Wicked Cool

Wicked Cool by Val Kovalin

Amber Quill Press www.amberquill.com

Copyright ©2010 by Val Kovalin First published in 2010 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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Wicked Cool by Val Kovalin

CONTENTS Also By Shawn Lane Dedication CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER 8 About The Author Earn free books with Amber Quill's Rewards Program! ****

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WICKED COOL By VAL KOVALIN Amber Quill Press, LLC www.amberquill.com

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Wicked Cool by Val Kovalin

Also By Shawn Lane At Long Last The Best Gift Car Wash His One And Only It's Only Make-Believe Jake's Regret A Knight For All Lawyers In Love Most Likely To Succeed Only For Him Only Forever Only His Heart Only In His Dreams 5

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The Other Side Pieces Pulling Away Sorcerer's Lover Sorcerer's Lover II The Squire Still The One Sweet Reunion Ticket To Ride Until The End Of Time [Back to Table of Contents]

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Dedication For John My heartfelt thanks to Amber Quill Press and Chris at www.stumblingoverchaos.com. You posted the first review of my work. Much appreciated. [Back to Table of Contents]

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CHAPTER 1 Over the phone, the property manager Mr. Hawthorne had sounded wrapped too tight. Stu hesitated in the doorway of the old motel office, remembering their conversation. Hawthorne had introduced himself in a brassy east-coast accent, asking about "salvage services," whereas Stu called what he did "junk removal." Stu couldn't pin down why, but he thought Hawthorne might be in trouble. Not financial trouble, he hoped. He didn't want a bounced check because the developers had overextended their capital. Hawthorne looked good in person with broad shoulders under a starched blue oxford shirt. He stood at the old reservations counter, typing on a streamlined laptop, which seemed too high-tech for his surroundings. Tense, yeah, but young. Too young to call himself "Mister." Like Stu, he might be twenty-eight, but definitely no older than thirty. Carpenters swarmed between them, taking measurements as sunlight spilled through the grimy windows. Hawthorne glanced up, locking gazes with Stu, and his eyes were a deep rich brown with long, heavy lashes. He gave a hesitant smile and waved Stu over. "Thanks for showing up so fast," Hawthorne said. "No problem." Stu inhaled a trace of his cologne, something crisp and subtle. They shook hands, and a tingling flush swept all over Stu's body. He swallowed hard as his throat went dry. Pretty eyes 8

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and a firm, masculine handshake. Since when did he find himself attracted to the driven, intense type? He took a breath, trying to rein himself in. Hawthorne wasn't that good-looking, and not as built through the chest and shoulders as he was. The property manager had maybe an inch on Stu in height—not that it mattered when they were both only medium-tall. But, oh, that creamy, pale skin. Gorgeous. "How'd you pick me?" Stu asked. "Yellow Pages?" "The other guy wanted too much and couldn't start right away," Hawthorne said. Okay, refreshingly honest. Stu couldn't object to that, especially not when they were still shaking hands, which was all right by him. Hawthorne had the soft palm of someone who never handled anything rougher than a computer mouse. Hawthorne's tongue moistened his lips. "Mr....um, Mr...." "Van der Meer," Stu said. Most people needed a few reminders before his name would stick in their memories. "It's Dutch. It's long, I know. Call me Stu." Hawthorne gave a quick grin. "What's that short for? Stuyvesant?" Stu laughed. "Stuart. My parents weren't that heartless." "All right. You can call me Brian." They stood together at the counter and went over Stu's contract, which detailed what types of junk he removed (everything except hazardous waste). Brian's wrist brushed Stu's bare arm, sending a sexual charge through Stu that lifted the fine hairs across his body. He had a better-safethan-sorry policy not to date clients until he'd finished the job 9

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and collected payment—but maybe he could make an exception for Brian. That is, if Brian was gay. If Brian wanted him. "You bring a few guys?" Brian asked. "It's a big job." "Oh. Yeah." Stu had forgotten about them. "Outside in the truck." "Let me show you where to pull up." He led Stu to the door, and Stu experienced a moment of helpless lust where he let his gaze jump all over his new client. Broad shoulders, trim waist, tight ass, long legs. He broke into a sweat, wondering if every man in the room could guess his thoughts. Outside, the desert sun laid bare the worry lines across Brian's forehead. He had the creamy skin of a natural redhead. Indoors, his hair had looked glossy-dark. Now, it gleamed chestnut as sunlight picked out the coppery glints in his heavy dark brows. He hesitated in the doorway, maybe stunned by the morning heat as newcomers to Albuquerque sometimes were. Stu suppressed a grin. Oh, hell, it wasn't that hot. Not like Las Vegas or Barstow. In Stu's truck sat two temps he sometimes hired for big jobs, drinking coffee and listening to the radio. "Tell your guys to pull up in back," Brian said. "Okay. Say, where you from?" Stu wondered why Brian seemed to be trying to suppress his accent. "Boston, right?" He blinked as fear flared in Brian's eyes. "New England in general. Various places." Brian turned and went back inside. 10

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Stu wondered about that as he and his temps hauled and sorted junk through the morning. What had he said? Maybe he'd misunderstood Brian's interest. Maybe it served him right because he shouldn't get involved with a client. He put his mind on the job, which happened to involve some great junk. For years, he'd been eager to get his hands on what lay inside the Turquoise Trail Motel. The motel, which had gradually come to look like a crack house, sat on Central Avenue, otherwise known as Historic Route 66, a few blocks east of the University of New Mexico. Six years ago when Stu first came to town, the motel had caught his eye. The original owners, whom he'd never met but imagined as an eccentric hippie couple, had covered its stucco, pueblo-style architecture with an ongoing project: a chaotic mosaic of Spanish tile, broken mirrors, seashells, beer bottles, and tumbled rocks. Department store mannequins sat in the windows like white plastic tourists from another planet. It took Stu and his helpers three hours to sort and cart away the interesting stuff piled in stacks along the walls. The junk didn't disappoint, at least not visually. Snarled strands of Christmas lights. Boxes of paperback westerns and old calendars. Votive candles in ten-inch glass jars painted with images of the saints. Mass-produced kachina dolls. Mismatched furniture from the 1960s. Sure, the stuff might be crap with little resale value, but that wasn't the point. His real earnings came from hauling it away, and his true pleasure came from looking at it. Nothing better to look at than junk, unless it happened to be a hot guy. 11

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He hauled away three truckloads of good stuff. Okay, quasi-good stuff. The afternoon got even hotter and Stu and his helpers tackled the not-so-fun stuff, a pile of broken cinderblocks stacked in the alley out back. He had work gloves on to protect his hands from black widow spiders, which were hiding everywhere. Sweat ran down his neck and soaked the back of his T-shirt. He stopped to take a swallow from the water bottle on his belt and saw Brian standing in the shade, eyeing him. How long had the property manager been watching him sweat like a pig? "How you doing?" Brian ran his gaze over Stu from head to toe. Stu knew he had a pleasant face and a stocky build that men seemed to like, but he couldn't ever remember a man looking at him like that. Clearly, Brian enjoyed watching sweaty men at work. Maybe he had some hot, blue-collar-guy fetish. Stu shut down that line of thought as a throb of pure lust struck low into his groin. He didn't want to pop a boner in front of his client, or his temps for that matter. Brian hadn't even glanced at Stu's temps, who might have been part of the cinderblock pile. Stu sensed their amusement. They both knew him well enough to know he liked men and they didn't care so long as he didn't talk about it, or try to put the moves on them. "I...we..." Brian stumbled over his words. "We started early today so—" Stu's heart sped up as he locked his full attention on Brian. He felt certain Brian meant to ask him out...but one of the temps kicked over a cinderblock, and a big potato bug ran 12

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out, charging straight at Brian in a panic. Incredulous horror flashed over Brian's face. "Holy fuck!" he burst out. "What is that?" "Oh, don't worry." Stu took a big step between the bug and Brian, hoping he could also shield his temps from view if they burst out laughing. He planted his foot, trying to redirect the frantic arthropod without stepping on it. "Looks worse than it is. Just a potato bug. You know about them? Child-ofthe-earth? Jerusalem cricket? Maybe has a different name where you come from?" Brian shook his head as the ugly thing scurried back to the cinderblock pile. "Nothing like that where I come from." His face flooded with color, making his eyes even darker like the brilliant night sky. "Sorry for the language." "No problem, dude. I say that word all the time!" Stu made a mental note to stop using it and hoped he could remember. Standing close to Brian seemed to turn him goofyteenage-boy stupid. "Well, thanks, Mr. Van der Meer." Brian pronounced it "Vanduh Mee-uh," and Stu heard himself give a spontaneous giggle of delight. He couldn't help it. He liked the guy so much already, accent and all. "Stu." "Stu, yeah, thanks for saving me from that bug thing." Brian gave a rueful smile, half hidden as he rubbed his jaw with his palm. "You and your guys maybe want to join me for an early dinner? Beer and pizza down the street?" [Back to Table of Contents]

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CHAPTER 2 That's how it went for the next two weeks—group activities. It gave Stu a chance to finish his contract with the property developers. It allowed each of them time to observe the other. Brian, for all his caution, seemed to like what he saw. He watched Stu all the time, his gaze intent and hungry. Those long looks from Brian made Stu feel light-headed with anticipation. It drove him wild when he caught Brian in mid-stare and Brian blushed and stammered. It gave him erotic dreams at night. He wondered if they'd ever fuck, and when, and how. Would Brian want to top him? Usually, he topped, but for Brian, he might reconsider. Other times, Stu wondered if he wanted to get involved with a mysterious man like Brian. He still had a strong sense that Brian might be in trouble. If not immediate danger, well, then recent hardship. It showed in the way Brian kept everyone at a distance with his pleasant manners and guarded smile. Why did he deflect all personal questions with a joke or a distracting comment? Finally, Stu's last day on the job arrived. His stomach fluttered with nerves as he wondered what to say to continue his acquaintanceship with Brian. During the lunch hour, Brian met him outside at his truck, sidling over and clearing his throat. "Would you like to grab an early dinner tonight?" Brian's gaze touched on Stu's mouth and throat, and skated down over his body. He leaned closer, sweat gleaming in his 14

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hairline under the hot sun, and Stu breathed in the clean scent of his cologne. "Just you and me?" Dinner turned out to be later rather than earlier by the time Stu got home for a shave and shower, and drove out to pick up Brian who lived in a little rental house on Comanche Road near Montgomery Park. He left his truck behind and took his Ford, hoping that it might make a better impression for a special occasion. In Albuquerque, especially in the heights, affluent or shabby neighborhoods sat all jumbled up together with nothing in common except the cinderblock walls that defined everyone's backyard. Someone driving east to west on one of the big cross-streets could pass through three different pocket-neighborhoods in five minutes. Stu did so all time on Fridays and Saturdays when he could get out to the garage sales. Brian's place lay in one of the crummier areas off Comanche Road before the houses turned into appliance repair shops and ice-cream parlors on San Mateo Boulevard. Stu pulled up to the curb under the street light and eyed the front lawn. Its yellowed grass crumbled into dirt around the dry sprinkler system. The house looked like the old Turquoise Trail Motel with its patched stucco walls and flat roof. Not that he should judge, sitting there in a 1978 Ford Fairmont with a roof turned scabrous from the desert sun. His passenger door happened to be a replacement from a blue model, and Stu wondered if it might look strange to Brian, a blue door on a faded white car. He hoped Brian wasn't a car snob. 15

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Brian bounded out from behind the ripped screen door and hurried to the car. Warmth flooded through Stu at the sight of the big smile lighting Brian's face. Brian wore jeans and a crisp blue polo shirt, both of which looked freshly ironed. His presence almost swept away the uneasiness that Stu felt at the sight of his neglected-looking house. Doesn't look like he's planning to stay in town for long, Stu thought. "Hey, a great American car!" Brian managed to shorten the vowel and work a half-assed "R" into the word car as he got in. His face looked fresh-shaved, and his dark hair gleamed, slightly damp from the shower. "You like it?" Stu broke into a big smile. Brian ran his hand over the back of the bench seat close to Stu, and Stu drove east down Comanche, imagining the two of them naked, entwined, lying across that bench seat. He inhaled a deep breath of Brian's scent, soap on warm skin. "I know this steakhouse..." How could Stu ignore those big dark eyes that silently begged him not to ask any personal questions? They ordered steaks and baked potatoes and stuck to safe topics such as recreational activities in Albuquerque, which tended to center on outdoorsy stuff. They split a bottle of wine while discussing movies and sports. Mostly, they talked about Stu, which would have made him feel like a total ass except Brian seemed interested. Really interested. "So you're not seeing anyone right now?" Brian poured the last of the wine into Stu's glass. 16

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Wine never had much of an effect on Stu. If he wanted relaxation or a pleasant buzz, he stuck to beer. However, tonight seemed a special occasion instead of just guys meeting in a sports bar after work. What could be more romantic than sharing a bottle of wine over dinner with the man he'd been fantasizing about for days? "Other than you?" He kept his tone light, hoping to make Brian smile. He got a flirty sidelong glance that left him breathless. Not a smile, exactly, but a warm, lingering stare. "No ex-wife or college girlfriend in the picture?" "No." Stu held his gaze. "Definitely not." "Glad to hear it." Brian said. "You're not on the rebound?" Stu laughed. "Am I auditioning here?" He meant it as a joke, but Brian surprised him by reaching across the table and clasping his forearm in a strong grip, fingers cool from his wine glass. "I like you, Stu. I didn't want us to go our separate ways after you finished your job." Delighted, Stu said, "Are all the guys this bold where you come from?" At the flash of alarm in Brian's eyes, Stu could have kicked himself. The cool fingers slid away from Stu's arm. Brian sat back in his chair, his long lashes veiling his gaze. He took a sip of wine. "Sorry," Stu said. "It's okay." Brian still wouldn't look at him. He didn't think Brian objected to him bringing their flirtation into the open. Some men wanted to keep things subtle, and others wanted to lead the dance with no 17

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challenges, but Stu guessed that Brian just didn't want to remember where he came from. He leaned closer. "You don't want to tell me where you're from, right? I'm not trying to trick you. I just want to know what subjects I should leave alone." For now, he thought. "It's complicated." Brian sighed. "I can see that, but I can ask some general questions, right? Like the kind you've been asking me?" Brian gave him a cautious look. "What do you mean?" "Well, you're far from home. On the rebound from something? A bad divorce?" To his pleased surprise, Brian laughed. "Are you kidding? A divorce?" "It's a fair question." "Never married. No kids." His warm gaze swept over Stu, lingering on his mouth. "Good," Stu managed to say. "I didn't even date girls in school." Brian flushed, his eyes brilliant. "I'm so obviously gay I can't believe we're even having this conversation." He laughed. "You must've known." "Dude, you're not that obvious." "I don't mean I act gay. I'm just not very good at hiding it if I'm attracted to a guy. You must've seen me staring at you." Brian kept his tone even, but blushed even darker up into his hairline. "Hanging around, trying to talk to you. I hoped I wasn't coming on too strong. I didn't want to scare you off." Stu's heartbeat thudded in his ears. "I'm not easily scared." 18

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Brian gave him a gorgeous smile, deep and heartfelt. "I think I'm a lucky guy. I wish I could bring you to meet the family. They'd like you." "Yeah? Really?" Stu rushed on, not wanting to sound like he was fishing for compliments. "You miss them, huh?" "Ma, Pop, five brothers, nieces and nephews. Miss 'em something wicked. But what can you do?" Brian seemed to catch himself. "You know, with work and all?" Stu nodded, not believing for a second that career opportunities would make Brian come to Albuquerque, move into a crappy rental house, and take a job as a property manager. Nothing about this man added up. "Your family is okay with you being gay?" Stu asked. "Yeah, sure." Brian shrugged, smiling. "Plenty of kids in the family. I don't have to get married and have more to carry on the name. What about yours?" "Well..." Stu didn't want to bring down their mood. "Not really, but there's just my dad and two sisters, and they're scattered all over the place." His sisters, both older, were married with families of their own, one in Ohio and one in Texas. His dad lived in Florida, playing golf and annoying people. Even before the car accident years ago that had killed Stu's mom, his dad had been critical and overbearing. Stu felt unexpected envy toward Brian for loving his family so much, even though it obviously made the poor guy suffer to live apart from them. "Stu, I'm sorry." Brian looked concerned.

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"It's okay." Stu wished he could lean across the table and kiss Brian on the mouth. He imagined doing it, just like any average man out dining with his girlfriend. After dinner, they sat in Stu's car in the parking lot and looked west across Tramway Boulevard where the sprawl of city lights blanketed the river valley. Stu switched his car keys to his left hand and slid his right hand along the back of the bench seat close to Brian. He tilted his chin at the city lights. "What do you think?" "Nice." Brian sighed. "Real pretty." His voice, or maybe that lingering soap-on-skin scent, made Stu's cock swell. It had been an endless two weeks, watching Brian and longing to touch him. Tension made Stu's hand twitch as he reached to stroke Brian's neck. Brian turned to Stu, guiding their faces together, and their lips met in a soft clinging kiss. Brian gave a pleased murmur, a sound that flooded Stu with heat. Brian's lips parted and he sucked Stu's tongue into his mouth. The car keys spilled out of Stu's left hand and hit the floor mat as he pulled Brian close. Stu drank in the sweet wine-taste of Brian's mouth. Their heavy breathing and sucking noises and muffled groans filled the car. If it had been winter, they would've fogged the windows of the car. It occurred to him that they were sitting in the parking lot where everyone could see them. "Brian, wait." Stu broke away, trying to catch his breath. He glanced around the parking lot as cars pulled in and drove out. Nobody paid any attention to him as couples 20

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passed from darkness to streetlights. Through its big glowing windows, the steak house looked packed with diners. "Don't say you're sorry." Brian leaned close. "I'm not." Stu kissed him again as if inhaling him. Brian's hand closed over his, their fingers lacing together. He dragged Stu's palm between his thighs, pressing it tight against his erection, and Stu's brain shorted out as if from a knock on the head. He tugged Brian's jeans and underwear open and wrapped his fist around Brian's stiff cock. "Oh, yeah," Brian said. "Please..." He lifted his hips, pressing his body against Stu. One hand gripped the seat and the other clutched a fistful of Stu's shirt. Brian had lost all control, Stu realized. All from kissing him. Stu swept his thumb over Brian's leaking cock as Brian hissed and bucked beneath him. He used the pre-cum to lube Brian's cock, pumping it through his fist. Brian's back arched. He sprawled across the seat, stretching out his long legs. His thighs went rigid and trembling. His ass clenched as he thrust into Stu's grip. "Finish me," Brian said through his teeth. He rolled his head back against the bench seat. "Quick, before somebody sees us. I can't afford to get arrested!" "I'm sure it's just a misdemeanor," Stu blurted, just to say something. He wanted to shove the jeans down far enough to spread Brian's knees and cup his balls. He imagined sinking his fingers inside Brian and making him squirm and beg for more. His own rigid cock pressed against his jeans as he gave Brian 21

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a hand job right there in the steak house parking lot. I can't afford to get arrested. The words tumbled through his mind. Brian cried out and the tension drained from his body. He looked down at himself, where he'd shot all over his crumpled jeans, and gave a rueful laugh. The headlights of a passing car lit his face, and tears glinted on his long, heavy lashes like spangles. Oh, dude, Stu thought as his heart ached. You really needed this. "Do me a favor." Brian kept his gaze slanted down. "Take me home with you." "Yeah." Stu said. "Sure." He started the car and steered north on Tramway, feeling light-headed. Oxygen rushed into his lungs, inflating his chest, and blood throbbed in the pulse-points at his throat and temples—and in his cock, which felt hard and thick as a Coke bottle in his pants. "Maybe I should stop for some...stuff," he said. "Yeah, that'd be good." In the darkness, a smile warmed Brian's voice. Stu had no trouble getting dates, but he liked to keep it casual and go to the other man's place to get laid. He never brought anyone home to his place off north Fourth Street where he'd let the backyard get overgrown and filled the spare room with interesting junk. His chest tightened as he imagined waking up next to Brian in the morning. That would be a dream come true. He turned west on Montgomery Boulevard and stopped at a Walgreens pharmacy. In the brightly lit parking lot, he 22

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glanced at Brian, who reclined against the bench seat with his jeans done up and his crumpled polo shirt smoothed down. Brian's sleepy gaze slid to Stu's erection, pressed against the zipper of his jeans, and he actually chortled. No other word for it. Stu gave him a teasing shove, which provoked another snort of laughter. Stu's ears got hot and he pulled out his shirttail, letting it hang down to cover him to mid-thigh before he went inside to buy the condoms and lube. [Back to Table of Contents]

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CHAPTER 3 As soon as they parked in Stu's garage, they started kissing again. He didn't even manage to close the garage door. They stood, wound in each other's arms, swaying against the car as fluorescent light streamed from the shop lights strung overhead. Stu spun Brian around and pinned him face down across the hood of his car. Brian exhaled hard as he hit the warm metal. He rose on one elbow and spread his knees, fumbling to open his clothes, and Stu helped him, stripping Brian naked below the waist. Brian had a gorgeous ass, a soft layer of fat rounding out the high, tight muscles. Fine brown hair grew on the backs of his thighs. He stretched out across the hood of the car, trying to appear nonchalant. Stu looked closer, noting the tension in the lean planes of his back. Scared, Stu thought as he pushed the polo shirt up beneath Brian's armpits. Or excited. "You gonna stare at my butt all night?" Brian tightened his rump and gave it a provocative wiggle. Stu swatted him on the ass, making him flinch and snort. "I might touch it all night." Mesmerized, he watched his red handprint rise on the white flesh. "Do that again." Brian hid his face against his forearm. "Make it sting." "Seriously?" Stu heard the mingled doubt and arousal in his own voice. 24

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"Yeah." Brian drew a tight breath. "Please." Stu slapped Brian hard on the ass, putting his shoulder into it. The crack of flesh hitting flesh came as a shock in the well-lit garage. Maybe the concrete floor reflected and magnified the sound, but he had no time to follow that thought as Brian hissed, jerking beneath him. Brian rocked back under Stu's tingling palm, his white flesh hot. "God, you're strong." Brian shivered. "Stronger than I am." That yearning tone coiled like a live wire around Stu's balls, sending a charge of pure lust up his spinal cord. He closed his hand over the back of Brian's neck, pinning him to the car, and spanked him five more times. Brian arched into the blows, grunting with the impact. "Make me..." Brian forced words out in jerky rhythm to the strokes. "Make me forget...forget everything." Stu shifted his feet, landing the last slap, and his toe sent something plastic skittering across the concrete. His garage door clicker. He must have dropped it. He hadn't closed the door, and maybe his neighbors could hear them, but he didn't care. Sweat soaked his shirt as he stood still, dizzy from forgetting to breathe. "Stu." Brian gave a low moan. He sounded drunk. "Want you so bad." He lay sprawled across the hood like an offering. He had given himself to Stu in complete trust and surrender, and they barely knew each other. Brian's bare back heaved with his breathing, and his ass cheeks flushed deep red. Stu rubbed his sweaty palm on his jeans, his heart thudding in his chest. He'd had men before who got off on the 25

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blue-collar-guy fantasy and liked him to pin them down, but he'd never taken it any farther than that. He let out a trembling breath. "Anything you want, Brian. Anything." "Fuck me," Brian said, his voice harsh and eager. Yeah, sure, no problem. Stu swallowed and smoothed his hand along Brian's lean back, stopping short of his butt, which still looked flushed and hot. He groped for the Walgreens bag with the condoms and lube. Damn, his hands were shaking. His belt buckle swung loose, striking the car as he shoved his jeans down past his knees. His cock bobbed up from the damp tangle of his shorts and pointed straight at Brian's ass. Stu feared he might come just from the sight of Brian, spread out beneath him. He rolled on a condom, wondering how long he could last. Brian pushed his hips back toward Stu. "Don't make me wait." Did he want it to hurt? "You're not ready." Stu clamped his hand over the small of Brian's back, holding him down as he groped for the lube. The cap flew off the bottle, bouncing across the concrete floor. He slicked his cock with his free hand and tried to trap the bottle between his thigh and the car, but it dropped and rolled across the floor. "Oh, fuck," Stu blurted. "That's what I want!" Brian laughed. "C'mon. Let's do it." Stu had some lube left on his fingers. He pressed it into Brian's body, trying to go slowly. Brian groaned at the invasion, clenching around Stu's finger. He felt way too tight. Deliciously hot. Stu tried to find Brian's prostate, even though 26

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he could never visualize its location, either on himself or on another man. Squirming, Brian tried to pull free. "No more," Brian said. "Just do me before I come." Sure, no problem. Absolutely no problem at all. Dizzy with lust, Stu seized Brian's hips, pulling him down to stand bent over the car. The breath rushed out of his lungs as he saw Brian's erection swelling between the pale thighs, fully recovered from the hand job. A glistening thread of pre-cum stretched from Brian's cock to the hood of the car as he trembled in Stu's grip. "Brian, wow, oh, wow," Stu heard himself whispering. He spread the hot cheeks of Brian's ass and nudged his cock against that pale pink asshole. The stark images made him crazy, panting with excitement: his own cockhead flushed purple beneath the semi-transparent latex, and Brian's ass glowing red from the spanking, so no longer pale where Stu gripped the firm flesh. He pressed through the tight ring of muscle, gasping at the sensation, and Brian surged beneath him, moaning. "C'mon," Brian said. "Oh, yeah, Stu, give it to me. C'mon. Please." His back muscles rippled and went rigid. He grunted as he worked himself on Stu's shaft, taking it all the way inside. Stu clung to Brian, stunned with pleasure. He began to pull out and sink back in, lengthening his thrusts each time until he found a steady rhythm. Brian dropped his head down to his crossed forearms as they fucked. His moaning built to wordless shouting as he rocked his hips back to meet Stu. 27

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Each cry burst from Brian's throat on the in-stroke and broke off on the withdrawal. Stu drank it in, knowing he'd want to remember this for the rest of his life. Brian under him, leaning over the hood of his car. Him, pounding inside Brian. Brian struggling to say his name. He slid his hand down, wrapping his slick palm around Brian's erection. Brian cried out and thrust hard into Stu's fist, once, twice. He shuddered as he came, spurting across Stu's hand. "Oh, yeah!" Brian yelled, his accent totally out of control. "Fahk me, haaaahd!" That accent—so sexy. So Brian. Stu's climax pulsed through him like waves of heat expanding from his groin. He clung to Brian as he came in a hot rush, filling the condom. Groaning, they subsided against the cool metal of the hood. Their chests rose and fell as they stood, half-stuck together with sweat and semen, gasping for breath. Stu couldn't stop touching Brian, stroking his hands over the planes of Brian's body as if memorizing him. He pulled out, peeled off the condom, and tossed it under the car to pick up later. His body tingled as he wrapped his arms around Brian, and he found himself shaking with laughter. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's not you. I'm not laughing at you." Brian stretched beneath him, sounding sleepy and amused. "Yeah, it's just the way I say things, right?" "No, really." Stu realized he was chuckling out of sheer happiness. "I like it." 28

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"Ohhhh, man." Brian sighed, closing his eyes. "That was wicked cool." Wicked cool. Su smiled, his face pressed against the polo shirt bunched up past Brian's cooling back. He'd never heard anyone say that as Brian did, with total sincerity. If he ever heard that phrase again, he would think of Brian and this moment. They got up and the Ford rocked, freed from their weight. Stu found the garage door clicker and closed the door. His face heated as he realized what a show they must have put on for his neighbors. As he got dressed, Brian scanned the swept floor and the clean walls, bare except for a large pegboard hung with his car repair tools. "Admit it," Stu said. "You thought I was a hoarder. Junk everywhere." "I guess I did." Brian slanted an amused glance at him. "You haven't seen the backyard yet." Stu led him inside the kitchen. Relief sank through him as he saw he'd remembered to wash the dishes last night. Brian glanced around the small kitchen, his dark eyes intent. Earlier, he'd had no inhibitions about fucking like sex-crazed teenagers on the hood of Stu's car. Now, he displayed no self-consciousness as he inspected Stu's house. Something about his cool silence and analytical stare reminded Stu of a cop. "How long have you lived here?" Brian asked. "Six years." Stu tried to make a joke. "Time to move on." 29

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Brian's dark brows arched. "I've lived my entire life in one place." "And you won't say where that is," Stu said. "No." Brian gave a slight smile, as if embarrassed. Stu made his tone gentle. "Why not?" "I'm trying to start over." Brian's gaze slid away. "I can't talk about it." Stu flashed on the intensely erotic memory of Brian naked beneath him. Brian, crying out as Stu drove himself into the heat and tight pressure of that pale, firm body. Stu wanted that again, as soon as possible. He wouldn't jeopardize his chances just to satisfy his curiosity. At least, not yet. "I can wait," he said. Brian flicked an alert glance at Stu. Obviously, he'd received the message Stu meant to see him again...and intended to find out about him. He gave a brief nod. Stu followed him into the living room, noticing with fresh eyes their transition from shabby linoleum to threadbare carpet and mismatched thrift-shop couch and coffee table. He felt as if he were laying his heart bare to Brian. Would someone as mysterious as Brian find him boring? Brian had the poise and educated speech that came with a college degree and experience in the corporate world. Would Brian think him stupid? A blue-collar guy, good only for working with his hands? "Where did you live before this?" Brian asked. "El Paso. Also Las Cruces, Barstow, Vegas, and Phoenix." "No kidding?" Brian looked intrigued. 30

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"My family hopped around the southwest." Stu shrugged. "I've never been east of Amarillo, Texas. My dad was into get-rich-quick schemes." Crappy little business ventures would be more accurate. "Get-rich-quick schemes?" Brian's troubled gaze touched on him. "Believe me, you don't want to know." Brian nodded, glancing around. Was he looking for books? Stu tried not to smile. He kept his how-to books and mechanics texts in kitchen cabinets behind the table to keep the dust off them. His fiction, mostly e-book mysteries, resided on his laptop computer, which he kept in the hall closet when not using it at the kitchen table. His laptop also held his modest collection of gay porn, which most connoisseurs would probably consider boring. Basic vanilla sex. Nothing wrong with that. Stu inhaled the faint scent of semen and sweat lingering on Brian's skin, or maybe on his skin. His cock stirred as he imagined inviting Brian into the shower and soaping him up, and he blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected to have any sex drive for the next several hours. "So what brought you to Albuquerque?" Brian asked. Stu imagined asking the same question of Brian. Well, he would when the time seemed right. He shrugged, trying to buy time to choose his words with care. He didn't want to sound like a loser or a slacker.

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On the other hand, maybe he should just be honest. Just lay out the unvarnished truth and see what Brian thought. Brian should know what to expect on this, their first real date. Our first date. Stu blinked, flashing again on Brian under him, hips rocking up to meet his thrusting. Did Brian always put out on the first date? Maybe mind-blowing sex like this happened all the time to Brian and meant nothing to him. "I came up here for a guy," Stu said. "The relationship didn't work out, but I found things to do here. I've worked here before. Summers between college semesters. I took five semesters at New Mexico State University before my money ran out." Also, the coursework had grown increasingly difficult, but he hesitated to admit that and sound lazy or stupid. Stu rubbed the back of his neck, wondering how his past would look to someone like Brian. He remembered himself as a student at NMSU, going to parties and study sessions. Getting drunk on beer. Dating guys for the first time. Summers had found him drifting back and forth between the two nearest, relatively large cities, Albuquerque and El Paso. He might have been a piece of wreckage floating on the tides. An asteroid pulled between their gravitational fields. Did that make him a slacker or what? "You were putting yourself through school?" Brian asked. "Yeah. Studying mechanical engineering and agricultural biology." Stu laughed as Brian's eyes widened. It did sound like a strange combination. "Yeah, just what you need to build robotic cows or something. At the time, I couldn't decide 32

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between both fields. Now, I doubt I'll go back to either one. I like my life as it is now." "Show me your house," Brian said. "Show me the backyard. Everything." They wandered around the backyard, and Stu pointed out the two sheds stacked full of auto parts. They walked in the tall grass under the apple trees where he had placed windmill creations he'd welded out of scrap metal. He showed Brian the military surplus items sorted and inventoried on metal shelves in his spare room and the camping equipment left over from a big sale he'd made to a local hiking group. "I like your place." Brian's palm slid down to massage the small of Stu's back. They stood at the sliding glass door, looking out over the backyard where the night breezes sifted through the leaves of the apple trees. Brian moved closer, nudging his knee between Stu's thighs. His fingers curved over Stu's hipbone. "What would you do if you had to leave?" Brian breathed the words in his ear. "What?" Stu tried to focus past his pleasure at the closeness and the touching. "Could you leave? If you were in trouble and had to go fast? Could you leave all this stuff behind and not look back?" "Yeah, I could." Stu managed not to add, for the right guy. He didn't want to sound like a total sap. "Things can be replaced, you know?" "Could you start over again?" Brian sounded doubtful. "No problem?" 33

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"Depends on how you look at it," Stu said. "Second chances can be good." They crowded into Stu's bathroom where they washed the dust off their hands. Stu looked at their reflections in the mirror over the sink. He saw two medium-height young men about the same age. Brian looked dashing with his broad shoulders and trim hips. His dark eyes and glossy hair made a striking contrast to his pale skin. By contrast, he, Stu Van der Meer, looked burly and sweaty, but not too bad in comparison. His chest hair curled out from his open collar shirt and his blue eyes shone, vivid in his broad flushed face. Would they make a good couple? "You still want to stay the night?" He watched Brian in the mirror. Brian shook water off his wet hands at the sink and reached for a hand towel. To Stu's relief, the towels looked reasonably clean, hanging from the bar over the toilet tank. Brian's gaze fell on the bottle of lube Stu had rescued from the garage floor. It looked about half-full. "Yeah." He nudged Stu. "Do we have enough?" Stu nudged him back. "I don't know. Do we?" [Back to Table of Contents]

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CHAPTER 4 They started seeing each other, and Stu thought he'd died and gone to heaven. Brian was everything he wanted in a man: sweet, funny, good-looking, and the best lover he'd ever had. And sharp—or as Brian would probably say, "shaaaah-p." They could sit and talk about anything, any subject, far into the night. Except for Brian's past. He never breathed a word about it. Stu told himself he shouldn't be suspicious. No way could Brian be a con man. Not with his open Irish face, which revealed every emotion, and with his pale skin showing every blush like fire. Stu had already pushed Brian a little, steering the conversation toward things like childhood and school. Whenever he'd backed Brian into a corner, the man would get flustered and inarticulate. Brian didn't seem to have the ability to lie. Little things made Stu worry, such as the fear that sometimes tightened the skin around Brian's eyes. What about his total disinterest in Albuquerque and his obvious boredom with his job as a property manager. Why come here? Why take the job? Sometimes he gave Stu the feeling he just wanted to kill time until bigger forces assigned him at random to the next phase in his life. Feeling ashamed and desperate, Stu carried his laptop to his tiny kitchen and went online. He searched on Brian Hawthorne. As a guess, he added, Boston, Massachusetts. He turned up plenty of others by that name, but not his Brian. 35

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Stu had a business website and he participated in internet forums related to collecting and garage sales. Sometimes he even got his name mentioned in local press releases about recycling. Almost everyone Stu knew had an online presence, but not Brian. The man might not have ever existed. Stu rearranged his job schedule, put on a clean shirt and reasonably pressed khaki slacks, and went looking for Brian at the old Turquoise Trail Motel. By now, workmen had ripped up the floor down to the concrete slab. Wires trailed down where they had pulled sheetrock from the walls. Construction workers shouldered past Stu, exiting into the dazzling sunlight. Brian stood with three other men, studying a huge sheaf of blueprints rolled out across the motel reservations counter. He saw Stu in the doorway, and a slow smile lit his eyes. He extricated himself from the huddle and strode forward to escort Stu outside. They stood in the sun on the cracked cement walkway. "What's up?" Brian's darting glances touched Stu's face like a caress. "Need to talk to you," Stu said. "Can it wait? I got building inspectors coming in—" "I'll make it short. I want to know why you never talk about your past." "My past?" Brian froze as if Stu had struck him, and Stu tensed in mingled guilt and determination. "It has nothing to do with us."

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"It's important to me." Stu clamped his mouth shut as more workmen jostled past him. "I can see it bothers you to talk about it, but all this secrecy is starting to scare me." Brian walked him around the corner into the shade of the west wall. Beyond the shadows, the blue sky stretched hot and bright. His lips tightened. "You have to ask me this stuff here?" "When we're alone and I try to bring it up"—Stu held his gaze—"you either grab my dick or pick a fight. Dude, you're good at distraction." "So what the hell do you want to know?" Stu took a breath. "Look, I never talk about my dad because, you know, what would be the point? He lives in Florida. Makes fun of me 'cause I can't play a decent game of golf." "Sounds like a bastard." Brian turned the word into "bastid." His accent tended to get more intense the more upset he got. "You get no arguments from me." Stu shot a glance at the workmen nearby, and lowered his voice. "Well, he did time for fraud when I was a kid. Seven years in prison and three years of supervised release." Brian's face drained of color, his eyes huge and dark. "You think I'm a criminal." "Are you?" Stu forced out the question. Blood darkened Brian's face in a scalding rush. "Fuck you." Stu's stomach cramped so hard he almost couldn't breathe. "Are you?" 37

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"I am not a criminal." Brian stood rooted, shaking, veins standing out in his neck. "But you're involved somehow. You're caught up in something." "No!" Brian glanced at the motel office and back to Stu. He'd gone bloodless around his lips. "Why are you doing this to me? Here? Now? I have to go back in there and work with those guys." "I need to know. I can't get involved with someone who's into illegal stuff. Not after this thing with my dad." Stu tried to keep his voice from shaking. "I got a sense for it now. I know when somebody's mixed up in something bad." "I'm not a criminal." Brian's tone went flat as if reciting meaningless facts. "I live in Albuquerque. I work as a property manager." "Okay, but why so secretive about your past?" Stu said. "We been fucking each other for weeks, and all I know is that you're twenty-nine years old. You're from New-England-ingeneral. Various places. You have a mom, a dad, five brothers, nieces and nephews, and you miss 'em something wicked." Brian stared. He looked overwhelmed that Stu remembered his exact words. "Give me something," Stu said. "Why come here? Why do this job?" To his frustration, a man stuck his head out the motel door, looking for Brian. Stu recognized him as one of the men from the blueprint huddle. The man squinted in the harsh sun. "Hawthorne? You coming?" 38

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Stu wanted to knock him on his ass. "Yeah, give me a moment!" Brian's voice wobbled, but the other man didn't seem to notice. He went back inside, and Brian looked at Stu, his eyes cold and desperate. "Okay, all right." He took a deep breath. "I studied la-aaww-r." "Law?" Stu said. "You're a lawyer?" He couldn't picture it. Not someone as inarticulate and emotional as Brian, who couldn't even tell a convincing lie. Brian exhaled an impatient breath. "Yah not lissnun." Listening? Stu could barely understand him. "I failed the bar exam." He stared at Stu, breathing hard. "Couldn't you just take it again?" "Failed it more than once. It wasn't meant to be." Stu's heart ached at his bleak tone. "Dude, I'm impressed. You finished college. You made it through law school. That's a huge accomplishment." "Endless debt is what it is." Brian's gaze remained steady on Stu's face. Some color had crept into his face. "I'll be paying back my student loans foh-ev-uh." He pays his debts, Stu thought. He winced, ashamed to doubt him. "So I got a job with my brother's law firm," Brian rushed on, his long lashes sweeping down to hide his eyes. Stu sensed him trying to skate over certain events. "Investigating. Lawyers need investigators for cases just like the cops. I did that and moved on to another firm, and things led to me coming here." "Dude, c'mon. That only leaves me with more questions." "Well, that's all I got for you right now." 39

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"Are you doing something illegal?" Stu asked. Brian shook his head. He looked desperate to communicate, but afraid to speak. "You telling me the truth?" Stu rasped out, his throat aching. In one dramatic motion, Brian crossed himself and spread out his hands in an eloquent, so-help-me-God gesture. He held Stu's gaze, his dark eyes clear. Stu blinked first, but something eased in his chest. "Okay, I'll take that as a yes. Have you talked to anybody about whatever this is? You know, like a priest or something?" "I don't even go to church anymore," Brian said. "Who has time?" That Sunday, Stu took Brian to church. He picked a Catholic church at random. What did he know? His parents hadn't had him baptized or raised in any religion. To be honest, he felt intimidated setting foot inside a church because he didn't know what rituals to follow. He followed Brian up the walk and past fragrant roses blooming around a marble statue of Saint Francis feeding the birds. It felt good to escape the hot morning sun. Stu stepped through the open doors into the cool foyer, but stood back, feeling like a complete dork, as Brian drifted toward the holy water font. Stu watched, realizing he'd read about such things. Brian dipped his fingers, genuflected, and crossed himself with no self-consciousness, his gaze on the sanctuary beyond the rapidly filling pews. They sat in back to listen to the sermon, which went on foh-ev-uh. It was worth it to see the tension leave Brian's 40

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shoulders and the lines smooth out in his face as sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows. Stu even managed to get through the handshake of peace, or whatever the Catholics called it, though it startled him to have the adjacent worshippers turn to him and to each other with beaming faces and outstretched hands. He wouldn't have minded, except he felt like an imposter at their church. Finally, the communion rite began. The faithful left the pews and formed a line in the aisle leading to the rail separating the sanctuary from the assembly. Stu gave Brian a nudge with his shoulder. "Go ahead, if you want," he said. "Approach the buffet?" Brian crinkled his eyes at Stu's casual tone. Stu tried not to laugh. "You don't have to sit it out here with me." "I can't receive communion. I haven't been to confession in almost a year." Almost a year. Stu paid attention, memorizing the information. "But thanks." Brian gave him a gentle nudge in return. [Back to Table of Contents]

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CHAPTER 5 After that, things didn't go quite as Stu had hoped they would. He sensed returning to church had brought Brian some peace, but it also seemed to open a gulf between them. Days passed when they didn't see each other. No question both of them were working longer hours. Brian had started dividing his time between the Turquoise Trail Motel renovation and something in the South Valley. Stu landed a series of jobs, from carting away the unsold remains from several estate sales to subcontracting on the demolition of a dollar store in Bernalillo, which left him with a truckload of retail fixtures he could resell for top value. He continued to keep up his social life, meeting his friends for beers or bowling. He didn't want Brian to see him as too available, which would be but the first step on the slippery slope toward looking like a creepy, infatuated loser, but he knew in his heart he wanted to spend every waking moment with Brian. How could he be falling so fast for a man whose past remained a mystery? Finally, in an agony of missing him, Stu cut a job short to return home at five o'clock one evening, hoping to reach Brian, who might be just leaving work. He called Brian's cell phone and paced the kitchen as it rang. "Stu, hey." The warmth in Brian's tone made Stu flush all over. "How you doing?" "I'm okay." Brian sounded tired. 42

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"I haven't seen you in a while." Stu closed his eyes, grinding his forehead against the wall next to his refrigerator. He wanted to kick himself for sounding too desperate. "Yeah, work, you know." Brian sounded distant, and traffic rumbled in the background. Stu hoped he wasn't driving while talking on the cell phone. "You want to go out tonight?" he blurted before he could stop himself. He'd only planned to call Brian to chat, and yet his mouth kept going, independent of his brain. "You know, a movie? Or a ballgame?" Brian gave a startled laugh. "Baseball season started already?" Stu scanned the home-game schedule he'd tucked under a magnet on his refrigerator. "There's a game tonight at seven o'clock. I'll pick you up." He rushed through a shower and shave, and put on new pair of black, straight-leg jeans. He had only one shirt that qualified as club wear, a button-down with a subtle aqua pinstripe running through the navy blue background, and he hoped it wouldn't look too formal for a baseball game. He wasted five minutes standing in front of his mirror, trying to roll his sleeves to just the right spot on his forearms and get them even. Finally, he dragged a comb through his hair and left the house. Stu took Avenida Cesar Chavez to the Isotopes stadium and parked west across University Boulevard. Brian sat still, not even reaching to unbuckle his seatbelt, as the car engine ticked and cooled. Families with small children trooped down the sidewalk toward the stadium. Brian said nothing, staring 43

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east through the windshield as thunderclouds massed far above Sandia Crest. "What?" Stu followed Brian's gaze to the stadium, which he thought looked good. He'd heard the city had improved it since 2000 when the team used to be the Dukes. He'd always liked the huge cement baseball out front. "Uhhh..." A look of profound sorrow flashed across Brian's face. "Dude." Stu dropped his hand onto Brian's shoulder and massaged the muscle, working upward to smooth out the tension in Brian's neck. Brian leaned into his touch, but his expression remained distant. "I know it's only minor league baseball. It's not..." Stu trailed off, feeling guilty at fishing for information. "The Red Sox," Brian said as if in a trance. Stu had only ever seen Fenway Park on televised games. He wasn't that big a baseball fan, really. He only liked to go to games to get a beer, sit outside, and watch the other people. Everyone knew that almost nothing happened in the actual game, anyway. He didn't think he could understand what Brian might be feeling right now. "I'm not sure I can do this," Brian said. "It's okay." Stu leaned his forearms on the steering wheel, wondering how to save the situation. The immensity of the unknown rolled over him. Brian. Brian in Albuquerque. Brian in Albuquerque for some deep, secret reason. He longed to get out of town and take Brian with him. "We should take a vacation, you know?" he blurted. "Go someplace together." 44

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Brian glanced over, heavy brows arching over his rich dark eyes. "Yeah? Where?" Stu fumbled in the glove compartment for a pencil and scrap of paper. He wrote down a destination and passed the note to Brian. He couldn't wait to hear how he'd pronounce it. "Cali-faw-nia?" Stu cracked up laughing, and Brian gave him a mock shove, rocking him against the side window. The smile faded from Brian's eyes too soon and he looked down, picking at a seam on his jeans. "I can't go anywhere right now," he said. "Can't even visit my family. I'm... it's—" He broke off, and Stu sensed the unspoken words, It's not allowed. "It's just for now. For the time being." "It's okay. Why don't we do something else?" Stu started the car. "Some of my friends are having a party tonight. You want go with me?" Sometimes it felt good to be around a crowd of people— but not tonight. Stu drifted through the packed living room, eyeing Brian, who stood chatting with people in a group near the kitchen. At least Brian seemed to be enjoying himself. Stu's mood had been sliding down all evening. He was falling too fast for Brian, especially when he still didn't know anything about him. He glanced around at the other guests who stood talking and drinking beer, and felt alone. Their laughter rose above the dance music on endless reshuffle from the stereo. "Hey, glad you could make it," said Mark, who owned the house with his girlfriend Stacey. They both cornered Stu in 45

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the hallway, beaming at him. They were his closest friends, considering they'd met six years ago when he first came to town and had been bowling together ever since, but now he realized he didn't really feel all that close to them. "Haven't seen you in a while." Stacey's hoop earrings bounced, caught in her short blond bob, as she flicked a look across the room toward Brian. "New boyfriend?" "Yeah." Stu heard how uncertain he sounded. What was he to Brian? "He seems nice." Her nose wrinkled in a smile. "Cute." "Looks like a college grad. You're moving up in the world?" Mark gave Stu a sly smile. Sometimes he could be a dick, no question. "Remember that guy you dated last year? The software engineer at Sandia Labs?" "Don't remind me," Stu said. Mark turned to Stacey, probably to remind her of the nodoubt-hilarious story of how the man liked to take Stu to formal social occasions and watch him flounder, out of his element. Why had Stu ever confided in them? He eased away from them and came up behind Brian in time to hear someone ask that question everyone liked to ask at parties. "So what do you do? Like, for a living?" "I teach math to seventh graders," Brian said without even blinking. "Where are you from?" a girl wanted to know. "Massachusetts. Gloss-tuh," he said, and Stu's mouth almost fell open. He watched as Brian pointed it out on the map of the United States hanging on the wall: Gloucester, on the coast of 46

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Massachusetts, the spelling not looking anything like the way Brian said it. Anger and confusion coiled in Stu's stomach, and he broke into a sweat along his hairline. What the hell was going on? Brian wouldn't tell him anything, but had no problem giving information to strangers? "Can I see you for a moment?" he said in Brian's ear. The conversation picked up behind them as he drew Brian through the crowd and toward the sliding glass door that led to the patio, but there were too many people already out there, standing around in the hot desert night, smoking cigarettes and talking in relaxed groups. Brian gave him a questioning glance, brows lifting over his expressive eyes. Stu marched him into the kitchen and down the cramped staircase to Mark and Stacey's basement. Basements weren't common to houses in Albuquerque. None of the houses Stu's family had rented throughout the southwest had ever had a basement, and he found basements intriguing in general, but not now with frustration weighing him down. He smacked his palm over the wall switch and low light bloomed from the ceiling fixture. "You fuckin' teach math to seventh graders in Gloss-tuh?" Brian winced. "Stu, I'm sorry. I made that up. What I told you is the truth. I did work as an investigator for a law firm." He ran a gentle hand up Stu's chest to clasp the back of his neck. "I can't tell you certain things...for now, but I'll never lie to you." Stu gripped his arm. "Why the secrets? What are you, a spy?" 47

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"C'mon, Stu." Brian sighed. "I can't talk about it. Be patient with me. Please." "This problem isn't going away," Stu said. "I know." "When are you going to fill me in?" "I don't know when I can." Upstairs, someone turned up the stereo, but not enough to mask the nonstop murmur of conversation. This party wasn't one of those wild, head-banging, drink-till-you-puke scenes that they had all enjoyed in college. They were pushing thirty now, and the time had come to get serious. Stu glanced around the little basement room, which contained all that remained of Mark's big passion during college—motorcycles. Mark's fold-down desk, where he claimed to maintain a blog on dirt bikes, occupied one wall. His antiquated computer sat inert, its blocky monitor screen streaked with dust. Stu's gaze drifted to the opposite wall featuring a poster of a classic Harley with gleaming chrome. On a daybed covered with a Navajo blanket, Mark had left a stack of motorcycle magazines also covered with dust. Stu pictured most of the party guests, closing in on thirty and wondering if they should get real jobs. Maybe feeling afraid, as everyone did, that they might not find someone to love. "Did you bring me down here for a reason?" Brian's hands rose to clasp Stu's hips. "You trying to distract me?" "Maybe." Brian pulled him closer, and Stu sighed with pleasure as they fit together, and Brian pressed an openmouthed kiss to his neck. "But I also really want it." He 48

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grabbed Stu's hand and guided it down between them, wrapping it around his erection through his jeans. Stu loved how he did it. So forceful and direct. "Let's go back to my place," Stu said. "No." Suppressed laughter warmed Brian's voice. "Right here. Take it or leave it." Stu hesitated, conscious of the guests in the kitchen overhead. Their voices drifted down through the open stairwell, and a man's goofy laugh rang out. Someone swung the refrigerator door open, causing several glass containers to clink and rattle, and thumped it shut. Techno-pop music piped in from the stereo. "Somebody's going to catch us." He slid his free hand down to grip Brian's ass. "Not if we're quick." Obviously, the risk turned Brian on, and Stu thought he knew why. It distracted Brian from his unspoken fears just as that spanking thing had. Again, Stu flashed on Brian in his garage, bent over his car. Brian, pleading, "Make me forget everything." Would Brian always want a little kink in their fucking? Maybe someday he would move past his need for distraction. Stu realized he didn't care either way—he just wanted Brian. "C'mon." Brian nudged him toward the daybed. No way would Mark approve of hot gay sex happening in his home office. Stu felt weird about doing it so close to the kitchen anyway. He pulled Brian into the tiny bathroom and shut the door behind them. The light over the sink lit every corner of the tiny space. Brian shoved his hand in his pocket 49

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and came up with a condom and a packet of lube, the size of a single serving of fast-food ketchup. Stu eyed him, unable to hold back a big smile. "You planned this." "Maybe." Brian fumbled with Stu's jeans, unfastening belt and zipper. "What if we'd gone to the baseball game?" "They've got restrooms, don't they?" "No, absolutely not. No stadium restroom sex." Brian shoved Stu's jeans and briefs down around his knees as Stu tore open the condom package. His hand closed over Stu's erection, temporarily robbing Stu of the ability to think. A silent laugh shook Brian's shoulders as he worked the condom out of its package with his free hand and rolled it on Stu's cock. Shivering, Stu spread his thighs wider as Brian cupped his balls, massaging him with light pressure. Brian's free hand clasped the back of Stu's neck as their lips met in a deep, breathless kiss. Stu groaned deep in his throat. He caught Brian's lower lip in his teeth as they ground against each other, breathing hard. Sucking on Brian's tongue, he pinned him back against the sink. The kissing alone would have been enough to drive Stu crazy, but Brian had other plans. He rubbed his fingertip against Stu's hole, teasing him. Stu shuddered as Brian penetrated him to the knuckle. His cock lifted, throbbing hard. "You want to do me?" Stu's voice shook, sounding thick and raw. 50

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"Would you let me?" "Hell, yeah!" Brian's breath caught. "Later. When we have plenty of time." Stu stripped him naked, shoving Brian's clothes aside as Brian tore open the packet of lube. He knew Brian enjoyed getting pinned down naked under his fully clothed body. Meanwhile, he loved to stare at Brian's body while fucking him, running his gaze over the firm muscles that rippled beneath the pale skin. Now Brian smeared half the package of lube on Stu's cock, and the other half on his own fingers, arching his back as he reached around to prepare himself. Stu watched, desperately aroused. Unlike him, Brian had almost no body hair above the waist to obscure his chiseled pectoral muscles. In the harsh overhead light, Brian's nipples were pale pink. So tight and sensitive. Stu pinched the left one, making Brian flinch beneath him, swearing in mock exasperation. He lifted Brian to the countertop, gripping him under one knee. For some reason, they both started to laugh in explosive whispers. Something about the mechanics of fucking always struck them as funny—especially now, with the risk of getting caught. Stu spread Brian's thighs, palming his ass as he lifted him to a better angle. Brian reclined on the counter, crowded against the wall. He managed to prop himself up on one elbow. "Comfy?" Stu asked. Brian snickered, squeezing his eyes shut. "Don't make me laugh!" 51

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Stu sank inside him as Brian gave a hungry moan. They started fucking, locked together and breathing hard as Brian stretched his right leg past Stu's shoulder and braced his bare foot on the opposite wall. Stu felt each thrust start from his midsection and pound into Brian's body. Brian panted, his eyes half-closed, rolling his hips up to meet Stu. His entire body flushed with blood, growing hot under Stu's hands. "Uhhhhhh, yeah..." Brian burst out. "Feels so good!" His cock stood up, pre-cum welling from its slit. Stu clamped his left hand over Brian's ass, taking Brian's legs across his forearms, and wrapped his right hand around Brian's cock. Three hard strokes and Brian's head fell back, the tendons standing out in his neck. "Don't scream!" Stu said. Brian gasped and bit his lips. His head knocked against the wall. He thrashed beneath Stu as he came in spurts over the taut muscles of his abdomen. His ass clenched hard around Stu's cock, and the sight of him transfixed Stu. Parted lips smeared with a trace of blood. Heavy-lidded dark eyes clouded with pleasure. Stu managed three delicious thrusts into the heat of Brian's body as Brian's foot came off the wall. Then Stu's climax hit, making him shout behind gritted teeth as he filled the condom in deep, wrenching spasms. He sagged against Brian as black lights popped at the edge of his peripheral vision. "Oh, my God." Brian moaned. He squirmed farther up the counter. 52

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Stu slid out of Brian's body, already going soft. "Why me?" he blurted. "What?" Brian's dark eyes opened, glinting through his long lashes. "Why are you with me?" Stu felt dizzy and euphoric, brimming with love for him. Brian scanned his face, taking in his expression. "You're an awesome fuck!" Stu couldn't help a pleased snort. "Okay, besides that." "You're a good guy." Brian stroked his face. They held each other, leaning against the sink as heat poured off their bodies and their breathing steadied. Stu started to laugh, muffling it against Brian's neck. "What?" Brian pulled him closer. "What's so funny?" "That's a fuckin' weird name for a place. Gloss-tuh." Brian pressed a kiss into his hair and whispered, "So's Albuquerque." [Back to Table of Contents]

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CHAPTER 6 After that, Stu stopped pushing so hard for information, and Brian seemed happy to hang out with him and do anything. Like hiking or watching movies or going out to eat or fucking—definitely lots of fucking. Everything would have been perfect except Brian started to get paranoid. He called Stu one evening after work. "I need your advice." "Yeah, sure." Stu stood in the bathroom with the phone, studying his own worried reflection. He'd been getting ready to take Brian out to dinner and a movie. "Are we still on for—" "No. I—" The tightness in Brian's voice made Stu's stomach clench into a knot. "I think somebody's been in my house." "Call the cops," Stu said. "Whoever it was is long gone. Nothing's missing. I just— It's happened before, all right? I have things I look for whenever I leave and come home. A piece of tape I put on the door. Some dust on the top step." Stu gripped the phone. It sounded like total cloak-anddagger bullshit. For the first time, he wondered if Brian might be a little crazy—but obviously, Brian wasn't. In speech, action, and demeanor, he came across as one of the sanest people Stu had ever known. "I'll be right there," he said. When he pulled up outside Brian's rental house, all the lights were out. Brian's lean silhouette slipped out the front door. He jumped into the car alongside Stu, and the scent of 54

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soap rose from his warm skin. He had a paper bag tucked under his arm. "Can we go park somewhere?" he asked, not looking at Stu. "Not here." "Shouldn't you call the cops and file a report?" Brian lowered his head, fumbling for his seat belt. "Please." Stu drove to Montgomery Park and pulled up to the curb. The clock on the dash read 7:00 P.M. and sunlight slanted from low across the western horizon as people walked their dogs around the park perimeter. At one of the picnic tables, a group of teenagers laughed. Brian tightened his arm over the paper bag and stared through the windshield, his jaw a rigid line. "What're the gun laws like in this state?" he asked. Stu glanced at Brian, watching the color rise beneath his cheekbones. Brian kept his gaze distant, locked on the dog walkers. Stu turned back to the windshield, his heart aching. He told himself to be patient. "Minimal," he said. "Dude, this is New Mexico. You could shoot a guy through your front door while he's trying to force his way inside and there isn't a jury in the state that would call it anything other than self-defense." Brian gave him a wide-eyed stare. "You're exaggerating." "A little," Stu admitted. "But not much." "Well, okay," Brian said. He swallowed. "Good." "Why? Where you going with this? Can I help you at all?" "Can you give me some shooting pointers? Show me what I need to know?" 55

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With dread, Stu eyed the paper bag clamped under Brian's arm. "What do you have?" Brian withdrew a semi-automatic M1911 pistol, pointing it a little too close in Stu's direction as he unconsciously slipped his finger into the trigger guard. Stu's stomach tightened. "Dude..." With one finger on the barrel, Stu re-directed the pistol toward the engine block of his car, which was still preferable to Brian accidentally putting a round in either of them. "I've got the safety on." Brian cocked an eyebrow at him. "I can see that. It doesn't matter. You have to treat every gun like it's a revolver, like it has no safety. Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to fire." He took the gun from Brian, keeping it below the level of the windshield and pressed the magazine release. Sure enough, Brian had it loaded at full capacity with seven big .45 cartridges. Stu racked the slide and popped the eighth round from the firing chamber. "You should store your guns and ammo separately," he said. "Yes, Dad." Exasperation flashed over Brian's face. "But what if I need it fast?" "Is that what you think?" Stu shook his head in disbelief. "You may need it fast?" "The guy who sold it to me said—" "You didn't buy this in Massachusetts," Stu said. Out of pity, he added, "Or wherever."

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Brian sat in silence, staring out the windshield. The teenagers gathered the remains of a fast food dinner, preparing to leave their picnic table. He let out a long breath. "I picked it up here. From a friend of a friend. Make that an acquaintance of a guy I barely know at work." Brian fidgeted. "The one who sold me the gun said that's the way cops carry it, or soldiers. Seven in the clip—" "Magazine." "Magazine and one in the chamber. That way I can just flick the safety off and I'm good to go." Stu held his breath, sensing the conversation veering away from what he really wanted to know. What might be following Brian from his past? Stu wanted to ask straight out, but he feared to jeopardize even this sparse trickle of information. Shoulders tense, he started prying the seven cartridges out of the magazine. "Hey, don't do that." Brian sighed as Stu ignored him. "Look, I paid cash. No paperwork. Nothing ties it to me." Stu tried to keep the fear out of his voice. "You get caught using a stolen gun—" "I bought it." Brian's eyes flashed. "I didn't steal anything." "Yeah, but it might've been stolen before you paid for it." Brian gave him a desperate look. "I have reason to believe I may need it. Now, are you going to teach me to use it, or not?" At the Shooting Range Park west of Albuquerque, Stu unpacked their guns, while Brian stood at his elbow, glancing around at the other shooters. A tall metal sunshade protected 57

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the open area from the broiling sun. The park employees liked to place everyone right together at adjacent tables so they'd be easy to observe. Two older men on Brian's left set out rifles fitted with hunting scopes. They had the look of sportsmen getting ready for deer hunting season. The woman to Stu's right looked about thirty-five years old. She wore jeans and a bright blue tank top under a button-down shirt. On a rolled-out placemat, she set her down her tiny snub-nosed .38 revolver with the barrel facing down-range. She left the empty cylinder pushed out to make it clear she hadn't loaded it yet. A box of ammunition poked up from her purse. She and Stu exchanged casual nods as she slid down her sunglasses from the top of her head. Her hair swept forward and the mirrored lenses shielded her gaze. He wondered if she might be checking them out—or Brian, at least, who was so handsome. Did he and Brian look like a gay couple? Guys went shooting together all the time, didn't they? Stu eyed her sensible nurse-type shoes. Probably she worked night shifts at one of the city hospitals and had the same interest in selfdefense that Brian did. "So how'd you learn this stuff?" Brian asked him. "You said your dad didn't—" "Oh, hell, no." Stu laughed. "He didn't teach me stuff. We couldn't stand each other." He glanced up in time to see Brian's concerned frown. Oh, yeah, he remembered. Some guys really love their fathers. "I learned when we lived in Las Cruces—" 58

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"Where you went to school?" Brian broke in. "Where's that again?" For a secretive man, Brian liked to ask questions. Most people nodded and kept quiet when they didn't know things, but not Brian. Stu admired how Brian always dug for information, even if Brian wasn't so forthcoming himself. "South of here." He set Brian's semi-automatic pistol on the table, barrel pointed down-range. "I was in high school. I had a friend whose dad taught us." "A friend?" Brian dropped his voice, giving Stu a lingering glance. Stu snorted. "A regular friend-type friend. I wasn't dating at that age, okay?" "Hmmm." Brian gave him a heavy-lidded look. "I was." "Cut it out." Stu felt pleased he'd managed to distract Brian from his worrying, at least for a moment. He loved holding Brian's attention and he enjoyed making him laugh most of all. "You want to shoot or what?" "Sure." Brian watched as Stu brought out his own .357 Magnum, laying it on the table with the cylinder open. Back at his house, Stu had already run Brian through a full regimen of gun safety instruction on his own unloaded revolver. They had stood in Stu's backyard under the apple trees and he'd had Brian dry-fire the weapon while trying to keep his sights lined up on a target taped to the cinderblock wall. To Stu's surprise, Brian took instruction just like a woman. He listened and remembered everything. Stu could think of no higher praise when it came to guns. 59

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Plenty of times, Stu had given self-defense tips to female friends, and they were always so afraid of firearms that they paid strict attention to everything he said. Therefore, when the time came to shoot, they did everything exactly right. Meanwhile, Stu hated to go to the shooting range with his male friends. To a man, they inevitably began acting like dumbasses as their y-chromosome kicked in at the mere sight of a handgun. What a relief to find Brian wasn't the type to pick up a loaded gun and wave it at everything in sight. One of the park employees came down the line, his green polo shirt ruffling in the hot breeze as he scanned to make sure everyone's firearm sat on the tables, unloaded. The wooden tables were sturdy and weather-beaten from years of the strong winds scouring them with sand. A couple of lumpy sandbags lay on each table for whoever wanted to use them for wrist support or propping up their weapons. Usually, the riflemen lay across the tables like soldiers in the field, adjusting their position across the sandbags, and the hand gunners just stood up and didn't bother with such things. "Place your targets!" The park employee motioned everyone forward. The nurse put hers at ten yards out. Stu did the same, heaving the wooden frame into place as Brian eyed the target taped to it: a black silhouette on cheap paper. The target looked like the type the police used in the movies—black with white rings narrowing in concentric circles on the manshape's center of mass. 60

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"I had another friend," Stu said, remembering his fling with the software engineer who worked at Sandia National Labs. Friend overstated it. What an asshole the man had turned out to be. "He used to tape his boss's photo on the target." "Wow." Brian gave a nervous laugh. Stu elbowed him. "Makes me glad I'm self-employed." They returned to their table alongside the nurse. Everyone sat well back from the unloaded guns and relaxed, waiting for the hunters to jog back from planting their targets two hundred yards out. The park employee called permission to shoot. Stu and Brian put on their hearing protection earmuffs, and Brian stood up with his pistol, sighting on their target. He started shooting, his brass casings ejecting on the ground and rolling toward the nurse. She ignored it, absorbed in her own shooting as the snub-nose revolver cracked and jerked in her hands. A tiny gun with a short barrel like that wasn't easy to control due to the recoil. Stu thought she did better than he would have. He shifted his attention to Brian, watching over Brian's right shoulder as Brian placed each of his first eight shots. When Brian stopped to reload, Stu passed him the .357 Magnum to let him get a feel for the differences between shooting it and the semi-automatic pistol. Brian switched back to the pistol and had to clear a jam when the slide locked partially open on an empty casing. The park employee called another cease-fire and all the shooters went to get their targets. 61

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"That jam?" Stu couldn't help smirking. "You're limpwristing." "I'm what?" Brian dragged his earmuffs down around his neck. "You're kidding." "That's what it's called. Your pistol operates off the recoil. You have to have a strong grip so the slide will cycle all the way and pick up the next round." Stu retrieved the target, spreading it out on the table. "Your grouping is improving fast. Look at that." Ragged holes punched through the inner two rings on the man-shaped target's center of mass. "Not bad for your first day." Stu handed him the target. "What do you think?" A small smile curled Brian's lips. "Wicked cool." "Totally," Stu said. They sat at their table with the nurse on one side and the rifleman on the other as they waited for the older man's friend to jog out to switch targets at the two hundred-yard mark. Huge cumulus clouds drifted over the sun, casting a brief but welcome shadow over the sun-bleached desert. "What's a good practice distance for self-defense shooting?" Brian asked Stu. The nurse overheard. "You mean to qualify for a concealed carry permit?" "I meant..." Brian hesitated. "If you had to defend a shooting in court." She gave him a curious look. "Are you a lawyer?" Stu got the feeling she said it just to make conversation, but Brian's eyes widened, dark in his pale face, and he gave a 62

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slow shake of his head. He looked flustered. Maybe he thought the question made him too memorable. Maybe he imagined the cops backtracking to the shooting ranges with his photo in hand, interrogating people about him if he ever did get involved in a shooting. "Dude, relax," Stu said. "These topics get debated out here all the time." "It's a good question." The rifleman spoke up. "You don't want to shoot an attacker who's approaching from too far away and then have to explain to the judge why you didn't just try to escape the situation." "That's what I was thinking." Brian gave a cautious nod. The nurse wrinkled her nose. "I'll take my chances with the judge." "Of course, this brings us to the Tueller Principle." The rifleman squinted down-range toward his partner. "You know...that law enforcement study. How close is too close?" "I know about that," the nurse said. "I don't," Stu put in. He'd heard about the study, but it was more than twentyfive years old and didn't stand out in his memory. Besides, he guessed Brian might not feel comfortable asking questions in such an unfamiliar setting. Brian slanted him a grateful look under lowered lashes. "How close should a cop allow an attacker to get before the use of deadly force is justified to stop him?" The rifleman took on a lecturing tone. Stu wondered if he taught school when he wasn't at the shooting range. "Some say within twenty-one feet, but you'd be surprised how fast someone 63

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can get on top of you from twenty-one feet out." He turned to his companion, who had just returned to their table. "What do you think, buddy?" The other man grunted. "I think that rule's for cops, not civilians." "No kidding." The nurse gave Brian a concerned look. "Worry about surviving, not what to say in court. I wouldn't want to let someone dangerous get too close to me. As soon as I feel threatened, he's getting ventilated." "Amen to that," the second rifleman said. [Back to Table of Contents]

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CHAPTER 7 Stu and Brian started visiting the shooting range twice a week. Brian's marksmanship began to surpass Stu's, but the practice didn't seem to ease his fear. He asked Stu to take roundabout routes wherever they went, as if to throw off pursuit. In public places, he tried to keep an eye on everything at once. He spent as little time as possible in his rental house and started sleeping over with Stu much of the time. Stu loved that, waking up in bed with Brian curled around him and radiating body heat. One evening, he called Stu, pulling him out of a job in the northeast heights where Stu had just finished inventorying a truckload of auto parts from the garage of a hobbyist who was retiring from the car restoration business. Stu took the call on his cell phone out on the front walk. "You got a moment?" Brian said. "Sure. I'm just wrapping something up." Stu nodded to his client as the older man waved and lowered the garage door. He could return in the morning with his truck to collect the goods. "What do you need?" "Can you pick me up?" Brian's voice sounded tightly controlled. "I'm parked down the street from my house. Something doesn't look right." Stu tried to keep his voice even. "Call the cops." "For what?" Brian said. "There's nothing obvious going on, but I think someone's tracking me. I've felt this way for 65

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weeks. I know you find this hard to believe. Please. Help me out here." "I'll be right there," Stu said, car keys in hand. He found Brian parked on Comanche down the street from his rental house as promised. The house sat dark and silent, looking even worse than usual. As soon as Stu parked behind Brian's Jeep, Brian came back and got in the car with him. "Just go," Brian said. "And your Jeep?" "It'll be all right here. Don't drive past my house." Stu backed into the neighbor's driveway and reversed the way he had come. "Brian, we've got to talk about this. I mean, I can see you're scared. You're scaring me. I don't understand why you can't go to the cops. You've got to tell me what's going on." Brian squeezed his eyes shut, dropping his head back against the bench seat. It sent an erotic charge through Stu as he remembered their first sexual encounter. "Where can I start?" He gave an unhappy laugh. "Why would someone want to track you down?" "I've been in hiding. I...saw some things I shouldn't have back...where I came from. I had to leave town and come here for a while." A tear slid from Brian's tightly closed eyes. He looked exhausted. "I think somebody from back there managed to track me down here." "A jealous ex? A crazy co-worker?" Stu tried to stay calm. "Who?" "Nothing like that." Brian's voice dropped. "Nothing...individual." 66

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"A group? Fuck!" Stu hit the steering wheel. "You're talking about the mob." "Will you please not yell at me?" Brian said through his teeth. "What did you see?" Stu said. "Where are you really from?" "Just listen, would you?" Stu couldn't stop the questions exploding out of him. "What's your real name?" "Brian." His eyes flashed open, full of wounded pride. "I didn't lie to you." "But not Hawthorne." "No," Brian admitted, his voice so quiet Stu almost missed it. Stu's adrenaline spiked. "Then what is it? What's your real name?" "I'm not supposed to tell you." "Goddamn it!" Stu burst out. "It's okay for us to fuck and everything, but you won't tell me your name?" "I'm in witness protection," Brian blurted. "You know. The Witness Security Program." "What?" Stu swallowed, speechless. "You mean like with the...FBI?" "With the U.S. Marshals." "You mean like turning state's evidence?" Brian flushed. "Not everybody in WitSec is a criminal, Stu." "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that." "I saw something when I was investigating for a law firm. I've been hiding out here until I can go back and testify. New 67

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job, new identity, everything. I haven't seen my family in ten months. They have no idea where I am. It's been a goddamn living hell." "You have to testify?" Stu asked. "What did you see?" Brian scrubbed his palms over his face as if wanting to erase memories. "I saw two guys kill another guy in an office building after hours. They shot him in a parking garage. One had a gun with a silencer, and they put the...the...the dead guy's body in the trunk of their car. They had no idea that I stood, like, twelve feet away and saw everything. Their faces. His face. Their license plate number." "Jesus Christ," Stu whispered, snapping his attention to the street. At the Carlisle intersection with Montgomery, the traffic light turned yellow. He increased speed and they shot through, sailing up the westbound overpass that spanned Interstate 25. He thought about what Brian had seen. He couldn't imagine watching someone die. He'd never even been to a funeral. "Oh, Brian," he said, his heart aching. "Now I'm in hiding until I can do my part in this massive federal trial," Brian said. "The cops who recovered the body are testifying. I'm testifying. We're all on a big list of witnesses for the prosecution, and I don't even know how many of us there are. Or when this trial will start, or conclude, or what will happen to my life afterward." "Let's stick to the present." Stu switched to the right lane. "This involves organized crime? How could they find you in witness protection?" 68

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"I fucked up." Brian sighed. "I called home—" "Oh, my God, you did what?" Stu heard himself turning into his own dad. "Don't take that tone with me." Brian stared at Stu with furious, glittering eyes. "I knew what I was doing. My dad had a heart attack and had to go into surgery. I only found out about it by chance from checking my brother's Facebook page." His voice shook. "I couldn't just sit around and wait for my brother to find time to post a fucking update. I had to call and find out..." "If he got through all right. Did he?" "Yeah." Brian drew in an uneven breath. "Thank God." Stu turned north on Fourth Street. He tried to imagine caring about his own dad that much. "You think somebody traced you through your phone call?" "That's the only thing that could've happened. I've broken no other rules." "And you think somebody—the mob...whoever—is following you around now?" "Yeah. Playing with me. I get that feeling, Stu. But I can't prove anything." "Can't you go to the authorities for help?" A look of stubborn pride hardened Brian's face. "They'll think I'm a fuck-up." "Who cares what they think?" Stu burst out. "This is too serious. Get their help." "And what if I'm wrong?" "So what? You'll still be alive." Stu pounded the steering wheel with his fist. 69

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Brian didn't answer, and Stu almost missed the turnoff to his own street. He turned left on the semi-rural lane that stretched in dark intervals between the occasional streetlight. The small adobe houses sat back across overgrown front yards, lights glowing behind curtains in the windows. This part of Albuquerque lay in the valley where the water table seeped close to the surface. Nearby, the parched Rio Grande sprawled, always looking half-dry in its wide sandy riverbed. In the north valley where the honeysuckle vines bloomed wild and fragrant, Stu sometimes forgot that he lived in the desert. "It's not like in the movies," Brian said in a low voice. "You know, where the marshals are involved with their witnesses and always trying to help out. I go see my marshal at his office, and he makes it clear I'm to see him as infrequently as possible. When I show up, he gives me that look. You know that look...like 'You again? Fuck off!'" "God, Brian..." Stu shook his head, overwhelmed. He pulled up in front of his house. Inside his kitchen, the light burned where he'd left it on that morning. Maybe if they could just go inside, he could get Brian to calm down. They could discuss their options and come up with a plan. Maybe they should give Brian's marshal a call. "Don't look at me like that. I'm taking precautions." Brian's hand slid down to his waistband, concealed by his loose, button-down shirt. "I'm never unarmed now." "You're carrying a concealed, possibly stolen weapon?"

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"What the fuck else am I supposed to do?" Brian gave a harsh laugh. "Better to get tried by twelve than carried by six, right?" "Brian, this is...too much, too fast." "You're telling me. As soon as I testify, I'm out of WitSec. No more lying." "Wait...are you out of your fucking mind? That's for your protection." "I know exactly what I'm doing. This doesn't end after my trial, Stu. If I stay with the program, I never go home. Never see my family again. WitSec will take me into protective custody tonight if the mob knows I'm here. I'll never see you again." "Why are you telling me this now?" Stu blurted. "Why do you think?" Brian stared at Stu with glittering eyes. "Do you really have to ask?" He fumbled for the door handle. "You know what? Fuck you. I'm calling a cab. I can sleep in a hotel tonight." He sprang out and slammed the car door. "Wait!" Stu got out. He tried to sort through their exchange, realizing Brian didn't want to leave him. By confiding in him, Brian had made the first move, admitting that he wanted a future together, and Stu had given him nothing. Stu had questioned him. Heart aching, Stu watched Brian hurry down the street with a long, angry stride. Brian's button-down shirt fluttered in the evening breeze as he stuck close to the shadows under the arching cottonwoods. He turned down an alley where a 71

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drainage ditch cut between two adjacent properties, taking a shortcut back toward Fourth Street. [Back to Table of Contents]

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CHAPTER 8 Stu stood still, clutching his car keys in a hand clammy with sweat. His heart beat in sharp jabs under his breastbone. He considered jumping in the car and circling the block. He might be able to intercept Brian and talk him back into the car, but he didn't know if Brian would even want to see him without cooling down first. He became aware of his T-shirt sticking to his back. God, he'd started sweating like a pig from the stress of finding out Brian's big secret. Obviously, he needed a moment to think. He'd change his shirt, maybe take a shower, and call Brian. Stu ripped his shirt off over his head and mopped at his sweaty chest. Mourning doves cooed and rustled in the apple trees as he got back in the car and parked in the garage. He stepped inside the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. A man sat at his kitchen table, pointing a gun at him. The blood drained from Stu's face, leaving him frozen in place. He saw everything about the intruder in precise detail—the tired brown eyes and the full-lipped mouth, smirking a little. A scar lay along the jaw. Salt-and-pepper hair bristled, cut in a high-and-tight style. The man wore a blue tracksuit with a heavy gold neck chain like a Russian gangster in a European film. He held a Glock 9mm, its barrel centered on Stu's chest, and the black polymer frame seemed to absorb the light. Stu drew in a tight breath and the fear wouldn't come. He felt only stunned anger. 73

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"Who the fuck are you?" he burst out. "It's not important." The man nodded at the door. "Now, is he coming in or not?" The still air in the kitchen pressed against Stu's bare chest, and he remembered that he stood there, half-naked and sweaty. He forced out words. "He's gone." "You sure? 'Cause most times you guys end up here." Confused disbelief rolled over Stu. This man had been following him and Brian. Watching them. Brian said someone might be tracking him, and it had turned out to be true. A tendril of fear slid into Stu's heart and began to expand. "We had a fight." He kept his voice level. "He walked off." His gaze locked on the barrel of the Glock and he could not blink. He stared, his mouth drying up, and everything around him—the refrigerator and the wall calendar—developed a glaring after-image that pulsed in his peripheral vision. "Okay." The man glided to his feet. Stu didn't even hear the kitchen chair slide back. "Here's what we'll do. Drop the shirt. Go ahead. Open your fingers. Drop it. Yeah. Now, turn to face the wall." Stu's anger drained through his feet, leaving him more frightened than he'd ever been in his life. Chilled gooseflesh broke out all over his body. The intruder gave a tired sigh. "Don't do that deer-in-the-headlights thing. I really hate that." "You're going to kill me," Stu forced out. "Not if you do what I say. I won't even hurt you. What's the point? It's just a job." 74

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Stu turned to face the wall, the flesh crawling on his bare back. What else could he do? He could read volumes into the intruder's matter-of-fact tone. Obviously, this man happened to be a professional with much experience controlling hostages. What could sway such a man? Nothing short of a huge amount of money. He stared at the wall with burning eyes. It happened to be the worst possible wall, a short one containing the doorway to his living room. No room for anything but his calendar. No cabinets close at hand for him to find some weapon to grab. No reflective surfaces so he could see what the man was doing. "Put your hands on top of your head. Good." The man's voice drew near as he advanced on silent feet. "Don't try anything stupid. No skin off my ass if I have to kill you. Now, lower your right hand to your right hip and put your first two fingers in that change pocket where you keep your cell phone. Pull it out and hold it up past your shoulder." Shivering, Stu obeyed. He sensed the man drawing near, and his muscles tightened. Now would be the time to do something. That is, if he'd ever had any police training in disarming an experienced gunman. He clenched his teeth as his captor plucked the phone from his cold fingers. "Hmmm," the man said. By his voice, Stu guessed him across the room now. The man moved like a goddamn vampire across the worn linoleum, not even stirring the air with his passage. "You've got him on speed-dial one. Brian. That's sweet." Now the man spoke at his ear. "I want you to call him and say all's forgiven. Tell him to come back." 75

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Stu said nothing. He blinked his burning eyes, unable to think. "Don't make me repeat myself, kid. I really hate that." Pain exploded in Stu's head and his face struck the wall. The calendar slid beneath the pressure of his jaw, tore from its nail, and crumpled at his feet. He staggered, wondering if he'd blanked out the sound of the gunshot. His head rang as if the man had sent a bullet into his brain, but he couldn't react as a hand clamped on his shoulder, yanking back hard, and a heel slammed into the bend behind his knee. Stu toppled to the floor, tasting blood. Something dark woke inside him and he surged up on his elbow with a snarl, starting to go for the man's throat. The gun barrel shifted, filling his vision, and he froze. The man kicked Stu in the stomach with what felt like a steel-toe boot, forcing the air from Stu's lungs. The kitchen spun around Stu as he curled on his side, gasping for breath. His skull felt like a split melon. Waves of pain radiated from the spot where the intruder had struck him with the gun. His vision started to dissolve into a heavy gray haze, and he struggled not to slip into darkness. Rough hands grabbed his shoulders and propped him up. Stu found himself sitting with his back against the refrigerator. He tried to draw a full breath as the man dragged his right wrist above his head. Metal bit into his skin, and the intruder grunted, handcuffing him to the refrigerator handle. "You got fat wrists, kid." 76

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Coffee breath fanned Stu's cold face. He coughed as his vision cleared, and tasted blood smeared salty along his teeth. The man in the tracksuit stood back with the Glock pointed at him. The cell phone lay on the linoleum between Stu's feet, its screen glowing. "You'll be fine in a minute." The intruder studied Stu as if inspecting an appliance for sale at the flea market. He tossed a wet dishcloth into Stu's lap, and his lips quirked in an encouraging smile. "Fix yourself up, okay?" Stu lifted the cloth with his left hand, blotting at his split lip. He must have cut it when he hit the wall. He tried to move his right hand, but the cuffs dug into his wrist and the chain rattled against his refrigerator. This couldn't be happening. The man—the hit man—gave an approving nod. "It's not you I'm after. It's Brian. Help me out here. I'm sure it's fun for you twinks to boff each other, but no one expects you to give up your life for him. Call him. Tell him to come back." "Why would anyone come back?" Anger flared in Stu's heart and he held it tight, needing its energy. "You fuck me over like this and he'll hear it in my voice. I can call, but he won't come back." He would say anything to keep Brian safe. He put a hard edge on his tone. "We're just boffing each other, right?" "Better call and trick him, kid." The man ran his gaze over Stu as if noting vulnerable spots. "I can cause you a lot of pain and still keep your voice sounding normal for the phone." He paused, watching for Stu's reaction. In a mystery novel, it would have been Stu's moment to say something 77

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macho like, Fuck you, but he had gone cold all over and sluggish. Sweat lay on his skin in a clammy sheen, smelling of his fear. "Don't waste our time, huh?" The intruder sounded like Stu's high school football coach, giving a pep talk. "Help me out here. Just make the call." "No," Stu said. The intruder stepped closer, looming over Stu. The gold neck chain glinted in the light as he shook his head, looking regretful. Stu glimpsed a blurry shape move, lighter gray against the darkness in his living room. He kept his burning gaze locked on the hit man. "Don't say no, kid. I really hate that—" The kitchen erupted into an ear-shattering roar as someone pulled the trigger on a gun. Stu flattened against the refrigerator, the cuffs biting into his wrist. He stared up at his captor who stiffened, mouth opening in a surprised gasp that Stu could no longer hear. A blood spot flowered on the man's tracksuit as Brian walked in from the living room, still firing. Shock waves of noise rang off the walls and rolled over Stu as Brian emptied the magazine—all eight shots—into the man. The kitchen reeked of gunpowder, which smelled like the sulfur-flavored night air on the Fourth of July. Silence poured thick into the room. Brian held the semiautomatic pistol in a two-handed grip, the slide now locked in the open position. Brass casings rolled over the kitchen floor, and Stu realized he would never want to live in this house again. 78

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He stared up at Brian, whose face looked carved of white marble. His gaze fell to the crumpled form in the tracksuit that lay bleeding from at least six torso wounds. Blood pooled around the intruder's outstretched hand and ran into a crack in the linoleum, smelling like raw steak. "Brian." Stu tried to work some spit into his mouth. "Get the key. Unlock me." The tendons twitched and relaxed in Brian's forearms as he lowered the empty pistol and set it on the kitchen table. He took a fork from the sink and crouched over the dead man's body. For a crazy instant, it looked as if he meant to stab him to see if he was dead. Stu watched with widened eyes as Brian used the fork to part the folds of the man's clothing and fish the handcuff key from his pocket. It looked like an ingrained precaution against leaving fingerprints, which Brian abandoned as he seized the key. Brian came to Stu in a crouching shamble and unlocked his wrist from the refrigerator door. Stu swept him into a tight embrace, and Brian endured it, huddled tense against him. Stu couldn't stop running his hands all over Brian's back, through his hair, digging his fingertips into Brian's shoulder muscles. "How?" he said. "How'd you know?" "I had a weird feeling." Brian pronounced it wee-uhhhdddd, and Stu clenched his teeth shut on a hysterical guffaw. He started shaking, trying to hold it back, and Brian held him tighter. "I didn't want to go far. I took your spare key and sneaked in the back." "We've got to call the cops." 79

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"No, I'll call my marshal." Brian sank to his knees. He took out his wallet and fumbled for a scrap of paper tucked behind a couple of fives. It had a number written on it in pen with no name. He lifted Stu's cell phone and tried to punch in the number, but his hands were shaking too hard. Meanwhile, Stu's gaze fell on the dead man. Every horror movie he'd ever seen unspooled in his mind, and he had the overpowering feeling the man might not be dead. Maybe he would sit up. Draw a breath. Come after them. With a low moan, Stu started to crawl toward the body, thinking only to take the Glock and unload it. "No, no. Wait." Brian dragged him back. "Crime scene. Leave it alone." His cool tone snapped Stu back to reality. He eased Stu back to sit against the refrigerator and squeezed his hand. Stu took a shivering breath and nodded. He watched, unable to take his gaze from Brian, who held his phone and entered the marshal's number with painstaking care. He came back for me, Stu thought. He came back, knowing what would happen. In the end, what almost destroyed them as a couple wasn't that Brian had to kill a man and Stu had to watch him do it. It was that Brian refused to go back into witness protection. Two months later, he returned to Boston to testify in a federal trial, which turned out to be enough to get the mobster put away in super-max with no possibility of parole. Stu begged him to return to WitSec and promised to go with him, but Brian didn't think it likely anyone would come 80

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looking for revenge. Too many criminals were happy to climb into the spot the first mobster left behind. A year later, Stu started to think Brian might be right. He and Brian now lived outside of witness protection. They owned a small house in Philadelphia, which happened to be farther north (and therefore colder) than anywhere else Stu had ever lived. Not that he cared when he woke up every morning next to Brian. He'd started to get into restoring custom cars, and Brian had returned to investigative work with a local law firm. Their life together was so good Brian might even say it was wicked cool. The sun rose, slanting in through the venetian blinds in their bedroom, as Stu woke, thinking about everything that had brought them together. Brian lay molded against his back, asleep, his chest expanding against Stu with each breath. Heat radiated from his body as Stu turned in his arms to face him. Brian's eyes opened, sleepy and questioning, the dark irises half-hidden by long lashes. A second later, he went back to sleep, leaving Stu to study his young face, which bore a few more worry lines etched across the forehead. I'll keep you safe, Stu thought as always. He pressed closer to Brian, enjoying the closeness before they each had to get up and face the day. No question that second chances could be good. [Back to Table of Contents]

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About The Author Val Kovalin started out reviewing M/M Gay Romance fiction at her blog, which led her to writing it, but she's definitely a reader at heart. She loves analyzing fiction, which makes reviewing a favorite hobby. As a reviewer, she knows that not every reader likes every book, so she's okay with negative reactions to her own work. She likes humor, strong plots, and complicated characters, and hopes to offer readers the same. Val also likes miniatures, minimalism, unusual bits of junk, and animals of all sizes, especially reptiles. For more information about Val and her writing, you can visit her author site or blog: obsidianbookshelf.com obsidianbookshelf.blogspot.com Don't miss Dirty Love, by Lacey Savage, available at AmberHeat.com! Isabel Warren wouldn't dream of defying the morality statutes that forbid women over forty from ever making love again. As a medical practitioner, she understands the need for laws preventing "dirty love." The S.O.S. virus of 2030 left most of the male population infertile and turned human DNA into something resembling a microscopic jigsaw puzzle. The virus itself is undoubtedly dangerous, but older women are perhaps the most significant threat humanity has ever faced. 82

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Yet knowing what's forbidden and keeping her feminine urges under lock and key are two different things. Especially when Isy's most recent assignment requires her to run intimate tests on Connor Flynn, a man sixteen years her junior, who seems determined to prove she's not the monster everyone else thinks she is. And if such delicious temptation wasn't bad enough, she's also got Trevor Jones to worry about. It seems he, too, is willing to risk everything to be with her. Two sexy men, and one woman who could destroy them both...if they don't destroy her first.. Don't miss Sweet Reunion, by Shawn Lane, available at AmberAllure.com! Retired from the police force after a tragic shooting, Jason Sweet hasn't been back to his hometown, Sutter's Bay, for fifteen years. With his mother's final days approaching, Jason returns to make peace with his mother and his past. Part of that past includes former best friend and lover, Danny Yarrow. Danny's satisfied with his life as a drama teacher at the local high school, but the one thing missing is the love of a good man. He's only too happy to be reunited with Jason. They've both grown and changed since their broken teenaged relationship. Jason hasn't had an easy time of it since leaving Sutter's Bay, but Danny intends to convince his friend and former lover that when it comes to taking chances, their love is worth it. 83

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Don't miss Dressed For Dying by Janet Quinn, available at AmberQuill.com! In 1892, reporter Sean Madigan is pitted against the New York police when he's assigned his first high-profile murder story, the slaying of the wealthy Marshal Haversham, clothing industry mogel and sweatshop owner. While Sean hunts for the killer in order to prove his worth to his newspaper editor, the madman goes on a violent spree, burning down Haversham's warehouses and sweatshops and killing young women who work within them. Each victim is found dressed in a fancy ball gown that was secretly made within the sweatshops themselves. When Madigan's sweetheart, Bridget, becomes the killer's next target, Sean determines he will find the man and his connection to the ball gowns. But the murderer has other designs, and it soon becomes a race against time and the police to discover the fiend's identity before he silences Sean or Bridget...permanently.. [Back to Table of Contents]

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Earn free books with Amber Quill's Rewards Program! AMBER HEAT EROTICA Gimme Fever!! Steamy, sensual genre fiction... www.AmberHeat.com AMBER ALLURE Where love is blind to gender... www.AmberAllure.com AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC Quality Books, Print And Electronic Genre fiction at its best! www.AmberQuill.com

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