Pepper Espinoza & India Harper

Hearts Afire: November Pepper Espinoza and India Harper (c) 2009 ISBN 978-1-59578-623-4

Hearts Afire: November Pepper Espinoza and India Harper Published 2009 ISBN 978-1-59578-623-4 Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2009, Pepper Espinoza and India Harper. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. Manufactured in the United States of America Liquid Silver Books http://LSbooks.com Email: [email protected] Editor Terri Schaefer Cover Artist April Martinez This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Blurbs To Heaven Resembled Pepper Espinoza Firefighter Lance Stuart is minding his own business when a man on the street stops him with a simple expression of gratitude. He falls into the conversation with the man, and learns that Jakob is far more than what one might expect from a busker. For starters, he’s gorgeous. He’s also funny, charming, and flirty. Lance immediately wants to get to know him better. Jakob Fox spends his days performing on the sidewalk and his evenings in various coffee shops and clubs, reading his poetry. But he always takes the time to thank firefighters when he sees them. He knows first-hand how much firefighters risk and what they sacrifice. His father was a New York firefighter, until he died in the line of duty. As a result, Jakob can show his appreciation, but he always keeps his emotional distance— from everybody. He also suffers from almost debilitating anxiety. He wants to be with Lance, but he can’t handle the emotional stress of being with a firefighter. Jakob needs to decide if they have a future, or if he should just walk away. The Arsonist’s Apprentice India Harper For Josh Brooks, firefighting is in his blood. Unfortunately for him, Dylan Anderson was working the other side of the fire, having served eight years in prison for arson. The two are thrown together against everyone’s better judgment when Josh’s role in the Philadelphia Fire Department’s Fire Investigation Unit and Dylan’s role as an insurance investigator bring them together to investigate a string of suspicious fires. Despite Josh’s reservations and the long held belief that firemen and arsonists don’t mix, he can’t seem to keep out of Dylan’s bed. But just when Josh starts to overcome his preconceptions, he becomes Dylan’s prime suspect. Losing Dylan and his career are the least of Josh’s worries. If he can’t find the real culprit, he’ll be following in Dylan’s footsteps. To prison.

To Heaven Resembled Pepper Espinoza Dedication To Heaven Resembled is dedicated to Julie Carter, who graciously allowed me to use two of her beautiful poems, 'Nuclear Family' and 'The Peculiar Poetry of Tommy Lee Jones.' You can find more of her lovely work here: http://www.juliecarter.net Chapter One “Thank you.” Lance stopped short and looked over his shoulder. The words had been clear and loud, and he was pretty sure they were directed at him, though he hadn’t been doing anything except walking. There was nobody to his left, but when he swung his head to the right, he found a possible source for the words. A scruffy young man with the most stunning blue eyes Lance had ever seen leaned against the wall, one foot crossed over the other as he idly strummed a guitar. His other hand moved over the fret, like he was picking out chords, but Lance couldn’t tell what. At his feet lay an open case. Brown hair hung over his forehead, like he was a week overdue for a cut, and he had the type of body that always made Lance pay attention. After several beats, he realized he was staring, quite openly and rudely. He had been staring so long that he couldn’t just turn around and walk away like nothing happened. Even though he was pretty sure a red flush was starting to creep up his neck. He was just grateful for the shades hiding his eyes. “Excuse me?” The young man used his guitar to gesture at Lance’s chest and the Los Angeles Fire Department initials on his blue shirt. His fingers were still moving, strumming out a tune Lance could barely catch, and didn’t recognize. Lance couldn’t help but notice that his nails were neatly trimmed. “Thanks. You know, for all your hard work.” “Oh.” Lance smiled a little self-consciously. It wasn’t the first time somebody had stopped him on the street, but it always made him feel a little awkward. It wasn’t as though he became a fireman because he wanted to be a hero, but he had to admit, it was a nice perk. Especially when good-looking guitar players stopped him to express his gratitude. “Well, you’re welcome.” He might have left it at that, but the stranger’s eyes were like magnets drawing him forward. “I thought you might have been sarcastic.” He tilted his head, his fingers moving along the fret like they had wills of their own. “Why?” “Because I just kept walking and didn’t, you know…” Lance gestured at the case. Coins and bills littered the bottom, but it was by no means a great fortune. Or any fortune

at all, really. The man smiled. His smile was almost as captivating as his eyes. “No, I find that sarcasm doesn’t actually encourage people to give me their money.” Lance returned the smile. “I guess it wouldn’t.” “You been a fireman for long?” “Five years now.” “Five years? I thought you were younger than that.” Lance took a step towards him. “Nope. And I’m getting older every day. What are you playing?” “Nothing right now. I’m just making sure it’s in tune.” “You can do that while we talk?” “Sure. You can do two things at once, can’t you?” “I did try to walk and chew gum at the same time. It wasn’t pretty.” The man looked up from beneath his lashes, his eyes dancing with amusement. “You’d expect firemen to be a little bit more coordinated than that.” “No kidding. Actually, I’m not a fireman. They just let me hang around the station as a sort of mascot.” The man arched his brow. “I thought that’s what Dalmatians were for.” “I’m cuter than a Dalmatian.” “A Dalmatian?” He shook his head. “No, but maybe an English Bulldog.” “Gee, thanks.” “Were you fishing for compliments?” “No, but I wouldn’t have complained if you had given me one.” Lance touched the open guitar case with the tip of his boot. “Besides, English Bulldogs aren’t ugly.” His grin widened. “I never said they were. For all you know, I love English Bulldogs and I have one of my own.” “Do you?” “No, but I’d like one.” Lance snorted and held out his hand. “I’m Lance Stuart, by the way.” “Jakob Fox.” He stopped playing long enough to take Lance’s palm in a firm grip. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” “Do you play around here usually? I’m sure I’ve seen you here before.” Which was a lie, but Lance figured it was forgivable, since his intentions were good. Now that he was standing a little closer, he noticed small details. Like the fact that Jakob’s shirt was clean, and the scruffy beard wasn’t actually scruffy at all, but neatly trimmed. “Yeah, I usually play on this block. Sometimes Devin lets me play inside for tips.” Lance looked up, dragging his gaze from Jakob. They were standing outside Café Muse. Lance had never been inside. The name itself was enough to put him off. He didn’t really get the feeling it was the right place for firefighters who preferred Budweiser to lattes. “That must have been where I’ve seen you before.” Jakob inclined his head. “Must have been. Though it doesn’t really seem like your sort of place.” “It doesn’t? Why not? I like coffee.” Jakob’s smile changed slightly, and his eyes glittered with amusement. “The coffee is okay, but I meant because of the atmosphere. This place is usually full of beat poets and old hippies…and other eccentrics.”

“Oh, yeah, I know.” Lance offered an easy smiling, wondering if he should just cut the conversation short while he could still escape with his pride intact. “I like eccentric people. They keep life interesting.” “If you’re not on your way to any fires or anything, I’d love to buy you a coffee.” “I’m not even on my way to the station. Today’s my day off.” “Mascots get days off?” “Oh, there are two. We trade shifts.” “You and the Dalmatian, eh?” Jakob lifted the strap of the guitar over his head and knelt to pluck the money out of his case. “You’re sure I’m not keeping you from anything?” “Positive. I think the grocery store will wait for me.” “Do you live in the area?” “Yeah. About a mile from here.” Jakob snapped the case shut and straightened. “I’m surprised I haven’t noticed you before.” Lance followed him into the small coffee shop. It was exactly what he expected. Some sort of strange chanting played over the speakers. He wasn’t sure if he could call it music, and it was more than a little grating. Pictures he didn’t understand covered the walls. Were they supposed to be shapes or just blobs of paint and ink? There were more couches than tables, and the corner had a microphone stand with cushions surrounding it. Did people sit there? Or was it meant only for some sort of weird decoration? The girl behind the counter smiled at Jakob as though she was genuinely happy to see him. “The usual?” “Yes. And…” He looked over his shoulder to Lance. “What would you like?” “Oh. Coffee.” They both stared at him as though he said a word they couldn’t understand. “Regular,” Lance provided, hoping that would help them. They continued to stare. “Black.” “He’ll have the house blend. Tall.” “Coming right up,” she chirped, everything from her ponytail to her smile perky. Lance didn’t have anything against perky girls, but this one was starting to wear on his nerves. Possibly because of the strange, monotonous chanting. “You can go ahead and sit down,” Jakob invited. Lance nodded, though he would have preferred it if Jakob had chosen where to sit. Would a couch be too intimate? Did Jakob expect him to choose a table? He was pretty sure Jakob had been flirting with him, which made a couch an appropriate choice, but then, what if he was just trying to be friendly? In the end, Lance chose a table by the window in the front. He sat in the tiny chair— he never understood why such narrow chairs even existed—with his legs spread in front of him, his fingers hooked in his pockets. He watched Jakob chat with the girl, pay for the drinks, and carry them over to the table. He kept looking for a single flaw, but he couldn’t find one. Lance supposed it was possible he had horrible scars beneath his clothes. Or maybe he was just plain crazy. Normal people didn’t try to make their money singing on the street—for good reason. “Thanks,” Lance said as Jakob set his cup down.

“No problem.” “Do you usually invite strange men out for coffee?” Lance tore open two packets of sweetener and dumped it into his drink. “Not strange men, no.” “Strange firemen?” Lance asked. Jakob shrugged. “I guess it depends on who the fireman is, and if we’re standing outside a coffee shop at the time.” “Do you usually stop firemen on the street?” “Yes, actually.” Jakob sipped from his cup before adding, “My father was a firefighter.” Lance sat up a little. “Really? Here in LA?” “No, no. I grew up in New York.” “Does he still live there?” Jakob sat the drink down and glanced out the window over Lance’s shoulder. He caught his lip between his bottom teeth before finally saying, “No…no. He died when I was thirteen. On the job.” Lance stared. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have…brought it up.” “You didn’t know.” He offered a comforting smile and shook his head. “But I understand how much you give up for the job. What you sacrifice. So I promised myself that any time I see a firefighter, I’d thank them for the job that they do.” He held up his cup. “The coffee is a bonus.” Lance took a tentative sip from the house blend coffee—whatever that meant—and blinked with surprise. It was really tasty. Much better than the coffee he had at the station. “It’s a good bonus. So…how did you make it all the way out to Los Angeles?” “The usual way. I took a bus.” “Really?” “Sure.” He reached for a pink packet of sweetener, idly running his finger over the edge. “I had some money after I graduated and I wanted to see a bit of the country, so I hopped a bus and ended up here.” “I thought maybe you came out here for your music.” Jakob shook his head. “I’m actually not a musician. Not really. I’m a poet, but I found that when you shout poetry at people from a street corner, they tend to call the cops. But the general public isn’t nearly as freaked out by a guitar, so I taught myself how to play.” Lance didn’t even know poets still existed. He wasn’t sure why, but he thoughts poets went out of fashion with cobblers and stagecoach drivers. “Oh, really? I love poetry.” “You’re full of surprises.” “I like to think I have many layers.” “Like an ogre?” Lance blinked. “What?” The smile never left Jakob’s face. “Never mind. Just a dumb joke. So what kind of poetry do you like?” Lance licked his lips. “Live?” “Friday nights are open-mic nights here. You should come on by.” “Will you be reading some of yours?”

“Yes.” Jakob abandoned the sugar packet, tossing it aside to swirl his cup. “Actually, I do my poetry almost every night.” “Here?” “No. All over the city. Do you write any?” The answer flew out of Lance’s mouth before he could stop it. “Yes. A little.” “You should consider reading it here on Friday. Everybody here is really supportive.” Nice work. Why don’t you tell him you’re a rebel billionaire while you’re at it? “Thanks, I’ll…I’ll think about it.” “So are you from Los Angeles, or are you a transplant, too?” Lance released the breath he had been holding. Finally, safe ground. “I’m a born and bred Angelino. I wouldn’t know how to live anywhere else. Though I have been to New York. It was nice.” Jakob snorted. “Nice is one word for it.” “You’re not homesick?” “Nope. I love it here. It’s warm year around, I can go to the beach any time I like, and the most beautiful people in the world live here.” His eyes glittered. “Or is that a shallow reason?” “I think it’s a perfectly cromulent reason.” Jakob laughed—a surprising and warm sound. Lance felt himself flush with delight at being the cause of his amusement. “You’re a Simpsons fan?” “Who isn’t?” “I don’t know many people who can work a reference into a sentence so easily.” “You’re hanging around the wrong sort of people.” Jakob laughed again. “I might be.” The weird chanting stopped and the room was plunged into silence. Blessed, wonderful silence. Just as Lance was beginning to enjoy the peace, a whole new CD started up. At least, Lance thought it was a new CD. It might have just been a new track of the same crap. “But about Friday night…they don’t play this sort of music then, right?” Jakob shook his head. “No, no not at all. Cyn only plays this during the day to encourage people to sit out on the patio.” “Why would she do that?” “So they’re listening to me instead.” “Oh, that’s a clever plan.” “I appreciate any help I can get around here.” Before Lance could respond, his phone erupted with fire sirens. Jakob jumped, and Lance grimaced apologetically. “I keep it loud so I won’t miss it.” “Yeah, I guess you definitely can’t miss that. Do you have to go?” Lance took the phone out of his pocket. A quick glance at the screen gave him his answer. “Yes, I do. I’m sorry I got to cut this short.” “No problem. I understand.” Lance could see he actually did understand. He touched the back of Jakob’s hand without thinking, a thrill running up his arm at the contact. “So, about Friday…what would be the best time to come by?” “Eight. That’ll give you enough time to get your drink and find a seat.”

“Friday at eight.” Lance stood and slipped the phone back into his pocket. “It’s a date.” Jakob stood as well. “Sounds good. I’ll be looking forward to it.” “Me, too,” Lance promised. A night full of poetry wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time, and he would have to wrangle with the chief to get a few hours free on Friday night, but he thought Jakob was worth the effort. **** “You’re going where to do what?” Charles asked, knotting a towel around his hips. Steam still wafted around them, though they were the last two in the locker room. Lance had lingered behind so he could talk to Charles, just because he wanted to tell somebody, and Charles seemed like the most obvious choice. “I’m going to Café Muse to listen to open-mic night,” Lance explained, for what might have been the tenth time. “Why are you doing this?” Lance abandoned the towel in favor of his boxer-briefs. “Because I met a guy.” “A guy who hangs out at Café Muse and reads poetry?” Charles shook his head. “I know you’re getting desperate, Lance, but come on. There’s got to be an easier way to get a bit of ass in this town.” “I didn’t tell you so you could give me a hard time,” Lance said, more than a little annoyed, though he had expected a response like this from Charles Hill. They had been friends for over seven years, with added benefits for the past three. Lance like Charles— and he liked fucking Charles—but neither one of them had ever been interested in anything more than that. “Then why did you tell me?” “I wanted to let you know where I was on Friday night. Unless anybody asks. And then I’m visiting my sick mother.” Charles stared at him. “You used Alma as your excuse to get out of work?” “Could you think of a better one?” “Fuck, you should have just told Chief the truth. He would have been so amused at the thought, he would have given you the time off with his blessing.” “It’s not that funny,” Lance muttered. “It is that funny. How far are you willing to take this? Are you going to read some poetry? Roses are red, violets are blue, I’ve lost my fucking mind, what about you?” Lance rolled his eyes. “Real mature. And even if I did read poetry, there’s nothing wrong with that. Lots of men write poetry.” Charles pulled his shirt over his head. “Name one. And not your new boyfriend.” Lance had the feeling he should know this one, but he drew a blank. He had slept through most of his high school English classes, and it never occurred to him to seek out poetry on his own. Other than a few magazines, Lance didn’t have a need to seek out any literature. “What about that guy who wrote Romeo and Juliet? He wrote poetry, right?” Charles snorted. “You mean Shakespeare?” “Yeah, him.” “If you really want to impress this guy, you should mention that factoid.” “Shut up.” “So…what does he do?”

“He…look, it doesn’t matter what he does. All that matters is that he’s hot, and we had a good conversation. We had fun.” “Come on, Lance.” He rolled deodorant on, his eyes shining with barely contained amusement. Like he was waiting for a good joke. “I know you’re keeping something from me.” “I’m not.” “Right. You were all eager to spill the details before, and now I want to know something about the guy, and you clam up? What is he? Homeless or something?” “I’m sure he’s not homeless,” Lance muttered. Charles stopped short, his hand half in the locker as he reached for his socks. “You’re sure he’s not homeless because you’ve seen his home? Or what?” “Don’t laugh, okay? But…he’s a street performer.” “He’s a beggar?” “He wasn’t begging.” Lance concentrated securing his belt in place, keeping his eyes averted from Charles’s face. “He was playing his guitar.” “So people would give him money?” “Yes.” “On the street.” Lance sighed. “Yes.” “That’s begging for money, man. Look, if you can’t even find somebody with a home, I’ll help you out. I know lots of guys. And every single one of them has a job.” “I told you, I don’t think he’s homeless. His clothes were clean and he didn’t look, you know, unkempt.” “So all you need in a man is clean clothes?” Charles slammed his locker shut, and settled on the bench, resting one foot over his knee. “Since when do you have such low standards?” “Look, I’m not saying that I’m going to date him or anything. I’m just going to spend a little bit of time with him on Friday and listen to his poetry.” “I hope you at least get lucky, man. I think a night of poetry is at least worth a blowjob. But don’t take him back to your place.” “Why not?” “You trust a homeless person in your house?” “Charles, seriously, for the last time. He’s not some bum I picked up off the corner. He’s a very intelligent, creative person.” Lance knew he sounded more than a little defensive about Jakob, but he didn’t like his judgment questioned. He especially didn’t like it when Charles made him question his own judgment. He felt himself wavering, but then he remembered Jakob’s vibrant smile. He had the feeling Charles would change his tune once he saw Jakob—not that he wanted Charles to meet Jakob any time soon. Who knows? Maybe Charles would never have any need to meet Jake. “Whatever you say. Hey, do you want to go get a drink? I’ll even read some poetry, if that’s what you need.” “I’m not going to go anywhere if you keep riding me about this,” Lance said. He began lacing his shoes. “Don’t sulk. I was just playing with you.” “So…you remembered Shakespeare’s name. Do you know anything about poetry?” “Are you serious?”

“I don’t want to make a fool of myself.” Charles looked up from tying his shoes. “You’re serious about this? I mean, you’re serious enough about this guy that you want to actually know about poetry?” “Like you’ve never done anything to impress a guy?” “Never.” “Oh? Really?” Lance shut his locker and pulled the comb from his pocket. He planned to go straight home, or else he would have used his gel, too. “What about the month you became soccer’s biggest fan?” “That wasn’t as crazy as learning about poetry.” He leaned forward, studying himself in the mirror as he carefully parted his damp hair. “Help me out, or I’m going to pass around that mp3 I have of you.” A beat passed, then, “What mp3?” “You know what mp3 I mean. The one with the show tunes.” “You wouldn’t.” Lance patted the back of his head, confirming all the hair was appropriately flat. “I would, though.” “I was drunk.” “Do you think anybody around here will care about that? All they’ll know is that you apparently know the whole score to My Fair Lady.” “One song,” Charles corrected. “I know one song. And it’s the one everybody knows.” “By the time the story makes it around the house, it’ll be the entire score.” Lance turned around and folded his arms. “Trust me on this one.” “You are such a bastard.” “And you’re going to tell me about poetry.” “Fine, but you have to buy all the rounds tonight.” “Okay.” “And the next two times we go out.” “Tonight and the first round next week.” “Tonight and all the rounds next week.” Lance nodded. “Fair enough. Shake on it?” Hill took his hand and shook his head. “Why do I have the feeling this is going to be one long-ass night?” “Hey. I resent that. I’m not completely stupid.” “Oh, yeah? Besides Romeo and Juliet, what did Shakespeare write?” “Poetry. We already established that.” “Give me a name.” Lance released Charles’s hand with a sigh. “Well, you know I can’t. But that’s why I need you. You’re going to change all that.” “Yeah, right. Don’t go expecting any miracles, is all I’m saying.” “Do you think getting through Friday night without making an ass out of myself is a miracle?” Charles looked him up and down. “Yeah, I’d say it is. But come on, I’ll do what I can.” Lance didn’t think that would be much, but even Charles’s meager store of knowledge was better than the absolute nothing Lance was currently working with.

Chapter Two Lance stood outside Café Muse, staring into the large windows, and wondering just what the hell he’d gotten himself into. He had dressed with care, partially because he didn’t know how he was supposed to dress at all, and partially because he wanted to impress Jakob, but a quick glance inside told him that all his care had been wasted. He had chosen black slacks, after dismissing every pair of jeans he owned, and a black dress shirt. It was dressy without being too nice, but it also wasn’t too casual. He wanted Jakob to know he was taking this seriously. Apparently, he was taking the situation a little too seriously. Granted, Lance couldn’t see every person in the building, but what he did see was enough. Jakob had mentioned beat poets and ex-hippies, but he hadn’t mentioned the standard liberal arts college crowd. They all had torn jeans, T-shirts that were two sizes too big, and strange little goatees. The girls didn’t look much better. A few of them didn’t even look like they washed their hair. Lance was just happy Charles wasn’t there to see what looked like an actual homeless shelter, instead of a relatively harmless coffee shop. He took a step toward the door, changed his mind, and kept walking. He almost made it to the end of the block before he circled back. He hadn’t seen Jakob anywhere, though that didn’t mean anything. He could already be inside, waiting, more and more convinced that Lance was going to stand him up. Would it be such a bad thing if he did stand Jakob up? They had shared a coffee and a little flirtation. This wasn’t even an official date. Lance walked to the other end of the block, hoping nobody noticed him pacing back and forth. He should just go in. What about a pretentious coffee shop and a bunch of dirty college students made him so nervous? If the building were on fire, he wouldn’t hesitate to run in and risk his life to save all the people he found so off-putting now. These were the same sorts of people he used to beat up in junior high. And now they were gathered in a pack, outnumbering him. But he wasn’t in junior high anymore, and they were all adults. So he should just walk in, buy some coffee, and maybe sit next to Jakob on the couch. The thought of finding little excuses to touch the other man perked him up. So what if he had to listen to poetry? He really did want to have the chance to be close to Jakob. Especially after all the work he and Charles had put in to his preparation. A wave of heat and the smell of coffee struck Lance as soon as he opened the door. The place was even more crowded than Lance had assumed, and the counter seemed an impossible distance from the door. Lance scanned the faces, looking for a pair of familiar blue eyes. The same blue eyes he had been thinking about every night for the previous three days. For a long, horrible moment, all he saw were strangers. Had he arrived too early? Too late? Had Jakob stood him up? “Lance?” He spun around, seeking the source of his name, and found Jakob back in the corner, sitting on a love seat by himself, with two cups on the table in front of him. Lance smiled, all of his doubts disappearing. Jakob looked even better than he remembered. The scruffy beard was neatly trimmed, and his blue eyes were magnified by wire-rim glasses. Despite

the heat, he was wearing a blue sweater that brought out the color of his eyes. He definitely didn’t look homeless. “I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t come,” Jakob said as Lance approached. “I just got a bit hung up.” “I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of ordering your coffee.” Lance smiled. “Not at all. Though now I owe you for two cups.” “It’s part of my master plan to make sure you’ll see me again.” “Bribing me with coffee?” Lance’s smile didn’t fade. “There are other ways.” “That, and making sure you feel honor-bound to return the favor and invite me out. You look good, by the way.” “Thanks. I’m not too overdressed?” “Depends on whose standards you use, I suppose.” “What about your standards?” Jakob’s eyes danced with amusement. “Oh, by my standards we’re both overdressed.” “In that case, when I return the favor and take you out, I’ll choose a place where the clothing is more optional.” “Like the beach?” Lance smiled. “Yeah, like that. So…I wasn’t really expecting so many people here tonight. I didn’t realize poetry readings were so popular.” “This particular one attracts a lot of students in the area. Which is good and bad. Good, because I always love to see people interested in poetry.” Jakob sipped from his cup, drawing Lance’s attention to his mouth. It was a great mouth. “Bad, because I suspect they’re here as part of an assignment.” “Why is that a problem?” Jakob grimaced a little. “I’d tell you, but that would ruin the fun.” Lance leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. He wasn’t quite touching Jakob, though he could. The memory of their earlier, brief contact still lingered. “You’re not nervous about getting up in front of all these people? I mean, aren’t you afraid that you’re going to make a fool of yourself? Not that I think you’re going to sound like a fool. Quite the opposite. I think you’ll be great.” “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Jakob shifted, putting his leg up on the cushion and turning to face Lance more directly. “And no, I’m not nervous. If I were worried about what people thought of me, I wouldn’t busk.” “Busk? I’m not sure I know the word.” “Busking? I’m a busker?” Jakob paused, obviously waiting for recognition to dawn. It didn’t. “A busker is just a person who performs on the street for money.” “Oh, of course,” Lance muttered, taking a sip of coffee to try to hide his embarrassment. “You’ll be amazed at how many people think I’m homeless.” Lance nearly choked on the hot liquid. He set it aside before it could become a real hazard. “Yeah, I bet that’s a common misconception.” “It really is. I mean, I can see why people would assume that. But how many homeless people do you know who shows up showered and in clean clothes every day?” “That’s exactly what I said!” Lance exclaimed. “What?”

“I mean, I was agreeing with you. But some people are prejudiced. They think just because you don’t appear to have a steady job, or an obvious home, or live the life everybody else does, then there must be something wrong with you. And that’s, you know…” Lance set his coffee down, momentarily forgetting where he planned to go with his speech. “Just sad.” “Yeah, it is.” Lance didn’t want to discuss Jakob’s living situation further. He didn’t need more opportunities to embarrass himself. “So you never get nervous?” “Nope. I don’t think I’ve ever had stage fright in my life.” “That’s just amazing to me.” “Is it? Do you ever get nervous on the job?” “Oh, you know…” Lance paused, debating whether false modesty was better or worse than no modesty at all. Finally, he decided on the truth. “Not really. I’m trained to do what I do, and hell, it’s a job that has to be done.” “Most people would think you’re crazy. They’d admire the hell out of you, but they’d think you’re crazy.” “I actually get that a lot. Do you think I’m crazy?” “Oh, absolutely.” Jakob grinned at him. “But it has nothing to do with your ability to run into burning buildings.” “Then what is it? Do I just give off an air of crazy?” He leaned closer, dropping his voice. “Or are there warning signs?” Jakob mimicked him, and a part of Lance realized they were now in kissing distance. “It’s your eyes. And the fact that you were willing to meet me again even though you thought I was homeless.” “Hey, I never thought you were homeless. My friend did when I told him about you, but he didn’t actually lay out a convincing argument.” “I’m glad he didn’t. I have to admit, I spent the whole week thinking about tonight.” “You too, huh?” Lance didn’t bother sitting back again. At that distance, Jakob filled his vision. It was easy to imagine they were the only people in the room. He didn’t think it was too much physical contact. After all, Jakob had chosen the cozy little couch, and Jakob opened the door to talking about just what they had been hoping for. “I was on shift the past few days, or else I might have come by here sooner to see you.” “That reminds me, what was the emergency that called you away? Something small, I hope.” “Somebody started a grease fire while they were frying an egg. They had an apartment on the first floor of a building. Fortunately, we were able to contain it before it spread up to the second floor.” Jakob nodded. “That’s good. I was worried.” “Nope, nothing to worry about. We’ve got the finest crew in the state. Maybe even the country.” “And I’m sure you’re not exaggerating.” “Not even a little.” Lance moved closer, letting his fingers brush against Jakob’s shoulder. His sweater was soft, but Lance wished he could find a patch of bare skin to touch instead. “What do you usually do after a poetry reading? Go out and get a drink or something?” “No, but we can go out later. I have the feeling that you’re going to need a beer or

something after this.” Emboldened by the fact that Jakob wasn’t pulling away from him, Lance inhaled deeply. Jakob didn’t smell homeless, either. In fact, he smelled like oranges. What would he taste like? Would it be something tangy and sweet? “Why do you say that?” “FAGS!” Lance leapt apart from Jakob like he was made of hot metal, his heart slamming against his ribs, his body tensing into a defensive position. He looked left and right, but whoever had shouted at them was gone, or pretending they hadn’t said a word. Lance jumped to his feet, prepared to find whatever punk bitch shouted and tear him apart. “Lance?” Jakob took his hand. “Who the fuck said that?” Lance demanded, head still swinging back and forth, searching for the likely culprit. “The lady at the microphone,” Jakob said softly. “It’s part of her poem.” “It’s part of her…” “Part of her poem,” Jakob repeated, gently pulling Lance down to the couch. “Oh.” It felt like every single person in the room was staring at him. Probably because everybody was. Some were laughing. Most of them weren’t, but they still had funny looks on their faces. “Sorry…sorry. Please. Continue.” “That’s what they shouted…” The woman continued, sounding like she was never interrupted. Lance buried his face against Jakob’s shoulder, which wasn’t a bad place to be. “Oh my God.” Jakob’s shoulder shook, and Lance didn’t need to see his face to know what was happening. “Are you laughing at me?” “Only a little bit.” “I should probably leave before I do any more damage.” “No, it’s not that bad.” “It’s worse than that bad.” His skin absorbed Jakob’s warmth, which was decidedly not bad at all. “Did you see how everybody was staring at me?” “Everybody’s going to stare at you again if you don’t lower your voice,” Jakob whispered. “God. Sorry.” “It’s okay.” Jakob lifted his shoulder, nudging Lance into an upright position. “That’s Sandra. She can be a bit…intense. Especially if you’re not used to her particular style.” “Do you know everybody in here?” “Nearly everybody.” “So…” Lance covered his eyes, trying to rub the sudden ache from his temples. “I haven’t just embarrassed myself, I embarrassed you, too.” “I’ll forgive you.” “I’ll be quiet now,” Lance whispered. Jakob squeezed his hand in response, and Lance had a chance to notice the calluses on his fingers. No doubt from the guitar. He thought of rough fingers touching his chest, the side of his neck, or the sensitive spot on his inner thigh, and his cock twitched. Maybe he should suggest they go back to his place for that drink. The fact that Jakob was still holding his hand, still sitting close enough that Lance could smell the citrus, encouraged the possibility.

To force his cock to behave, he decided to concentrate on Sandra’s poetry. Which was unlike any poetry Lance was familiar with. Charles had shown him some sonnets by Shakespeare, and then they had looked up some more recent poems. Charles had assured him that Walt Whitman was very famous and popular, so Lance had read a few poems by him. A few short ones. He actually liked them a little bit. They weren’t like the sonnets. They were more free flowing, and they didn’t necessarily rhyme, but Lance understood they were actually quite nice. But Sandra didn’t sound anything like Shakespeare or Whitman. Her poetry didn’t rhyme, either, but there was a lot more shouting than Lance would have expected. “Is everybody this angry?” Lance whispered. “Not quite this angry. We can go if you want.” “No, you haven’t read yet.” “That’s okay.” Lance shook his head. “I want to hear your poem. This is just a little weird.” About six minutes later, Lance realized he spoke too soon. Sandra hadn’t been weird. Not even a little bit. The person after her was. Introduced merely as Mineral, Lance pegged the person’s age as anywhere in the twenties, or maybe the early thirties, and he could do nothing to discern said person’s sex. Hair was shoulder length, and face was too pretty for a man’s, but too thick to be a woman’s. Chest was flat, hips were wide, and Mineral muttered into the microphone, as though trying to mask his or her voice. “I thought I saw a rabbit running. Run rabbit. Run to the hills where the turtle is waiting. I heard the turtle calling. Then flying over the rabbit. Fly turtle. Fly like you were born free. We are all waiting. Waiting to be born free.” Lance blinked and leaned in close to Jakob, putting his mouth near his ear. “I don’t know what that means. How can a turtle fly?” “With wings, of course.” “Oh, of course. But where does a turtle get wings?” Jakob turned a little, and his mouth brushed against Lance’s cheek as he spoke. “He must have borrowed them from a duck.” Lance didn’t want to, but he had to turn away and bite his bottom lip until the urge to laugh passed. “Of course,” Jakob continued, once Lance had himself under control, “there’s a good chance the turtle is a metaphor.” “A metaphor?” He and Charles had researched metaphors. He ducked his head close to Jakob’s once again. “Like, saying your love is a rose?” “Yes.” “A turtle metaphor?” “I don’t know. What is a turtle-meta for?” “What?” The corner of Jakob’s mouth lifted. “I think the turtle might be a metaphor for her.” “Her? Mineral is a she?” “That’s the rumor. I have no firsthand knowledge.” “In that case, I’m going to have to say that ignorance is bliss. When are you going up?” Jakob sighed, and Lance noticed the way his cheek twitched. At that distance, he noticed just about every small detail of Jakob’s face. “Soon.”

“I’m not calling you a liar or anything…” His hand drifted back to Jakob’s shoulder. He felt like a teenager, trying to cop his first feel. But there was something intoxicating about stealing the tiny caresses. Like he was getting away with something daring. “But you sound nervous.” “I am. A little.” “I thought you said you didn’t get nervous.” “Usually, I don’t. But there’s a big difference between tonight and other nights.” “What?” Jakob turned his head, meeting Lance’s gaze head-on. “You’re here.” Lance tried to laugh that off, but the words made him feel oddly warm. “You don’t need to worry about impressing me or anything.” “I am, a little.” Lance smiled. “Let me ease your mind. Is your poem about a flying turtle?” “Maybe.” “Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m willing to give it a fair shot.” The small room erupted in polite applause and Mineral took a deep bow. Jakob’s fingers disappeared from Lance’s as he stood. “That’s my cue.” “Um…break a leg.” “Thanks.” Jakob made his way through the crowded room to stand in front of the microphone. He pulled a wrinkled paper from his front pocket, glanced over it, and then tucked it away. “Some of you might remember this poem from before. It’s a work in progress. So…I hope you enjoy it.” He took a deep breath. “It’s called ‘The Peculiar Poetry of Tommy Lee Jones.’” Lance frowned. Was Tommy Lee Jones a metaphor like a turtle? Or did Jakob actually plan to read a poem about Tommy Lee Jones? Was he a fan? Lance thought he was good in The Fugitive and Men in Black. Good enough to write a poem about? Lance wasn’t sure about that. “He doesn't write it. It sits in his skull/and waits for a seizure, a stroke, a small/drug overdose and the words spill from a mouth/in ruddy wavelets and the nurses dance/to the rhythms, twist twist twist, a syringe/gripped in the left hand and the stethoscope/twined caduceus up the right and c'mon/everybody clap your hands, your hands.” Lance blinked. He didn’t understand what any of that meant. There were even a few words he didn’t get. It was a little silly for Jakob to worry about impressing him when he didn’t understand the words coming out of his mouth. Fear tightened his throat. Jakob would probably ask his opinion. He’d probably want some sort of feedback, and compliments. And, worst of all, Lance hadn’t heard a single word so far about Tommy Lee Jones. Jakob took another deep breath, and for a brief second, Lance thought he was going to sit down. Except, he didn’t sit down. He began reading again. “The god of meaty biceps, the god of firecrackers/joining hands and cakewalking the halls. But he doesn't know it's in there, doesn't know/the shim shim shimmy rolling a tertius paeon/plinking in the nighttime brain bebop/while he merengues without knowing how/And the ambulance would swerve to the beat/and scatter Volkswagens to the curb and the drivers/would climb out banging their hands on the roof/in time, in time, in time time time.”

Lance leaned forward, unable to breath during the final four lines. He still didn’t understand the language, but he understood music. He felt himself being swept away in the rhythm of the words, the gentle cadence of Jakob’s voice, each pause for breath. He didn’t know if he wanted the poem to end. A part of him never wanted Jakob to stop speaking. He sounded smooth and confident. And sexy. Lance had never considered poetry particularly sexy before, but Jakob transformed the words. And somehow, the words transformed him. Transformed them both. **** Jakob’s apartment was small. Not unlike Lance’s closet. Or his attic. Though there were a good four inches between him and the ceiling, Lance couldn’t resist the urge to duck. It was also hot. Sweltering. The one window in the room was open, but Lance didn’t see any sign of an air conditioner. Did Jakob really live like this? How did he stand it? Lance thought it would drive him crazy after a week. Jakob’s furniture consisted of a ratty looking couch, a stool, and a chair. His kitchen seemed to be nothing more than a small fridge and a hot plate. “It’s…” “You don’t have to try to find something nice to say,” Jakob interrupted. “No, it’s great. You know, cozy.” “That’s one word for it. But I really only sleep here, so it doesn’t bother me. And it’s nice and quiet here. My downstairs neighbors are all graduate students.” “I like it.” “Thanks for tonight. I had a great time.” Lance smiled. “So did I.” “Not counting the poetry?” “No, it wasn’t all bad. You were fantastic.” Jakob actually blushed a little at that. “Thanks.” “But…will you think less of me if I tell you I don’t know what it means?” “No. Not at all. A lot of it was really…personal.” “I wanted to. I still want to. Maybe someday I will.” “I have another poem that might be…easier to understand. It’s about my grandfather.” Jakob rubbed the back of his neck. “Though you don’t have to listen to it if you don’t want to. You want something to drink? I have some soda. Or some water.” Lance thought he would need some water sooner or later. Especially since sweat was already rolling down the back of his neck. “I’m fine for now.” Lance took a step closer, wondering why Jakob had put so much distance between them. “Mind if I have a seat?” “Sorry. Please, sit down. I don’t know where my manners are.” Lance perched on the edge of the couch, expecting Jakob to join him, but the other man didn’t move. “I would like to hear it.” “What.” “Your other poem. I want to hear it.” Jakob looked uncertain. “You don’t have to.” “No, I…I know I’m not the smartest guy around, but I love the way you…sound. I don’t know how else to describe it.” “If you say so.” Jakob took his small notebook out of his back pocket and flipped to the pages. “It’s called ‘Nuclear Family’.” A nervous smile Lance was beginning to

recognize played at his lips. “There aren’t many pictures. Dad was late/behind too many brothers. All the new/excitement wearing off by then, the film/just never seemed to make it to the store.” Lance smiled and relaxed. This made sense. Jakob’s voice sounded the same as before, it was the same rise and fall, carrying Lance forward. “In black-and-white photography, his hair/can't show its matchhead-shimmer red. It could/be something safe and brown. It might not glow/like a lighthouse as he leans against/the old Ford’s fender, holds it like a boulder/that wants to bound across a mountain, leave/some flattened goatherd in its wake. He smiles/no not the goatherd, I am circling back/to redhead boys in black and white who grin,/their knees knobbed out and feet bare in the dust.” Lance actually laughed a little at the joke. Jakob looked up, startled, then understanding cleared his eyes. His smile matched Lance’s as he began the final verse. “A date spiders the back, in bluish ink/July, his birthday, 1945/a month knee-deep in trinities, in crossing/father, son, and ghosts of mushroom clouds/the sand exploding outward, white and soft/as ashes, built up from a million shells/the oysters all surprised to feel the sun.” Lance felt the same stirring as before. “You do the readings every night, you said?” “Yeah. I don’t usually read poetry like ‘The Peculiar Poetry of Tommy Lee Jones.’ That one was particularly personal.” “Did you read it tonight…for me?” “It’s personal, but I think it’s my best one.” Lance nodded and patted the cushion beside him. “Why don’t you come over and sit beside me?” Jakob shuffled forward, almost as if sitting beside Lance was the last thing he wanted to do. Lance didn’t understand that. Earlier that night, Jakob had snuggled close to him, comfortably leaning against Lance’s arm for the duration of the open-mic readings. And now he looked more than a little wary. When he sat down, there were several inches between them. Several inches too many. Lance slid over. “I hope we can do it again soon,” Lance said. “I don’t know about another poetry reading, but maybe a concert? Or just going to my favorite bar?” “Your favorite bar? Is that where the rest of the firemen hang out?” “Sure, a lot of them do.” “It wouldn’t bother you to be seen with me?” “No. They’ll probably give me a bit of a hard time for it back at the station, but if anybody gets in my face, I’ll just punch him.” “I have a feeling you’re not joking.” “I’m not.” “Well, I appreciate the invitation. But…” Lance didn’t want to hear what came after the but. He didn’t want to give Jakob a chance to turn him down. He didn’t want Jakob to even able to get a protest in. He grabbed the other man by the back of his head and pressed their mouths together. Jakob didn’t respond at first, but Lance didn’t let that dissuade him. The tip of his tongue traced the seam of Jakob’s mouth, probing for entrance. Jakob moaned, but it wasn’t in protest. He opened his mouth, and Lance immediately took advantage of the invitation. Jakob’s tongue slid against his, hot and searching, and

Lance’s other arm snuck around Jakob’s back. His cock hardened, straining against his slacks, and each brush of Jakob’s tongue in his mouth sent a shiver down his spine. Jakob tasted of coffee and the sweet biscotti he had for dessert. The citrus smell only seemed stronger the longer they kissed, and his hair was soft beneath Lance’s fingers. Lance’s entire body responded to Jakob. Every sense came to life, every cell in his being cried out for more. Without thinking, he pushed Jakob back to the couch, covering the other man’s frame with his larger body. Jakob’s cock was hard, pressing into Lance’s hips, fueling Lance’s hunger. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted another man this much. He wanted Jakob’s mouth, and he wanted Jakob’s body, and he wanted to taste Jakob’s skin. Jakob broke the kiss first, but Lance didn’t care. He just shifted his attention to Jakob’s jaw and neck, his mouth hungry, his mind racing. Was that smell cologne? Soap? Something else. “Lance…” “Hmm?” “Stop…” “Hmm?” “Stop.” “What?” Jakob pushed against Lance’s chest, hard enough to force him to straighten. Jakob’s lips were already swollen, and his hair was mussed, his glasses askew. “I don’t think we should do this.” “What?” “We shouldn’t do this. I can’t do this.” Lance blinked. “Not to sound like a broken record, but what? We were having a great time. And I know you liked it.” “I did. I liked it a lot. And I like you. But…I don’t want to do this. I’m sorry.” “Can I just ask why?” “Because I don’t…I don’t do this with people like you.” “People like me?” “Firemen.” Lance shook his head. “I don’t understand. You knew I was a fireman from the second we met. You knew when you invited me out to coffee. You knew when you invited me to the reading tonight.” “I know.” Jakob looked up with so much misery in his blue eyes that most of Lance’s ire immediately melted. “I thought I could look past it. I thought that we’d have a great time, and maybe go on a few dates and just have some fun. That’s what I wanted. But…I can’t ignore that you’re a firefighter. I can’t. You should probably just go.” “I don’t want to go.” Jakob jumped to his feet. “It’s not going to do you any good to stay here. I’ m not going to change my mind.” “Maybe I want to talk about it.” “There isn’t anything to talk about.” Lance stood, but he didn’t take a step toward the door. He feared if he actually left, he might never see Jakob again. He could respect Jakob’s desire not to have sex. He could keep his hands to himself, if he had to. He didn’t even fully understand why he

needed to stay. But he was quickly learning that when it came to Jakob, it was best to follow his instincts. And at that moment, all of his instincts told him not to leave. “I think there is. If you don’t want to talk to me, or you don’t trust me, I’ll go. But if nothing else, we can be friends, right?” Jakob regarded him for a moment before nodding. “You know, I’m not really in the habit of just spilling my guts to anybody.” “Except through your poems?” “Yeah. Sit down, I’ll go get you a drink. It’s getting warm in here.” “Thank you,” Lance said, not just referring to the drink. He settled back on the couch, resting his ankle on his knee, trying to be casual. His stomach felt like a tangle of knots, and he didn’t know what to expect. A part of him hoped the night wasn’t a complete loss. He had friends in the academy who perfected the art of thoughtful, sensitive listening, and they barely had to lift a finger to get girls in bed. Would the same thing work on another man? Would it work on another man as sensitive as Jakob? Another part of Lance didn’t care anything about that. He just wanted to get to the source of pain, and the misery, in Jakob’s eyes, and fix it.

Chapter Three “My father passed his competency exam the day before I was born. In fact, they were celebrating when my mom went into labor. They were kids. I can’t even imagine being married with a baby on the way at nineteen, but that was my dad’s life. Sometimes, I wish I could ask him, you know? If he had any regrets. If he ever wanted to do anything else with his life. He never let on. He never once gave me any reason to think he was disappointed with his family, or his job, or his home.” Jakob paused and sipped from his glass of ice water. They were both sitting on the couch, but on opposite ends. Lance wanted to pull Jakob against him again. He thought this story might be easier for both of them if they were touching. Lance mimicked him, bringing his own glass of water to his mouth, wishing it was something stronger. “After me, my parents had two more kids. Both girls.” A small smile touched Jakob’s face. “Annie and Emily. They’re still in New York, both going to school right now. I’m not going to say we had the perfect family life or that everything was some sort of fairy tale. But we were really happy.” “What was your dad like?” Lance asked softly. “He had a weird sense of humor. I mean, it was really strange. Have you ever heard the interrupting cow joke?” “No, I don’t think I have.” “Knock knock.” “What?” “Knock. Knock.” “Who’s there?” “Interrupting cow.” “Interrupting co…” “Moo.” Jakob’s face cracked with a smile. “It’s silly, right? But I swear to God, he never got tired of that joke. Fortunately for him, Annie never got tired of it, either.” Lance smiled, too. “It’s a good joke.” “It’s a silly joke. He loved Halloween. He had to work some Halloweens, but sometimes, he had it off. And he would always dress us up in these strange, elaborate costumes. And when he took us around for the trick-or-treating, he would always make us perform a trick first before we were allowed to get candy. Magic tricks, in fact.” “Magic? Like what?” Jakob leaned forward and touched Lance’s ear. Something silver glinted in the apartment’s dim light. “I found a quarter. There were card tricks, too. He was going to teach me the cup and ball trick, but…” “How did he know all those magic tricks?” Lance asked. “He would never tell us. It was part of the mystique, you know? He also loved April Fool’s Day. Most people are happy to replace the sugar with salt, or something like that. One year, he had us absolutely convinced the aliens were coming.” Lance arched his brow. “Space aliens?” “Honest-to-God space aliens. We were standing on the roof, waiting for the flying saucer, with signs. My mom just about lost it. She ultimately excused herself to the

bedroom, claiming she had a headache. Dad tried to talk her out with us, and we were frantic trying to convince her. What if the aliens took us and left her behind?” “Were you disappointed when the aliens didn’t show up?” Jakob shook his head. “No. We spent almost all night on the roof, watching the sky. Mom brought us ice cream. Dad told us stories about what the alien planets must be like. We…we all sat with him, blankets wrapped around us, and he just told us stories until we fell asleep.” “That sounds nice.” “It was…it was really nice.” “He told stories. Is he the reason you’re a writer?” “Yeah, partially. Mom probably had a hand in it, too. She always carries a notebook with her to write down ideas, and lines that come to her, and titles. But with three small kids…she never had the chance to do anything about it. But she always bought me notebooks and books, and anything else I ever needed. I remember scribbling in those things. I don’t think I was even making words, and as soon as Dad stepped through the door, no matter how tired he was after his shift, I would run and show him. And he’d read them.” Jakob paused and swallowed. His blue eyes were swimming. “Every single nonword.” “Jakob…we don’t have to keep talking about this if you don’t want to. I didn’t…this isn’t quite how I meant for this night to go.” “Do you mind if I want to keep talking about it? I’ve never…I’ve never said any of this to anybody before. And you’re a good listener.” “Oh, God, of course I don’t mind. I just don’t want to put you through…anything too heavy.” “No…talking about it isn’t any more painful than living with it.” Jakob took a deep breath. “I was eating cookies that day. I had grabbed the whole bag when I got home, and I sat down on the couch with a huge glass of milk. It’s weird what your memory holds on to, isn’t it? I can still remember eating those damned Oreos. Mom came into the room, and I was licking the cream out of one, you know, and she told me…Dad wasn’t coming home. And I needed to help her with the girls.” “I’m so sorry, Jake. I can’t imagine…I can’t even imagine what that must have felt like.” “I can’t do that again, Lance. And I know you didn’t come up here tonight because you were planning to spend the rest of your life with me, or anything. But it’s…it’s still…” “Scary. Yeah. I get that.” “And now I’ve completely bummed you out and ruined your night…” “You didn’t ruin my night. I did ask, right? But the night doesn’t have to be over. Why don’t we…watch a movie or something?” “You want to stay?” “Honestly? I don’t think I want to leave you alone right now.” “I’m not going to do anything…rash.” “I know. But it’s not very gentlemanly.” “You’re a gentleman?” “Of course I am. I’m not making any more moves on you, right?” “Not yet. What if this movie watching thing is just a ploy?”

Lance smiled. “It’s not a ploy. But if it makes you feel better, there’s an invisible wall down the center of the couch. You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine.” Jakob tilted his head, considering the proposal for a moment before answering. “Okay. But I don’t have any DVDs, so we’ll just have to watch whatever’s on television.” Lance nodded. That was fine with him. He didn’t plan on watching the movie, anyway. He just wanted to keep an eye on Jakob and maybe try to sort through all the knotted feelings that made his chest ache. Jakob curled up on his end of the sofa, tucking his feet under him and leaning against the arm. Lance itched to touch him, but he distracted himself by picking at the threads that stuck up from the old material. Jakob turned on his small television and flipped through the channels, pausing for seconds on each station before moving on to the next one. “Wait, wait. What’s that?” Lance asked. “What’s what? Oh, I think this is Leonard Part 6.” “It’s just starting. We should watch it,” Lance said. “You’ve never seen it before.” “How do you know?” “Because anybody who’s seen this movie once doesn’t have any reason to watch it a second time.” “Is it really that bad?” “Think of the worst movie you’ve ever seen. It’s worse than that.” “It can’t be worse than Plan 9 From Outer Space.” “It is. At least you get the sense that Ed Wood was trying to make something original and worthwhile. He failed, but he gets points for effort. But Bill Cosby? He had no excuse.” “You do realize that you just sold me on the idea of watching it, don’t you? I love bad movies. Though most of my friends think that’s just because I have bad taste.” “Fine, but I’m warning you, if we watch it and you like it, I won’t be able to respect you anymore.” Lance grinned. “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.” “Fair enough.” Leonard Part 6 was worse than Lance expected. It was worse than anything Lance had ever experienced. He wanted to yank the remote from Jakob’s hand and turn the damned thing off, but he didn’t want to give Jakob any reason to kick him out. At the moment when Bill Cosby began dancing ballet in order to kill strange men dressed as birds—or maybe they were birds—Lance wanted to shout, “Are you fucking kidding me?” Soon after that, Jakob’s head began to nod forward. Moving slowly, Lance slid over on the cushion. Jakob didn’t notice. Or maybe he didn’t care. But when his body listed to the right, Lance was there to catch him. The movie ended and some Chuck Norris film began, but Lance didn’t push Jakob away, or try to turn off the television. He just sat there, listening to Jakob breathe, and wondering if his dreams were as haunted as his waking hours. ****

Jakob woke up with a kink in his neck, a knot in his back, and the taste of a kiss lingering on his lips. He immediately reached for Lance, but he was alone on the couch. The television was still on, softly playing colorful, bright, perky Saturday morning cartoons. Jakob licked his lips, but his tongue was dry, and his face felt tight and cracked. He needed a hot shower, and a cold drink, and some food wouldn’t hurt, either. A white scrap of paper on the couch caught his attention. He brought it up to his face, trying to force his blurry eyes to focus on the words scrawled across the page. Jakob, I wish I could have stayed for breakfast, but I had to get to work. I hope we can see each other again. Maybe we can get together and watch more bad movies?—Lance. Jakob couldn’t stop his smile. He had been in Los Angeles for four years, and in all that time, he had never met anybody like Lance. He knew men as attractive as Lance, but none of them made Jakob laugh. And he knew people as funny as Lance, but they never made Jakob’s heart race. He knew dozens of people who would go with him to poetry readings, and they would even participate, but none of those other men ever watched Jakob like Lance had the night before. They never looked at Jakob like they were really seeing him. Jakob shut off the television and made his way into his small bathroom. It was right below where the roof tilted, and he had to duck low to comfortably fit into the space. The reflection in the mirror was normal. Perfectly normal. His beard had a night’s growth, and his hair was mussed, but otherwise, he looked himself. He didn’t feel himself. He couldn’t forget the way Lance’s mouth felt against his, or the weight of his body, or the soft smell of his laundry detergent, still clinging to his clothes. They should have slept together. Jakob would have fucked him, if he just liked him a little less. If Lance’s smile was a little less engaging. If Jakob’s heart didn’t twist every time he looked in Lance’s brown eyes, he would have slept with him. If he thought, for one second, he could have a simple one-night stand with Lance, would have fucked him on the couch, on the floor, and against the wall. Jakob recognized a one-night stand when he saw one, and Lance wasn’t one. Lance was an addiction. And Lance seemed to really like him. As soon as they kissed, Jakob realized his mistake. Pushing Lance away was the only way to rectify his mistake. He should have kept pushing. He should have sent Lance right out the door, but he hadn’t. They didn’t have any plans to see each other again, and Jakob could find a new place to sing. There were plenty of coffee shops around Los Angeles, after all. He liked his spot outside Café Muse. Cyn always gave him free coffee, the regulars knew him and always made requests and offered tips in return, and the surrounding buildings protected him from direct sunlight for most of the day. But if he stood out there, Lance would find him again. And if he stood there, and Lance didn’t find him again, he would be disappointed instead of relieved. Jakob splashed his face with cold water, but that did nothing to distract his mind from Lance. He continued with his morning routine—brushing his teeth, checking the length of his beard, combing his hair. He searched for the perfect pair of pants, not willing to admit to himself that he was looking for clothes Lance would appreciate. Though Lance had mentioned the suspicion of being homeless in jest, it had still stung. Even though it was a natural assumption. And, to be fair, he only lived a step or two above homelessness. But he didn’t want Lance to think he was some sort of head case, or that he needed

anybody’s charity. He made enough money busking to pay what small bills he had, and he paid rent out of the savings account his father had set up for him before he was born. That money had been meant for college, but Jakob only made it one semester in school before dropping out. The counselor he saw at the time said it was anxiety. He didn’t know how to process anxiety in a healthy way, and as a result, everything overwhelmed him. Jakob was sure that was true, but he wasn’t interested in wasting more time and money in school. So he’d convinced his mother to sign the savings account over to him, and gone to find his way in California. Maybe he was thinking about Lance too much. If he saw the other man again, he would play it by ear. If Lance thought he was nothing than a waste of time, Jakob wouldn’t begrudge him that. After all, he had flirted with Lance, and bought him coffee, and basically asked him on a date, and invited him up to his apartment. He had sent so many signals, a blind man would have seen them. And then he had shut Lance down cold. Who wanted to spend time with somebody like that? Who needed that sort of hassle in his life? Probably not a man as busy as Lance. Especially since Lance had only gone to the poetry reading so he could impress Jakob. And he had stayed for the whole thing without complaint. He had clearly expected to get something out of the experience. Something besides staying up until the wee hours of the morning watching Leonard Part 6 on a lumpy couch. Jakob let himself out of the house and hesitated once he stepped on the sidewalk. After a few moments, he turned right. Toward Café Muse. And he promised himself he wouldn’t be disappointed if he didn’t see Lance.

Chapter Four Lance leaned against the wall, one foot resting behind him, his fingers hooked in his pocket, dark glasses protecting his eyes from the ruthless sun. From where he stood, he could easily see and hear Jakob, but Jakob couldn’t see him. Lance wasn’t trying to stalk or spy on the man—though he didn’t think it was possible to do either to a street performer—but he had been caught by the music he heard from at the other end of the block. Jakob had insisted he only played because he couldn’t read poetry, but his voice was amazing. It was a little bit higher than Lance would have expected, and occasionally, his words lifted into a high falsetto that shouldn’t be possible. The crowd shifted, people coming and going, but there was always a handful of people gathered around him. Every time somebody dropped money in the open guitar case, he smiled and nodded in acknowledgement, without missing a single beat. Lance wondered if he had regular listeners. Was Jakob the highlight of somebody’s day? Did they look forward to seeing him in the morning on their way to work, or pausing to listen to him at lunch? He was quickly becoming the highlight of Lance’s day. The few times he stood near Jakob to listen, he seemed to distract the man. So when he wanted to hear an entire song uninterrupted, he lingered, leaning against the wall, letting the sound wash over him. How could a person as talented as Jakob not have a record deal? Or at least a regular gig? How could Jakob be reduced to playing the sidewalk outside a coffee shop? Lance couldn’t figure it out. Once the song ended and Jakob’s small group of fans broke into a light applause, Lance straightened and sauntered down the street. He always tried to look casual, like he was just going about his business, and had no idea that he would run into Jakob. He didn’t know how well he pulled off the look, though. Especially since his entire body flared hot as soon as Jakob caught his eye and smiled in greeting. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d be late today,” Jakob said. “Am I ever late?” “No. You’re remarkably punctual, given we never actually have plans to meet.” Lance frowned. “Am I annoying you?” “No. No, I didn’t mean to sound like that. I’m actually really happy you’re so punctual. And a little surprised.” “Why surprised? A person’s got to have coffee, right? Besides, I really like their house blend.” Jakob smiled and lifted the guitar strap from his shoulder. “Oh, I see what’s happening here. You’re just using me as an excuse to get your coffee.” “Well, I can’t be seen in a place like this by myself.” “Of course not. Your reputation would never recover.” “That’s exactly what I’m thinking. But to make up for using you so ruthlessly, I’ll buy today.” “Why do you insist on buying every day? I don’t mind picking up the tab once in awhile.” “Because I’m the one imposing on you,” Lance said, holding the door open to allow

Jakob to pass. “You’re not an imposition.” Every time Jakob said something like that, hope surged in Lance’s chest. He knew Jakob was serious about being nothing more than friends. Despite the attraction simmering between them, that he knew Jakob felt, nothing more had happened. Lance had dropped several clues, and offered several openings, but Jakob ignored them all. Lance supposed he should stop torturing himself. It didn’t actually help him to sit across from Jakob and study his blue eyes and remember the way his lips had tasted. It made everything a thousand times worse, every single day, but Lance was embracing his masochistic side. “I actually have a proposition for you,” Lance said, once they were seated with their usual drinks at their usual table. He watched Jakob lift the cup to his mouth, remembering what it felt like to have the short whiskers of Jakob’s mustache brush across his own lips. “If movies have taught me anything, that’s never a good way to open a conversation.” “It’s more of an invitation.” “Does money exchange hands at any point?” “Yes.” “Then it’s probably a proposition.” “But it’s not a sexual invitation.” The corner of Jakob’s mouth lifted. “I never said it was.” “I just wanted to be clear on that.” “I understand. Actually, you’ve been great this week. No come-ons, and you’ve kept your staring to a minimum.” Lance stopped. “You notice when I’m staring at you?” “Yeah. But only when I’m staring at you.” “I never notice you staring at me.” “I try to be discreet. With all due respect, you’re not really the subtle type.” “I can work on that, if you’d like.” Jakob’s smile faded a bit. “This is why I don’t think we should keep meeting like this, Lance.” “What? We’re just two friends, having some coffee, and enjoying the day.” “I don’t think we’re just friends, Lance. Do you regularly check out your friends? And flirt with them?” Lance looked up to the ceiling, considering Jakob’s question. “Honestly? Yeah, with a few of them. Though to be fair, they’re people I’ve already slept with. Look, if I’m bothering you when I come around, I’ll stop.” “No,” Jakob said quickly. “No, I don’t want that. I’m just not sure what I do want.” “This conversation is getting a little far from where I started. Let’s back up a bit. Do you want to hear my invitation?” “I’d love to.” “Okay, my friend Charles always gets a hold of a really nice house up in the Hills and hosts a huge Fourth of July party. He invites just about every person he’s ever met, and considering his father is a pretty well-known movie producer, that’s a lot of people. He also always hires a few bands. And I convinced him he needed to hire you.” Jakob cocked his eyebrow. “Even though he’s never heard me play, and for all he

knows, I suck?” “Yes. He trusts me.” Which wasn’t quite the truth. Charles would probably milk the situation for the next decade. Lance could already hear him. Hey, remember when I let your non-boyfriend play my party? Give me a ride to the airport. He didn’t care, though. It was more than worth it. “And I think it would be good for you.” “Good for me?” “Yeah. It’s good money.” Another favor. Charles asked if he could get Jakob for free. Lance told him if he tried to fuck Jakob out of the money, there’d be hell to pay. “And there are some, you know, important people there.” “You don’t have to try to buy me.” Lance blinked. “I’m not trying to buy you. I think you’re really good, and I want other people to know how good you are.” “How do you know I’m really good? I’ve never played for you.” Lance rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve listened to you. I just make sure you can’t see me. So I don’t distract you.” “You spy on me?” “Why are you bound and determined to turn everything I say into something creepy? I’m not trying to buy you. I’m not spying on you. I just wanted to do something nice for a friend of mine. But fuck me for trying, right?” Lance stood as he spoke, but Jakob reached out and took his hand. His skin was hot from the coffee, his fingers as rough as Lance remembered. The touch sent an electric shock to his spine, and he forgot his annoyance. Especially when Jakob looked up at him with his baby blues. Lance expected Jakob to release him, but he lingered, his touch branding Lance’s skin. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to pick a fight. I don’t want you to go.” Ruffled feathers smoothed over, Lance returned to his seat, but he was sorry to lose the contact with Jakob. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. But I don’t spy on you. I just wait around the corner until you stop playing. I like to listen to you.” “Thank you.” “And I’d like it if you played Charles’ party.” “I will.” Lance smiled. “Really?” “Yes. It was nice of you to think of me. And hey, I like money.” “Money is always nice to have,” Lance agreed. “I can pick you up that morning, if you like. I always help Charles set things up. It might be easier than paying to take a taxi up or something.” “You think we should spend the whole day with each other?” “Sure. Unless you’re worried about something?” Jakob shook his head. “Nope, not worried. It’ll be fun.” Lance tapped his temple and pointed at Jakob. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. We’re on the same wavelength here.” “Sometimes, Lance, I think that might be the problem.” Lance nodded. He thought that might be the problem, too.

Chapter Five Independence Day dawned bright and hot, and the temperature only increased as the day wore on. Jakob was grateful he chose to wear a baggy T-shirt and loose shorts, grateful for the shade above the special stage Charles had built by the pool, and grateful for the cooler full of what seemed to be an endless supply of icy beer. Jakob decided he needed to focus on the positive aspects of the party; otherwise, he was going to be in for a very long, hot day. Jakob had never seen Lance like this. He was sweet and a little bit unsure of himself every time he stepped into Café Muse, but he was a completely different person when he felt in his element. He laughed easily with his friends, moving from group to group, his attention occasionally drifting to where Jakob sat. Alone. Jake had insisted he was fine. He needed to tune his guitar, and he told Lance he liked to sit by himself and concentrate before playing for a large group of people. Lance, eager to demonstrate that he respected Jakob’s boundaries, was happy to leave him in peace. Jakob itched to leave altogether, but since he had accepted a ride from Lance, he was stuck until the end of the night. He had no doubt Lance would drop everything and take him home—or anywhere else he wanted to go—if Jakob said the word, but he didn’t want to take Lance away from his friends. He seemed so relaxed. So happy. Everybody in the backyard seemed relaxed and happy. Children shouted and splashed in the pool, carefree with plastic floaties on their arms. Jakob could tell at a glance which of the guests were firefighters. A few helpfully wore T-shirts, like the one Lance had worn the day they met, but the rest of them just had a certain look that Jakob couldn’t put his finger on, but always recognized. He sat in his corner, strumming at his guitar absently, feeling completely out of place and wondering just what the fuck he had been thinking. He had been sorry for offending Lance, and honestly, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to spend time with the other man. Even though every time they were within touching distance, Jakob found a new temptation. It wasn’t enough to think about the shape of his mouth, or the way he tasted, or the rich color of his eyes. Jakob had to obsess over the mole on Lance’s neck, and the fact that his earlobes were attached, and the tiny strands of hair above the bridge of his nose. Lance seemed to spend most of his time with the host of the party, Charles Hill. Much to Jakob’s annoyance, Charles was a very good-looking man. He and Lance had a certain level of familiarity and comfort with each other that could only mean the two of them were more than just friends. Occasionally, it seemed like they laughed a little too much, or touched each other for a little too long, and jealousy wound through him like a long, green snake. Jakob hated himself for that. He had no right to be jealous. He wouldn’t even let Lance touch him. They were just friends. But it still felt a little like a slap in the face. Which just meant Jakob should do the smart thing and end whatever they were doing before it got out of hand. A pained scream startled Jakob from his thoughts, and he jumped to his feet, automatically searching for the source of the sound. A little girl knelt on the edge of the pool, blood running down her face from a cut above her eye. Every adult in the yard

immediately sprang to attention, but there was only one man—obviously her father—who rushed toward her. Jakob watched as he scooped her up and made the appropriate comforting sounds, magically producing a rag to hold against her head. She snuggled into his arms and the tears dried almost as quickly as they began, her face reflecting perfect confidence in her safety. As he carried her away, the din of the party returned, and Jakob settled in his chair, a guitar on his leg, a vague, worried knot in his throat. The knot didn’t fade. Not even when Charles jumped on the stage and announced Jakob to a smattering of polite applause. Most of the people had their back to the stage, and they didn’t even notice as he sat on the stool in front of the microphone. Jakob didn’t mind. He did mind the fact Lance was watching him with the sort of rapt intention that implied he never planned to look away. As soon as Jakob made eye contact with him, butterflies amassed in his stomach and fluttered up to his throat. Lance smiled—maybe in encouragement—and the butterflies only moved faster. He was so beautiful that looking at him made Jakob feel stupid. His brain just completely shut down. He considered saying a few words and introducing the song, but it would be better for his nerves to launch into the song. After all, he never took the time to introduce the songs when he was playing on some street corner. Jakob didn’t think he had any tunes appropriate for an extravagant backyard barbecue, and he’d tried to tell Charles as much, giving him one more chance to change his mind. Charles hadn’t cared about his protests. Or maybe Charles hadn’t been listening to him. The other man barely shook his hand when they met, and didn’t have more than two or three words to say to him for the whole party. Was he jealous? Or was he still convinced Jakob was some sort of bum? Jake just wasn’t sure. He couldn’t look at Lance as he sang. He concentrated on the tree tops, noting the way the leaves and limbs slashed across the clear blue sky, cutting new shapes against the perfect backdrop. Midway through the first song, the butterflies faded away, but he still didn’t look at the guests. He slid into the second song without pause, letting his fingers move like they had minds of their own. He had decided to start with some standards for events like this—some Beatles, a variety of pop classics from the sixties and seventies, and a few of his own personal favorites, though they were more obscure. He didn’t know many covers, though, so he hoped there wouldn’t be any requests. As the final notes of the second song floated around him, the entire party broke into loud applause. He blinked, finally forcing himself to focus on them once again. His gaze immediately fell on Lance, who was beaming. Jakob tentatively smiled back, unbelievably pleased by the way Lance smiled just for him. Jakob relaxed after that, feeling more at ease with every song. When he ran out of the cover songs and segued into his own compositions, nobody missed a beat or seemed put out. The sun sunk lower behind him, casting the yard in longer and longer shadows, and offering a bit of relief from the stifling heat. An occasional breeze tickled the back of his neck, cooling him further, and the bonfire Charles started on the other side of the yard popped and clicked in time with the music. The herd of children, exhausted from their afternoon of playing in the sun and soothed by Jakob’s voice, disappeared into the house or stretched out on blankets on the lawn. Jakob felt like he could play all night. Especially when Lance looked at him with some sense of pride, or awe, or just… Jakob’s mind skittered away from finishing that thought. Lance wasn’t exactly an open book. He couldn’t trust himself to read a man he barely knew—and even after

spending nearly three weeks talking to him every day over coffee, he still barely knew Lance. What he saw on Lance’s face was just a trick of the light. A trick of his own mind. But he couldn’t deny the way Lance focused on him for the entire performance, watching him raptly, smiling occasionally. Jakob had said the problem was that he and Lance was on the same wavelength. Jakob thought maybe the real problem was the way Lance made him feel like the center of his universe. Lance was waiting for him when Jakob stepped off the small stage. He slapped Jakob on the shoulder, and his hand lingered there. Anybody else would have seen nothing more than a friendly touch. “Please tell me you’re not going to spend the rest of the night hiding in the corner,” Lance said. “Not the rest of the night, no. I need a drink.” “Beer?” Jakob nodded. Lance’s hand was still on his shoulder. Firm and warm, and it felt right. Which was just another reason to step away, to break contact. “That sounds great.” “I made sure Charles saved the best steak for you, too.” “Really?” “Well, it’s a good steak.” Lance smiled. “It’s an okay steak.” “I’m so hungry right now, I think I would accept a low-grade steak.” “I’m glad to hear that. Come on.” As soon as they stepped away from the stage, people swarmed them. Lance happily made the introductions, though Jakob couldn’t remember anybody’s name. He shook their hands with pleasure, he thanked them for their compliments, he apologized that he didn’t have an album released, and he didn’t mention that Lance found him on the street outside of Café Muse. Not because he was ashamed of where Lance found him, but because he wanted to eat. “I think you’ve just made a lot of new fans,” Lance said, once they were at the buffet table. It contained more than just steak. In fact, Jakob couldn’t remember the last time he had seen a spread like that. He certainly couldn’t remember the last time there had been so much food in one place. “Including you?” “Well, I’m not a new fan at all.” They came to a stop at the end of a long picnic table, and Lance handed him a plate. “I’ve always been a fan of yours.” “And by always, do you mean the past three weeks?” “It seems like longer than that.” Jakob was sure everything on the table was delicious, but he picked at the food without really seeing it. “Could you tell I was a bit nervous on stage?” “Not on stage. But I kind of got a clue when you were hiding in the corner.” “I wasn’t hiding. I told you.” Jakob’s hand hovered over the fruit salad before bypassing it. “I was preparing.” “You looked a little like a nutcase.” Jakob grimaced. “Really?” “Don’t worry. It adds to your mystique as a moody artist.” “I’m not that moody.” “I thought you didn’t get nervous on stage?” Lance asked as Jakob spooned

macaroni salad onto his plate. “Only when you’re watching me.” Lance shook his head. “I don’t get that.” “I don’t, either.” “Come on. There’s a blanket over by the fire with our names on it.” Jakob followed him without protest, and was only a little shocked to see that the folded blanket on the ground did actually have a sign with Lance’s name on it. Jakob lowered himself to it carefully, expecting the bonfire to be far too hot in the summer night. But it actually felt pleasant, and he liked the color of Lance’s eyes in the firelight. “Hey, man, that was awesome.” Jakob didn’t have the chance to respond before Charles joined them on the blanket, throwing himself to the ground and slapping Jakob on the back. “I’m sorry I doubted you, but Lance has shit taste in music.” “Yeah, my taste’s so bad, you had to steal half of my CDs,” Lance said wryly. “You want them back? You know where to find them.” Charles picked a chip off the plate Lance made for himself, and shifted his attention back to Jakob. “Is there any way you could play an encore a little later? Maybe after all the fireworks? I’ll be happy to pay you extra.” “Yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem. Does this party tend to go that long?” “Oh, yeah. We keep things rolling until dawn around here, don’t we, Lance?” “We’ve been known to serve breakfast to a few people.” Lance said it so casually that understanding struck Jakob like a bolt of lightning. This might be Charles’s party now, but in the past it had been Charles and Lance’s party. How long ago had that been? When did the party become the sole property of Charles Hill? And why was this bothering him so much? “After the fireworks, everybody with kids goes home, and the real fun can start,” Charles added. “You’re going to stick around for that?” Jakob glanced over to Lance. “Yeah. Sure. I guess I’m sticking around as long as Lance is.” “Great. I’m gonna go mingle,” he said, before pushing himself to his feet. As he walked by Lance, he casually ruffled his hair, like he regularly touched and pawed at Lance. “So…what’s the deal with the two of you?” Jakob asked, once Charles was on the other side of the yard. “We’re just friends.” “Really?” “Well, we’re just friends now. We used to be more.” “You used to sleep together?” Jakob asked. “Yes.” “Was he your boyfriend?” “I…I don’t know. I guess so.” “You still sleep together?” “I…” “It’s okay,” Jakob said quickly. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.” “Sometimes. When we both have to blow off some steam.” “Have you had to blow off any steam lately?” “Have I needed to? Definitely. Have I done anything about it? Definitely not.” Lance

popped a pretzel in his mouth. “You jealous?” “No.” “It sounds like you’re jealous.” “I’m not jealous.” “If you say so.” Jakob set his plate down and turned to face Lance. “I’m not jealous of your friend.” “Oh?” Lance leaned closer and lowered his voice. “What if I told you I kissed him yesterday?” Jakob’s jaw dropped. “I would…Did you really?” Lance’s smile was unrepentantly amused. “No. But now I’m convinced that you’re definitely jealous. There’s no reason to be, you know.” “Why?” Jakob pushed his food around his plate, his appetite suddenly gone. “Because I’m not your boyfriend, and it’s none of my concern who you do or don’t kiss?” “No.” Lance leaned closer. “Because I haven’t even been able to look at another guy since I met you.” “Lance…” Jakob wanted to tell him to stop, but the words wouldn’t come. The din of the party faded away to nothing, and he was more than a little entranced by the reflection of warm fire in Lance’s eyes. “What?” “Don’t.” “But I want to.” He brushed Jakob’s cheek with his knuckles. “Do you have any idea how amazing you look on that stage? You come to life when you’re performing. I can’t keep my eyes off you.” “I tried to keep my eyes off you,” Jakob admitted, leaning into Lance’s touch. He couldn’t help it. It felt like he had been waiting for his entire life. “I think I stared at you the entire time I was playing.” “I noticed. I was hoping you weren’t just nervous.” “You make me nervous. My palms are sweaty now. My lips are numb.” “Why?” “Because I’m scared you’re going to do this. I’m scared I’ll want you to.” Lance tilted his head closer. “Turns out, your fears were justified. Because I’m going to do this, and I know you want me to.” “Yeah.” Jakob didn’t know if he was agreeing with Lance, or giving his permission, or simply trying to keep his mouth occupied. He parted his lips, knowing it was an invitation, but feeling powerless to do anything except wait for the familiar texture of Lance’s skin. And he wasn’t disappointed. Lance sighed, and caught his mouth in a slow, tentative kiss. The contact was so light, Jakob could break it. All he had to do was turn his head, and the kiss would be over. He could push at Lance’s shoulder, and it would all end. Lance didn’t press for more contact, either. He just teased Jakob’s lips, the tip of his tongue occasionally darting out to sample the sweat gathering on his skin. Though the caress was almost chaste, Jakob’s entire body responded. His cock swelled, the tender skin pressing against his fly. His heart lodged in his throat, throbbing there. A part of him ached. Another part of him just felt giddy, like he had never kissed Lance before. Like Lance had been so far out of his reach, even though he had been

within touching distance for the past three weeks, waiting for Jakob to reach out to him. At that moment, Jakob couldn’t remember why he hadn’t. Why he had insisted on torturing them both. “We…Lance…we should…” Stop. Or go home. Or keep going. Jakob didn’t know. “Should we not do this here?” “We’re fine.” “But everybody…” “I don’t care.” Lance kissed Jakob’s neck. And his throat. He pressed his lips to Jakob’s pulse. He nibbled gently at Jakob’s skin, pulling it between his teeth in sweet, little bites. They didn’t hurt. They were just another layer of sensation. “I really don’t care. You ever just neck like this?” “No.” “Too bad.” Each word was formed against Jakob’s skin, like Lance could never consider lifting his head. Not even to speak. “It’s a lot of fun.” “Even in public?” Lance chuckled, his breath warm, the sound seeping into Jakob’s skin. “Why are you so worried about it? Nothing’s going to happen.” “I’m worried because I don’t want…your friends…to…to…” “My friends already know I’m gay, Jakob.” Lance lifted his head, and put his hand flat against Jakob’s chest. Jake allowed himself to be pushed backwards, and the stars seemed to explode over his head. It had been so long since he’d seen stars that, at first, he didn’t know what to make of them. “Do you always worry so much?” “I…do you want the truth?” Lance stretched out beside him and dragged his fingers up and down Jakob’s chest. He propped himself up on his other arm, his mouth hovering above Jakob’s face. “Of course, I do. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.” “Yes.” Lance lowered his head, kissing along the line of Jakob’s jaw, unmindful of his beard. “Really?” Jakob tilted his head back, allowing Lance to continue. “Yeah.” “Is that why I make you nervous?” “Yes.” “And why you won’t date me?” “You know it is.” Lance pushed his hand under Jakob’s shirt, resting his palm on Jakob’s flat stomach. Jakob’s skin twitched at the touch. It had been so very long since he let anybody else touch him. “But I don’t want to talk anymore.” “Fair enough,” Lance murmured, before claiming Jakob’s mouth. Jakob heard the first distant crack of fireworks as Lance’s lips touched his, and it made him smile. He thought of asking if Lance saw fireworks, too, but Jakob didn’t want to break the contact just for a corny joke. Especially since Jakob suspected that Lance did see fireworks, too. He wrapped his arm around Lance, kept his eyes tightly closed, and let himself forget about everything besides Lance’s solid body. Lance truly was an amazing kisser. His mouth played over Jakob’s, drawing out low moans, tormenting him in all the right ways. Every time Lance’s tongue slipped into his mouth, he shivered with delight. Despite the heat of the night, the heat of the fire, and the

heat of Lance’s body, goose bumps erupted down Jakob’s spine. Everything was warm and cold, hard and soft, light and dark. The fireworks began in earnest, exploding all around them in blue and red and gold and green sparks. Occasionally, Jakob opened his eyes and watched the colors above Lance’s head. Lance shifted, rocking his hips and grinding his erection against Jakob’s thighs. It was too easy to imagine tearing Lance’s clothes off and letting him do what he wanted—what they both wanted. Would it be so bad to go home with Lance? “God, I love the way you taste.” Lance covered his face with small kisses. “And the way you smell. I want to feel you, Jake.” “Okay.” Lance lifted his head just as a magnificent firework exploded behind him, illuminating his face, and revealing his surprise. “Really?” “Yes.” “You’re sure.” “Yes, though not here.” “No, no of course not. After the fireworks…” Lance pressed a hard kiss to his lips, his tongue invading Jakob’s mouth. There was nothing slow or tentative about Lance now. His whole body seemed to vibrate with barely restrained need, and Jakob had to admit that nobody had ever wanted him as much as Lance seemed to. And it was addictive. The more Jakob sensed from Lance, the more he wanted. It was all he could do to stop himself from clawing at Lance’s clothes. He wanted to beg for more beneath the steady roar of fireworks. “Back at your place?” Jakob asked, when Lance finally gave him a chance to catch his breath. “Yes.” “You have to work tomorrow?” Lance reached between their bodies, his fingers seeking out Jakob’s erection. His cock jumped, straining for actual contact. He knew as sure as he knew his name that as soon Lance actually touched him, he would lose it. He would completely lose his mind. He was already close, just from the magic of Lance’s mouth and the satisfying sensation of Lance’s weight pinning him to the ground. “No. You going to keep me company?” “I’ll even make you dinner.” Lance smiled. “You think I’m going to let you out of bed?” “Are you going to keep me prisoner?” “I might. I can’t risk you escaping, right? Not once I’ve finally caught you.” Jakob kissed Lance’s chin, smiling at the trace hint of stubble against his lips. “So I was right. This was all an elaborate trap.” “It might have been part of an evil plan. Not that I’m the type to have evil plans.” “Oh, of course not. You’re far too innocent for that sort of thing.” “Hey, guys?” Charles’s voice drifted over them. “Lance?” “Go away. Can’t you see I’m busy?” “We just got a call from Chief.” Lance tensed and pushed himself into a kneeling position. “What is it?” “He wasn’t clear on the details, but Steve Knight was admitted to the USC University Hospital with major burns.”

That brought Lance to his feet. “Have you told anybody else yet?” “No. I thought you’d want to be the first to know.” Jakob stood as well, his legs numb, his pulse pounding. He didn’t recognize the names, but he did recognize the fear and worry on Lance’s face. And the lack of surprise. Because, of course, he had received calls like this before. Calls about friends and colleagues. Calls about people who had been rushed to the hospital, and others who had never made it as far as the emergency room. “Okay. I’m going to go right now. I don’t think it’s necessary to tell everybody else yet. Not until we have more information on their status.” Charles nodded. “I’ll stay. You call me with updates?” “Yeah.” Lance turned to Jakob. “I’m sorry. I can take you home first…” “No. I’ll stay with you.” “You don’t have to do that.” Jakob didn’t know if Charles could see the fear in Lance’s eyes, but it was all Jakob could see. And he knew he couldn’t leave Lance to wait by himself. “I know. But I want to stay with you.” Lance studied him for a moment, and Jakob didn’t look away. He wasn’t sure what Lance was looking for, but he must have found it, because he nodded. “Go get your guitar. I’ll meet you out front.” A large part of Jakob just wanted to go home. And he could admit as much to himself. But he would never tell Lance that. Not as long as Lance needed him.

Chapter Six Fireworks. Every goddamned year, some dolt blew off his fingers, or started a small fire. Or started a large fire and burned down half the block. Lance wished the governor would implement a statewide ban, though he knew that probably wouldn’t do any good. The real troublemakers would get their grubby little paws on the small explosives, regardless of the legality. But if they had been illegal, maybe they wouldn’t have been sitting in that kid’s bedroom. And they wouldn’t have been in the path of the fire. They wouldn’t have exploded in the faces of Steven Knight and Paul Martin. “Why’d Charles tell you instead of anybody else?” Jakob asked softly, his voice loud anyway in the still waiting room. “I went to high school with Steve. I’m the reason…well, I’m one of the reasons he decided to be a fireman.” Jakob took his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. He didn’t try to offer any meaningless words. He didn’t say everything was going to be okay. Lance was grateful for that. He didn’t think words that neither of them believed would help him. “What’s he like?” “Steve? He’s a great guy. We met because we were both on the football team. We were both little third-string runts.” “You were a runt? I don’t believe it.” “Oh, believe it. I didn’t even want to play football. I was going to quit after the first week of practice. I puked my guts out behind the bleachers, and it just didn’t seem worth it. I mean, why should I run until I wanted to die just so I could watch the games from the team bench?” “Seems like a perfectly reasonable question to me.” “Not to Steve. When I told him I wanted to quit, he was furious. He told me if I had a really good reason, I could walk away. But if I was just being a little wussy, then I needed to drop a pair and get over it.” Jakob snorted. “He sounds like an inspirational guy.” “He is. He got my ass back out there on the field. He woke me up every morning at five and made me run three miles with him. By the end of my freshman year, I was still third string, but I had gained two inches of muscle and I could run five miles without puking.” “I don’t think I could even do a half mile without passing out.” Lance knew Jakob was trying to pull some smile out of him, but it wasn’t going to work. Everything was starting to hurt too much. “We were pretty inseparable after that. We played football, basketball, and baseball. When we graduated, I encouraged him to prepare for the competency exam. I told him I needed him to keep me focused on the prize. He agreed…grudgingly. Of course, by the time we were finished and began our probation period with the station, he loved it.” “It sounds like Steve’s a good friend.” “The best. If our positions were reversed, he would be sitting right here. All night and all of tomorrow, if he had to.” Lance looked up in time to see Jakob wince. “Sorry.” “No, it’s fine.”

“Thank you, you know, for being here.” “It’s not a problem.” Lance nodded, though he didn’t believe Jakob. Mainly because all the blood had drained from his face. He didn’t just look pale—he looked gray. And Jakob didn’t even know Steve. What would he do if he ever had to wait for Lance? Would it just be cruel to ask that of him? Would it just be cruel to make him lie awake at nights, wondering if Lance was safe? Wondering if Lance would come home, or if that would be the night that Lance didn’t come back? “I still appreciate it.” “I wish I could do more,” Jakob murmured. “I wish I could promise you everything was going to be all right. I wish I could tell you…I wish I knew.” “I know. I’m just glad I don’t have to be here alone. I don’t do great by myself.” “That’s funny. That’s when I tend to be all right.” “Really? You’d rather just always be alone?” “Sometimes I think that’d be easiest.” “Sounds depressing to me.” “Only when you know what you’re missing out on.” Lance was about to ask just what Jakob meant by that when a young woman stepped out from behind closed doors and asked for Daria Knight. Lance tensed, but Jakob stopped him from jumping to his feet and joining the family. “She’ll tell you,” Jakob assured him. “Don’t crowd her.” Lance knew he was right, but he still wanted to push Jakob away. Instead, he kept his attention glued on Daria’s face, unsure of what he was looking for—of what he was hoping for. She remained impassive, which, somehow, was worse than tears. Her parents stood on either side of her, their faces stony, their spines straight. Steve’s four-year-old son, Ben, sat on the chair beside his mother, staring up at the adults with unmistakable fear. Why wasn’t anybody holding him? Why wasn’t anybody shielding him? The doctor spoke so softly that Lance had no hope of eavesdropping from his chair. His heart was heavy in his chest. So heavy that Lance didn’t even know if it was still moving. It felt like it had stopped, lodged in place just below his throat. Nothing seemed to work. He wanted to breathe, but he couldn’t. He wanted to move, but he was paralyzed. He wanted to turn back the clock so he could warn Steve—or maybe stop Steve from ever becoming a firefighter. He could have done anything he wanted to do. Who would take care of his wife? Who would take care of his son? “Lance…” Jakob’s gentle voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Yeah?” “Nothing. You were staring.” “At Daria?” “She might have found it unsettling.” “I’m just thinking.” Jakob didn’t push for details, and Lance was grateful for that. Jakob already looked more than a little green around the gills. Heaping his own fears on top of that didn’t seem fair. The doctor finally turned away, leaving Daria looking frozen with shock, her face taut, her eyes wide. Fresh fear clawed at Lance, but he stood and crossed the small waiting room. When she saw him, her eyes flickered, and her mouth moved soundlessly.

“What’s going on? Is Steve okay?” Lance asked. “I…” “He’s going to make it,” Daria’s father said, his arm tight around her shoulder. “He’s stabilized. He’s going to make it.” The terror dissipated immediately, but he bit back his smile, trying to gauge Daria’s reaction. “When can we see him?” “Not tonight,” Daria finally said. “Dr. Reynolds said we should go home…get some sleep. He can have a few visitors tomorrow.” “No. I want…” “Lance?” Jakob had on his elbow stopped him from completing his sentence. “She has a point. You need your sleep.” “He’ll want to see you tomorrow. I know he will,” Daria said. “I’m just…I was so scared…I’m just trying to…” Her entire body crumpled, as though what remained of her strength suddenly deserted her. Her father wrapped his arms around her, holding her tighter, and her face was wet with tears. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess. I don’t know…” “It’s perfectly understandable,” Jakob said, his voice surprisingly soothing. “You’re still trying to process everything. Maybe you should try to get some rest, too.” “I…” She frowned. “Who are you again?” “This is Jakob. He’s a friend of mine. And he has a point.” “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.” “Mommy?” Ben pulled at Daria’s pants, his eyes still wide with fear. “What’s happening?” She immediately bent to lift her son, and Jakob took advantage of her distraction to pull Lance away from the small group. “I’ll drive you home.” “I just feel a little…numb.” “I know.” “I was so worried…” “I know.” “Shouldn’t I just be happy now? Why don’t I feel more happy?” “Because you’re still trying to process everything, too. Give me your keys.” Lance complied, and allowed Jakob to guide him through the long hospital corridor that led to the parking garage. They didn’t speak, but Lance was still happy for Jakob’s company. They were halfway to his place when Lance realized exactly why he couldn’t make himself be happy. Steve was stabilized, and he would probably live, but what kind of life was he going to have? Fireworks had exploded in his face. Would he even be able to return to work? Would his son recognize him when the bandages were removed? “That kid is so young,” Jakob finally said, as if reading Lance’s thoughts. “Yeah, he is. But he’s strong. Like his dad. He’ll be okay.” “I hope so. Do I take a right here?” “No, the next block.” Jakob nodded. He had been to Lance’s apartment once before. Which, admittedly, had been an attempt to make Jakob forget they were just supposed to be friends. He had been consumed with that desire. And for what? Just because he wanted to get off? Jakob had tried to keep a comfortable distance from Lance’s life, and Lance had done everything except actually respect his wishes. If things had gone a little bit differently tonight, they would have been fucking right about now.

Lance studied Jakob from the corner of his eye. Just what did he want from the other man? Just what had he been looking for? A friendship? A quick fuck? Or a relationship Jakob didn’t even want to have? Maybe at first, he had just been interested in a quick fuck, but if Lance was being perfectly honest with himself, he wanted much more from Jakob. Which would include possibly putting Jakob in Daria’s shoes. “I’ll pay for your cab, if you want to go home,” Lance offered, once they reached his apartment. “Don’t worry about that right now. Come on.” Jakob kept a hold of Lance’s hand as they climbed the stairs to Lance’s second-floor apartment. He wanted to collapse on his couch as soon as he walked through the door, but Jakob pulled him toward the bedroom. “You were serious about me getting some rest?” “Yes.” “I don’t think I can sleep.” “I’m going to make sure you sleep, even if I have to knock you unconscious.” “You’re very strict.” “You have no idea,” Jakob said, gently pushing Lance toward the bed. “Fine, but I sleep naked.” “That doesn’t bother me at all. Unless you’re grotesque under those clothes.” “I’ve been told I’m not too bad.” “By who? Charles?” “There’s that jealousy I was talking about before,” Lance said, pulling his shirt over his head. The pants quickly followed. “I’m not jealous. Just get in bed.” “I like this side of you.” Jakob tilted his head. “The bossy side?” “The jealous side.” “I am not jealous.” Lance toed his shoes off and removed his watch. “Not even a little bit? Come on. Give me that much.” Jakob offered a small smile. “Didn’t we already have this conversation tonight?” “I was trying to go back to that point for the night. Did it work?” “You tell me.” Lance sighed and collapsed into bed. “No, not really.” He expected Jakob to turn off the light and disappear, but instead, he crawled into the bed, settling at Lance’s side. “What are you doing?” “I’m going to make sure you get some sleep.” Lance’s eyes widened. “Really?” “Get your mind out of the gutter. Unless you want to be alone tonight?” “No. I really don’t.” “Turn around.” Lance obeyed, letting Jakob spoon his body against Lance’s back. It was only mildly distracting. After Lance became accustomed to the heat and pressure—and Jakob’s groin pressed against his ass—he realized it was actually quite nice. Comforting, even. “Are you going to be here in the morning?” Lance murmured. “I…”

“You don’t have to lie to me.” “I don’t know, Lance. I’m…I’m a little worried.” “About what?” “I’m scared if I don’t leave, I might not ever be able to.” “I’m not going to chain you to the bed,” Lance pointed out. “I don’t actually have any evidence of that.” “Well…that’s true, I suppose.” Jakob kissed the back of his neck. “Rest now. I’ll be here as long as you need me.” Lance believed him. He closed his eyes, holding on to the knowledge that he wasn’t alone. He needed to cling to that, because he couldn’t forget the fact that somewhere across town, a woman held her young son and prayed for her husband. **** Jakob spent most of the afternoon peering up and down the block, searching for Lance’s familiar stride as he approached the café. He hadn’t seen Lance since he left him the day before, which meant he had no idea how he was holding up, or how Steve was doing at the hospital. He had considered calling the hospital to ask for an update, but since he had never even met the man, he felt like he didn’t have the right to call and demand information. He also considered packing up his guitar and heading over to the station. Lance had never invited him there, but he never told Jakob not to visit either. He was a little worried the oily smell of the trucks, the smoky smell that lingered over everything, and the aroma of cooking chili coming from the kitchen would remind him too much of his father, but that was a ghost he thought he could face. If he had to. If Lance needed him to. But Lance didn’t let him down. He was an hour later than Jakob expected, but he was there. His mouth was set in a grim line, and his eyes pulled in a serious frown. Despite that, Jakob smiled his greeting. “Hey, I was just wondering about you.” “Don’t bother packing up your guitar.” “Why not?” “I can’t stay. I’m working double shifts for the next week.” Jakob frowned. “Is that safe?” “It’s necessary. We’re understaffed right now.” “Oh. I can bring you some food later if you like?” Lance shook his head. “No. Don’t worry about it. We’ve still got plenty of food from Charles’ party.” “How’s Steve?” Lance’s deepening frown told him everything he needed to know. “No change. We were hoping there’d be something by now. But…” “Yeah. Just…let me know what’s going on, okay?” “I’ll come by if I can. I want to. Sometimes I think…” “What?” “Nothing. Never mind. I’ll see you around.” “I’ll be here,” Jakob promised, hoping Lance would understand. Lance just nodded, though. And then he was walking away, his broad shoulders slouched, his hands buried in his pockets.

Chapter Seven Jakob slipped into the back of the church, not surprised to see the pews were packed, and the fold-out chairs in the overflow section were all claimed. There had been no question of attending the funeral to pay his respects, even though he hadn’t stepped foot inside a church since his father’s wake. Though he had never met Steve Knight, he knew the man’s widow, had seen his young son. And Lance might need him. As soon as he stepped inside, though, he realized finding Lance in the throng would be difficult, if not completely impossible. The cloying scent of flowers overwhelmed him and stuck to his skin, and his throat closed against the overwhelmingly sweet taste. The men from his firehouse all sat in the front, their heads bowed. Jakob supposed Lance was among that number, but he couldn’t pick him out of the crowd. Not from his angle. He saw a giant white wreath of carnations from the corner of his eye, and he turned away violently, startling the weeping woman beside him. He muttered an apology—or tried to—but she only glared at him and tried to move away, shrinking against the man beside her. It was stupid. If he could, he would explain to her how stupid it was to be startled by flowers. He would tell her that it seemed like he had been surrounded by white carnations, by their cloying smell, by their condolences and well wishes. He would tell her how they had haunted him, filling every too-empty room of the apartment like wilting ghosts. A constant reminder that the person he had loved more than anybody would not be coming home. Jakob took a deep breath and focused on the front of the chapel, trying to block out the abundance of flower arrangements. Jakob wasn’t sure who was speaking, but every word was laced with tears. Jakob understood that, too. Knew the days when you couldn’t even speak without a torrent of tears threatening, so it was best not to speak at all. It was an older gentleman. A fellow firefighter? Steve’s father? Maybe his coach from high school? Would Lance be speaking? Lance hadn’t contacted Jakob with the news. In fact, Jakob hadn’t seen Lance at all since the fourth. He assumed Lance had been overwhelmed with work, and then the death of his friend. Jakob didn’t know the details, but the obituary he saw indicated that Steve had succumbed to his injuries two days after the accident. When Jakob thought of Daria’s face that night at the hospital, he wanted to vomit. When he thought of all that relief and hope being so cruelly ripped away from her—and why? For what? He touched the small, leather bound book in his jacket pocket, stroking the embossed words across the front with his fingertips. A small gift for Lance. A collection of Walt Whitman. Not that he thought Lance would especially need more poetry in his life, but he had mentioned liking Whitman. And Jakob thought he needed to do something. Five minutes after arriving, Jakob wanted to flee. Nobody had seen him—except the unfortunate woman he had startled—and nobody would know if he left. But it was important to stay. The man they were honoring had the courage and dedication to run into the flames. Jakob thought he should find it within himself to stay in the church, even though his fingers were shaking and his heart hurt. It felt like he didn’t take another breath of air until after the closing prayer, and everybody stood to make their silent, grim way out to their cars for the funeral

procession. Jakob wasn’t going to participate in the graveside services. He wouldn’t accost the widow, either, since she didn’t know him. All he needed to do was wait for Lance, and then he could escape to Café Muse and his guitar and the release of his music. He kept his eyes glued on the door, hanging back to avoid standing in anybody’s way. That was why he saw Lance before Lance had the chance to see him. Lance, walking beside Charles. Walking hand-in-hand with Charles. As Jakob stared at the point where the two men touched, he understood. He understood everything. It felt like he had been granted knowledge of the entire world, of every mystery in the universe. Charles had stepped into the role Jakob wouldn’t fill himself. The role Jakob never could. Lance had turned to somebody who would be there for him. Somebody who understood his life. Somebody who wouldn’t push him away. Of course Lance would turn to him when the chips were down and his world had been turned inside out. Jakob had missed out, and judging from the new pain in his chest, this wasn’t a loss he could get over any time soon. He slunk back, losing himself in the crowd. It would be best if Lance didn’t notice him at all. **** It had seemed natural to go home with Charles after the wake. They hadn’t even discussed it. Charles just drove him to his place, and Lance was relieved he didn’t have to think, or make the decision, or do anything except stare straight ahead at the road. It didn’t matter where Charles took him. It didn’t matter what Charles said, or what they did together. Because the only thing he could think about was that the doctors had said Steve would make it. And Steve hadn’t made it. “Maybe we should have stayed and helped Daria,” Lance said. “Daria has her family. She probably wants some time to herself.” “Yeah.” Lance swallowed. “Yeah, probably. I just feel so…helpless.” “Well, you are.” “What?” Charles shrugged. “There isn’t anything you can do to make this better.” “Thanks.” “You know what I mean.” Lance didn’t know what he meant, but that hardly mattered either. He felt like something was missing in his chest, and he didn’t think it necessarily had anything to do with the funeral. He would always miss Steve, but he was mentally prepared for the loss of any of his fellow firefighters. There was something else wrong, and Lance couldn’t put his finger on what. “It was a nice service, though,” Charles said. “Yeah.” “You working tomorrow?” “Yeah. I should probably make it back to my place sometime tonight.” “I’ve still got some of your clothes at my place.” “Oh, right. I forgot.” “Does that mean you threw all my stuff out?” “What? No. It’s all in the guest room.” Stuffed in the back of the closet so Jakob wouldn’t stumble across it if he ever spent the night. Thinking of Jakob sent a fresh bolt of pain through his midsection. He had desperately wanted to call the other man. More

than once, he found himself walking to the café, only to change his mind—and direction—at the last minute. Jakob hadn’t even known Steve. Asking Jakob to deal with his death, and the funeral, would just be cruel. “Do you want to stop somewhere and get a drink?” Charles asked. “No. I have a headache.” “Yeah. Me, too. It was hot as hell at the graveyard today. Like some sort of special sneak preview. A hat would have helped.” “Right now, I think some aspirin will help.” Charles pulled up to a red light and looked over to Lance. “What’s wrong with you?” “What?” “You’re just so…I don’t know. Quiet.” “I’m sorry I’m not chatty,” Lance bit out. “But I just watched them bury one of my oldest friends.” “This isn’t the first time you’ve buried a friend,” Charles pointed out. “I’m not in the mood for this shit. Take me home if you have a problem with that.” “No, man, we’re cool. I didn’t mean anything by it.” “Good.” Lance rested his head against the warm window and idly studied the people standing on the corner. One of them had a beard and longish brown hair. He was wearing a jacket despite the heat, and his shoulders were hunched over. He looked up as the walking signal flashed, and Lance caught his breath. Seeing Jakob again was like a fist to the chest. It had been a little over a week since he fell asleep with Jakob pressed to his back, but it seemed more like an eternity since he had seen the other man. He immediately pushed the button to roll down the window, but it didn’t budge. “Is this broken?” Lance snapped. “Yeah. But I always have the air conditioner on anyway, so I haven’t bothered to fix it.” Charles stepped on the gas and they raced through the intersection. “Wait. Wait.” “What?” “I…Jakob was back there.” “So?” “So, I wanted to see him.” “He’s on the same corner every day, isn’t he? Go see him tomorrow.” “Why do you say it like that?” “Like what?” “Like you did. I thought you liked Jake.” Charles shrugged. “Yeah, sure I do. He was great at the barbecue, but you know, he does work on the street.” “So?” “So what?” “Why are you turning it into such a big deal?” “I’m not turning it into a big deal,” Charles said slowly. “You are. What’s up with that?” “Nothing. I just don’t like it when you get all…dismissive. Especially since you know how talented he is.” “Being talented doesn’t change the fact that he’s just a dude who plays his guitar on

the street. You can’t change that fact anymore than he can change who you are.” Lance’s lips thinned. “I don’t want to talk about Jakob anymore.” “Fine by me. I didn’t want to talk about him to begin with.” Lance turned to look out the rear window, hoping to catch one final glance of him, but Jakob was already long gone. **** Jakob tried to comfort himself with thoughts of playing his guitar, but when that didn’t work, his dark thoughts turned to poetry. Dead or silent. It's the same. His one safe outlet. Maybe if he just poured everything out on the page, every twisted, complicated, confusing feeling and thought, he could try to make sense of it. My ears build noises. And if he could make sense of it, he could start with the business of getting over Lance Stuart. Rustling like a nest. Because he had done a pretty shitty job of keeping his distance from the firefighter. Friends didn’t have the power to break each other’s hearts. Of seed-eyed mice and something answers in the hard squeak of my soles. And a friend had never knocked Jakob for such a painful loop. Would he even see Lance again? Or would he continue to avoid Jakob? Maybe he should finally do what he should have done a month before and simply find a new place to play. A place that wasn’t even within ten miles of Lance’s house or the fire department. He liked it best when his life wasn’t complicated, and Lance had done nothing but cause problems. When he wasn’t making Jakob laugh. Or watching stupid movies with him. Or making him so delightfully nervous he felt like a kid again. He walked the six miles home, hoping it would give him a chance to sort things out, but by the time he was within sight of his building, he just felt worse. “Hey, I know you.” Jakob didn’t break stride or look up. He barely heard the voice, and he had no reason to believe whoever was speaking was addressing him. “Hey. Four eyes. I was talking to you.” Jakob lifted his head, surprised to see that there wasn’t just one person near him. In fact, there were four guys surrounding him. None of them were familiar. They certainly weren’t the type to be in his neighborhood. For starters, their clothes were too expensive. Nobody within three blocks could spend that much on threads. If they could, they’d be living in a better area. They were so obviously out of place they sent a thrill of fear through him. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve seen you before.” “No, no, I’m pretty sure I have. You read poetry.” Jakob kept walking, though he felt the circle tighten. “Yeah, sometimes.” One of them laughed. “How do you know that, Ricky? You like poetry?” “Nah. My girl works over at Café Muse, and she’s always talking about this guy. He’s so smart, and so clever, and so talented. You know who I’m talking about Four Eyes?” “Cyn?” Jakob blurted before thinking. “Yeah, that’s the one.” The speaker stopped in front of Jake, blocking his path and making Jake look up to study his face. He had small black eyes, a flat nose, and protruding lips. Despite that, he wasn’t quite an ugly person. Maybe it was his haircut, or his very obvious designer clothes. At that range, he could tell the younger man had been

drinking. Jakob could almost see the cloud of alcohol fumes floating above his head. The stench made his eyes water. “You know her?” “I see her around,” Jakob said, trying to sidestep Ricky, but he grabbed Jakob’s shirt in meaty fist, stopping him. “The way I see it, I shouldn’t have to listen to stories about you every time I want to get busy with my girl.” “I’m sorry,” Jakob said, starting to feel a little desperate. “I won’t go to the café, anymore, okay? I won’t ever have to see her again.” “That’s a start. I kinda wonder what she even sees in a little pussy like you.” Ricky’s group of friends laughed. Now they were almost touching him. He could feel them breathing on him. “What is this? High school? I’m not interested in Cyn, okay? Now get the fuck out of my face.” “Those are awfully big words. Do you think you can take on all five of us?” “I don’t want any trouble.” “Hey, Ricky, I don’t think he’s interested in any girls. If you catch my drift.” Ricky sneered at him. Jakob realized in a distant way that his teeth were crooked. “Is that true? You a little faggot?” “Just get out of my face,” Jakob said, moving to push past him. Ricky caught his arm again, his fingers like a vise around his biceps. Football player? Maybe. All Jakob knew was that he’d definitely have bruises from the strength of Ricky’s grip. “I asked you a question.” “Why are you bothering me? I didn’t do anything to you. I was just minding my own business.” The sneer returned. “Just your lucky day, I guess.” Jakob yanked his arm away. As soon as he was free, he ran, his sneakers pounding against the sidewalk. **** “You know the drill,” Charles said, pushing his door open. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable.” Lance didn’t need a second invitation. He shrugged his jacket off and draped it over the back of the chair. His tie followed, then his shoes, and his socks. He collapsed on the couch, suddenly too tired to unbutton his own shirt. Which wasn’t a problem. He was quite sure Charles would take care of that for him. “You want a beer?” Charles asked from the kitchen. “Yeah, sure. That’d be great.” “I’ve got some Cazadores in here, if you want something stronger.” “Tequila? No, I don’t think I want any of that today.” Charles emerged from the kitchen, holding a bottle of Killian’s Red in each hand. “It’s in there if you change your mind.” “Yeah, I probably won’t.” Lance accepted the beer and took a long swallow. Tequila probably wouldn’t hurt. At least if he started drinking something stronger, it would probably put him in a better mood. Or it would make him pass out. Either way would be an improvement. “This is nice.” Charles toed off his shoes, too. “I think this is how it should be.” “Really?”

“Sure. Don’t you?” Lance sighed. “I don’t know.” “Why’d we even break up, anyway?” “We drive each other crazy.” Charles smiled. “We were young and stupid then.” “You think we know better now?” “I’ve certainly learned a few things.” Lance hadn’t made any conscious decision to fall back into his old patterns with Charles. It just seemed natural. He had been there when Lance needed somebody. And he knew Lance—probably better than anybody else. Charles was straightforward. He was uncomplicated. He didn’t make Lance jump through hoops. Didn’t make Lance feel like he was missing out on things. He didn’t make Lance question his entire life and career and every choice he had ever made. “I don’t know if I have,” Lance said, taking another deep swallow from the bottle. “It feels like I keep making the same mistakes.” “Let’s both stop making mistakes now,” Charles said, gently taking the beer from Lance’s hand. He set both bottles aside, then swung a leg over Lance’s lap. Lance didn’t push him away. “We can start by taking your mind off things.” “I definitely don’t have a problem with that,” Lance murmured, just before their mouths crashed together. Everything about kissing Charles was familiar, from the faint hint of beer on his breath, to the shape of his mouth, to the way he clutched at Lance’s arms. He had been kissing Charles for years now. Sometimes, there were months between each moment of contact, but they always managed to find each other again. Despite all the reassurances he had given Jakob. Guilt washed over him at the thought. Had he just been lying when he told Jake that he had nothing to worry about? That he had no reason to be jealous? Had he just been lying when he said he didn’t have any interest in anybody else? Had it been lip-service to get Jakob in bed? A part of him felt like the answer to those questions was yes. Yes, yes, of course he had been lying. Of course, he had had only one thing in mind. He had gone to a poetry reading for that guy, he visited him every day, he had gone out of his way to appear sensitive and thoughtful and everything he thought Jakob would want. And what had he got for his troubles? Nothing. Another part of him knew none of that was true. Maybe it had been at first. Maybe he had just wanted to get his dick inside Jake, but it hadn’t taken long for his motives to shift. Jakob made him feel like a better person. And when he saw Jakob, it was like nobody else was even in the room. Charles shifted and made a soft sound of frustration, drawing Lance’s attention back to his mouth. Charles was good at driving him crazy—in a bad way—but Charles was also good for him. With that in mind, Lance cupped the back of his head, pressing their lips together harder, pushing his tongue in Charles’s mouth. The sound he made now was one of satisfaction as he opened to Lance’s attack. “Want you to fuck me, Lance. I’ve missed it.” He rocked forward, grinding against Lance’s cock. His mouth was hot, each rushed word making Lance hard. “As long…and as hard…as you like.” “Charles…tonight?”

“Yes. Life goes on, Lance. Steve would have said so, too.” Lance nodded and closed his eyes again, letting Charles overwhelm him. Except, when he closed his eyes, he saw Jakob’s face. And he heard his own promise in each ragged breath. The promise to Jakob that he just wasn’t willing to ignore. “Stop…Charles. Stop.” **** “Stop!” Jakob shouted. Or rather, he tried to shout it. The full body tackle that drove him to the sidewalk knocked the wind right out of his body. As a result, the demand to stop came out as a weak protest. The café was only a half-block from where he landed, but there was nobody outside. Nobody to hear him shout for help. “He runs like a fag,” one of them observed. “Sure does. I bet he can’t even take a hit.” To demonstrate his point, he kicked Jakob in the ribs. Pain exploded through him, stealing more of his breath. Jakob just wanted to roll over and protect himself, curling into a tight ball. But they wouldn’t let him. Ricky bent, closed his hands around Jakob’s jacket, and lifted him off the ground. For a horrible moment, his feet dangled uselessly, and then his back crashed against a brick wall. “You fight like a fag, too, you little piece of shit.” Jakob slammed his head forward, his brow connecting with Ricky’s nose with enough force to make it crack. Blood erupted from his face, painting his mouth and flowing down to his shirt. He howled, though Jakob didn’t know if that was from pain or anger. His hands opened, dropping Jakob to the ground. His foot twisted on the impact, and he fell to his knees, vulnerable to more blows from a now enraged Ricky. “Hey! What the fuck is going on here?” Cyn shouted. “What are you doing?” “This little shit punched me in the nose,” Ricky said, grabbing Jakob by the shoulder and forcing him against the wall again. “Oh, yeah, I bet he did.” Cyn marched right up to Ricky and pushed a finger into his chest. “Get away from him.” “You going to let your woman talk to you that way? Does she keep your balls in her purse, too?” Ricky glared, his cheeks flushing a remarkable shade of crimson. “Cyn, get out of here. This is none of your concern.” “It’s my concern when you’re beating up my friend.” “I swear to God, Cyn, I’m only giving you one more warning before I slam my first through your slut face.” Jakob was hopeful they would all walk away from this in one piece, but that hope died when he saw Cyn flinch beneath the threat. “Why don’t you come in the café? We’ve got those brownies you like so much.” “You think you can distract me with brownies?” Ricky shook his head, spraying blood everywhere. Jakob closed his eyes and ducked, trying to avoid the drops. “Sam? Come and get her. Hold her, will you?” Cyn struggled against Sam’s hold, distracting Ricky enough to make him release his hold on Jakob, who didn’t miss his chance to bring his knee up, driving his leg into Ricky’s balls. ****

“Stop? What do you mean, stop?” “I mean, I want you to get off me and let me up.” Charles lifted his head, but he didn’t move. “What? You’re not making any sense, Lance.” “I’m making perfect sense. We’re not doing this.” “Is it because of the funeral?” “No.” Charles narrowed his eyes. “Is it because of Jakob?” “None of your business.” “No, it is my business. Is it because of Jakob?” “Yes. Okay? It is because of him. I don’t want to be with you. I want to be with him.” “But he doesn’t want to be with you.” “You don’t know that,” Lance shot back, pushing Charles away from him. Charles slapped Lance’s hand down and took his shoulder, holding him against the back of the couch. “Get off me.” “I do know that, Lance, because you fucking told me. Remember? No dating, no fucking, nothing, because you’re a firefighter.” “It’s not going to stay that way forever. We almost…on the fourth…” “Almost what? He almost let you in his pants?” Charles shook his head. “You’re completely fucked up. Do you know that?” Lance shook his head. “If you knew Jakob, you wouldn’t say that.” “I know enough.” “Like what?” “Like he’ll never, ever accept you for who you are. You’re a firefighter, Lance. That’s not just what you do, that’s who you are. And he can’t deal with that. Which is fine. Some people can’t. But you should save you both some heartache and let him go now.” Lance shoved Charles away, giving himself enough room to jump to his feet. “No, you’re wrong about that.” “What?” “There’s a lot more to me than just my job, Charles. It doesn’t define me. It doesn’t give my life meaning. It’s just a job.” “Not to Jakob, it’s not. If it were, you wouldn’t be in this situation.” “What situation? Putting somebody else’s needs ahead of my own? Thinking of another person for once in my life?” “Why doesn’t he think about you?” “He does.” “Then where was he today?” “I didn’t…” Lance stepped into his shoes. “I didn’t tell him about the funeral. I didn’t tell him about any of it.” Charles rolled his eyes. “That sounds like a winning relationship. You have to protect him from everything ugly in life because you don’t want to upset his delicate feelings.” “He’s been through a lot, Charles.” “We’ve all been through a lot. We’ve all lost people. That doesn’t mean the world

has to cater to us.” “He never asked anybody to cater to him!” Lance tried to shrug on his jacket, but he got tangled in the sleeves. He was glad for that. At least if his arms were caught up in the material, he couldn’t slug Charles. Even if Charles might deserve a punch in the face, he didn’t want to completely destroy their friendship. “He never once asked me for anything. He was honest with me from the beginning, and I pursued him. I tried to fit him in my life. But I wasn’t willing to make any sort of sacrifices or compromises. Well, that’s going to change.” “What are you talking about? Are you going to quit for that guy?” Lance stuffed his tie in his pocket and opened the door. “Life’s so short, Charles. Steve was younger than me. Did you know that? By two and a half months. But he was so happy with his family. He had who he wanted, and the life he wanted, and he was happy.” “That doesn’t answer my question, Lance.” “Yeah, it does.” “You don’t think you’re going to resent him for this?” “No. Not even a little bit. I’m going to go find him.” “Yeah.” Charles sighed. “I figured you probably were.” The strange ache in Lance’s chest disappeared as he shut the door behind him. They were only a few miles from Café Muse, but Lance didn’t want to take the time to walk. He called a cab as he waited for the elevator, his palms tingling with excitement. **** Ricky collapsed to the ground like a sack of potatoes, his eyes bugging out of his head, looking remarkably like a fish as he writhed on the ground. Jakob was only allowed a moment of satisfaction, though, before his four friends made a move to jump him. The one holding Cyn threw her to the ground like she was nothing more a bundle of rags, and Jakob didn’t have a way to escape. Cyn started screaming, shouting for anybody who would listen to call the police, to come and help. She shouted for the four guys to stop. Her shouting was an endless soundtrack, continuing unabated as eight fists pummeled him. Now he did manage to curl over himself, protecting his head and glasses, though each blow made his back and ribs ache. He wanted to fight them off, but he was scared to leave himself vulnerable. And through it all, Cyn’s piercing voice never dropped in volume. He expected one of the assholes to turn and smack her across the mouth, if only because she was annoying them, but they seemed more intent on avenging their fallen leader. “Help! Please. Help me get them off him. Oh, God, please. This is all my fault. Please, please, please.” Jakob didn’t know who she was talking to, but under the panic, she sounded relieved. Like she had finally found somebody who actually could help her. “Get the fuck off him!” For a moment, relief completely whitewashed the pain. One pair of fists disappeared, and Jakob heard the sound of flesh connecting with flesh. Suddenly, the other three seemed less interested in him. “You going to take on all three of us at once?” One of them challenged. “Are you serious?”

“Try it, you fucking fag.” Lance didn’t need a second invitation. Jakob peeked up from behind his arm to watch him lay the remaining three out flat. They joined their fallen comrades on the sidewalk while Cyn covered her mouth in horror. “Go call the cops,” he barked. She jumped, running back into the café for a phone. Jakob slowly straightened, though his back protested. It felt like his back might protest any movement at all. “My hero.” “What happened?” Lance dropped to his knees beside him and immediately ran his hands over Jakob’s body. “Anything broken? Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital? I should probably take you to the hospital.” “I’m fine, Lance.” “No, you’re not. You just got jumped and beat up by a bunch of assholes. What happened? Were they trying to mug you?” “No. They were just assholes, looking for a fight.” Jakob caught Lance’s hand. “I’m going to be fine. I promise.” “I should take you to the hospital.” “I just want to go home.” “After we speak to the police. Then I’ll take you wherever you want.” Jakob peered up at him. “Why are you here?” “I needed to talk to you.” “You do? About what?” “It can wait. Are you sure you’re okay?” “Yeah.” Jakob took Lance’s hand. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Chapter Eight “Are you sure you’re comfortable?” Lance asked, though Jakob had already assured him he was quite comfortable several times. And he looked comfortable, too, propped up on his bed with a book in his lap, his guitar nearby, and the mp3 player Lance had just bought when he ran out to buy groceries. “I’m really great. Really.” “What about your back? Are you in pain?” “No. I already told you I wasn’t. I think they were too drunk to do any real damage. But thank you. For taking care of me and rescuing me. What were you doing there, anyway?” “I told you. I needed to talk to you.” “About what?” Lance sat on the edge of the bed. Now that he was there and Jakob was looking at him so expectantly, he felt more than a little nervous. He felt sick to his stomach. He didn’t know how to say any of this, or even if Jakob would want to hear it. What if the firefighter thing had just been an excuse? What if he really just wanted Lance to be a friend? He didn’t think that was true, but he was too anxious to completely shake the thought. “Steve died…” “I know. I saw in the paper. I even went to his funeral.” Lance frowned. “You did? Where were you? I didn’t see you.” “In the back. I snuck in a little bit late.” “I…I didn’t think you’d want to go to a funeral.” “I didn’t. It wasn’t easy. I really hate white carnations. But I wanted to pay my respects to him, and I wanted to be there for you. In case you needed somebody.” Jakob sighed and pushed the book away. “I guess you didn’t.” “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Lance said, wishing he had a way to keep his hands busy. “I saw you and Charles. So, if that’s what you want to talk about…I’d rather not. Let’s just say that I understand, and you don’t really owe me an explanation.” Lance swallowed. “That’s why you didn’t seek me out at the funeral?” “I thought it would be awkward.” “Well…it might have been. But that’s not quite what I want to talk to you about. I just…I was with Charles earlier. And we were…kissing on his couch.” “Lance…I promise you, I really don’t want to hear this.” “You do,” Lance said quickly. “Just let me finish.” Jakob sighed. “Okay.” “So he kissed me, and everything was familiar and just kind of nice. But…I couldn’t focus on him. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you. I kept comparing him to you. And I remembered that I told you…that you didn’t need to be jealous of him. And I didn’t want to be there anymore, so I left, and I came to find you.” Jakob smiled and reached out to touch Lance’s arm. “That’s very sweet, but…maybe you should have stayed with him. Because I just don’t know…I just don’t know if I can

be what you need, Lance. Being at the funeral today…” “Jakob, I know. I want…” “Let me finish. Please. I went to the funeral because I wanted to be at your side. And I know you can’t protect yourself from bad things happening. I mean, I was walking down the street, minding my own business, and nearly got the shit beat out of me. But I also realized how much you mean to me, and I can’t do it, Lance. I can’t be the one sitting at the front of the church. I can’t do that again. And that’s not fair to you.” “I know. I’m not going to ask you to do that. I can’t. So, I’m going to quit.” Jakob blinked. “What?” “I’m going to quit. I’m going to be an EMT. I have all the training necessary for that, and I’ll still be able to help people. I just won’t be running into burning buildings.” “You’re…going to quit? You’re going to do that? For me?” “Yes.” “But Lance…for me?” “It’s just a job, Jakob. I don’t consider myself an all-American hero or some sort of superman. I don’t have fire in my blood or anything. And people change their jobs all the time.” “But what if you take this step and realize in a few weeks that you don’t even like me that much?” “I don’t think that’ll happen.” “How can you be sure?” Lance smiled. “Because I love you.” Jakob stared at him, and Lance couldn’t tell if he was surprised, or confused, or pleased. Or if he was going to be sick. “Me? You love me?” “Yes.” “But you can’t love me, Lance. I’m a fucking mess. Did I tell you I failed out of college because of my anxiety? I can’t even hold down a real job because every time things get stressful, I lose it.” Lance tilted his head. “Sounds like it’s something treatable to me. Have you tried?” “No.” “Would you be willing to try it?” “Yes. But that’s not the point.” “Then what is your point, Jakob? Because from where I sit, you seem like a pretty great guy. Just being with you makes me happy. I saw you standing on the corner today while we were driving home, and it was like…I don’t know. Like I saw the sun for the first time after a week of rain.” “You know, sometimes I think you might secretly be a poet.” “Did that sound poetic?” “It was a start.” “So…am I just making a fool out of myself here?” Jakob shook his head, his blue eyes solemn. He set aside his book and mp3 player, then adjusted the pillows. Lance watched, unsure, waiting for a sign. Any sign. He got it when Jakob patted the bed next to him, indicating Lance should join him. He didn’t waste any time crawling up the mattress and settling in at Jakob’s side. “You’re not making a fool out of yourself. I feel a little bit like a fool myself. Like we’ve wasted so much time.” Jakob touched Lance’s check. His fingertips were cold, but

Lance didn’t mind. They felt good against his flushed skin. “I realized today how much you mean to me. How much you’re always going to mean to me.” “And how much is that?” Jakob wrapped his arm around Lance and pulled him closer. Just being that close to Jake made him hard. “More than anything. You mean more to me than anything.” “I want to kiss you.” “I think you better.” “What about your back?” “I don’t think kissing me will hurt my back.” Lance smiled. “What if I want to do more than just kiss you?” Jakob pushed Lance back until he was playing flat, then rolled onto his chest. “Does this work for you?” “Absolutely.” “Good. Now where were we? Oh, right. You better kiss me.” Lance cupped the back of his head. “Gladly.” He held his breath as he guided Jakob’s mouth to his, a part of him a little afraid that the kiss wouldn’t be enough. That he had built it up to mean too much, and they would both be disappointed by the caress. Or maybe the stress of the day, the pain from the earlier fight, the fear of what he was giving up would all be too much and overwhelm them. But as soon as Jakob’s dry, slightly rough lips met his, all of those fears disappeared. Despite their earlier kisses, Jakob’s mouth wasn’t familiar at all. It was something novel. Something sweet to explore. Jakob moaned with satisfaction as Lance’s tongue slipped between his lips, and the kiss seemed to move deeper and deeper. Lance lost track of everything except Jakob’s mouth. The shape of it was perfect. It fit his just right. His lips were pliant against Lance’s without being too soft, and his whiskers brushed against Lance’s chin in the most tantalizing way. He loved the way it felt, even though he knew he’d be the victim of whisker-burn. That thought didn’t stop him from rubbing his chin against Jakob’s, nuzzling against the short, soft hair. Lance’s blood ran hot, burning his veins, and making his groin tight, but he wasn’t in any sort of hurry. His muscles twitched with hunger, and in the back of his mind, he had the clear image of himself on top of Jakob, drilling into his body. But even if Jakob was one hundred percent healthy, Lance would have ignored that impulse. He didn’t want to rush things. He wanted each long, searching kiss to stretch for as long as possible. Until they were both breathless and shaking. And then he wanted another, and another, and another. Jakob seemed to be interested in the same thing. He could have taken control. Lance wouldn’t have resisted him. But he didn’t do anything except follow Lance, his mouth moving slowly, his tongue almost sleepy as it glided against Lance’s. Occasionally, Jakob’s teeth caught his bottom lip, and the brief flash of pain only served to emphasize the sweet softness of Jakob’s mouth. Sometimes, Lance nipped back, catching Jakob’s bottom lip between his teeth until he whimpered. As soon as Lance released him, their mouths would crash together again. He didn’t know if Jakob always liked to spend so much time kissing, or if this was just a special occasion. The question delighted him because he knew he would have the chance to find out—a chance he planned to take every single day for the rest of his life.

How could he ever grow tired of Jakob’s warm lips or the soft sounds he made from deep in his throat? Every moan, every gasp, every sigh went directly to Lance’s cock and fanned the flames already scorching him. “It’s been…Lance…” “Hmm?” “It’s been a long time for me.” “It’s okay. Sit up for a second.” Jakob moaned, but he did as Lance instructed. With Lance’s help, he pulled his Tshirt over head, exposing the bruises on his ribs. Lance touched them gently, feeling simultaneously sad and angry. Not just angry. He wanted to march to the police station, drag each one of those assholes out of their cells, and pound them into bloody pulps. How could anybody look at Jakob and want to hurt him? “Hey.” Lance looked up to meet Jakob’s eyes. “What?” “Don’t do that.” “What?” Jakob smoothed his fingers over Lance’s brow. “You’re getting all angry. You don’t need to do that.” “How can you tell?” “Besides the glare that would stop a bull in his tracks? I don’t want you to be angry. I want you to be happy.” “I am happy.” Lance smiled to prove it. He pushed at Jakob’s sweatpants, pulling the waistband down so he could touch the smooth skin of Jakob’s shaft. Jake shuddered, placing both palms against Lance’s chest to brace himself as Lance grasped his length. “I’m very happy. You?” “Yes,” Jakob gasped. “Very. Oh…don’t stop.” “I won’t…but you know, there are other things more fun than my hand.” Jakob rocked against him, his head dropping back. “Maybe, but…oh…don’t stop.” “Come up here.” He looped his free arm around Jakob’s waist and pulled him forward. Jakob didn’t resist—Lance had the feeling that as long as he kept his hand on Jakob’s cock, Jakob wouldn’t protest anything. “A little bit closer. That’s right.” “What are you…?” Lance’s tongue darted out, the tip sliding across Jakob’s slick crown. Jakob buckled, his spine straightening, his legs clenching. The taste of his pre-come exploded in Lance’s mouth, tangy and salty, and Lance immediately wanted more. How had he managed to go so long without tasting Jakob? How had he managed to live his entire life without knowing exactly what Jakob’s arousal-coated skin tasted like? “Oh, Jesus…” Lance smiled. “You like that?” “Yeah. Yes. Definitely.” Jakob pushed his hips forward, and a string of pre-come caught Lance’s lips. He licked it away before guiding Jakob’s shaft into his mouth, sliding the length along his tongue until the head brushed the back of his throat. “Oh, Lance…” Lance closed his eyes, swirling his tongue over and under Jakob’s shaft, sampling every bit of him. He wanted to know the texture of Jakob’s skin. He wanted to feel his heat. He wanted to draw out more of his delicious pre-come. He wanted Jakob to be slick

with desire. He pulled Jakob’s length out of his mouth, then lifted his cock to close his mouth around Jakob’s sac. There the smell of Jakob’s natural musk was strongest, and the small hairs on his skin pricked at his tongue. He sucked each of the balls between his lips, hollowing his cheeks to pull hard at Jakob’s flesh. Jakob gripped the top of Lance’s hair, his fingers flexing against Lance’s scalp. The harder Jakob pressed on Lance’s head, the harder Lance sucked on his sac. He stroked Jakob as he rolled his balls around his tongue, sliding his palm up and down with rapid jerks of his wrist. He wanted to feel Jakob shoot on his face. He wanted to catch the drops with his tongue, and feel the heat on his skin, and hear Jakob’s shout of pleasure as he let go. “Lance…don’t stop…don’t stop…” He rocked forward, grinding his balls into Lance’s mouth. He squirmed and writhed above Lance, moving with harder jerks as he increased the pressure on his own sac. There was no rhyme or reason to what Jakob did. Each movement seemed totally random, dictated by nothing more than whatever he needed the most at that second. How would it feel to finally get his cock in that ass? How would it be to feel Jakob throbbing around him? And every time he jerked or writhed, it would create more friction against Lance’s cock. Hungry for the pressure of Jakob’s shaft against his tongue, Lance abandoned his balls to focus on his cock again. As before, he swallowed the entire length, letting it rest against his tongue as he swallowed around the crown, massaging it with his throat muscles. Jakob’s cock felt electric as he twitched and jerked. Lance wanted to watch Jakob’s face, but he closed his eyes with pleasure, holding Jakob’s ass to force him deeper into Lance’s throat. “You want me to fuck you?” Jakob murmured, his words thick. Lance tried to nod. He wasn’t very successful, but judging by the way Jakob moaned, he understood. He leaned forward, bracing himself against the wall above Lance’s head, and fed his cock further down Lance’s throat. Lance relaxed, accommodating Jakob as much as he could, lifting his head to try to capture just another inch. Jakob took a deep breath, and began to pump his hips, easing in and out of Lance’s mouth, letting Lance’s tongue linger on every centimeter of his shaft. Lance forced his eyes open to watch the pleasure play across Jakob’s face. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but his lips were still swollen from their hard kisses. His body flexed with each thrust, the muscles in his chest and abdomen straining against his taut skin. Lance took in every detail, feasting his eyes on Jakob’s body while Jakob took his mouth. He would never forget a single detail of Jakob’s frame in that moment. He would never forget the way the light and shadows danced over his skin. Even the bruises were fascinating to Lance, imprinted on his memory for future perusal. Lance had been with beautiful men. Charles himself had quite an amazing body. But at that moment, he had never seen anybody as perfect as Jakob. “Lance…Lance…Lance…” Each word sounded like music to him. Lance began to wonder if he would shoot before Jakob even had the chance to touch him. It wouldn’t surprise him. His groin ached, and his balls were pulled tight against his body, waiting for whatever would trigger his release. The names devolved into harsh shouts as he rocked faster and faster. Lance tensed, bracing himself just before Jakob flooded his mouth with his hot come. Lance swallowed, trying not to lose a single drop, but he felt a little run down the

sides of his mouth. Jakob shuddered, his tense body vibrating as his cock jerked again and again. Gradually, the tension drained from Jakob’s muscles, and he collapsed backwards, forcing Lance to catch him. “Sorry,” Jakob murmured. “It’s fine,” Lance assured him as he pulled Jakob down to the mattress beside him. “Did that take the edge off?” “Oh, yes. Fuck yes.” “Are you ready for more?” “Absolutely.” Lance grinned. “That’s just what I wanted to hear.” * Jakob stared at his pillow like he had never seen it before. He had fantasized about being in this position. He had dreamt about it. He had ached for it. But he never quite believed he would ever be there. He could hear Lance moving behind him, undressing, searching for the lube and condoms Jakob had, probably going through his things. His cock was already hard again, the tip dragging against the bedspread. He had come so hard he had seen stars—the last thing he expected was another erection. But Lance telling him to get on his hands and knees was enough to do the trick. “Are you gonna fuck me like this?” Jakob asked, looking over his shoulder. “No. But I am going to get you good and ready.” “What if I just want you to fuck me?” “I’d tell you to stop being so impatient. Besides, I don’t want to hurt you.” Jakob snorted. “Are you that enormous?” “Oh, I’m a monster.” “I never dated a monster before.” “Of course not. Which is why I need to take a little extra time with you.” “Can I see?” “No, look straight ahead again. I don’t want to ruin the surprise.” Jakob smiled and rested his forehead on the pillow between his arms. Every second dragged by as he waited for Lance’s familiar fingers. He felt so tense that the slightest caress would probably make him scream. Given the circumstances, that probably wasn’t such a bad thing. Lance would no doubt appreciate the vocal support. “Do you have any ointment or anything for these bruises?” “Lance…” “What?” “I thought I was the one who worried too much.” “I can worry occasionally, can’t I?” “I don’t need special ointment. I just need you.” “Okay. I just…” Lance smoothed his palm down Jakob’s back with hardly any pressure. Jakob couldn’t even be sure he felt Lance’s skin at all, except for the fact that his throat tightened and the base of his spine tingled. “I just hate to see you marked like this. I can’t stand that you’re hurt.” “You should take your mind off it by making me feel good,” Jakob said. “I think I can handle that.” Jakob felt Lance gently hold his cheeks open, exposing his clenched hole. He expected the smear of cold lube, not the unmistakable heat of Lance’s tongue. He gasped

for breath, unsure if he should pull away or push for more. “Does that feel good?” Lance asked. “Yes…yes…” “Do you want more?” “Oh, yes.” Lance’s tongue flickered across the muscle, as though he was trying to lick something sweet from Jakob’s skin. It reminded Jakob of cupping a butterfly between his hands and feeling the thin wings beat against palms. It was so soft, and yet, it was almost enough to sap the strength from Jakob’s body. He fell forward, unable to support himself for another second. Lance held his ass, his fingers digging into his flesh as he pushed his tongue into Jakob’s channel. “Oh…God…Lance…oh…God…God…” He remained still at first, letting the heat wind through his body, circling his torso, surrounding his stomach. He tried to concentrate on breathing. Not too fast. Not too slow. He didn’t want to hyperventilate, but he didn’t want to forget breathing altogether. It seemed important to focus on that simple, little action. Not just important, but absolutely critical. Because each time Lance plunged his tongue into Jakob’s channel, he forgot how to do everything, including breathe. The pleasure overloaded him—the heat, the gentle scrape of Lance’s teeth against his skin, the satiny soft texture of his tongue. Jakob adjusted after a few moments, and suddenly instead of being overwhelmed, he was hungry for more. He rocked backwards, and Lance grunted in approval. They moved together, Lance fucking him with his tongue, Jakob straining for more. “Lance…please…” He wanted more, though he didn’t quite know what he needed. If he asked for Lance’s cock, he would lose his amazing mouth, including the moans vibrating in his flesh, the scrape of teeth, the hot breath coating his skin. His cock leaked pre-come, as though he hadn’t already shot in Lance’s throat. “Lance…” Lance gripped Jakob’s cock, stripping it each time he plunged his tongue into Jakob’s body. It occurred to him that Lance could make him come this way, but he didn’t want that. He wanted to come with Lance’s cock deep in his ass. “Lance…please…I need you to fuck me…fuck me…” His tongue disappeared. “I can do that. I want you on top.” That seemed like too much work. Jakob didn’t want to go through the hassle of rearranging their limbs. He just wanted Lance to thrust into him as hard as he could. “Why?” “So I don’t hurt your back. So I can see your face.” When he put it like that, Jakob knew he couldn’t protest. He pushed up to a kneeling position, watching Lance as he slipped a condom down his length. His body was truly amazing. The sort of physique only somebody like a firefighter could have. Broad shoulders, beautifully defined muscles, and a sort of quiet power that instilled complete confidence. And he was Jakob’s. The thought made him feel heady, like all his blood had rushed to his brain. Or maybe all his blood had rushed south. Either way, he felt weak. Lance laid down and Jakob didn’t need any further encouragement to swing his leg over Lance’s thighs and straddle him. He slid his ass up and down Lance shaft, spreading the lube against his skin. Lance’s eyes were half-lidded and so dark, they almost looked black. Jakob could see his reflection in Lance’s eyes, and he watched himself as he sunk

backwards, taking Lance’s crown into his passage. “That’s it, Jake…just a bit more…” But neither of them wanted just a bit more. They both wanted it all. Jakob wasn’t going to stop until he had it all, until he had taken every inch of Lance deep in his body. He sank lower and lower. Lance didn’t move. He let Jakob control the slow descent. Jakob didn’t rush it. He wasn’t in a hurry. He didn’t have any reason to be, since Lance was finally beneath him, and inside him, and holding him. “I love you,” Jakob murmured. Lance gripped the back of his neck and pulled him forward. Their mouths met in a slow kiss as Jakob moved his hips, slowly rocking so he wouldn’t lose an inch of Lance. They clung to each other, moving with measured, easy strokes. Jakob delighted in the way Lance felt beneath him. His muscles moved so fluidly, and his skin was warm and smooth and slightly damp with sweat. Everything leading up to that moment was completely absent from Jakob’s mind. He didn’t just forget the day, but the months and the years that existed before Lance. Lance bent his knees, bracing himself against the mattress, changing the angle of his thrusts. The new position sent a series of shocks up Jakob’s spine, building on each other, growing wider and wider until his entire body felt electrified. “Tell me again,” Lance said against his mouth. “Love you,” Jakob responded promptly. “Again.” “Love you.” Their words tumbled together, a sort of call and response as they moved faster and faster. The new friction ignited Jakob, and they moaned and begged for each other. Lance dragged his mouth from Jakob’s, kissing a path to his ear. His ragged breathing was interrupted by three simple words. “Love you, too.” Jakob couldn’t be quite sure, but he thought they must have exploded at the same time. He felt Lance’s cock twitch as his come erupted across Lance’s chest. Their mouths fused together once again, Lance capturing every moan and declaration. After what felt like an eternity, Jakob collapsed on Lance, and his arms closed around him in an impossibly tight embrace. “Thank you,” Jakob murmured. “I think I should be thanking you.” Jakob shook his head. “You’re the one who made this possible.” “You made me realize what I wanted.” “I’ll try to be better,” Jakob murmured. “You don’t need to be better. I already think you’re great.” Jakob smiled and burrowed closer to Lance. There was still only one thing he could think to say, and if the words mirrored the very first words he’d spoken to Lance, so much the better. “Thank you.” The End

About the Author: Pepper Espinoza has been writing since she was a child, but began her professional writing career in 2005 and now writes full time as well as attending graduate school and working toward a Masters in British and American Literature. A former resident of Los Angeles, she now lives in northern Utah with her husband.

The Arsonist’s Apprentice India Harper Chapter One “Hey, Josh, ready to go back to your cushy ladder job and give up all this excitement?” Josh Brooks picked his way through the ruined debris of an aging brick Society Hill townhouse, his hardhat and a few fire-ravaged antique iron nails the only thing protecting him from the burnt-through pine beams suspended from the remains of the second floor. “You sure you could manage without me? I mean, your eyes are getting kind of old there, Charlie.” “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that much.” Charlie Grimes, Josh’s temporary boss in the Fire Investigation unit, chuckled from the other side of the devastated living room. “Okay, I think we’ve got everything for now. We shouldn’t have to get the forensic engineers in to look at the wiring this time. It looks like a bog-standard cigarette fire. They’re getting rarer, but not rare enough, if you ask me.” “Pretty big fire for a cigarette.” They both turned at the low baritone voice. A well-dressed man stood in the doorway. Josh had never seen him before. He would have remembered him if he had. His dark hair was a little longer than was appropriate but brushed back off his face, his suit neatly pressed, his shoes polished. One hand rested casually in his trouser pocket, but to Josh he seemed like a man ready for action, scanning the ruins as though reading them. “That tends to happen when there’s no one around to put it out,” Charlie responded coolly. “What are you doing here, Anderson?” “Same as you. My job.” Anderson stepped into the building, gaze never settling anywhere, yet he found his footing without ever glancing down at the debris. “What job is that?” Anderson looked at Charlie finally, his expression equal parts amusement and surprise. “Hadn’t you heard? I’m with National Fidelity now. Insurance investigator.” Charlie’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve got to be kidding. They’d have never hired—” “A convicted torch?” Anderson’s lips curled sardonically. “Some forward-thinking suit in Fidelity thought that would be exactly the kind of person they should hire. Something about knowing the enemy.” He offered his hand to Josh, introducing himself where Charlie hadn’t. “Dylan Anderson, ex-arsonist.” Charlie scowled when Josh took it. “How many fires did they convict you on?” “Only the last one.” Josh must have looked puzzled, because Anderson explained, “Eight of the past ten years I spent in Rockview. I’m what they call rehabilitated.” “I’ll believe that when I see it,” Charlie snorted. “You’ve forgotten more about fires than Brooks here will ever know.” Anderson still held Josh’s hand. “Let me guess. Career firefighter? Your dad’s a fighter for sure. Any brothers? Or maybe your grandfather?”

“Uncle.” Josh gritted his teeth. He didn’t like being that easy to read. He’d left Pittsburgh to get out of his family’s shadow. Even this temporary assignment to the arson squad was to keep him from being another thug on a fire truck. He really didn’t need this man dragging it all back up. “Which is a sore spot.” There was an odd sympathy in Anderson’s eyes when he finally released Josh’s hand, his smile appraising before his attention shifted back to Charlie. “Any theories?” Charlie crossed his arms. “I don’t have to tell you anything.” “No, but you know you want to. Come on, Charlie, show me how clever you still are.” He didn’t rise to the bait. “Josh, why don’t you bring him up to speed?” Christ, another test. Charlie liked these field pop quizzes, usually when there was someone else around for Josh to make a fool of himself in front of. He straightened to his full height and began reciting the evidence. “We believe it was a simple cigarette fire. The majority of the damage was in the living room, destroying the couch completely. Scorch marks radiate out from here. While the kitchen was heavily damaged, the fire in there seems to have come across the ceiling and down the walls rather than originating at one of the potential hot spots in there.” “Any injuries?” “No. The owners were up in bed when it happened and got out down the back stairs as soon as the alarm went off.” Anderson’s eyes, which had never stopped searching the room, abruptly honed in on him with laser precision. It was disconcerting. “So if they were up in bed, who left the cigarette on the couch?” “Well, I…” “It’s great that you’ve mastered the physical evidence.” He started walking the ruined living room again. “Arsonists love it when investigators focus on the physical. You have to remember the behavioral, too. It’s one thing to fall asleep in front of the TV with a cigarette in your hand, but who leaves a lit cigarette on the couch after they’ve gone to bed?” Josh realized his common sense should have clued into that right away. Anderson drew up beside him, voice carrying a hint of the smoke that lingered around them. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. A good arsonist, any criminal for that matter, knows that the best place to hide something is in plain sight.” “So what are you doing here, Anderson?” Charlie interrupted the lesson, provided Josh with a welcome distraction from Anderson’s close proximity. “I was in the neighborhood on business, thought I’d stop by for a look.” “Business?” “My bosses have had an unusual number of fire claims in the area in the last six months. The actuaries get jumpy when their predictions don’t fit reality. So I’m checking things out.” He grinned at Charlie. “Making sure you guys are doing your jobs.” “I’ve been doing this since you found your first book of matches,” Charlie snapped. Unfazed, Dylan corrected him. “Actually, I started with sparklers and worked my way up.” “How old were you?” If Josh’s question surprised him, Anderson didn’t let it show. “I was seven when I set

the neighbor’s shed alight. It was so exciting when all the fire trucks showed up, I set my second a week later. By the time I was twelve, I’d burned my first warehouse. By the time I was twenty, I was making a living as a professional arsonist. I was twenty-five when I got caught. Any other questions?” There wasn’t any pride in his voice, just a simple recitation of fact. “Why did you get caught?” “Don’t you mean how?” Josh shook his head. “If you went that long without being caught, then you were good enough to have kept going. What changed your mind?” Anderson gave him an appreciative smile. “I see Charlie’s still picking the smart ones.” “Don’t think that by buttering me up I won’t brag to him about catching you,” Charlie interjected from the other side of the room. Anderson’s lips curved in amusement. “I wouldn’t expect any less.” Turning back to Josh, he leaned in. “Time changed my mind. You start thinking about things when you aren’t a kid anymore. Thinking isn’t so good for a man in that line of work.” “So you wanted to be caught.” “Want is a strong word.” “But not the wrong one.” “Maybe so.” Closer still, his lips brushed Josh’s ear. “But I don’t know you well enough to spill all my secrets.” Before Josh could react, Anderson had moved on to inspect one of the far corners, leaving Josh to wonder if he’d imagined the implication in Anderson’s words and brief touch. The man very well could be fucking with him. He didn’t examine too closely the frission of attraction that lingered. This man had started fires for a living. He was the kind of person Josh’s father and uncle had always hated beyond all reason. If they found out Josh had anything to do with someone like that, no matter how reformed he might be, Josh would never hear the end of it. Though, an arsonist would certainly get them off the “faggot” argument for a change. That might be worth it. “Don’t get taken in by him,” Charlie interrupted Josh’s thoughts. “Dylan Anderson may be charming, but never forget what he’s capable of.” Josh felt oddly defensive. “He’s reformed.” “Once a torch, always a torch. Never forget that, Josh.” “You sound just like my dad.” “Sounds like a smart man. You should listen to him more.” Josh wisely kept his mouth shut. Some battles weren’t worth it. His eyes never once left Dylan.

Chapter Two “You’re making that shit up.” Ben Carmichael raised his voice enough to be heard over the blaring music and loud conversations in the bar around them. “He was an arsonist and now he’s working for the insurance company as an investigator? That’s—” “I know. Sounds like a half-assed plot for some Bruckheimer film.” “Nah, that’s more Spielberg’s gig.” Josh glared at him. “You were a film student for one semester, Ben.” “One and a half, technically.” Ben sipped his beer. “But you’re right, not Spielberg. With Catch Me If You Can on his résumé, that would be a retread.” He fell silent for a moment, considering something. “Have you ever thought about it? What it would be like to start a fire like that?” Josh would have liked to have said no. There were moments, though, when he was in the heart of it, the flames licking all around him, that the thought of creating something so powerful couldn’t help but tempt him. He’d never acted on it, but the allure was still there, just below the surface. Always. The combination of fire and temptation inevitably led him back to Dylan. “I think he may have been hitting on me,” Josh mumbled, changing the subject. Ben chuckled. “You have been out of the game for awhile if you don’t know for certain.” “Not that long.” Wrapping an arm around Josh’s shoulders, Ben pulled him close. “Lawrence was over six months ago. That’s more than awhile in our world.” “Yeah, and look how well that turned out.” He took a long pull on his own beer. “We firemen have an old saying. Once burned, twice shy.” “Well, how about third time’s the charm?” Ben finally released him with an impish grin. “Huh?” “There’s a guy at the bar watching you.” This wasn’t news. Josh had been aware of the man’s presence since he’d gone to the restroom fifteen minutes ago. “He’s definitely your type,” Ben enticed. “I don’t have a type.” Josh resisted looking. “You so do. Gorgeous with a touch of world-weariness to add some character. Hair long enough to really grip, which I know you love. And…” Josh waited. And waited. “Now you’re being a dick.” “So much for antici…pation.” Ben smirked. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he sat down.” Josh couldn’t help his growing curiosity. “What’s he drinking?” “Scotch, it looks like. Straight.” Josh raised an eyebrow. “Ha ha. He wouldn’t be in here if he wasn’t queer.” “You’re a poet and didn’t know it.” “Well, if you aren’t going to go over to him…” Half standing, Ben signaled Josh’s

admirer over before Josh could stop him. “Remind me why we’re friends again?” “Because sex for us was amazing but the rest was an utter disaster, and you need someone to keep you from becoming a bitter old bachelor.” “You really need to stop hooking up with the theatre boys, Ben. Not everything’s about the drama.” Josh finished off his beer and swiveled around to face Anderson. “Small world.” “You don’t seem surprised to see me.” “I saw you sitting at the bar when I came back from the men’s room. What are you doing here?” Anderson held up his glass. “Having a drink.” “You couldn’t do that in your hotel bar?” He looked around with that appraising look that was becoming familiar to Josh. “I like the ambience here.” Anderson wasn’t wrong. The place was low-key but still active enough to be on the prowl if you had a mind to. It beat the clubs for quality of drink and the ability to actually socialize instead of whore yourself out. The bar also didn’t have that air of desperation that clung to so many night spots. It had been one of Josh’s favorite places, in its various incarnations, since he’d moved here six years ago. “It’s a good place,” he finally agreed. “It’s a hell of a lot more relaxing when you aren’t the youngest piece of ass here.” Anderson’s smile tightened a fraction. Then he turned to Ben. “Dylan Anderson.” Ben’s eyes widened in recognition, but thankfully he didn’t give Josh away. “Ben Carmichael.” They shook hands. “Josh here’s a bit frosty at first, but if you stick around long enough, you’re in for a treat.” Ben took one last sip of his beer and pushed the glass aside, giving Josh a smirk. “I’ll leave you two to it.” “You don’t have to leave on my account.” Anderson sounded sincere. “Oh, I’m leaving on Josh’s account.” Ben dropped a five on the bar and melted into the crowd. “Boyfriend?” Anderson slid into the chair across from Josh without waiting for an invitation. “Ex. Soon to be dead.” “Don’t kill him. The jail time isn’t worth it.” “So is this something you picked up in prison?” Josh gestured around the bar, implying the whole culture behind it. “It’s something I picked up when I was twelve. What about you?” “I was a little older.” “Does Charlie know?” Anderson sipped at his drink, those eyes never leaving Josh’s face. “I don’t make a secret of it, but I don’t advertise, either.” “Don’t ask, don’t tell.” “Yeah.” The fire service was a brotherhood, but too many of the guys still weren’t comfortable with the idea that their “brother” might be checking them out. Never mind that most of them weren’t remotely attractive enough for Josh to risk his personal career. “So what are you really doing here?” “I’ve been wandering from bar to bar on the off chance I might run into you.”

Josh rolled his eyes. “Right.” “I’d be lying if I said the thought wasn’t in the back of my mind. The real reason I’m here is because I do like the ambiance. It was my favorite haunt when I lived here.” “It can’t be the same place it was ten years ago.” It wasn’t even the same place it had been six months ago. “Surprisingly it hasn’t changed that much. Less leather, maybe, but I’m not into the leather scene so much anymore.” Dylan Anderson in leather…that was way too appealing. Josh cleared his throat. “Is this the first time you’ve been back since you were, um…” “Locked up?” Anderson smiled and shook his head. “I’ve passed through a few times. My Aunt Min lives in the Italian Market area. Stood by me when my folks split and visited me every holiday while I was incarcerated. I try to return the favor.” He took in the room once more. “This is the first time I’ve been here on business.” “You turned up pretty quick for a townhouse fire. Usually the insurance investigators wait for our reports.” “I’m not here for the townhouse fire.” “Then why are you here?” Anderson paused with his glass to his lips. “You ask that question a lot.” “I’m curious.” Swallowing the last mouthful of scotch, he carefully set his glass down. “I can’t talk about it, but there are some things you guys have been missing. I’m here to look into them.” Josh’s hackles rose. “In other words, I haven’t seen the last of you.” “I hope not.” “Are you flirting with me?” This guy was an arsonist. Josh shouldn’t be finding him so damn appealing. But Ben was right, it had been a long time, and the rebellious streak within him was enough to make him consider shoving other considerations aside. “No.” Folding his arms on the table, Dylan leaned forward so Josh was looking straight into piercing gray eyes. “If I were flirting with you, there would be a lot more tongue action.” “Good to know.” Josh closed the distance a little more. “So what are you doing?” “Always with the questions. I like an inquiring mind.” “Yeah, well, I like some answers. Since apparently I’m not going to get any from you…” He stood up to head of in search of Ben. A little murder would take the edge off nicely. To his surprise, Anderson caught his arm. The electricity in that touch startled Josh. It was a warm hand, just a bit rough, not pampered and smooth like Josh would have expected. He wondered where else his expectations went wrong. “Stay. Have a drink with me.” Anderson’s tongue flicked out to tease at his upper lip. Murdering Ben could wait. “Can I ask more questions?” “You can. As to whether I’ll answer them or not…” Josh sat back down. “One drink,” he told Anderson, then smirked. The last name thing had to go. No point in trying to enforce a distance with the turn the night had taken. Besides, Anderson just gave him Matrix flashbacks.

Chapter Three One drink became two and a half before they threw aside pretense, hailed a cab, and headed back to Dylan’s suite at the Windsor. Josh knew this whole thing was twelve kinds of wrong, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He was playing with fire, and it felt right. These encounters had a certain rhythm to them, but Dylan ignored all the standard cues, leaving Josh unsure of how to respond. Thankfully the limited options offered by a hotel room made it a little easier to figure out what to do next. He caught Dylan and drew him close enough to feel his interest through their slacks. Dylan didn’t resist, amused. “What, no questions?” “I think I can figure this part out.” “I should hope so.” Dylan’s lips brushed against Josh’s. He tasted of scotch and a hint of—not cigarettes, but something smoky and a little sweet. “Cloves?” “Bad habit from prison. I slipped out the last time you went to the bathroom.” “Quick smoke break.” “Another bad habit.” Josh could feel Dylan’s faint smile. “That bother you?” “Let’s find out.” Josh teased Dylan’s lips into an open-mouthed kiss. Dylan cupped the back of Josh’s head as he reciprocated. No, Josh didn’t mind the smoky, spicy flavor of Dylan’s mouth at all, the strength and firmness of his lips and tongue answering Josh’s advances with assertive surety. Josh groaned as Dylan drew away slightly. “Well?” Licking his lips, Josh said, “I’m not walking out the door, am I?” “No, you’re not.” Dylan tugged him close by his waistband. “There’s just one thing I need to know before this goes any further.” “Shoot.” There was something unreadable in Dylan’s gaze. “Do you mind bottoming?” Ben was right. Dylan’s hair was just long enough to play with, the very beginnings of curls lining the base of his neck. “I’m open to being convinced.” Dylan grinned ferociously. “I think I can manage that.” Josh lost himself in the kiss, gasping when Dylan broke away to sweep his tongue up Josh’s throat or suck at his sensitive collarbone before returning to his mouth. In jeans and a t-shirt, Josh felt underdressed next to Dylan, but was grateful for the buttoned shirt that made it easier to get to Dylan’s chest. When the bed hit the back of his knees, Josh crawled up on it, yanking off his own shirt before pulling down Dylan to join him. Dylan straddled his hips, hungrily capturing his mouth again to swallow Josh’s eager groan. Between the two of them, they soon had Dylan’s shirt off and over the side of the bed. Josh reveled in the friction of the smattering of fine, wiry hairs across Dylan’s broad chest. Those well-tailored suits hid the fit body of man who did more than sit behind a desk or shift through ashy sites day after day. Christ, this felt good. Josh lost himself in the feel of solid flesh, gripping Dylan’s hair harder to hold him trapped for more punishing kisses. There was a fine line between

bottoming and submitting, and Josh was determined to show Dylan he knew exactly what those differences were. Sure, steady fingers wrapped around his cock, making him growl into Dylan’s mouth. While Josh had been busy negotiating dominance, Dylan had continued moving things forward. “Not so fast.” Josh caught Dylan’s wrist and rolled them over. “No fair getting ahead of me.” Dylan nipped behind Josh’s ear, making his cock twitch in Dylan’s tight grip. “What part of bottoming didn’t you get?” “The part where I don’t get to enjoy you as much as you do me.” He made quick work of belt and fly to slip his hand in and take hold of Dylan’s cock, earning satisfied moans from both of them. It was his turn to run his tongue along Dylan’s throat. “We could just lay here and jerk each other off.” “We could.” Dylan answered with a twist of his wrist that made Josh writhe. Josh retaliated with hard, spiraling strokes of his own. “But we won’t.” Josh’s vision blurred as orgasm crept up on him in soporific demand. “You know why?” “Why?” Josh brushed his lips across Dylan’s ear. “Because I can’t wait to feel your cock in my ass.” “What happened to being convinced?” “You’ve convinced me. Or I should say,” Josh grinned, tightening his grip just a fraction, “this convinced me.” “Some guys might call you easy.” “Are you some guys?” “What do you think?” Dylan thrust, driving home the presence of his generous cock in the most literal way possible. It was all Josh could do not to come right there and then. “I think you need to prove you aren’t.” “Been burned, then?” Already Dylan was reaching for his wallet and the condom it ubiquitously held. “A few times.” Josh took the rubber from him, adding it to his play. “Yet still you keep coming back.” “Hey, I’m a fireman. If I was afraid of getting burned, I couldn’t do my job.” “Well said.” Josh relinquished his hold on Dylan and wriggled his jeans the rest of the way off. “One last question.” “Always with the questions.” “How do you want me?” Dylan’s grin couldn’t be more wicked if he were the Devil himself. “Just like this.” Just how Josh liked it. The more contact, the better. Unlike too many guys he’d been with, Josh didn’t have the hang-ups on any implied intimacy in the position. You could as easily lose your heart to a blowjob as you could while looking into your partner’s eyes while they fucked you into the mattress. The real risk was all in your mind. Losing his heart seemed startlingly possible when Dylan unflinchingly held Josh’s gaze as he worked his cock in with unhurried strokes, pinning Josh in place by look and

deed. Josh dug his fingers into Dylan’s shoulders, losing himself in the feel of strong arms and broad chest and Dylan’s firm belly caressing his own aching cock. It wasn’t enough to get him over the edge though. He reached between them to grab hold of his cock, only to find Dylan had the same idea. “Great minds,” Dylan observed hoarsely, wrapping his hand around Josh’s. “Show me how you like it.” That was enough, but Josh pushed back his orgasm. No way in fuck was he missing out on this. He encouraged Dylan’s grip considerably tighter, guiding him into the perfect combination of friction and rhythm that made Josh groan. Josh finally came, dragging Dylan closer as his body shuddered to completion. Dylan followed soon after with a hoarse cry muffled against Josh’s neck. They lay there tangled and sweaty until they recovered enough to pull apart. Rolling off, Dylan dropped beside him, then gave a breathless laugh. “What?” Propping himself up, Josh glanced down at Dylan. With a grin, Dylan shook his head, rose, and headed for the bathroom. “You wouldn’t understand.” Josh wanted to just lie there and savor the warm lethargy seeping through his muscles, but it wasn’t his bed. With a groan, he forced himself up and followed Dylan to the bathroom. “I might if you’d explain.” “Possibly,” was all he’d say as he ducked into the shower. Standing there, Josh really wasn’t sure what to do until Dylan poked his wet head out. “You need an engraved invitation?” Apparently he did. The moment he stepped foot in the tub, Josh found himself trapped between a warm, slick Dylan and the tile wall. “Took you long enough.” Odd as Dylan was, Josh soon stopped caring. With a mouth as talented as that, it was difficult to think of much else.

Chapter Four He didn’t stay the night, but it was a damn near thing. The sun was coming up earlier these days, lightening the edges of New Jersey by the time Josh slipped out to catch a cab home for at least a couple of hours of sleep before dragging his sorry-but-satisfied self into work. The looks on everyone’s faces when he finally did make it into the office made him wish he’d stopped for the good coffee on the way in. “What happened?” “Our firebug struck again,” Charlie grumbled over his chipped mug. Shit. “When and where?” “Early morning, near Elfreth’s Alley.” Bad, but not bad enough to warrant the super somber mood of the station. Charlie nodded towards the chief’s office which had opened. The chief emerged, irritated and in a particularly foul mood, followed by a well-pressed and even more wellrested Dylan. “What’s going on? Why is he here?” Charlie grimaced at the office coffee when he took a sip. “He’s been in with the chief for an hour. We got confirmation from Fidelity, by the way. They actually did hire him as an investigator. He’s been working with them for two years already, if you can believe it.” “What’s that got to do with us?” “Too many related, unsolved fires in too short of a time. My guess is we’re a step away from an internal affairs exam.” “They think someone here is covering for someone?” “Exactly. The lawsuit against the department if that happened would be worth millions, and National Fidelity carries half the policies in this city. If they can get out of paying the claims, or at least recoup some of the money from the city, they’re going to consider it a good day’s work.” Seeing as the city was already hurting financially, in the end the judgment would come to bear on the department itself. Cuts. Good men out of a job because some asshole thought playing with fire was fun. The irony wasn’t lost on Josh. “What if we figure out who’s behind this? Then the responsible party pays.” “You think they’d be the only ones?” Charlie snorted. “You’re young, Josh, but I never thought you were naïve. If the suit’s been called in, it’s too late for just one man to take the fall.” “I’m not naïve.” Although maybe he was. Of all the bars in Philadelphia, it was pretty coincidental that Dylan had ended up in the one Josh regularly frequented. He’d never believed in coincidence. He’d let Ben and his own hopes convince him otherwise though. He should have known better. The longer he thought about it, the more furious he got. While it wasn’t the first time he’d been used, it was the first time he’d been set up. “Dammit.” “What’s wrong?” Josh waved Charlie off. “Nothing, I’m fine. What do we do now?”

“Our jobs. And cooperate with the investigation only as much as we absolutely have to. They’re going to be looking for us to do the least little thing wrong so they can screw us to the wall.” Five minutes ago the idea of Dylan screwing him to the wall would have been one hell of a turn on. Now…okay, the literal idea still had appeal. Figuratively, it was very bad. The chief brought Dylan over. “Gentlemen, you know Mr. Anderson,” he said gruffly. Josh let Charlie do the talking. “What can we do for you, Chief?” “You can help Mr. Anderson here with his investigations. I wouldn’t want him to think we aren’t doing our jobs.” To Josh, his words seemed to imply more, that he didn’t want Dylan left alone in this investigation. He obviously knew Dylan’s background as well as Charlie and liked it even less. Dylan glanced at Josh meaningfully, but Josh refused to respond. “You can start by checking out the site of the recent fire,” the chief continued. “Sure you don’t want to change?” Charlie coolly suggested to Dylan when the chief turned on his heel to stalk back to his office. “Soot stains are a bitch to get out, Mr. Anderson.” Dylan smirked. “I’ll manage.” “I’ll drive.” Dylan was forced by courtesy to ride up front with Charlie, sparing Josh the intimacy of being trapped in a confined space with him. He was angry with himself for still feeling an attraction for Dylan after being used the way he had been. Tempting that attraction was a sure road to self-loathing. The building on North Second Street had been an old spinning mill, a lingering remnant of Philadelphia’s manufacturing days and a bit of an eyesore in the largely gentrified neighborhood. There wasn’t enough of it left to salvage, guaranteeing that within a year or two of the final insurance settlement, the space would be filled with faux-Colonial townhouses selling for half a mil apiece. The air was still acrid with the smell of water and ash and burning oak. For Josh it wasn’t unlike the lingering traces of cologne left by a memorable one-night stand. Just one more nail in the self-loathing coffin. “What a waste,” Dylan muttered as they approached the scene. “You did worse than this in your day,” Charlie pointed out. “Worse yes. But I never set fire to anything with potential.” “What potential? The place had stood empty for years. The neighbors are probably grateful.” “The neighbors are lucky the fire didn’t take down the whole neighborhood.” Charlie studied the remains and nodded. “Whoever did this must be very good.” “I doubt it. He got lucky. Or maybe he wanted to take the whole neighborhood and is disappointed now.” Charlie’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t argue further. Josh toed one of the charred timbers. “Lucky means we’re dealing with an amateur then?” “No,” Dylan shook his head, “not an amateur. Luck always factors in, but even if he’s not an expert, this person knew what they were doing.”

“What makes you say that?” “My three-year-old nephew asks fewer questions than you do.” In spite of everything, Dylan’s smile still affected Josh. Though his head was convinced Dylan was nothing more than a user, Josh’s cock had other ideas. “I’m curious.” “Good thing you aren’t a cat,” Charlie grumbled. “Don’t know about you two, but I need good coffee.” “The station stuff was shit,” Dylan agreed. Charlie glared at him. “I’ll be back. Stay out of trouble.” He headed off before Josh could protest. Dylan watched him go with thoughtful eyes. “Interesting that he went himself.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Just that that’s usually the rookie’s job.” When he turned to Josh, his expression was sly. “I guess he doesn’t like me.” His grin turned feral. “That’s okay. I don’t mind a few minutes alone with you.” “Don’t.” Dylan wasn’t surprised by the change in Josh’s attitude. “Look on the bright side, Josh. At least you’re no longer a suspect.” “Is that what last night was about? Feeling out a suspect?” “Don’t you mean feeling up?” “I’m really not in the mood for clever today, Dylan. You picked me up just because you suspected me of covering up for a firebug in the department.” Taking a couple steps, Dylan closed the distance between them. “I went to the bar to find out more about you, yes. As for picking you up,” his eyes raked over Josh, “I did that because I wanted to.” Josh shoved him away. “Well, you got what you wanted, didn’t you?” Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “You wanted it, too, as I recall.” “That was when I wasn’t being used to rat out my friends.” “How do you know it’s a friend?” “You don’t put your life on the line for an enemy,” Josh growled. “Outsiders can’t understand.” “Oh, we have a pretty good idea. It’s an old boys’ club and you take care of your own.” “It’s not like that.” “No? So if it turned out that Charlie was our firebug, you’d turn him over?” “He would never—” “That’s the real problem. You people won’t even consider that it might be one of your own until the evidence is shoved down your throats. Even then half the time you still don’t believe it. Which is why someone like me has to come in and root it out for you.” Dylan had a point, but Josh was in no mood to admit it. “Got any plans tonight?” Dylan didn’t skip a beat. Josh gaped at him. “What?” “You can’t be serious.” The conversation was taking a surreal turn that left Josh offkilter.

“Of course I am.” “What about conflict of interest?” “It doesn’t bother me.” “Well, it bothers me!” Dylan’s mouth quirked knowingly. “You’re still mad at me for last night.” “Of course I am! You think a little fancy logic is going to make me fall into bed with you?” “No,” Dylan drawled, “I thought a little fancy logic would buy me enough time to give you the most amazing blowjob and then you’d fall into bed with me.” “You’re unbelievable.” The pathetic thing was Josh found himself tempted. Why did it matter what Dylan’s motivations were? The sex had been good. Okay, amazing. So why not— “What are you two standing around for?” Charlie barked, blue-and-white paper cup clenched in his hand. “We’ve got work to do.” Josh couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss or kill Charlie right then. Dylan didn’t bother him again as the three of them carefully combed through the rubble. A more thorough team would come in later, but their job as first responders was to assess the situation in order to guide the investigation going forward. The more Josh looked, the more he hated what he saw. This was no insurance burn. Whoever had started this fire knew exactly what he was doing. Carefully focused accelerant in the electrical system, far enough away from the fire suppression system to get a healthy burn going before the sprinklers went off, but not so carelessly placed that any of the surrounding buildings would go up. The source was challenging to find, but not impossible, meaning the torcher wanted it to be found. There were only two types of people who could set a fire this precisely: a professional arsonist or a firefighter. “What’s eating you, kid?” Charlie crouched down beside him. “You’re usually asking a million questions. It’s the suit, isn’t it?” In more ways that one. “No,” Josh lied. “It’s these fires, one right on top of the other. Don’t you ever get sick of the destruction?” “You’re in the wrong line of work, if that’s where your head is. What I got sick of was all the rank amateurs setting fires and getting away with it. You and me, we’re changing that. We’re making it so that the only people who can do this are people who know what they’re doing. People like Anderson over there and whoever set this fire here. Artists, people who understand the fire and can control it. Like the flip side of a firefighter.” Josh studied Charlie for a moment. “It sounds like you admire this person.” “You can respect the skill and still hate the act.” While he couldn’t fault the logic, something about the comment disturbed Josh. Deciding not to examine it too closely, he stood. “I think we’re done here for now. Dylan?” “We’re on a first name basis, are we?” Dylan’s eyes danced. “Are you done or not?” Charlie snickered. “You get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, Josh?” More like the wrong bed. “If you two want to stand around here admiring the artistry of our arsonist, fine. I’d like to get this report filed and get on with the rest of my day.”

Rather than wait in the back seat of the SUV like a kid, Josh started to walk back to the office. It was a long walk, fifteen blocks or so, but it would give him the time he needed to sort things out in his own head. Dylan wasn’t there when he got to headquarters, for which Josh was grateful. Charlie was wrapped up with the forensic engineer who would be confirming the wiring damage and trying to determine if there were any other ignition sites they had missed. Josh sat at his desk to input his own findings in the record, keeping his head down to avoid notice the rest of the day. Ben’s call that afternoon was the only interruption he had. “So?” Josh wasn’t in the mood. “Come on, I deserve something for my sacrifice. I want details, Josh.” Keeping his voice low, he said, “Yes, we fucked, and it was good. Happy?” “Not with that kind of attitude. What happened?” “It’s complicated.” Ben sighed. “You’ve completely missed the point of one-night stands, haven’t you?” “The point of a one-night stand is to never see the guy again.” “You’ve seen him again?” “Ben, I’m fucking working with the guy! Turns out his insurance firm sent him here to check up on us.” “Oh, ouch. Complicated.” “Yeah, thanks so much for your sympathy.” “Look, let me make it up to you. Dinner tonight?” “You paying?” “If it will keep you from moping at home like some sad loser, then yes I am.” Ben laughed. “Get back to work, you. I’ll meet you at your place at seven thirty.” “See you then.” “Hot date?” Dylan’s voice startled Josh. He crushed down the sudden flare of arousal, swamping it under layers of irritation. “Not really your business, is it?” “Well, if it wasn’t, might I offer my services?” “Which services would that be?” “Whichever ones your dinner companion isn’t fulfilling.” Josh recalled Dylan’s offer earlier that day. Making certain no one was in earshot, Josh leaned in close. “No blowjob is that good.” The corner of Dylan’s mouth curved up. “Then you’ve been seeing all the wrong men.” Responding would only get him in even deeper, so he wisely kept his mouth shut. Dylan stepped back. “You know where to find me when you change your mind.” By the time Josh registered that Dylan had no doubts whatsoever of his response, the man was long gone. Sadly, he was right. It would be just a matter of when.

Chapter Five “Are you a suspect?” “Ben!” “It’s a valid question, considering that this could be an inside job.” Ben speared his salad with an innocent air. “Talk about cojones, fucking a suspect. I’m liking this Dylan Anderson more and more.” “You’re supposed to be distracting me from this whole thing, remember?” Josh growled. “That sort of involves avoiding anything related to the person you should be distracting me from.” “If you were a woman, I’d swear you were on the rag. Getting laid’s supposed to relax you, make you a more amenable person to be around.” Josh was two seconds away from telling Ben to fuck off and walking out, not a first on either account. Fortunately his pager went off. Ben’s eyebrows raced towards his nose. Pissed off, he could be one frightening bastard, and nothing pissed him off more than Josh’s pager. It was one of the things they had broken up over, the fact that Josh was never really off duty. When it went off during dinner, Ben wasn’t any happier. “You must be joking. Josh, you aren’t even with the company anymore!” Josh scanned the readout even while making an apology he didn’t remotely mean. “With a firebug on the loose, I have to be on the scene as soon as possible to help preserve evidence.” “You’re done for the day,” Ben protested. “I thought this was why you left the ladder company, to get your own life back.” Josh didn’t correct him. Ben never really had understood him, hadn’t even really listened when he’d tried to talk about his family. Ben was too involved with Ben. It was one of the other things they had broken up over. There were a lot of them. It was surprising they’d managed to stay friends. “I’m sorry.” This time it was slightly more genuine. “There are times I wondered if the only way to get your attention was to set you on fire myself,” Ben sighed dramatically, then waved him off. “Go. Be the hero. At least my chances of landing one of the waiters have improved.” “Next time’s on me, I promise.” “You always say that,” Ben grumbled as Josh walked away. At the door, Josh glanced back to see Ben was already on his cell phone to fill the empty chair Josh had left. He probably could have stayed, but he’d been away from the trucks long enough to miss that adrenaline rush of responding to a call. He might not be able to do anything, but he could at least get to the scene to watch. The warehouse was nothing but a mass of flames, heat radiating outward and making the muggy night that much more unbearable. Yet he still longed for the cloying weight of his gear that would allow him that much closer. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He shouldn’t have been surprised to find Dylan there. “Nothing better to do

tonight?” “What could be better than this?” Dylan looked around innocently. “A beautiful night, charming company, and a fire to warm up beside.” “You know, you can drop the innuendo any time now. I’m really not interested.” “Liar.” Josh did the smart thing again and kept his mouth shut. “So what happened to your plans for the evening?” “What do you think?” Josh nodded to the fire. “Traded one hot date for another, eh?” “Ben understands. He’s used to it.” Lie and lie. “He may be used to it. I doubt he understands. Unless he’s a firefighter, too?” Ben as a firefighter…no. “Theatre critic. He wanted to be an actor until he realized he couldn’t act.” “So he’s ahead of most actors, then.” Finally Josh couldn’t take it anymore. “Look, what exactly is it you want from me?” “I thought I gave you a pretty good demonstration of that last night.” “Yeah, and that was supposed to be it. Why do you keep—” “Brooks? What the hell are you doing here?” He hadn’t thought any of the response team had noticed him until Karl Martin came towards them, pulling off his helmet and goggles, face dark with soot. “I thought you’d given up real firefighting.” “I’m just fighting them with my brain now, that’s all.” Ignoring Dylan, Josh shook Karl’s hand as soon as it was free of its glove. “Couldn’t stay away from the lines, though, could you?” Rather than answer, Josh asked, “How’s it going?” Karl looked back at the fire. “Not too bad. It’s mostly contained now. I think we’ll be able to save the superstructure, but the interior’s toast. Think it’s one of your jobs?” Josh shrugged. “We’ve got a professional torching warehouses. No real connection, except some of them share an insurance company.” “Those vultures,” Karl scoffed. “Oh, we have our uses,” Dylan spoke up. “Bringing dates to work now? Josh, I didn’t know you had it—” Karl’s words died as he got a good look at Dylan. “What the fuck are you doing here?” “Playing vulture.” “No fucking way.” Karl turned to Josh. “There’s your culprit right there.” Dylan shoved his hands in his pockets. “Curses. Foiled again.” “Don’t get smart with me, you son of a bitch.” Karl lunged for Dylan, but Josh caught him. Dylan didn’t flinch. “It wasn’t him,” Josh said flatly. “You don’t know that. You know how many fires that fucker started before they finally caught him?” “I’m a changed man.” Dylan’s tone really wasn’t helping his case any. “The fuck you are.” Karl lunged again. “It wasn’t him,” Josh insisted, still holding Karl back. “You don’t know that.” “Yes, I do. He was with me.”

“I hope to hell you’re pulling my leg because… Christ, you’re not.” Karl gaped at him. “Your old man is going to fucking kill you.” “Seeing as he hasn’t forgiven me for being a queer yet, I don’t think hooking up with an ex-arsonist is going to register.” “Care to bet?” Karl’s look of disdain didn’t change as he studied Dylan anew. “Even back in Pittsburgh they’ll know about this one. Are you trying to piss him off or something?” “Leave it, Karl.” Shaking his head, Karl turned away. “Whatever. It’s on your head.” Despite his irritation, Josh called after him, “Be careful in there!” Karl waved without turning, already jamming his helmet back on his head. “You didn’t have to defend me, you know,” Dylan said softly. “He’s not wrong. I did a lot of damage back then.” “I wasn’t.” “Sure seemed like it to me.” Josh faced the fire. “Forget it, Dylan.” “Is that your response to any conflict?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Well, I’m not going to forget it. You stood up for me to one of your colleagues, even though he was saying what you were thinking anyway. I don’t care what he thinks about me, so why did you defend me?” “People shouldn’t go around making accusation based on a person’s past, that’s all.” “Right.” Josh glared back at Dylan. “Leave. It.” “No.” Josh shoved him hard, making Dylan stumble backwards. “You really don’t want to do that.” “Then drop the fucking subject.” “No.” Josh shoved Dylan again. The next thing he knew, he was on his back, staring at the smoky night sky. Dylan appeared in his field of vision, smirking down at him. “I told you you didn’t want to do that.” “Fuck you.” “Oh no, I’m going to fuck you. But not tonight.” Dylan faced the fire for a moment. “Looks like they have the fire almost out. Time to do our job.” He held out a hand. Smacking it away, Josh shoved himself to his feet. “It’s not your job. You stay out of the scene until the professionals are done.” Dylan raised his hands innocently. “Whatever you say, rookie.” Thankfully he didn’t follow when Josh stormed away. Charlie was already waiting by the fire marshal’s car, observing the clean-up before he noticed Josh. “You got here quick.” “I was in the neighborhood.” Charlie nodded. “So was I. Wife’s furious. It’s date night tonight.” “You’ll be sleeping on the couch then.” “Oh yeah.”

They watched the guys draining and rolling the hoses, loading all the gear back into the trucks, the end of another fire. “Do you ever worry about being too obsessed with fire?” Josh asked finally. “I mean, I was out to dinner with a friend. I didn’t need to come down here. Hell, we probably won’t even be able to really get into this until tomorrow. But when the pager went off, I had to come. What does that say about me?” “It’s in our blood.” Charlie squeezed his shoulder. “Why don’t you go home? We’ve got a long enough day ahead of us tomorrow without hanging around here all night.” “You sure?” “You’re right, we aren’t really going to be able to get in there until morning. I’ll do the preliminary survey and we can break it down first thing.” “Okay then.” With a last look back at the smoldering structure, Josh headed back towards his car. “See you in the morning.” “Yeah,” Charlie said distractedly, focus already back on the ruined factory. There was no one lingering in the shadows when Josh got back to his car. He pretended not to be disappointed.

Chapter Six “It’s definitely the same guy.” Josh glared up at Dylan. “You can’t say ‘good morning’ to announce yourself like a normal person, can you?” “Where’s the fun in that?” Grabbing a chair, Dylan flipped it around before straddling it next to Josh’s desk, ignoring glares coming at him from all around the office. “Aren’t you going to ask why I think that?” “Similar structure, similar accelerant pattern…it’s not that difficult to figure out.” “Did you notice the pattern?” Josh kept his eyes on his paperwork and not on the tempting exposure of Dylan’s groin. “Which one?” “They’re all unused industrial spaces in developing neighborhoods.” “You think maybe they aren’t thrill burns?” “Maybe. That real estate is going to be worth good money now that it doesn’t have those pesky buildings on them. Buildings that would have taken years to tear down legitimately, between environmental impact studies and EPA regulations and whatever else bullshit red tape there is.” “So we should be looking at someone with a personal investment in these areas?” “Not necessarily. Our bug could be working for someone with a personal investment. Have you looked into the developers associated with the areas the fires occurred in?” As the thought hadn’t occurred to him, no. “I suppose you have.” Dylan smirked and withdrew a folded paper. “Well, one of us has to do your job.” Josh read down the list quickly. “There are a couple of repeats here. Let me tell Charlie and we—” Dylan stopped him before he could get up. “Let’s keep this between you and me for right now, shall we?” “Why?” Josh’s guts knotted. “You don’t suspect Charlie, do you?” “There’s only one person I don’t suspect at the moment, and that’s just because I know exactly where you were when one of the fires started.” And he was Dylan’s alibi, which could work for or against them. “It could be more than one person.” Dylan shook his head. “What?” “When have you ever known arsonists to be team players?” “You’re one now. And if your theory is correct, so’s our suspect.” “Working for someone else isn’t the same as working with someone. Like any true artist, an arsonist isn’t going to want to share credit for his work.” “That’s a pretty fine distinction.” “A valid one as well.” Dylan leaned closer, gray eyes stormy and eager. “This is more than just a job. He’s too careful, too creative for these to just be burns for hire. He’s getting something out of this, a kind of recognition.” His eyes unfocused for a moment before lasering in on Josh again. “He’s making a name for himself.” Meaning there would be more of these fires. Until they caught him.

Josh considered Dylan for a moment. “You’re jealous.” “Envious.” “Same thing.” Dylan shrugged. “It doesn’t mean I won’t take the bastard down.” “Before he steals your thunder.” “Josh, my thunder ran out so long ago no one even remembers there was a storm. I haven’t lit so much as a campfire in ten years. The only people who still remember me are the firefighters who were around at the time, and even most of them don’t give a damn. No, this guy is serious. He wants to be known, but he’s not going to take the chance of giving us a name until he’s got everyone’s attention.” “Well, he’s got our attention.” “Everyone’s attention. A few warehouses here and there are no big deal, happens in the city all the time. He’s going to have to go for something bigger, more dramatic.” “Such as?” “How many public housing high rises are there in the gentrified parts of town?” The thought was enough to make Josh’s blood run cold. “Jesus.” “Exactly. If he thinks he’s doing the public a favor, there’s nothing to keep him from taking out an apartment or two. In his warped head, it would be better for everyone.” “Those places are rat mazes. We’d never be able to put them out, and we’d lose good firefighters in the process. Not to mention the residents.” “So this isn’t about my reputation. This is about saving lives.” Josh couldn’t argue with that. “What do we do?” “Have dinner with me.” It took Josh a moment to follow the sharp turn in conversation. “How is that going to help anything?” “It would keep me from dying of boredom in my hotel room.” “In that case…no.” Dylan leaned in. “Okay, plausible alibi if something happens, we can discuss this matter without prying ears listening in, and,” his voice dropped, “you’ll get an amazing blowjob out of the deal.” “Dinner’s on me, I suppose.” He eased back, still confident. “No, that we split.” Josh wanted to scream. “I really don’t understand you.” “That only means you need to get to know me better.” “No.” “No, you don’t need to get to know me better?” “No, I won’t have dinner with you.” “Why not?” “Because this, between us, isn’t happening.” Dylan considered that for a minute. “What if I rescind the blowjob? Then it’s just dinner between colleagues.” “Are you?” “Do you want me to?” Hell no. Before he could reply, Charlie walked in. “There you are, Anderson. Saves me looking for you.” Josh wanted to be grateful for the interruption, but he was quickly growing addicted

to the banter between the two of them and more than a little flattered by Dylan’s determination to get him in bed again. If he was going to stay true to his convictions, they needed to settle this matter fast or he was going to end up flat on his back in Dylan Anderson’s bed again. And if the blowjob was as good as promised, he might never want to leave.

Chapter Seven “So what’s stopping you?” His apology dinner with Ben was well under way, Josh’s pager diplomatically turned off for the evening, leaving him with no hope of escape from Ben’s uncomfortable questions. Josh rolled his eyes. “I told you. We work together. It’s a phenomenally bad idea.” “You don’t work together.” Ben shoved another bite in his mouth and talked around it. “You’re working together on this one case. After that there’s nothing to keep the two of you from doing whatever you want, as often as possible.” “It’s complicated.” “That’s always your excuse.” Ben grimaced, then set his fork aside. “Now, what exactly is complicated? He’s hot, fantastic in bed, and apparently isn’t bothered that you’re married to your job. How is any of that remotely complicated?” “He’s an arsonist, former. Served time for it.” “So?” “What do you mean, so? I’m a fireman. He’s an arsonist and a felon.” “Former on both accounts.” Josh wadded up his napkin and dropped it on the table. “It’s a very bad idea.” “We both know all your excuses only mean one thing.” Ben leaned across the table. “You really like this guy and it scares the shit out of you.” “Ben…” “Now, as much as I’d like to think your enforced bachelorhood is due to the vain hope of returning to my good graces,” he went on melodramatically, “we both know that you never could find the right guy.” “Dylan is not the right guy.” “Apparently he’s not the ‘right now’ guy, either. Josh, you said it yourself, he did his time. You can’t punish him for that. The courts already did. And you shouldn’t punish yourself for finding him attractive.” “I’m not.” “Then why are you having dinner with me?” “Because I owe you.” “Something you could have done any other time.” “We were both free.” “And you needed advice. Which I’ve given.” He picked up his glass. “I swear, Josh, your love life is like reading Anna Karenina. You know it’s going to be an emotional train wreck but you still have to slog through it just in case.” “So what do you suggest?” “Either grab your Vronsky by the balls and don’t let go,” sipping his wine, Ben continued, “or get ready to throw yourself under a train.” “I hate it when you get literary,” Josh mumbled into his drink. “It doesn’t make it any less valid. Call him.” “Now?” “No, a decade from now.” Ben rolled his eyes. “Why I’m still your friend, I’ll never

know.” Josh frowned. “I don’t have his number.” “You have, however, been to his hotel, and more importantly up to his room. Call. Him.” “I can’t. I don’t know what to say.” “How about asking if that offer of a blowjob is still good?” “You’d think after all this time I’d know better than to tell you things.” Ben looked completely unimpressed. “You’d think after all this time you’d know what advice I would give you in any given situation.” “If I call him now, I’m going to look like I can’t make up my mind.” “If you call him now, you’re going to look like a guy who’s changed his mind. We get to do that as much as the girls do, you know.” “I hate it when you parrot back my statements.” “It’s the only way to get you to hear me sometimes.” “I know. I’m sorry.” Ben reached across the table to cover Josh’s hand in his smaller, manicured one. “Josh, call him. You need to at least take the chance. Better a failed relationship than a constant what-might-have-been.” Josh didn’t tell Ben he was right, just flagged down the waiter to settle their check. Five minutes later, Josh had barely set one foot on the sidewalk outside the restaurant before Ben said, “Call him.” “Jesus, Ben!” “I am not leaving your side until you call that man and are on your way up to his room.” His eyes danced. “I’m even thinking about walking you there myself. Knowing you, you’ll have a dozen excuses before you’re halfway there.” Josh pulled out his phone but didn’t open it. “Right.” Hooking an arm through Josh’s, Ben started dragging him down the street. “I think you said he was at the Windsor, so that gives you seven blocks to grow a pair and give him fair warning before I drop you on his doorstep.” “I think I’d prefer to do it that way,” Josh admitted. “So be it.” Ben grinned wickedly. “Think he might be interested in a threesome? I’m awfully curious about this magical blow he keeps offering.” “Amazing, not magical.” “Same thing.” “This from the man who said no two adjectives are alike.” “Honey, if it’s going to make you give it up, it must be magical.” “Ha ha.” Josh braced himself for seeing Dylan. It would be humiliating enough to confess his interest without Ben there egging them both on. What he hadn’t expected was to find Dylan chatting up some other guy in the hotel bar. “Looks like I should have stuck to calling.” “What? Oh, Josh.” Ben did sound genuinely sorry for him. But it was his own damned fault, wasn’t it? “How bad do you want him?” “What?”

“If you want him as bad as I think you do, don’t stand there, do something!” “I’m not going to make a scene.” Ben’s expression tightened. “Fine. If you won’t, I will.” Before Josh could stop him, Ben marched into the bar, his normal graceful gait quickly transforming into a most queenly sashay, one hand up in stereotypical melodrama. Dylan looked up in surprise as Ben slid into his lap with a coy smile, curling his arm around Dylan’s neck. “Hi, baby, sorry we’re late,” he breathed, leaning closer before turning snake-like to look at Dylan’s companion. “Who’s your friend? Is he going to come play, too?” Dylan didn’t glance in Josh’s direction, but Josh was certain the smirk was meant for him. Settling Ben a little more firmly on his lap, Dylan said, “I’ve been trying to win Marcus over to our side for years. Sadly, I think his wife would disapprove.” “That’s too bad.” Ben let his eyes wander lasciviously up and down the other man’s body while his hand did the same to Dylan’s chest. “He’s cute.” Obviously uncomfortable, Marcus downed the last of his drink and slid off the stool. “I should probably be getting home anyway. Thanks for the drink, Dylan.” He eyed Ben’s wandering hand one last time, his lip twitched and he walked away. Josh finally came out of the shadow, ignoring the casual comfort of Dylan’s arm wrapped around Ben’s waist. “Get off him, you made your point.” Ben grinned and slid into the now-empty stool. “Thanks for the ride.” “It was my pleasure.” Dylan picked up his own drink. “Good evening, Josh.” “I’m sorry,” Josh said. “Ben has no manners. We really shouldn’t have interrupted.” Dylan shrugged. “Are you going to stand there all night, or would you care for a drink?” Josh wanted to run home and hide for the next…eternity or two. After he murdered Ben, that was. Ben didn’t give him the chance to do either. Reaching over the bar, he caught the bartender’s attention. “A gin and tonic for me and a whiskey sour for my friend.” He dropped back onto the stool, grimacing at Dylan. “Since he’s determined to be sour tonight.” “I’m not—” “So you’re an arsonist, huh?” Ben plowed on without allowing Josh to squirm into the conversation. “I’ve never met an arsonist before. Sounds very exciting.” Dylan gave Ben half smile. “Dealing with the unpredictable is always exciting.” “And now you’re in insurance? Can’t be much excitement in that.” “As with many things, it’s all in what you make it.” Dylan signaled for a refill as the bartender returned with Josh and Ben’s drinks. “So what do you do, Ben? When you aren’t sitting on strangers’ laps, that is.” “Mostly I try to get Josh to live a little. To pay the bills, I work as a theatre critic for the Inquirer. Those who can’t act, criticize.” “Nice.” “I avoid that at all costs.” Josh groaned. Dylan sipped at his scotch. “I saw you at the bar with Josh the other day. Are you two…” He waved his finger between them in that gesture that implied a relationship.

“God no. Well, not anymore.” Ben took a large mouthful of the drink the bartender had put in front of him before going on. “Well, we tried. The sex was fabulous, but the rest just didn’t mesh.” “The rest?” “Me running out at all hours on call.” Josh surrendered. “It interrupted his beauty sleep.” “It interrupted my plans for an early morning shag. You’d smell like smoke for days, no matter how much you showered.” Before Josh could defend himself, Ben turned back to Dylan. “So anyway, we decided we were better off as friends. Believe me, Josh needs all the friends he can get.” “Though with friends like Ben…” Josh muttered into his drink. Dylan was watching him. “I’ve always preferred the smell of smoke myself. It’s a reminder of the power fire carries with it.” Giving Ben a slightly sheepish smile, he added, “Taking my past history into account, you can understand the appeal.” “Campfire smoke I like,” Ben admitted. “Building smoke? No thanks. There are times I swear my place still smells of the smoke he brought home with him. And we haven’t been together in, what, five years?” “Four and a half.” “It’s nice that the two of you have been able to remain friends. I know a lot of guys that would rather kill each other than share a drink.” “I’m just an understanding guy like that.” Ben smirked over his glass. “Good to know.” Nodding, he finished off his drink and stood. “Looks like my work here is done. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” He was halfway out of the bar before Josh could come up with anything to say. “Fuck.” Dylan chuckled. “So why are you here, Josh?” Why the hell not go for honesty? “Because if I called first, I wouldn’t be.” “That makes sense.” His face said otherwise. “Your friend is…interesting.” “That’s one word for it.” “He’s not the kind of guy I would have pictured you with.” “No? What kind of guy would that be?” “Someone more reserved,” Dylan said without hesitation. “You’re the type to keep a low profile.” “Am I?” “Mm.” Dylan finished off his scotch. “And you definitely prefer your men…manly.” “If I wanted to fuck women, I wouldn’t be gay.” Josh grimaced. “That came out a bit harsher than I intended.” “But no less true.” “No.” Too much of his youth and a good portion of his twenties portraying a straight front had its consequences. “So. A big guy, bigger than you, a man of few words. Hairy?” “Not.” “Good, so I’m not competing there.” “You aren’t competing anywhere.” Josh flushed at the implication in that and hurried on. “There’s nothing to compete with. You’re talking about an imaginary man.”

“Maybe. Maybe I’m trying to understand why I’m getting so much resistance from you. I know you want me, and you can’t deny the sex was phenomenal. So it’s something else.” “It’s complicated.” He sighed. “Christ, I sound like a broken record. But it is.” Setting his glass down, Dylan turned to him more fully. “Then uncomplicate it.” “I don’t know where to begin.” “How about my record? Ex-arsonist, ex-con…that doesn’t sit well with a lot of people.” “I’m not a lot of people.” Josh considered his next words for a moment, then figured why not. “Actually, it might add to the attraction.” “Ah, so you like bad boys.” Dylan tilted his head to the side. “And you don’t like that you do.” “I have a job to do. A relationship with…someone like that can only make it more difficult.” “We aren’t talking about a relationship here, Josh. We’re talking about another couple of evenings of enjoying each other’s company and bodies. I don’t see how that could impair your ability to do your job.” Stated as baldly as that, Josh realized he was being an idiot about this whole thing. “Was Marcus really an old friend?” “He’s gone, so what does it matter?” It didn’t. It was just the two of them now and Josh had done too much thinking. “Does your offer from earlier still stand?” Josh asked. In response, Dylan retrieved his wallet and dropped a ten on the bar, then grabbed Josh’s glass and set it on top. “Only one way to find out. They passed the reception desk on their way to the elevators. “Mr. Anderson,” the young woman called out, “I have an urgent message for you.” Dylan looked at Josh. “I don’t suppose you’re going to let me ignore her, are you?” Having a pretty good idea what the urgent message was, Josh turned on his beeper, which immediate buzzed to life. “I could take this as a sign,” Josh grumbled as he followed Dylan to the desk. “Aren’t you getting tired of excuses, Josh?” “It’s not like I could arrange a fire while you were busy making out with Ben.” Dylan grinned. “What?” “I love a jealous man.” “I’m not jealous.” “Sure you’re not.” While Dylan retrieved his message from the receptionist, Josh called in his page. “The Loft District,” Dylan said when Josh hung up. “Looks like your theory was right,” Josh agreed. “I think we’ve moved past theory now.” “So what do we do now?” “There’s not much we can do. Wait until morning, see what turns up, hope this fucker slips up.” Josh rubbed his face, suddenly tired. “God, there are days I wish I’d stayed on the truck where I belong.”

“If you really thought that, you never would have left.” After a moment, Dylan said, “Now that you’ve had time to reconsider, am I going to be return to my room alone tonight?” Josh felt like a jerk. “I’m sorry. I just… I’m not a cocktease, I swear, it’s just—” “Don’t worry about it. I know what’s going on. You’re head’s in the fire, not with me, which would kind of defeat the purpose of anything I had planned.” “I’m sorry,” he apologized again. “You have nothing to be sorry about, so long as you make it up to me…later.” “Tomorrow. After…work.” It felt daring even to suggest it. “I’m holding you to that.” With a smile, Dylan walked off towards the elevators. For one brief moment Josh considered following him. Instead, he turned to the exit and headed out to hail a cab. The cab ride gave him too much time to think. About Dylan, about the arsonist, about the guys on the scene until all of it was whirling and twisting up in his brain. Finally he gave up and leaned forward to the cab driver. “I changed my mind. Take me to Eleventh and Callowhill.” The driver glared at him in the rearview mirror. “Whatever you say, buddy.” It took another ten minutes to twist back through the city, but Josh could see the flames still burning hotly when the cab finally pulled up. He paid the fare plus a large tip before getting out, gaze never leaving the fire. On the sidewalk, he breathed in deep, sucking the smell of old wood and water and ash into his lungs, letting it ground him. This made sense to him. Fire he understood, as fickle as it was. He could see people moving around, shadows against the brighter illumination of the fire. Most of the action was around the corner, so that was where the crowd had gathered, but he could see one lone, familiar figure out of the way of the masses, silhouetted by the blazing inferno licking through the building. Josh went to join him. Dylan barely acknowledged Josh’s presence, those mobile eyes of his flicking over before returning to reading the fire. For his part, Josh watched the response teams, two ladders, two engines, and a service truck with their assigned men swarming in and out, each performing their functions with practiced tension, sure of what they were doing but not of what the fire would throw at them. Dylan breathed out a low, soft moan, catching Josh’s attention. “This is turning you on!” he charged incredulously. Dylan raised an eyebrow, half-looking over at him. “It’s not turning you on?” “Of course not! Those guys are putting their lives on the line in there and you’re getting off on it.” He had Dylan’s undivided attention now. “Don’t lie to yourself, Brooks. It gets to you as much as it does me.” “You don’t know—” Dylan reached out and cupped the front of Josh’s jeans, thumb running along the hard ridge of his erection. “You do, Josh. You love the fire as much as I do.” His voice was low and seductive as he stepped close enough to hide what he was doing, bringing their faces together. “When you break down the doors, open the roof, find your way through the smoke-choked halls, you’re back in the arms of your favorite lover, and you

can’t wait to see how it will climax each time.” He stepped even closer, their bodies touching. “I’m the foreplay, starting it, arousing it, building it until it can’t be stopped. But you, Josh, you’re the orgasm, penetration and satisfaction. We both need the fire, don’t think for a minute you don’t.” At the moment all Josh could think about was how much he needed Dylan. The hard press of their bodies, the rough innuendo of his words were enough to overwhelm his restraint, and he forced his hand between them to cup Dylan through his trousers. Dylan’s eyes widened, then narrowed as he shoved Josh back against the silent building behind them, crushing his mouth to Josh’s when Josh pulled his head down in eager response. This was what had been missing. Josh had been careful to keep his professional and personal lives very separate. At first it was so as not to tip off his family. After he came out, he kept to the rule out of respect for his colleagues. But he had been missing out. To have someone get this about him, what the fire did to him, how it made him feel… Josh pushed Dylan away just enough to reverse their positions, swallowing Dylan’s hungry groan as he slammed him against the brickwork. Grabbing Josh’s hips, Dylan pulled him closer to grind their cocks together, the interference of fabric only adding to the glorious friction. Josh met each motion with equal force until they were simulating fucking there against the wall where anyone could see them, mouths fighting, hands clutching, bodies desperate for satisfaction. Dylan drew back to grin fiercely. “If I’d know this was all it took, I’d have started the damn fire myself.” It was a suggestion that should have repulsed him, but Josh found it appealed all too much. To watch an artist in action, to—he kissed Dylan with an aggression that took him by surprise. “We can’t do this here,” he said, but made no move to stop. “We can and we are,” Dylan growled, working open Josh’s pants to slip a hand inside. Josh bucked into the warm, sure grasp as Dylan took hold, burying his face in the curve of Dylan’s neck. Determined not to be outdone even as he was completely losing control, he shoved his own hand roughly into Dylan’s slacks to find his cock hard and responsive. Dylan chuckled breathlessly. “At least open my pants so you can get a decent angle.” Rather than wait for Josh, he did it himself, head falling back against the wall as Josh adjusted his grip and began jerking him faster. “God, yeah,” Dylan gasped. “Just like that.” As much as Dylan was savoring the moment, he didn’t forget Josh, keeping pace with Josh’s strokes. Too soon it was over. Josh came hard, having enough sense left to muffle his cry in Dylan’s shoulder while bringing Dylan the rest of the way off. Josh could barely make out the sound of their panting over the roar of the flames. He felt fucking amazing. “Come back to the hotel with me,” Dylan demanded, his lips teasing at Josh’s throat. “Do you really want to walk through the lobby with that stain on your pants?” “I don’t have a choice. Just don’t make me do it alone.” “Fuck that. Come back to my place.” Dylan pulled back, surprised. “Really? That’s a big step.” “Don’t give me time to think about it.” “I won’t.” Fastening his pants, Dylan gave Josh an expectant look.

Josh followed suit, barely getting his fly closed before Dylan dragged him away from the fire. Two blocks south, they caught a cab back to Josh’s. True to his word, Dylan gave him no chance to think on the ride back. Out of sight of the cabby, he slipped his hand back into Josh’s jeans, massaging him back to full erection with the added stimulus of fear of being caught. Josh let his head fall back to savor it before rolling to the side to look at his partner. “Do I get that amazing blowjob now?” he asked quietly enough not to be heard in the front seat. “Right now? If you really want, but I don’t do my best work in cars.” It was tempting. God, so very tempting. But his inner extrovert was only so brave. Getting off next the fire tonight had pretty much gone beyond his usual limits. “Keep doing that, and I can probably wait,” he finally told Dylan. “If I keep doing this,” he deftly thumbed over Josh’s balls, making him groan, “you won’t have to wait. You’re about ready to come again right here.” “Yeah, I am.” And he was perfectly fine with that. God…yeah. Dylan didn’t stop his torment for a moment. “But think how good it will be if you hold out a little longer.” With considerable effort, Josh focused on Dylan. He couldn’t quite muster a glare. “You’re evil.” “Tell me to stop. Or do you think you have enough…control?” “If I did, we wouldn’t be in this cab.” Regretfully he removed Dylan’s hand. “Better save that until we get home.” Dylan chuckled but settled back in the seat a safe distance away. A few interminable minutes later, the cab finally pulled up in front of Josh’s townhouse. “Very nice,” Dylan commented when Josh finally joined him as the cab drove off. Josh felt the need to justify it. “My grandparents left it to me. I’d be making do with a little hole in the wall closer to the station otherwise.” “You don’t have to apologize.” “I don’t usually bring anyone home,” Josh admitted as he put the key in the lock. “Really.” He didn’t need to turn to know Dylan was smirking. He didn’t care when he felt Dylan’s hand settle on his back. “Prefer going to the other guy’s place?” “Something like that.” Once they were inside and the door closed securely behind them, Josh backed Dylan up against the foyer wall. “Now then, you have a promise to fulfill.” Dylan leaned back, looking perfectly at home against the faded wallpaper. “Seems you’re more in the position to deliver at the moment than I am. I have to admit I’ve been very curious. If you suck cock half as well as you kiss, I may have some serious competition.” “You aren’t getting out of it that easily.” Josh savored the temptation of Dylan’s mouth against his lips, their solid bodies pressed together, before he pulled back. “Living room or bedroom?” The words came out rougher than he’d expected. “Oh, living room, I think. Beds don’t give as good an angle of attack.” “Right this way.” Catching hold of Dylan’s belt, Josh tugged him down the hall towards the living room. He flipped on the light as they entered. “Wait, is that green carpet?”

“You’ll never find greener. Or sturdier.” Josh smirked at the floor. The grass green carpet was genuine to the 1960s when his gran had it installed, right down to the sculptured pile. “I don’t think concrete is half as resilient.” “It is hideous.” Dylan’s eyes danced. “And you couldn’t care less.” “Nope.” “I like that about you.” With a shove, he tumbled Josh into the heavy leather armchair, sitting on the coffee table to stroke his hands along Josh’s legs. “I like the things you don’t give a shit about.” “And the things that I do?” “Those are the things that make you you. Warts and all.” “I don’t have any warts.” “Well, that’s good to hear.” He began undoing the buckle on Josh’s belt. “Ready to prove it?” Josh had been with aggressive partners before, but they were the kind that left bruises and other remembrances the next morning. This sort of implacable determination was a different form of aggression, and one that Josh found intimately more erotic. “I think you’re the one with something to prove.” “I am, aren’t I?” With a smug twist of his lips, Dylan tugged Josh’s belt free and laid it over the arm of the chair. “Might need that later.” He moved onto Josh’s pants. “So, I don’t bottom. What is it you won’t do?” Josh fought down the urge to swallow. “Not a lot. Why don’t you try me and find out?” Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I plan to. Once we get one thing straight.” He yanked down Josh’s jeans and briefs together in three rough pulls, letting Josh’s erection slap against his stomach. “Aside from that, I mean.” While Dylan removed Josh’s pants and shoes, Josh pulled his shirt off and dropped it in the pile. “Did I say you could do that?” Josh gave a half shrug as he settled back. “You never said I couldn’t.” Dylan took the belt and draped it around Josh’s neck. “You might want to think about being so cocky or I might have to do something about it.” Josh didn’t feel very threatened. “Aren’t you going to undress?” “No.” Dylan sank to his knees in front of Josh, shoving his bare legs apart to make room. Josh felt incredibly vulnerable, emphasized by Dylan’s clothing. When Dylan leaned in to place an almost tender kiss on the inside of his thigh, Josh couldn’t help a shudder. “This is going to be fun.” Another kiss preceded the light brush of stubble along sensitive skin until Dylan’s nose nudged against Josh’s balls. Josh sucked in a breath. “For you or for me?” “Definitely for me. But I think you might be enjoying it a little too, yeah?” He pursed his lips against the root of Josh’s cock and sucked lightly. Unable to answer at first, Josh let his eyes fall closed and his head drift back. Finally he looked down where Dylan continued to tease at his thighs and cock. “Why haven’t you given up on me already?” “One, I find you attractive as hell.” Dylan ran the flat of his tongue from base to tip, then back down the opposite side. “Two,” he continued, his lips teasing lightly against

Josh’s shaft as they formed his words, “I’ve always been a sucker for a challenge.” “So that’s—God,” Josh groaned as Dylan engulfed him completely, then oh-soslowly retreated until he released Josh with an audible pop. “You were saying?” “Uh…” Words. Coherent thought. Right. “Finish your response, Josh.” Dylan kept his touch light and torturous. “I forgot.” Sitting back on his heels, Dylan quirked an eyebrow at Josh. “You’re with me because I’m, um, hot and play hard to get?” He was not blushing. Dylan chuckled. “Well, there is a third, less shallow reason.” “Which is?” “You understand me.” “I don’t understand you at all.” “Oh yes, you do.” Taking his time, Dylan painted his way in slow spirals up Josh’s cock again. “We both saw that tonight.” “Hopefully no one else did.” “You didn’t care much at the time.” He moved back down to Josh’s sac, sucking on the sensitive skin there with the same slow attentiveness. “I think there’s a part of you that never cares, that wants to come out of the shadows you hide in and let everyone see who you are right down to your skin.” “It’s not that easy.” “Easy or difficult…it’s all a state of mind.” Dylan hooked Josh’s right leg over the chair arm, opening him up further. “You don’t understand—Jesus.” The last came out harsh and fervent as Dylan stroked his tongue along Josh’s sensitive perineum. “Just relax and enjoy it, Josh.” Dylan’s warm breath teased the sensitive hairs. “You’re safe from your demons here, at least for a little while.” Dylan barely knew him, and still he understood him better than anyone, with the possible exception of Ben. With a shuddered sigh, Josh gave himself up to Dylan’s attentions, resting his hand on Dylan’s head and fingering through the loose waves there. Seeming to sense his capitulation, Dylan stopped teasing and finally attended to the full length of Josh’s erection, licking the length before swallowing it down, the feel of tongue and suction overwhelming all of Josh’s higher processes. Dylan kept his rhythm steady as he gradually brought a hand and fingers into play. Gentle probing grew in intention, and soon Josh found himself being worked from the inside as well as out. When Dylan finally let him come, Josh had been reduced to an incoherent mass of very sated flesh. “Fuck me,” he breathed. “All in good time.” Dylan patted his thigh. “I want you fully present and aware for that. Right now, I think you might fall asleep on me.” “Tempting.” He sucked in another long breath and blew it out. “I promise never to doubt your abilities again.” Dylan grinned as he began undoing the buttons on his shirt. “We still have to determine the extent of your abilities in that department.” Relaxed, Josh just enjoyed the show as Dylan revealed more and more skin. “You’ll

still win.” “No harm in proving it.” Leaning forward, he teased his thumb over Josh’s lips. “You have the most amazing mouth. It would be a shame not to let you use it properly.” “You have a strange sense of proper.” “Better strange than boring.” Dylan dropped his shirt onto the pile of Josh’s clothing and moved onto his pants. “So why do you never bottom?” Dylan froze, making Josh instantly regret asking. “If it bothers you, I can leave.” Josh stood up quicker than he would have thought his replete muscles could manage, resting a hand on Dylan’s chest. “I didn’t say it bothered me. I was just curious. We don’t have to talk about it.” Dylan’s eyes never moved, but Josh could tell he was seeing something other than Josh at the moment. When he finally did look at Josh, he seemed to have reached some kind of decision. “I was in prison for eight years. Even medium security is no picnic. You go along to get along, Josh, and I had to get along. With the guards, with my cell mates— ” Josh’s shudder came unbidden, cutting off Dylan’s words. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, both for his reaction and what Dylan must have gone through. “It’s easy to forget about…your past. You don’t…you seem…” Growling in frustration, he said, “I shouldn’t have asked. It was stupid of me not to figure it out.” Before Josh could step away, Dylan’s hand cover his, keeping Josh from retreating. “I earned the time I served, Josh. Maybe I earned what happened to me in there. I did my time and moved on. I’m not proud of it, but I’m not ashamed of it, either.” “I envy you.” When Dylan raised his eyebrow, Josh realized he’d put his foot in it again. “Being that comfortable with who you are. I’ve never been able to do that.” Daring Dylan’s displeasure, he leaned in close enough to tease his lips over Dylan’s. “Maybe you could teach me.” Dylan cupped his hands behind Josh’s head. “Maybe I can.” The kiss lay completely in Dylan’s control, slow and evasive. Which was fine by Josh. The contact alone was enough for him, and it left him the opportunity to focus on other things. Such as freeing Dylan from his pants and shoving the material down so he could revel in the feel of bare flesh against bare flesh. Josh’s cock began to show signs of life with the contact of Dylan’s thick, rigid shaft. But Dylan had done enough work tonight. Josh shoved him down onto the couch, straddling his lap to trap him there. “I don’t mind bottoming to you,” Josh insisted, “as long as I don’t always have to be on the bottom.” Dylan seemed to read his words for the apology that they were. Taking hold of Josh’s hips, he drew him closer. “I think I can live with that.” Josh caught Dylan’s lips briefly. “There’s just one more question.” Up went the eyebrow again. “Whose wallet is closer?” With a smirk, Dylan tipped his head forward. “Mine is right behind you.” Josh leaned back, making sure to maintain contact as he reached behind for Dylan’s pants. When he came up with the condom, he took hold of Dylan’s cock and began stroking him sensually while he ripped the packet open with his teeth. In a few strokes, he

had the condom out and worked it into his play. “You’re really quite good at that,” Dylan observed, arching into Josh’s touch. “Thank Ben. There’s no reason an unfortunate necessity should also kill the mood.” It was hard to speak, knowing what was coming, knowing the amazing feel of Dylan stretching and filling him that was only moments away. “Seems I owe Ben a lot.” Josh was pleased to see Dylan having the same difficulties he was, his voice ragged, his eyes focused on Josh’s hand, his fingers digging into Josh’s hips as he struggled against pushing things faster. Josh wouldn’t have minded if he did, but he was glad to get to do this on his own. There would be no doubts that this was exactly what Josh wanted. He shifted forward, coming within an inch of kissing distance of Dylan’s handsome face, adjusting his hips to prepare for Dylan’s entry. “I don’t really care about Ben right now, do you?” Tipping his head to the side, Dylan tongued Josh’s lips into a short, brutal kiss. “Ben who?” “Exactly.” Grinning, Josh positioned Dylan and steadily sank down, muscles relaxed, welcoming the intrusion. “Christ.” Dylan’s curse echoed Josh’s feeling. Even after having come twice, the feel of Dylan’s cock was enough to make his own jerk in response. It turned out to be the last coherent thing either of them said for quite some time. Afterward, Dylan didn’t let him go, curling them up on the couch in the half-light filtering in from the front hall, holding Josh and toying with his hair as the two of them came back down. “I definitely have no problem with you on top,” Dylan finally said. Josh chuckled. “Thought so.” It was comfortable, lying in Dylan’s arms like this. It was unusual enough. Aside from his time with Ben, none of his partners had been all that interested in lingering afterwards. Dylan’s heartbeat and steady breathing lulled Josh into a comfortable half sleep. “This is nice,” Dylan said softly against Josh’s hair, echoing his sentiments. “Yeah.” Dylan sighed, and it wasn’t a completely contented one at that. Shifting, Josh propped his chin up on Dylan’s chest to peer up at him. “What?” “You’ll freak out.” At least he sounded mostly amused. “Now you have me curious.” “I could get used to this.” Josh frowned, then rested his head back on Dylan’s chest. “I think that’s been my hold up. So could I.” Dylan kissed the top of his head. “Good to know I’m not alone in this.” “This was supposed to be a one-night stand.” “Funny how these things work.” “You’re okay with that?” Dylan shrugged. “It is what it is, Josh. I can’t make it more or less than that.” “What, no fire metaphor?” “Maybe later when all the blood has returned to my brain.” They both laughed, a comfortable, relaxed humor shared between lovers.

Chapter Eight Josh woke the next morning to the pleasant warmth of Dylan wrapped around him. Dylan didn’t seem like the cuddling type, but Josh wasn’t complaining. It was a good change of pace after too many fuck-through-the-night-and-slip-out-before-dawn encounters. He really could get used to this. Dylan’s lazily roving hand indicated that he wasn’t as sound asleep as Josh first thought. Josh caught it reluctantly. “I have to go to work. Last night’s fire, remember?” Even still half asleep, Dylan smiled. “Hard to forget that.” The memory alone was enough to bring Josh’s already interested cock to full attention. Dylan’s laughter rumbled through him. “I’m beginning to think you’re insatiable.” Grinning, Josh had to agree. “You might be right.” “If you have to work, I have to work. The question is, when do they expect you?” “Eight thirty.” Josh craned his neck to peek at the time. Quarter to seven. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to wear borrowed clothes.” “Somehow I think the difference in our clothing styles might be a little noticeable.” Dylan shoved himself up on his elbows. “But I’ve got time for a shower before I go.” That was good enough for Josh. **** “You’re in a good mood.” Josh looked up from the reports he was reviewing to find Charlie at the corner of his desk, an amused, curious look on his face. Josh felt his cheeks warm but fought the urge to look away. “Yeah, I guess I am.” “Well, that’s good. You’re too young for that cloud you walk around with all the time. Who’s the lucky person?” Now he did look back down. “Don’t ask, don’t tell, remember?” “Bullshit. You think I give a damn about that? If it’s someone that makes you happy, well, that’s good enough for me.” “Thanks, Charlie. That means a lot to me.” “But you aren’t going to tell me who?” “Nope.” Charlie might be open minded, but Josh knew there were limits. “Fine, be that way. Just keep up the good attitude and I’ll be satisfied.” “I’ll do my best—” Anything further he might have said was interrupted by the slam of the department door. Dylan stormed through the desks, making a beeline for Charlie’s office. “A minute, Grimes?” Charlie looked as surprised as Josh felt. “Huh. Wonder what’s up his skirt.” “I don’t think you should keep him waiting.” Dylan had been implacable and composed the entire time Josh had known him, taking any animosity in stride. For something to set him off, it had to be big.

“You know, I think that’s the most emotion I’ve ever seen out of that man,” Charlie said as he walked off. He sounded impressed. Josh was more than a little turned on. He went back to work, trying to concentrate on the reports in front of him, but the longer Dylan was in Charlie’s office, the harder Josh found it to focus. Every time he glanced over, Charlie’s face was stony, looking over the documents Dylan presented him with, listening carefully to whatever it was Dylan was saying. When Charlie glanced Josh’s way, Josh was surprised to see the flinty hint of fury there. Finally the two of them rose. “I’ll get this over to the police department. Background Investigations should be able to put enough together for us to move forward quickly.” “Great. I think we all want this settled as soon as possible.” Josh waited for Dylan to come over to his desk. Instead, Dylan left without even looking at him. Charlie still seemed furious as he shoved Dylan’s documents into a courier envelope. Knowing better than to intrude, Josh took off after Dylan instead. “What’s going on?” he demanded when he caught up with him. “You can give up the act, Josh.” Dylan still didn’t look at him. “What act? What the hell happened?” With a snarl, Dylan pivoted, slamming Josh against the wall. “Was it just last night? Awfully thoughtful of Ben to bring you by, wasn’t it? Was I getting too close, you two needed to make sure I was out of the way?” “Out of the way of what?” Being the direct focus of his anger turned out to be more scary than hot. “I really have no idea what this is about.” Josh thought Dylan was going to deck him. A moment later, he wished he had because a cold detachment had taken the place of fury. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. Hell, you should be proud. Not many people can pull one over on me.” “Christ, you sound like I betrayed you or something.” Dylan didn’t say a word. “When? How? Fuck, I think I’ve been more honest with you than I have myself.” Now he wanted to hit Dylan. “How am I supposed to defend myself if I don’t know what I supposedly did?” “You know, I really should have trusted my first instinct about you. You like the fire too much. You need it. I’m surprised you didn’t set the fires yourself. What’s the matter, couldn’t stand the thought of getting your hands dirty?” The more Dylan said, the less sense any of this made. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dylan backed Josh up against the wall, pinning him there. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. “The innocent act won’t save you. Being an accessory to a crime without having the balls to commit the act itself? They hate your kind on the inside, right down there with the molesters.” He scented along Josh’s neck. “With that clean-cut look of yours and fine ass…” he took a deep breath that made Josh shudder, “they will love you. Most popular bitch on the cellblock.” Josh tried to shove Dylan off, but Dylan wasn’t going anywhere until he wanted to. “I should have seen it before,” he went on, that dry hate still in his voice. “Every other firefighter in this city hates me, but you, you seemed so forgiving. I was stupid enough to let you get to me.” As though realizing he’d said too much, he shoved himself away. “You got to me, Josh, and now you’re going to pay for it.”

He stalked off, leaving Josh bruised and confused. Fine. There were other places to get answers. He went back into the department, determined to find out from Charlie what Dylan had been so obscure about. To his surprise, Charlie met him halfway with a box and a scowl. The box he shoved into Josh’s hands. “Pack your stuff. You’re being reassigned.” "Reassigned where? Why?" Charlie grew even more stony if that were possible. "Back to the ladder. For now." "Again, why? Christ, this was like an episode of The Twilight Zone." “It’s classified.” “Goddamn it, Charlie! I deserve better than that!” “Do you?” “Yes, I do, and you know it. I’ve worked my ass off here, harder even than you sometimes, you said so yourself.” “That was before you got involved with arsonists.” “Is this about my relationship with Dylan? Because if it is, there’s a department policy against bias, I can have your ass in front of a review board in—” Charlie’s astonished look stopped him. “You didn’t know about Dylan?” Charlie’s face hardened. “I didn’t know about Dylan. Finding out just reinforces my decision. Pack your stuff.” “Who, Charlie?” "Classified," Charlie repeated. "Now get the hell out of my sight." “You know what? Fine.” He slammed the box down on his desk and started shoving his personal effects into it. “I don’t need this passive aggressive shit. Whatever you and Dylan have against me, you can both shove it up your asses.” Charlie didn’t answer. When Josh looked back, he was gone. He’d left his office door open. Looking around, Josh dropped a stapler in his box and went in. A manila folder sat on Charlie's desk, slightly askew as though begging for Josh's attention. Convenient. He hoped it was intentional rather than accidental, then at least Charlie would be giving him the benefit of the doubt. Dylan's list from the other day was on top. Nothing new there. The next was a list of theatre related suppliers, three highlighted with barely legible notes in blue pen. Names maybe? He couldn't tell. Behind that were photocopied receipts, with more blue chicken scratch. The fourth one made his heart stop. At the bottom of the receipt was an all too familiar, hurried, loopy signature. Benjamin Carmichael. Involved with arsonists. Fuck. No, Ben wouldn't. He couldn't. He hated everything…related…to it. Shit. Apparently there was enough evidence for Dylan and Charlie to think him guilty, and Josh by association. Josh had just returned to his own desk when Charlie came back, giving him a dark look. Grabbing up his box, Josh left. He needed to figure out how to clear his name. It wasn't until he was in his car that he realized he no longer thought of Ben as being innocent. Damn.

Chapter Nine Ben didn’t hesitate when Josh called and asked him to meet for drinks. Josh tried not to read too much into it. The rest was just as easy. He picked a classier martini bar, someplace that was likely not to have blaring music or three different sports channels competing to be heard so that nothing would interfere with the pickup on the digital voice recorder he’d grabbed at an electronics store on the way. The rest was going to be trickier. He clicked the recorder on when Ben walked through the door. “Well, don’t you look like hell,” Ben observed as he sat across from Josh. “I thought you and Dylan were well on your way to you not being miserable.” “Something came up.” Sticking close to the truth would be his best bet. Ben always knew when he was lying. "Not Marcus, I hope." He flagged down a waiter and added a gin and tonic to the bill. "No, not Marcus." Josh toyed with the flared rim of his martini glass, wishing it were something a lot stronger. "There was another fire last night." "Josh, for God's sake. No wonder you can't manage a relationship if you keep dropping everything for every damn fire." “That’s not an issue with Dylan.” Far from it. “The issue is that I’m suddenly the prime suspect for our torcher.” Ben looked at him for a moment, then started laughing. “Good one, Josh. I almost bought it for a second there.” “I’m not kidding. Dylan, Charlie…they’re convinced I’m behind the fires.” "You. They think you started those fires? Seriously?” “The evidence is pretty damning. If I didn’t know otherwise, I’d think I was guilty, too.” “Come on, you’re squeaky clean, Josh.” Ben shook his head. “I knew those people were slow, but I didn’t think they were idiots.” “They’ve known all along that it was someone with extensive firehouse knowledge. They just needed to find the firefighter.” Now for the dangerous bit. “I’m sorry, Ben, but they have you fingered as an accomplice.” “Really. And why would that be?” “They have purchase records and credit card statements from some theatrical supply stores around town for stage incendiaries. I know you were probably picking stuff up for a friend, since you have your ATF pyro license and all, but they’re putting two and two together and getting twenty-two.” “Interesting.” He calmly sipped his drink. “That’s all you have to say? Interesting? I’m going down for something I didn’t do, and all you can say is interesting?” So much for keeping his cool. “This doesn’t look so great for you, either.” Ben shrugged. “It’s all circumstantial. If they had anything solid, neither of us would be walking free.” “They’ve got enough to kick me off the squad.”

“What?” “I’ve been sent back to my ladder company. They don’t trust me in Investigations now.” Ben’s forehead creased. “Well, that’s inconvenient.” “Inconvenient? It’s my career we’re talking about here!” “Don’t be such a drama queen, Josh. It’ll be fine. I’ll…redirect some things. Don’t worry about it.” Play dumb, play dumb, play dumb. “Redirect? What’s that—Christ, Ben, please tell me that doesn’t mean what I think it does.” Now Ben was starting to look smug. “What do you think it means?” “I think it means you’ve never been big on doing favors for anyone.” “Too right.” “This isn’t funny.” “No, it’s not. But it’s exciting, isn’t it?” Ben leaned forward, his eyes suddenly ablaze. “They’re so close, I can feel them on the back of my neck, Josh. It’s amazing. I got worried when your boyfriend showed up, but it was easy enough to distract him by throwing you at him. Last night, starting that fire when I knew the two of you were back at his hotel fucking your brains out? I almost came all over myself.” Ben’s confirmation made Josh ill. He’d had the small hope that maybe, just maybe, the evidence was wrong. “Why?” “Why not? It sure as hell beats writing reviews for a living.” “Ben…” “The thrill…God, Josh, having that much power. It’s incredible.” His eyes were blown wide with arousal, voice gone slightly rough. “And the money. It’s a wonder Dylan’s content working insurance. They can’t pay that well.” “Dylan realized what he was doing was wrong.” “Bullshit. Dylan got scared, that’s all. I’m tired of being scared, Josh. I’m ready to live a little.” He licked his lips, a gesture that seemed somehow grotesque. “Come back to my place, Josh. God, I’m so horny right now. Come back with me. We can fuck until the sun goes down and then I’ll take you with me to the next one. You can tell me which is better.” Josh pulled away. “You’re sick.” Ben glared at him. “I thought you got off on arsonists, Josh.” “Apparently not, since at the moment you just revolt me.” He shoved back from the table and dropped a twenty next to his glass. “Have a drink, on me. Consider it a goingaway present.” “Are you going somewhere?” Refusing to be baited, Josh stalked out of the bar. He managed to turn off the recorder before he lost the contents of his stomach down a sewer grate. **** “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Charlie growled as he wrenched open his front door. “Not to mention the fact I shouldn’t be seeing you here in the first place.” “I’m sorry, but this couldn’t wait.” Josh held out the recorder. “What’s this?”

“Ben’s confession. He did it; I wasn’t involved. It’s all on there.” Charlie didn’t take the recorder. “How do I know—” “Was there another fire tonight?” “What?” “I said, was there another fire tonight? Like the others?” “Josh, you know I can’t talk to you about that.” “There was, wasn’t there?” Josh shoved the recorder at him again. “He wanted me to go with him.” “Josh—” “Goddammit, Charlie, take the fucking recorder! I’ve already lost Dylan over this damn thing, I’m not going to lose my career, too!” “How long have you known?” “This afternoon. If I’d known sooner, I would have said something.” Charlie frowned at the recorder, then took it. “There’s no guarantee what’s on here will clear you. A decent attorney can turn it around.” “Well, I guess I’ll have to find a better one, since everything I’ve been and done before this adds up to fuck-all.” “Josh—” “I’m gone, Charlie. Don’t want to compromise the investigation.” "Josh." This time he was insistent enough to keep Josh from walking away. "I'll do everything I can to help you. I didn't want to believe it in the first place." "But you did, didn't you?" "Wouldn't you have?" Josh relented. "I almost did. Goodnight, Charlie." "Night."

Chapter Ten Ben was arrested the next morning. “The DA will need you to testify,” Charlie informed Josh later that afternoon. Even being in his office after yesterday felt uncomfortable. “However, you’re clear of any charges.” It should be a relief, but he’d lost as much as if he hadn’t been cleared. Dylan was gone, Ben had betrayed him, and as for the arson squad… “I think I need to find a new career, Charlie.” "Doing what? Selling cars?" "Maybe. You know no one's going to trust me after this, no matter what the DA says." “Answer me this, Josh. Have you ever not wanted to be a fireman?” “What do you mean?” “Growing up, what did you want to be?” “A fireman, I guess.” “Nothing else?” Josh thought about it. His earliest memory was of his dad coming home soot-stained, smoke-saturated, and smiling. That image had always stayed with him, made him happy, even after his dad had all but disowned him. “Just a fireman,” he reiterated. “Then you can’t walk away. It’s in your soul, kid, for good or ill.” Charlie sighed. “I’m not saying you don’t have a rough road ahead, but you’ll be miserable doing anything else.” "What's going to happen the first time someone won't get on the truck with me?" "Then you get on the truck anyway." Josh snapped around at Dylan's voice behind them. "What are you doing here?" "Charlie called me. Well, technically Charlie called me an asshole." “No, I said we were both assholes,” Charlie corrected patiently. “Whatever.” Dylan focused that intense gaze of his on Josh. “I also wanted to apologize in person. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. Hell, with all the closeminded bastards making assumptions about me, it’s the last thing I should be doing.” Josh shook his head. “No. You were both right. The evidence was there, enough that even I started to doubt myself.” "But you didn't." “I didn’t have a choice.” "You're back on the squad, Josh," Charlie interrupted. "It was the least I could do for you. Your career is set. As far as the other…" He dropped the blinds and opened the door. "You two are going to have to work that out for yourselves." Closing the door behind him, he left Josh and Dylan alone together. “Charlie’s not that big on subtle, is he?” Dylan remarked. “No, he’s really not.” They both fell silent. “Did you mean what you said yesterday?” Josh asked. “That I got to you?” Dylan chuckled, shaking his head wryly. Finally, he admitted, "I wouldn't have

gotten so upset if you hadn't." "Then why didn't you talk to me?" "Because you got to me." Josh couldn’t hide his smirk when he asked, “And you came back because?” Dylan stood toe to toe with him. “Why do you think?” “Because I got to you.” Tilting his head to the side, Dylan said, “But the real question here is did I get to you?” Never looking away from Dylan's piercing, all-seeing eyes, Josh threaded his fingers through Dylan's hair. "You got to me, all right.” Dylan brushed his lips against Josh’s. “In that case…” It had been a little more than a day since the last time they’d kissed, but after all that had happened in the interim and the fact Josh had pretty much written them off, it felt like it had been a lifetime, making Josh shake with want. With great effort, he pulled back. “What are you doing right now?” “Debating whether it’s worth the risk to fuck you on Charlie’s desk.” Dylan grinned. “Why?” The suggestion was enough to leave Josh breathless. "I forget now." "Damn. We'll have to go with my idea then." Fortunately, Charlie knocked on the door. “I would like to go home at some point today, so if you wouldn’t mind hurrying it along in there.” Josh knew he was blushing. “My place?” “Seeing as I checked out yesterday, my car isn’t the most roomy, and Charlie’s so impatient,” Dylan raised his voice with the last. “Your place it is.” Kissing Josh briefly, he pulled away and headed to the door. “All yours, Charlie.” “I expect you here on time tomorrow, Josh,” Charlie said. “We’ll see.” As an afterthought, he stopped, took off his pager and left it on Charlie’s desk. There wouldn’t be any interruptions this time. The End About the Author: You might already be acquainted with us in our individual guises of Philippa GreyGerou (India) and Emery Sanborne (Harper). We have been writing together for about five years, two of those professionally, and finally decided that since we share a brain, sharing a name only makes sense. As our co-written stories tend to be a little darker and have a slightly harder edge than our solo words, the separate identity comes in handy. The fact that we don’t have to worry about who gets top billing doesn’t hurt either. Plus, no confusion on where to shelve us! Our stories under the name India Harper have a slightly harder edge as we explore predominately male/male relationships in the rich environments of Philadelphia and Pittsburgh. Emery lives in Philadelphia with her cat, while Grey lives in the Philadelphia suburbs with a less well behaved zoo.

Meet Lsb Authors At The House Of Sin Lsbooks.Net We invite you to visit Liquid Silver Books LSbooks.com for other exciting erotic romances. 2007: Terran Realm Urban fantasy world: TerranRealm.com Featured Series: The Zodiac Series: 12 books, 24 stories and authors Two hot stories for each sign, 12 signs The Coven of the Wolf by Rae Morgan Benevolent lusty witches keep evil forces at bay Fallen: by Tiffany Aaron Fallen angels in hot flight to redeem their wings The Max Series by JB Skully Meet Max, her not-absent dead husband, sexy detective Witt, his mother… And many, many more!