
“Please, Conrad.” Ahhh fuck yeah, the pulsing vibrations jerked Tony’s body in pleasure.
“Why did you come up here with me? I’m sure you didn’t come up here only to ass swallow a dildo
for me. Tell me the truth.”
The sad tone in Conrad’s voice jerked Tony from his pleasure. Conrad sounded like a lonely man.
“Tonight, Conrad, you seemed like you needed attention. You are a very handsome man. I’m curious
about you.” Despite his resolve to not become mixed up with someone else, Conrad’s dominant
persona rocked Tony’s cock. He did want to know why Conrad had singled him out.
“Really. Ah yes, you do appreciate older men.” Conrad continued his stroking, back and forth. Tony
worried about coming on the floor.
“Will you dance for me again? Ah, see, the fireworks display is ending. Dance for me before the final
glow.” Conrad patted the dildo a final time and returned to his chair. “After tonight, you deserve a
bonus.”
At least Conrad enjoyed Tony’s performance. The bonus suggestion made Tony feel a little like a
whore, but so what. He hardly planned to turn down the offer. He returned to his dancing. Dancing
while clutching the vibrating dildo deep inside seemed oddly effortless. Tony twirled and pranced.
Conrad’s merry applause encouraged Tony to bend over and shake his dildo-adorned ass at his boss.
His balls collected for a finale. He swung upright and arched his back just as his cum shot into the air
to splatter over Conrad’s desk. The seemingly endless fireworks finale cast multi-hued tints over his
spew.
Whew, his orgasm knocked the sense from him. Exhaustion and stress from the day’s earlier
gruesome discover conspired to conquer Tony’s euphoria. Aw fuck. Tony sank to his knees and
pressed his forehead into the expensive carpet.
“Tony, are you all right?”
“Just tired, Conrad. Today was such a weird day.” He felt Conrad slide the dildo from his ass.
“I agree. Just relax. You thrilled me. Tony, we need to discuss your future.” Rustling sounded in
Tony’s hearing. A warm, hairy chest pressed to his back. An erect cock pressed between his cheeks.
Strong hands ran over his arm muscles.
He snuggled back. Tony owned the feeling they had finished round one. Wow, judging from the huge
erection teasing his ass, round two had just soared into place.
****
Oz’s insulting laughter made Quinn pour out more brandy. That shit tasted super smooth. The taste
reminded him of the times a few famous rich assholes tried to seduce him using pricey drinks. Pricks.
A cold spike rammed into his spine. How did this night seem any different? Fuck that, unless Vic
hauled Oz away, Quinn sensed a chanced for a spectacular second date. Watching Oz taunt the
infuriated lawman turned on Quinn to the point of near rupture.
“Vic, Vic, Vic, what you describe has nothing to do with me. I’ve done research and learned a few
lessons about you. Why do you always question me in an unofficial capacity? Your whole ‘gee, I am
your pal, your protective buddy’ is bullshit. Tell me, old pal, does the subject of handcuffs and
voyeurism alarm you?”
Vic lunged forward and slammed his large hands against the polished wood. “Are you threatening an
officer of the law?”
“Am I? I thought I merely made an observation.” Oz settled back in his chair and sipped his cognac.
Quinn adored how the fireworks painted the sky behind the drama.
He sipped and wondered which man would snap first.
Vic’s right hand slapped the desk again. “Fine. Tonight you decided to play your games. Next time I
won’t go easy on you.”
“If you have solid proof, not speculations and nonsense, I agree, take me in.” Oz held up his wrists in
mocking presentation. “I know how much you adore handcuffs, sheriff.”
“Fuck you, Cotten. This isn’t the end of this discussion.” Vic stormed from the office. The slamming
door rattled the frame. Somehow the reluctant doorknob remained in place.
“Wrong, sonabitch, the conversation has ended.” Oz collapsed into his padded leather chair and
shook his head. “That was a fucking chore. How did I sound?”
Quinn stared at Oz. He started laughing like an insane hyena. “Your lie about Rider sucked, but aside
from that you fucked his world hard. What the fuck is up between you two, aside from Vic’s dick?”
“What?”
“Dude, I’m surprised that Sheriff Shackled didn’t limp from the room. He packed a serious woody.
You arguing with him got him going in a huge way.”
An odd expression flickered across Oz’s features. Quinn narrowed his eyes. “Yo, did you and he…”
Oz held up a halting hand. “No. Never.”
“Ya know I did him. Once was enough. Not that I didn’t have fun, but fuckin’ a cop makes me
squirrely, especially one who likes to fuck in alleyways.”
Fresh disbelief made Oz look even tastier. He shook his head. “Hell, I tried to put seeing that out of
my mind. I forgot you also saw the action.”
Quinn pressed his pointer finger to his lips and puckered his lips in mock dismay. “Whoops, dearie
me, I see lots of things around dis place. See, ain’t I a fucking fount of knowledge?”
This time Oz appeared puzzled. “I know I haven’t been back here too long, but I received the
impression that the Sheriff enjoyed a good reputation. I wonder why the hell he works so hard to
ruin himself.”
“Like I told you, the dude picked me up at a freakin’ rest stop. But yeah, why does he wanna kill his
career? I didn’t appreciate a few of his shitty remarks, but I ain’t gonna blow the whistle on him. I
know you won’t because you love the power trip you slammed on him.”
“You make me sound like an asshole.”
“I won’t think you’re an asshole if you give me another crack at yours.” Quinn inhaled a deep breath.
“Let me tell you I have a thing about second dates. But since I ain’t got no plan to skip off this
summer, I’ll make an exception for you.”
Oz’s deep laughter tingled Quinn’s cock. “I’m honored, dear sir. Now if you’ll come right this way, I
have a bed I’d like to show you.” The heir to the Cotten legacy began unbuttoning his shirt. Quinn
tossed off his clothing and managed to fall into the orgy-worthy bed before Oz finished slipping his
white boxers down his muscular thighs.
“Dude, man, white boxers? I noticed that before.” Quinn directed his chin toward his discarded red
boxers. “I think you can afford ones with colors, right?”
Oz dropped atop of Quinn’s pale muscularity. “I don’t notice such nonsense. This, yes, this I notice.”
His fingertips pressed against Quinn’s massive erection in flute-player’s precision. He tapped up and
down. His thumb teased at the beginning drops.
Quinn gasped and grinned. Hey, if his dick started releasing notes, cool, he could make a mint from
owning a musical cock. Instead only more salty drops leaked free. He arched his hips in appreciation.
“Back off already. That is unless you wanna test your sword swallowing skills.”
Oz sat and batted his fingers against Quinn’s erection. “Why not? We have hours to play.” He leaned
down. His lips teased across Quinn’s cock.
Wow. Too much stimulation. Quinn surged up and grasped Oz’s hair. “Dude, bad idea.”
“Why?”
Yeah, fuck, why? Quinn knew he was negative. He hadn’t enjoyed unprotected sex since like the
stone ages. “You are such a fuckin’ innocent. All this money and power yet you are just a babe in the
wilderness.”
Warm laughter teased against Quinn’s cock. He squirmed in pleasure.
“Care to drop a few more clichés on me?”
Quinn’s fingers batted at Oz’s head. He made sure he messed up Oz’s hair again. “Smarty pants
bitch.” They laughed. Oz leaned up and hugged Quinn in a wrestle-worthy squeeze. Man, so much Oz
flesh slamming close tested Quinn’s control. He jerked free. Their lips traveled over flesh: pale,
golden, hairy, smooth. Fingers teased hard cocks in silent challenge.
This seemed natural. Quinn twisted against Oz. They kissed hard enough to click teeth. “Whatta you
want, rich bitch, a suck or a fuck?”
“Right now I want to feel you against me. I want everything because everything feels new. Give me a
fresh experience.”
“The dealio works for me.” Quinn maneuvered Oz to the mattress. Before Quinn mounted his attack,
Oz tensed and looked up toward the ceiling. He frowned and sniffed.
Quinn huffed in mock annoyance. “Excuse me, I do not stink.”
“Fuck, it’s not you. Do you smell smoke?”
Did he? A little tang filled the air. “Yeah, come on, the reek is probably from the fireworks. Don’t
sweat it.” Quinn didn’t want to waste their erections. He kissed then nipped, yeah, he worked his way
down Oz’s straining throat until he attacked Oz’s hairy chest. He bit nipples and applied his teeth to
Oz’s hard abs, bit in deep enough to cause red welts. A gasp sounded above him. Good, Oz yanked
hard at Quinn’s messy hair. The rich boy entered into the game’s spirit.
Quinn nipped his way over Oz’s firm lower belly, back and forth like a manic typewriter. Pubic hair
turned into a messy hedge deserving cropping. Quinn bit and yanked. Oz’s yelps and frantic hair
pulling told Quinn he hit the pleasure zone.
Fuck, Oz still smelled classy, like a mix of sweat, musk and expensive herbal cologne. His musk
forced Quinn’s teeth to nip and tug until his lips massaged over Oz’s hard cock. Quinn rarely sucked
anyone’s cock because latex spoiled the fun, but tonight he knew he sucked virgin territory. The
concept thrilled him.
“Ready, baby?”
Oz gasped out a question. “For what?”
“The time of your life.” Quinn worked his lips over Oz’s cock, bobbed down to take the warm length
into his mouth, released and repeated the drill. The joy of working a free cock hammered Quinn’s
cock into wild excitement. Virgin cock. Fuck, outstanding. He imagined himself as a settler claiming
new territory. Quinn never cared much for history, but his act turned historic. He twisted to lick Oz’s
balls, traced his taint, tongue-prodded his asshole and twisted back to speed up the ritual. Again.
Again. Oz’s musk deepened in need.
His prodding tongue knew that Oz soared toward a quick release. His lover’s, fuck, had he really used
that dangerous word, cock tensed in primal finish. Quinn devoted time to hoovering his lips up and
down Oz’s cock. He didn’t want to miss the virgin spew.
Oz’s fingers mauled Quinn’s hair into serious abuse. A low growl attacked the air. Quinn accepted the
hot rush flowing from Oz’s cock. He let himself go against Oz’s knee. Why not?
Overhead a scream shattered the air.
Luckily Quinn jerked back from Oz’s cock without causing damage. Fuck! He looked up at Oz’s
concerned features. “What the hairy fuck?”
“Look, really, I smell smoke.”
As if in agreement, fire alarms squealed in annoying volume. Quinn inhaled and coughed. Yeah, no
blaming that problem on the fireworks. “What the fuck is on fire?”
“Rider’s room is upstairs.” Oz rolled, yanked on his boxers and ran. Quinn followed him. Fuck,
running naked felt stupid and uncomfortable. Upstairs the smoke thickened into a rolling gray fog.
“Rider? Are —”
“Oz!” Panicked hammering shook the door. “Dad locked me in. The curtains are on fire! Help me!”
What a crazy-assed situation. Yeah, Rider was a rich prick, but even he didn’t deserve to fry in a fire.
Wait, fuck, why not? Quinn flexed his legs and waved Oz back. “Let me try this move.” He paced
back, ran, and leapt in a flying snowboard maneuver. His heels slammed the door at the lock. Ouch!
Quinn bounced back from the door and fell to the floor. Shit, that hurt! He stared up at Oz. “Fuck!
What the fuck is that door made of, iron?”
Rider screamed again. “Heeeelp me! The fire is spreading fast!”
As Quinn scrambled to his feet, the men stared at each other in alarm. “That end table! Maybe we
both can break the door.” Oz and Quinn each grabbed a side of the antique table.
A commanding voice almost made Quinn drop the table. “What the hell is going on here?”
Quinn halted and turned around. No surprise, Oz glared at his father. “You cruel bastard, you better
hope Rider isn’t hurt because you locked him in. Where’s the fucking key?”
Quinn hated how his cock reacted to Oz’s fresh fury, but he loved how old man Cotten admired his
naked body. Conrad’s beard almost quivered in approval. “In my study.” Conrad turned and ran.
“Quinn, let’s see if we can do something now. One-two-three…” They slammed the table into the
door.
****
Zach shifted against the snoring Adam and peered into the air. What woke him up? Refinishing the
floor while drinking beers had done them in way too soon. Earlier when Adam suggested fucking in
the kitchen, the stunt had appealed to the shit-faced Zach. Not smart for the body, especially when
they rolled around against the cold metal counter. His lower back felt like someone had kicked a few
muscles. “Hey, do you hear that sound?”
Adam started and blinked at Zach in the dim light. “Huh? No. Hear what?”
“There, listen.” Zack sat up and concentrated. “Hear the fire engines?”
“Please, probably some stupid stray firework set a pine tree on fire.” Adam pulled Zach back into the
wrinkled tablecloth nest pushed against the industrial refrigerator. “Now that we’re awake…” Adam’s
warm fingers teased against Zach’s cock.
“Back off, Chef Romeo. Time for slap and tickle later. Right now I’m hungry for more of your
delicious cheddar and chive crab dip.” Zach shrugged off Adam’s sleepy attentions and stood. He
stretched. Making love in the kitchen had thrilled him, sorta like fucking in a public space, but
sleeping on the hard floor defeated his body. He shook stiffness from his muscles and walked to the
counter containing the remains of their post-refinishing festival. Bottles littered the metal surface.
Yeah, fuck, they had downed too many beers.
Despite the large fans sucking out the air through the open dining room windows, the smell of
polyurethane still hung heavy in the air. Zach crinkled his nose. Yeah, trying to finish the job in one
day had also been stupid. This time Zack blamed Adam for the planning lack.
Behind him the back door lock clicked like a rifle shot. The door creaked open in warning.
Zach whirled around in panic. Adam looked ready to puke.
What the fuck?
Episode 23
Sara York
Dot screeched, Adam jumped up, scrambling to hide his privates and Zach covered his dick with his
hand. “Oh my. What the...I’ve never...Adam, put your clothes on and Zach...I don’t know what to
say.”
Heat raced up Adam’s neck to his face and across his chest. He knew his fair skin was redder than a
lobster dropped in boiling water. Fuck, so embarrassing to have been caught. “I’ll scrub the kitchen
with bleach.”
“You sure will. Seriously, sex on the floor here? What were you two thinking?”
“Could you turn?” Zach asked, using his free hand to gesture.
“Oh, yes. Sorry.” Dot spun around and covered her eyes, her shoulders shook as though she were
crying. Hell, Adam hadn’t meant to do this, not now. And he certainly hadn’t wanted Zach’s
grandmother to catch them ass naked. At least she hadn’t come in when they’d been in the middle of
sex. Fuck, what an eyeful. Zach on his knees, Adam behind, balls slapping, chests slick with sweat,
come arching out of Zach’s dick as they came in unison. Hell, he was going to get hard again just
thinking about fucking Zach. Of course nothing compared to the first time they actually fucked. Even
thought he’d been drunk, something special happened that night not long ago when they’d finally
coupled, their bodies intertwined as Zach pounded into him, locking them together in the perfect
union. God, how poetically stupid was he? But he loved Zach and was glad the man had finally
agreed to love him back.
“Are you two dressed?” Mrs. Boxer asked, her voice breaking.
“I’m so sorry. It will never happen again.” Ashamed he’d made Dot cry, Adam went to her, placing
his arm over her shoulder and spun her around. Laughter filled the kitchen, bouncing off the solid
surfaces, tears streamed down her face.
“You’re laughing?” Zach asked.
“Yes, now clean up the place. Really, sex in the kitchen.” Dot began pulling bread off the shelf, her
gaze darting to Adam’s every so often as she tried to hid her snickers.
“Yes grandmother dearest,” Zach sassed.
“Hey, don’t get a smart mouth young man. I’ve seen your dick.”
“Gawd, don’t remind me,” Zach whined
“Adam dear?”
“Yes, Mrs. Boxer.”
“Call me Dot.”
“Sorry, just a little mortified. If I could crawl under a rock, I would.”
“You’re not the first couple to have sex in here and I’m sure you won’t be the last. Anyway, that’s
neither here nor there. A fire broke out at the Cotten’s place. We need to put together some
sandwiches for the firemen. Only a few, it’s not a big fire from what I understand, but you know how
much a bit of support will help, God forbid, if there’s ever a fire here.”
“I’ll help,” Zach offered.
“But first, the two of you are going to swab the surfaces with bleach. Seriously, sex in the kitchen.
What a shame I didn’t get a peek.”
Zach and Adam voiced their incredulity together. “Dot!”
“Grandma!”
****
Rider sat in the back of the ambulance, an oxygen mask over his face, his hands clenched in his lap.
Conrad huffed, his eyes narrowed in disgust. The old man’s mouth moved more than once but no
words came out. Finally, when Rider swore the crazy fuck was going to leave before speaking, the
words flowed.
“You’re out of control. I’ve called the helicopter pilot, he’ll fly Yoshi over to Boston when the medical
staff thinks he’s safe to travel.”
“Oh my God, thanks Dad. I swear--”
“Shut it. You don’t get off easy. The only way he’s going to Boston is if you agree to enter a treatment
facility and stay for two weeks. No, make that three.”
“No fucking way.” For a moment Rider thought Conrad would burst into flames, his expression so
severe.
“Young man, you have no options. You’re either being cut off, or you are going in for a cooling off
period.”
Rider stared at his father, unsure what his reaction should be. Hell, he thought Daddy Cotten didn’t
give a shit. Growing up his dad never paid enough attention to measure out any discipline. Sure, he’d
been slapped on the wrist when his wild ways got too messy, but everything he’d ever done had been
cleaned up easily, not one consequence in the end. Part of him wanted to tell Conrad to fuck off, but
deep inside was a tiny shred of the little boy he’d been that still craved his father’s attention. And
how sad was he for admitting the weakness? Willing to bend and cower for Conrad’s love.
Rider glanced out the window of the ambulance. His gaze raking over the firemen, the town’s people,
and his brother, Oz. Curious, his body language displayed possession towards the red haired
bartender. Oz, who’d ever thought the straight man was gay? This place was getting too weird. A
break might do him some good. Maybe he’d find something fun to do while locked up, maybe scare
up a new connection or two.
“Fine, I’ll go,” Rider huffed out.
“When you get back, we will sit down and have a very long conversation.”
Hugging would have been awkward, and Conrad seemed to understand as he stood stiffly, his hand
hesitantly patting Rider’s shoulder. “Three weeks.”
Fuck, how was he going to keep tabs on Yoshi and exact his revenge? Maybe the revenge should
shoot to the back burner for a while. If he played nice over the summer, his father would trust him
again, granting him enough leash to take the bastard down.
****
Putting the fire behind him had been easy, but stopping the erotic thoughts of Quinn proved more
than difficult. Two weeks had flown by without really seeing the man. Sure, they’d run into each
other once or twice, but never when they were alone. They’d only lost three days of guests, shuttling
them over to Phil and Grady’s B&B. Grady had sobered up and Phil was almost back to his normal
self. From what he’d heard the man’s memory was coming back slowly as his neural function
improved.
Quinn was another story all together. Seemed like he’d lost his memory of their encounters, treating
Oz like a stranger in the bar the two times he’d stopped by right after the Memorial Day fiasco.
Tonight he sat outside of Quinn’s place, waiting for him to return. This couldn’t go on. He couldn’t go
on. He craved the taste of Red on his tongue and tonight, God willing, he was going to lick his man
from stem to stern, tasting parts he’d never tasted before.
The shadows moved in his rearview mirror and Oz peered over his shoulder, catching sight of a
beautiful shock of red hair. His gaze dipped lower and lust pounded against his chest, stealing his
breath away. Fuck, the dude had stripped out of his shirt, only wearing his boots and red plaid kilt,
held in place with his thick black belt. The tattoo’s only visible when he passed in a shaft of light. The
cherry glow of a cigarette moved to his mouth. He flicked the stub away, not really taking a puff.
When Quinn came even with Oz’s bumper he stopped.
Oz stepped out of the car, suddenly unsure if Quinn wanted him. Fuck, he was Oz Cotten, one of the
richest, most powerful men in the county, but right now with Quinn cutting him a glance that said
No way rich boy, he felt smaller than shit. “I want to talk.”
“Be real. You want to fuck.”
“That too.”
“Is that all you think of me? A fuck?” Quinn tilted his head up, shooting Oz another zinger of a look.
“Quinn, for the life of me I don’t know what I want you to be.”
“I should leave town.”
“I think I’m falling for you.”
Quinn sucked in a breath, his hands going to Oz’s car to steady himself. “I can’t.”
“Okay, maybe I’m a douche bag for saying that, but I don’t want you to run away. Not yet.”
“You going to dispose of me when you get tired of playing fuck the nut.”
Oz shut the door to his car and locked the vehicle up tight. He stepped around the end, drawing
closer to the sexy man he more than lusted for. “Two months ago, yeah, that was the plan. Fuck you
and run. But that was the plan for everyone I slept with. Love ‘em and leave ‘em. You know how that
works.”
“Yeah, no ties binding you.”
“I want you to bind me.”
Quinn reached out, grasping onto Oz’s forearm. “What?”
“Not that way. Okay, maybe that way. I don’t know. I want something from you. Something dark and
dangerous and a little bit light and soft. Sounds crazy, right? I want something I’ve never had from
anyone else, and I think you’re the only person in existence who can deliver.
“That was a mouthful to say.”
“Don’t use your quirky humor, Red, to weasel out of this. You feel it too. I can see it when we’re
together.”
“What, a couple of fucks and you think you know me?” Quinn’s body stiffened, his words harsh.
Oz stepped forward, so close to Quinn they were almost touching, but no part of his body touched the
fiery man, he made sure to keep a cushion of air between them, so when they did touch, the contact
would be blistering. “No, that’s the issue. I want to know you. To wake with you beside me. I want to
do movie night with you where we end up fucking instead of watching the stupid flick. Maybe tossing
some popcorn at each other as we flirt. Sharing a meal every day and drinking coffee in the morning.
Think that might work?”
Quinn did nothing for a long moment and Oz was sure he’d made the biggest mistake of his life. He
sighed, closing his eyes. Shock coursed through him when Quinn’s mouth smoothed over his, a light
brush of lips, sweet instead of sexual. “Oz I swear I suck at relationships. I don’t do second dates.”
“Then I guess every date will have to be our first.”
“Aww hell, you’re killing me. I’m a tough asshole, not relationship material.”
“That’s good because I’m a rat bastard, taking advantage of others. We’ll make quite a pair.”
“You need to come inside to my place.”
“I thought you would never ask. Remember what I said I wanted to do to you?”
“Yeah,” Quinn moaned.
“My tongue is ready. I’m ready, I just hope you are.”
****
Tony stood in the middle of Conrad’s little fishing cabin, his legs ached from holding still for so long
as Conrad walked around him, never touching, only looking. He wanted to touch his own cock, but
Conrad was bent on torturing him. He shivered and Conrad smirked, his hand reaching out, finally
stroking over Tony’s heated flesh, granting a small amount of relief to his aching cock.
“Tony, my boy, I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry. Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”
“It’s not. You drive me insane with need,” Tony gasped.
Conrad dipped his head, pulling Tony close. “I want to fuck you again.”
“Again?”
“Yeah, again.”
“Conrad?”
“Tony?”
“Are we a couple or are you trying to screw me over? I know I’m not the smartest guy, but I don’t
think you, well, I never thought you would really like me.”
Conrad drew him to the bed, pushing him down onto the mattress, bending close to lick Tony’s abs.
“I don’t know what we are, but I like this. I’m not going to fuck you over.”
“People say you will.”
“Who?”
“Sheriff.”
“How does Neale know what we’re doing?”
“I have no idea, but he stopped me on the way home the other day. Told me I needed to go with him,
but I didn’t want to. Told him I wasn’t going to fuck him again.”
“Smart boy, Tony.”
“Really, you think I’m smart?”
“I don’t underestimate you. You’re not stupid.” Conrad came down hard on his lips, his tongue
coaxing Tony’s mouth to open, allowing Conrad to slip inside, dipping against Tony’s teeth and
twining with his tongue. Heaven, a kiss from Conrad was heaven, the only way to explain the
sensation.
“Wait. I have something for you.” Conrad stood and went to the closet, pulling a box out from a bag.
“I saw this and thought of you.”
“What is it?”
“Just open the box.”
Tony stared up at the man, wondering if he should trust him. Conrad’s eyebrows rose, his eyes going
wide, a look of impatience on his face. “Okay, I’ll open it.” The paper fell away as he ripped the
wrapping open, revealing a plain brown box. “A box?”
“Sweetie, open the box.”
“I’m a little afraid.”
“Don’t be. I swear you’ll like this gift. At least I hope you do.” Conrad smoothed his fingers over
Tony’s cheek. He leaned into Conrad’s touch, soaking in the sensation. What if Conrad left him? He
was always falling for the wrong guy.
Tony cracked open the box, spying a pair of soft leather work gloves. “Wow, these are the nice ones.”
“Should feel good on your hands as you’re working.”
“I can’t believe you bought this for me.” Tony hopped up, kissing Conrad’s face and neck. “I love
them.” He pulled the gloves on, curling his fingers into the supple material. “Conrad, really, they are
too nice to work in.”
“Nonsense, they are just right for you. You have to wear them. They’ll keep your hands protected and
they feel so good.”
Tony fell back onto the bed, keeping the gloves on, opening his arms. “I’m yours babe. Do what ever
you want.”
Conrad dipped low, licking Tony’s thigh. “You taste so good.”
“It feels good when you touch me,” Tony said.
“Good, because I plan on touching you every day.”
Tony threw his head back and closed his eyes as Conrad sucked down on his cock. The fuzz of
Conrad’s beard brushed against his balls as the man slid up and down, giving Tony the best head of
his life.
****
Grady shook his head. The B&B business had really picked up since Rider had almost burned down
Whispering Ridge. “Phil, I don’t understand, but I’m happy. Every night, full up and the money is
rolling in again.”
“Yeah,” Phil nibbled Grady’s ear. “Babe, I’m feeling it again.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, for you alone. I don’t want anyone else, only you. Come on, the guests are all tucked in and
Zach is at Adam’s place. We need to do this.”
Grady had waited a long time to hear Phil say he really wanted him, not a little bit, but enough to
admit the truth with his words and with his body. “Let me shut down the computer.”
Phil walked away but stopped, glancing over his shoulder and held up two fingers. “Two minutes.”
Grady nodded then clicked over to his email, surprised to find a message from Tony. He stared at the
screen. Why the fuck would Tony be writing him? Hell, better him than his husband. Phil came out
of the bathroom and Grady closed the computer, not wanting Tony between them tonight, not again.
The young man had been there more than physically in the past, haunting Grady with his youthful
body as he imagined the things the young stud could do for Phil. But not tonight. He pushed
thoughts of Tony away, concentrating on Phil and the renewed love they had discovered.
Phil stripped before him, slowly revealing flawless abs and tight, coppery nipples begging to be
licked. When Phil shucked his pants, Grady dropped to the floor, gazing at the man’s perfect cock
nestled at the top of his amazing thighs. His husband’s legs were the talk of the town. The guy was
damn near perfect, model perfect, and Grady had him to himself again. No Tony, no young bucks,
just the two of them.
“Come here, lover,” Grady growled.
Phil stepped close, holding his dick to Grady’s mouth. When Grady puckered his lips and placed a
simple kiss on the end, Phil sucked in a breath. He grabbed onto Grady’s hair, clenching enough to
tug the strands. Grady chuckled and wrapped his mouth around Phil’s knob, flicking his tongue over
the tip.
“Oh hell, that’s good,” Phil groaned.
Grady sucked down on Phil and pulled back, almost popping the whole thing out but he reversed his
movement and went down on Phil again, running his tongue along the thick vein on the underside.
Phil moaned, his head thrown back and his hips grinding forward.
“Fuck, you’re good.”
Phil’s thighs trembled and his hands gripped tighter. “I want--” Phil gasped. He pumped into Grady’s
mouth faster, his dick growing with each thrust. “Fuck me.”
Grady moaned against Phil’s cock. Swallowing most of Phil’s rod, Grady opened his throat, using his
best techniques to blow Phil’s mind. The first eruption of cum slid down Grady’s throat. He
swallowed over and over again, milking Phil’s dick to the last drop.
“Grady, fuck me hard and fuck me now.”
Grady reached for the nightstand, pulling out a condom and lube. Phil crawled to the middle of the
bed and turned face up, holding his knees, giving Grady an amazing view. Yeah, this was better than
any other man. Better than Phil bringing home a young buck for him to rut with. Better than Conrad
and the left-over emotions he had for his old lover. He loved Phil and Phil loved him. They only
needed to take the time to reconnect and revive their relationship. And he hoped to fuck Phil would
stay away from the gym rats this time, because another infidelity would kill him or worse.
He edged between Phil’s legs, smoothing his fingers over his lover’s face. “I love you Phil Boxer, now,
always, and forever.” Grady sunk down, sliding easily into Phil, halting only long enough for his
husband to stretch and accommodate his dick. They made love, gazing into each other’s eyes as they
rode the waves of passion, getting back some of what they’d lost last Spring.
****
Quinn allowed Oz to guide him to his own door, unlocking the apartment for him.
Oz shoved Quinn into the shower, washing away the day's grime. Oz ran his tanned hands over the
pale flesh of Quinn’s stomach, chest, and ass. His soap-slicked fingers probing, dipping into Quinn’s
hole, past his tight ring and fingering him like he’d been doing this for years. He didn’t want to attach
emotions to this activity but his mind buzzed with thoughts of second dates and thirds. Oz turned
Quinn a bit, enough to get a better position and hit his sweet spot, driving Quinn crazy with need.
“Fuck, Oz, what the fuck are you doing to me.”
Oz’s rumbling laughter vibrated over Quinn, striking pleasure to his core. “I thought you were the
experienced one here and would know.”
“You’re going to fuck me tonight, aren’t you?”
“I’m not in this half way. We either share in the fucking or no dice.”
Quinn liked staying in control, the one dictating how and when he had sex. If he remained in control,
he’d never be taken advantage of again. Hell, he’d had enough of that growing up and he hated being
the underdog, the one tossed around like garbage. Not that he was smaller than Oz. Okay, so he was
skinnier, but he had one inch on him. It wasn’t really the physical loss of control scaring the fuck out
of him, it was the power loss making him leery. If he let Oz take him, he’d be set adrift, no longer at
the helm. Hell, he was already lost and a bit confused, unsure where he stood with Oz, because no
matter if he lost control or not, he wanted Oz.
Oz shut off the water, wrapping a towel around them both, licking the moisture off Quinn’s chest,
swirling his tongue over Quinn’s nipples. “Oz, you’re driving me crazy.”
“That’s good.”
“Are you trying to seduce me? I don’t get seduced.”
“Babe, I’ve already seduced you, now I’m sealing the deal.”
Quinn let his head drop back as Oz kissed his way down Quinn’s chest to his hard-as-glass nipples.
Oz wrapped his lips around the sensitive sucker and bit down, bringing a round of pain that zipped
straight to Quinn’s dick. “Fuck.”
The rumbling laugh buzzed against Quinn’s chest. Oz licked away the sting then sucked Quinn’s
nipple so hard he thought he would be pulled inside out. His cock responded, growing stiff as
granite. “Oz, too much.”
Oz backed off, “Babe, I plan on taking you further.”
The quick tug on his hand had Quinn shoved up against the wall. Oz spun him around and dropped
to his knees. The slide of Oz’s hand over his ass made Quinn shiver. Fingers plowed between his
cheeks before the warm moisture of a mouth and tongue probed him, hitting his senses just right to
make him see stars. Quinn leaned into the wall, spreading his legs further, giving Oz and his wicked
tongue better access.
A long time had passed since he’d had a tongue spearing him like this. Fuck, Oz Cotten was a natural
at sucking ass. The man didn’t shove his tongue in thinking that would be enough, instead he licked
around the ring, slid in, then did some impressive curl thing with his tongue, putting pressure on the
top of Quinn’s opening, driving him wild. Already his cock ached with the tight need to come, the
skin stretched taught, leaving his cockhead glossy with pre-cum.
Oz’s mouth left Quinn's ass and Quinn groaned. “More.”
“Bed.” Oz walked away and Quinn followed.
The need to be in control surfaced again, but he beat it down. For Oz Cotten he would relent,
allowing this man to be in charge--for tonight at least. Tomorrow would be a different story. Fuck, a
few weeks ago he’d been ready to tell Oz to go fuck himself and help him do it, but now he wanted to
kiss up to Oz and sink into the comfort he offered. What had changed? Maybe this city was to blame
and he should move on, but he didn’t want to. Oz had affected him more than he wanted to admit.
“Lie down, face up. I want to see you when you come.”
The intensity in Oz’s gaze freaked Quinn out. “I shouldn’t do this. You’re too in control.”
“Quinn, I may be in control, but I’m not going to screw you. Well I am, but not that way. I have the
reputation of being a ruthless man but seriously, I like your plucky attitude a bit too much, and I
don’t think I could hurt you on purpose. Ever.”
“You’re being too nice.”
“You say that now. Wait till I feel like fucking you into the wall.”
Quinn gulped as he spread out on the bed, excited beyond reason thinking of Oz playing rough. Not
in some evil way, but in a possessive, you are mine kind of way.
“Yum, I like your body’s response. Does this excite you?”
Quinn groaned, licking his lips. “Oz, you know too much about me. Just fuck me and get it over
with.”
Quinn watched as Oz rolled on a condom, greasing his dick with lube, and slicking Quinn’s hole.
“This...” Oz lined up, his dick pushing against Oz’s opening, “isn’t,” he lowered and kissed Quinn on
the lips, “fucking.” Oz pushed in, stealing Quinn’s breath.
Unmoving, Oz hung above him, his tanned abs held tight as he stalled, waiting for Quinn to adjust.
The invasion seemed all wrong, but right in so many ways. That’s what he loved about fucking. The
invasion, taking what belonged to another, making them bend to his will, leaving them gasping
afterwards, that’s what Oz was doing to him. Taking a piece of his soul he’d never be able to replace.
He’d be forced to stay with Oz forever if he wanted the Oz shaped hole to be filled. Of course, he
could walk, leaving was always an option, had to be. Growing up like he had made him harsh where
love was concerned. He’d spent years building up his façade, making his outer shell impervious to
attack, never letting anyone chip away any part of his soul, but Oz had snuck in and taken a huge
chunk.
Quinn relaxed, allowing Oz to take whatever he wanted. The difference in Oz’s face was immediate.
His features softened and his hips started moving, creating a desperate rhythm, stealing Quinn’s
breath each time the man bottomed out, his cock hitting Quinn’s prostate, shaking every cell loose
until he thought he would fly apart.
Balls tightened and his toes curled. “Fuck, Oz.”
“Come for me, babe.” Oz reached between them, stroking him off like a pro. Quinn shattered,
shooting his load over both of their chests. Oz shivered as he bucked, his hips slamming hard against
Quinn’s ass. “Argh, so...good.”
The pulsing deep in his ass made him want to shout out and tell everyone how wonderful his lover
was. Fuck, why had he let Oz fuck him like this? Quinn opened his eyes, staring up into Oz’s beautiful
blue peepers. “Hey,” Oz murmured.
“Hey, you.” Quinn’s voice cracked as he spoke.
“Catch me when I fall,” Oz whispered.
Quinn gulped over the rush of emotions, his head pounded and his heart ached. “Only if you catch
me.”
****
Adam opened his computer and logged into his account, checking his email. There were a few notes
from friends, a bill notice about his cell phone, and an email from his YouTube account telling him
that his video had been uploaded. Must be spam. He tried to log in to YouTube from his browser but
his password wouldn’t work.
Shrugging off the annoyance, he vowed to take care of it later. After researching a new recipe, he
clicked over to his text editor and stared at the blank screen. He wanted to write a cookbook, thought
about it more than he should, but was afraid to commit. After he typed the first paragraph, which he
thought sounded way too trivial and stupid, he remembered the video.
He saved his work and clicked over to his browser, and pulled up the video from the URL in his
email. A wave of heat washed over him. Two people were butt ass naked, going at it like dogs in heat.
He glanced around, making sure no one was watching. He leaned in close to the screen, staring at the
pair having sex. Horror at what he saw filled him, leaving him weak with disgust and fear. He and
Zach were on the screen together having sex. The video was shot from outside the kitchen of the
Bear&Bones.
****
Rider stared at the four walls of his cell. Okay, so the room wasn’t so much a cell, more like a posh
resort with bars on the window, but he hated being boxed in. He missed Sam. Missed their
connection and missed the sex. Only another week and he’d be out of here. Fear of change frightened
him. He didn’t want to grow, become more mature, and forgive others. The desire to harbor the
anger and rage still filled him, leaving him raw and aching. But some of what they’d said made sense,
making him wonder if he would walk out of here the same man as he’d entered.
The need to seek revenge on Yoshi still wove through him, but the thread of revenge was thin now,
no longer a thick stock of yarn, instead the emotion was a tiny silk thread, fraying at the ends. What
Yoshi had done, the way he’d taken Rider in and convinced him he cared, twisted Rider’s gut. When
Rider’s defenses were down, he turned on Rider, exposing Rider’s sexuality to the dorm and
plastering those pictures all over the internet.
Okay, so Rider had lied to his dad about the photos and said he’d done the deed, posting him doing
the nasty with another guy on purpose, but Yoshi betrayed him. Then Yoshi had to go and be
attracted to Oz. Why had he done that? But worse of all, Yoshi seduced his mother, stealing not only
her pride, but also a priceless heirloom, one which could never be replaced. For that, Yoshi deserved
to pay.
So all this talk of forgiveness being good for him and holding a grudge, bad, he fucking hated it. He
needed to get out and forget all this being nice shit. They were changing him day by day, leaving him
ready to forgive and try to live a decent life. One where he respected his father and loved his brother.
Hell, it was all so confusing. Being a jerk had been so easy, but did he really want to stay a jerk?
****
Trip’s hair had grown out and he’d bleached the strands blond before returning to Boxer Falls. The
facial prosthetics, and glasses would help him stay hidden, but his ace in the hole was everyone
thought he’d taken off to parts unknown, disappeared after the car crash, to never be heard from
again. He’d flown out west to a visit a friend who worked in show biz making rubberized prosthetics
for the movie people to make them look different. His friend owed him and now he had the
opportunity to finish off the Cotten clan from inside their own hotel.
He checked in easily, fooling everyone at the front desk. No one suspected Mr. Crispin, or Mike
Crispin, was none other than Trip Whitlock.
He had the run of the place and could sneak around inside the hotel, keeping watch on Conrad, Oz,
and that miserable ass, Rider. Oh, if he could take Rider down, Oz would follow. After the boys,
Conrad would be easy to topple. Rider was an impetuous little shit, easily manipulated and confused.
Now all he had to do was set up his ruse as a man of means on vacation, there to relax and sit about
the place. His guess, it wouldn’t take long to track down Rider and get him into something bad. Yes,
the smug sensation he experienced as he stared out his window at the grounds of Whispering Ridge
was the start of something he knew would be very special.
****
Adam jumped when Zach clamored through the door. He picked up his computer and rushed off to
the bathroom, hiding from his lover. There was no way the video he watched was he and Zach, but it
was. Who the hell would have recorded them?
“Hey, Adam?” Zach’s voice was near, only inches away on the other side of the bathroom door if he
had to guess.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“Want to get a pizza and we’ll watch some TV while we chill?”
“I’ll make the pizza.” That would take time and he wouldn’t have a chance to get intimate with Zach.
If he didn’t get intimate with Zach, he wouldn’t spill about the sex tape.
Zach would be livid. From the angle it looked as though someone had been standing outside the
window, holding up their camera to shoot the grainy video. Their faces weren’t visible, that was the
only concession. But the video had been loaded on his account. How could he explain that? Zach
would think he'd planned this.
“No, I want you all to myself. I’ll order a loaded pizza and we can turn on the TV for a snuggle. I miss
our snuggle time.”
Adam washed his hands and wasted as much time in the bathroom as seemed reasonable. He
couldn’t wrap his mind around this one. God, what if Zach really thought he set this up and left? It
looked bad no matter what he did. There was no way around it, he’d have to tell Zach about the
video.
****
Conrad opened the door to his private rooms, surprised to find Sam Kabir. “Sam, what are you doing
here?”
“I want to see Rider.”
Conrad shrugged, “I’m sorry, the facility won’t let him have visitors until the weekend. He’s most
likely coming home on the twentieth. I think he’s made progress.”
“I really need to talk to him,” Sam growled.
“I can arrange for you to see him on Saturday.”
Sam stepped forward, his sneer menacing. “No, I need to talk to him now.”
Tony slid up behind Conrad and grabbed onto his shoulder. Tony’s chest pressed into Conrad’s back,
giving him comfort.
“Hey, Sam. Sound’s like you really want to talk to Rider. How about you let Conrad make that
appointment for the weekend, then we can all go up together?”
Sam’s eyes flashed from Conrad to Tony. For a brief moment, vulnerability spun through Conrad and
he hated that Sam had seen his weakness. Would Sam have really done something? He’d been prey
earlier in Sam’s company and moments ago, before Tony made his presence known, he’d been a little
afraid. Sam was young and in shape, in impeccable shape, like he could easily rip someone’s head off.
The weakness angered Conrad, to have to rely on Tony shamed him a bit, but that’s why he had Tony
in his life. Not for his muscle, but so they had each other to rely on. Really, this relationship he’d
started as a lark, a fun dalliance with the local dimwit had turned into something more. He realized
Tony wasn’t dumb, just gullible. The man was too sweet, too loving, the romance side too much
which allowed others to take advantage of him.
“I think Conrad can speak for himself,” Sam barked.
“I was speaking for myself and you didn’t listen. Tony’s right. We can all go down together this
weekend.”
“Fine,” Sam bit out as he turned and stalked away.
Conrad shut the door, turning around and leaning against the hard wood. Rider would be home soon
and he had to be ready for the boy. Tony was only nine years older than Rider, not enough to
command authority, maybe enough to make Rider go off the deep end again. Hell, what could he do
with his boys? Oz fucking around with the bartender and Rider in a holy hell of a mess. For a brief
moment, he wished things were different, easier, but they weren’t. He didn’t have Grady, his
marriage had fallen apart, his hotel had taken a hit from Rider’s little stunt, but he had Tony.
Conrad crossed the room, shucking his clothes as he approached Tony. The fire of lust in the other
man’s gaze was enough to make him happy for now. He only hoped it stayed that way for a long time.
****
Trip knew if he played his cards right and watched for long enough, he’d hit pay dirt. Sam Kabir was
his ticket to the inside track. The dude thought he was cool, untouchable, but Trip had a few tricks up
his sleeves that Sam was too young to understand.
He found it easy to follow Sam to the other side of town where he parked his too expensive BMW.
The guy might be trying to live large, but he was hanging out in a rundown estate. Time to get to
work and make something happen. He wouldn’t let Conrad win this round like he’d almost won the
last.