Chapter Two

 

Two gay icons, a Greek god and a firefighter walk up to me in a bar…

The start of an epically dirty joke? No, this is really happening. I’m wide-awake and Zeus is within touching distance.

This couldn’t possibly go horribly wrong and end in tears.

Wyatt is still apologizing to Fiona and trying to “wipe” his beer off her breasts, but she pushes his mischievous hands away and smiles up at my hallucinations. “Hey Brady. Ken. I thought you’d be tied to the dart board all night.”

“I’d rather tie him to things in private,” Ken winks at her. “But he promised Owen we’d come out for a drink, so here we are.”

Brady sends his fiancé a heated look before lifting his massive shoulders in agitation. “That was the plan, but I’m not sure why we bothered. He sent a text five minutes ago. He and Jeremy decided to stay home. Said he didn’t think we’d mind since we already had company.”

What kind of company? Just friends company? Ménage company? 

“They’re staying home again?” Wyatt sounds so disappointed it distracts me from my Zeus obsession. Maybe it’s the journalism major in me. You know how people are always saying they wished they’d been a fly on the wall for these kinds of conversations? There are Finns at Finn’s pub discussing Finn things right in front of me. I’m finally the fly.

That sounded more impressive in my head.

“They’re acting like an old married couple again.”

“They are an old married couple, idiot.”

Wyatt shakes his head in irritation. “Not that old. We haven’t hung out with him in months. You’d think they’d want to come up for air occasionally. Hell, you’d think Owen had never had sex until they got together, and we all know that’s not true. The guy was with a different woman every night.”

But he married a man, you sweet summer child.

I bite my cheek to keep from smiling when Fiona appears to be thinking along the same lines. “You’ve never had truly great sex before, have you, Wyatt?”

His glare is defensive. “All I’m saying is when you make plans with family you should keep them.” He looks down at his knuckles and I hear him muttering to himself. “Never had…yeah, right…I’ll show you great sex…”

This is so much better than my date.

Ken shares a look with Zeus before nodding in my direction. “Who do we have here, Fiona?”

“We have here a Mr. JD Green. He’s a good friend of mine who needs our help recovering from a bad date.”

“Fiona.” Why would she say that in front of them? In front of him?

The ginger decides to take pity on me and holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you, JD. I’m Brady Finn and this is my fiancé, Ken Tanaka.”

“I know,” I tell him, after waiting a beat for him to introduce his company. He doesn’t, and it’s frustrating enough to make me forget myself. “Nice to drink you.”

Shit.

“Nice to meet you,” I repeat, setting my mug down carefully. “I should slow down with this recovery plan of Fiona’s. My filter is gone.”

This is the lie I tell in social settings to make people feel better about talking to a crazy person. I’ve never had a filter. I was born with a full head of hair, a birthmark shaped like a half-eaten slice of pizza on my hip, and shitty conversational skills.

Ken laughs and slips his arm through Brady’s. Unconscious possession, I note absently. No jealousy, just pride and the kind of love that hurts to look at. “Where did you two meet?”

Fiona swiftly hails my brilliance, mentions the courses we’ve taken together and the fact that I work online without going into specifics. But when she starts to describe this evening’s crash and burn episode, or at least, what she observed of the disaster? “Not cool, friend.”

I think our next togetherness class needs to be Etiquette 101.

“I’m getting you a second opinion, friend. You need to stop letting your neighbor find your dates. That girl has horrible taste in men.”

She doesn’t know the half of it. Toni moved next door to me four months ago, after her abusive ex had beaten her for what she’d decided was the last time.

I knew her from work. She does the sales and marketing for the LGBT e-zine I write for, and we’d shared email on a weekly basis and lunch once a month or so for editorial meetings. That was our only connection until that night.

When she’d reached out for help, I was the one who answered the phone. I put her up on my couch, helped her get in touch with my landlord and loaned her enough pocket change to get the basic essentials until payday.

It’s not as big a deal as Toni makes it out to be, but she’s wanted to do something for me ever since, which is how I ended up in this situation. Maybe I could convince her to bake something instead. Teach me to crochet. Anything.

“She’s fired,” I swear. “Though the winners she’s been picking have definitely made the series more popular. Maybe she’s a mole for my editor. If I’m laid and happy, my dry spell will end and he might lose ad revenue.” I tsk and shake my head. “This is really his fault when you think about it. We should TP his house for being a cock blocker.”

“I don’t think I’d go that far, hon.”

Ken’s jaw drops while Fiona is talking and I realize I over-shared. I quickly look away, only to find myself snared by the black gaze of Zeus.

Dark coffee. Rich, potent espresso. I’d wondered what color his eyes were and now I know. I also know his lashes are thick and black, his laugh lines are deep and expressive, and once again I’m mesmerized.

It’s like staring at the sun.

There’s a herculean effort to resist my urges going on inside me. The ones that want me to climb his beefy body like a jungle gym and nibble on his neck while he takes me right here against the bar.

Did I mention it’s been a while?

Ken taps my shoulder and I flinch in surprise, but at least it distracts me from my more depraved impulses. “You’re that JD Green? Go For Green? We read you all the time.”

“You’re a writer?” Zeus reveals that rasping voice again, the one that makes my balls tingle. Does he gargle with broken glass and whiskey? And do I detect a barely there southern drawl? Despite my bad experience with Rod, a southern accent is still one of my weaknesses. When this man speaks, I instantly think of front porch swings and carriage rides and our bare-assed, sweaty bodies slipping against each other in the heat.

He asked if you were a writer. Stop staring and answer. I nod dumbly, finally tearing my gaze from his and turning back to Fiona.

“Cut me off,” I demand dramatically. “My secret identity has been compromised.”

“Sorry about that.” Liar. She isn’t sorry at all. She isn’t even trying not to laugh.

“Isn’t Go For Green what Tasha’s been reading at the dinner table lately? The Finn Fan Club guy?”

“There’s no fan club,” I tell Wyatt quickly.

At least, I don’t think there is.

But if there were it would be my fault and I’d be the president.

Yes, okay, I mention their names in my column every once in a while. Who wouldn’t? They made being gay in this city look good. Marriage, kids, sexy billionaires… The Finns are basically the Kennedys of the neighborhood. A family full of gorgeous Irish overachievers that keep hooking up with equally impressive and newsworthy partners.

The latest love match was the best so far, since it included my favorite YouTube personality, Essie Mills. Well, her brother, I guess. But he works with her so he’s cool by association.

The point is, they were local legends before they started coming to the dark side. Now that they have, they’re more popular than ever.

If you lived in Metropolis, would you not want to read about the way Superman fills out his tights or what he likes to do on his nights off?

I rest my case.

Ken turns toward the man that still hasn’t been introduced. “JD writes a relationship advice column. The Dry Spell Diaries are a more recent addition where he goes on dates—specifically bad ones—and writes it down for our enjoyment. We never miss an entry.”

Zeus is still watching me as he takes that in. “So the man you were with tonight was for work.”

“You could say that.” Putting it that way makes me feel like less of a loser…but a little more like a male prostitute. 

Fiona chuckles. “I like the way you think, buddy. Just for that, your next beer is on me.”

“I wasn’t expecting it to become a regular feature,” I explain stiltedly, feeling his attention like a physical caress on my skin. “And believe me, I’m not agreeing to bad dates on purpose. It’s hell on my brand. Who wants romance tips from a guy that keeps striking out?”

“It’s relatable,” Brady assures me. “Everyone knows you give good advice, but that doesn’t mean you automatically get a happy ending for yourself. And from the comment section, your readers love it.”

“People respect honesty.” The wisdom of Zeus again.

Okay, I can’t keep calling him Zeus. Not if he’s going to be talking to me and staring at me as well as starring in all my future sex dreams.

“People like to slow down for car wrecks too, which is why my love life is so popular. Have you noticed we haven’t been introduced yet?”

His eyes widen and I take that as a no. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours, or anything else about you.”

“Oh, this should be interesting.” I hear Fiona murmur to Wyatt. “Tell us about him, JD. Do your thing and tell us who you think he is.”

I don’t need to be asked twice. I lean an elbow on the bar and study him as if I’m trying to solve a mystery. “You don’t have blue eyes, so odds are low on you being a stray Finn family member. Plus, these two referred to you as company, which implies friendship instead of blood relation. Since Ken is relaxed around you but Brady is deferent, I imagine you were either a peer he respected or his superior at some point. You’re also both practically standing at attention in the middle of a bar on a weekend. I’m cheating a little because I know Brady’s work resume, but which initials are we talking about? PD or USMC?”

That’s me being subtle.

And maybe showing off.

Brady eyes me with admiration and pats Zeus on the shoulder. “That is a scary party trick, Green. Master Sergeant Willis was my senior drill instructor at boot camp. This man got me through some rough times and into the best shape of my life. And he only made me cry twice.”

He said that like it was a compliment. With a straight face.

“What a sweetheart,” I mutter, flushing when I see his lips curve in amusement.

“No one has ever called me that before.”

Poor Zeus. I can fix that for you. “I still haven’t gotten your first name. If this keeps up I’ll think you’re a spy.”

“Carter.” That husky rasp sends physical vibrations up my spine. “My name is Carter. And if I were a spy, I’m guessing your skills would have caught me out by now.”

Master Sergeant Carter Willis.

A Marine no less.

Woof.

He’s younger than I first assumed. Early forties, at most. That touch of silver in his hair is sexy in an Anderson Cooper kind of way. Only Cooper doesn’t have a beard or look like he could chew nails for lunch and survive a hostile alien environment without backup.

He’s so damn—what’s the word I’m looking for? Masculine? Alpha? Sexy as fuck with a ninety-nine percent probability of being off the market and/or hetero?

This perfect specimen from the land of testosterone is also a walking recruitment poster. Just looking at him gives me the urge to do more with my life. Be all I can be. Maybe take up wrestling.

Now I’m imagining the two of us wrestling.

Spoiler Alert: I’m naked and I let him win.

He’s still staring. With a slow blink he scans me from my lucky red Chucks to my blue and grey flannel, his eyes narrowing on the t-shirt beneath that reads, Speak Friend and Enter in Elvish. A nod to my level of geek.

I’m suddenly insecure about my choice of casually mismatched dating attire. Should I have worn a suit and tie to the pub? The mauve, silk poet shirt I got for Christmas as a joke from one of my brothers?

I’ve never been into false advertising. I am what I am, and sadly, it isn’t Popeye. More like a hybrid of Olive Oil and Wimpy, if we’re telling truths. For those who aren’t in the know, picture flailing limbs and a perpetual case of the munchies.

No wonder I can’t get laid.

But from Carter’s expression, he likes what he sees. Does he know what he’s doing with those eyes of his? I’m either drunk enough to be delusional, or this drill instructor is giving me the look. The, I’m interested in wrestling with you naked look.

I might have been thrown off by his rugged looks, age and military background, but I honestly can’t tell which way he’s leaning. He hasn’t gotten weird around Brady and Ken, but all that means is he’s a decent guy. Is it possible he’s actually—

You’re delusional, Green. You have to be. Abort. Abort.

Brady’s head swivels back and forth between us, and I realize my ogling has gone on long enough for the others to notice. It might be time for me to leave before I embarrass myself more than I already have.

“Nice to meet you, Brady. Ken. Gunny.” I scoot off my stool.

Brady snorts at that. “What? I watch movies,” I mumble. “What’s the damage, Fiona? Since my date has officially bailed, I think it’s time for Cinderfella to head home and finish that diary entry.”

I reach into my pocket for my wallet and scroll through the apps on my phone for a ride, picking my poison as I pay my tab.

“No way,” Fiona protests, holding my card like it’s her hostage. “We finally got you to ourselves and you’re leaving?”

Wyatt slings a friendly arm over my shoulder. “He’s not going anywhere. Once Seamus finds out you were in the pub, he’ll flip. As in, he’ll be jealous I’m here and he’s not. No one’s been jealous of me in years. Not since my calendar days. Don’t take this away from me, man.”

I feel a wide smile form at his earnest request. He’s clearly the goofy puppy of the family. And he’s bonded to Fiona, so what she wants, he wants too. “I shouldn’t.”

I really shouldn’t. My attraction to Carter is a neon sign pointing to probable humiliation and inescapable sexual frustration. It would probably surprise my readers if they knew how inept I truly am at social interaction. That’s one of the reasons I write about sex and relationships more than I participate.

JD gets high marks for observation. Participation? Not recommended.

“You should,” Ken insists, guiding me over to a nearby table before I can resist. “And we’re covering your tab. It isn’t every day we get a chance to hang out with a local celebrity.”

“Says the high-tech genius engaged to the senator’s ex-body man.” I snort and collapse into a chair closest to the wall, thinking about how strange this night is turning out to be.

Tanaka’s smile is sharp and curious. “You’ve got us over a barrel, Green. You know all about us—excluding Carter, of course—but we don’t know enough about you. Except now I can say you look younger than I thought you would, and you’re almost as pretty as Brady’s brother, Rory.”

He and I both know he could change that information imbalance in less than three minutes with his smartphone. With his skills he’d know what color underwear I’m wearing, and I swear I can’t even remember what I put on at this point.

“He’s got nicer hair,” Wyatt offers up generously. “And he’s nowhere near as arrogant.”

“Who would be with his history?” Brady teases. “There’s another thing we know. You have shit taste in men and you can’t get laid to save your life. But that’s not exactly a state secret, is it?”

I don’t respond to the gentle jab because Carter chooses that moment to sit down beside me, close enough for me to feel the warmth radiating from his body. The heat he’s giving off burns my skin and I press my hand to my cheek. Maybe I’m coming down with something.

“Until recently, you weren’t exactly known for picking winners yourself.” Is Carter defending me? But Brady doesn’t seem to mind, nodding agreeably before slipping an arm around his fiancé.

“I had a nice long dry spell because of it too, so I can relate.”

Ken whispers something in Brady’s ear that has the ginger’s chest rumbling with subdued laughter. Then he glances over at me again. “Speak, friend. Tell us your secrets.”

My secret is I’m wondering what Ken’s boyfriend would say if he knew that the only man I could imagine tasting right now is the one he admires. The mentor of masculinity that made him cry.

The one who is scooting his chair right up against mine until I’m trapped between his furnace of a body and the wall. Is he trying to block my escape?

Like I’d want to get away.

“I’m an open book.” And that higher pitch I’m speaking in must have something to do with the combination of tight pants and a full erection. Hopefully it doesn’t cause lasting damage. I cough and lower my voice. “An overly wordy technical manual, really. One you only read when you’re trying to find a cure for insomnia.”

His soft chuckle has me shifting in my chair. “Doubt that.”

Two words and I’m hot butter. Melted. Spreadable.

I meet his gaze. “That I’m boring? Believe me, it’s true. Ask the guy who left less than an hour ago.”

Carter stops smiling.

What did I say?

“Don’t listen to JD,” Fiona says, shattering the tension. “He’s overly cautious and too nice as a rule, but I would never call him boring. That guy was an ass.”

“Always trust Fiona’s judgment about people. So sayeth Seamus.” Brady’s grin widens as he takes in Carter’s seating arrangements. “If she tells us your work date was an ass, we believe her, right Carter?”

“Ask me. I saw it first hand, and the ass was strong with that one.” Wyatt sets down a fresh beer for himself and straddles a chair on Carter’s other side, leaning around him to catch my eye. “All right then, open book. How does a not-boring, overly cautious single guy with your dating record decide to become an advice columnist? Tell us everything.”

Big mistake, asking someone like me to do something like that. Especially when I’m desperate to distract myself from my reaction to Carter Willis.

Because I totally do. I tell them everything.

 

***

 

I wander through the empty parking lot hours later, waiting for my ride and chuckling at my own expense.

JD Green closed down a bar. What a wild man. And—stop the presses—he had a great time with a table full of interesting, attractive men. And one Fiona.

It’s still hard to believe that reality surpassed the gossip about the Finns. At least, it did if those two are anything to go by. Brady is practically a saint, and Wyatt’s a big talker with an almost obstinate naiveté, but a mushy, gooey center. They were funny, smart, personable… And the way they talk about their family with so much devotion? Who wouldn’t admire that? Imagine being part of it?

Speaking of things I’ll be imagining for the rest of my life… Carter was the best date I’ve had in years.

He wasn’t your date.

Semantics. Parts were touching, drinks were shared and ideas exchanged. In the fan fiction of my life, it was definitely a date.

He was quiet, but I don’t think it was because he’s shy or lacking in opinions. The man had a very expressive face, if you were paying attention. But he seemed content to listen to the conversation flowing around him, to let it wash over him while he observed.

He was observing you. Listening to you.

It was refreshing. Strange. A little suspicious.

I’m not used to anyone listening like they’re filing away my answers. Like what I’m saying matters.

It never has before. Full disclosure? Half the things I say are bullshit, the rest are answers to Trivial Pursuit: The Hollywood Edition. But he made me feel like I was revealing buried treasure when I told them how I’d harnessed my inability to stay out of other people’s business into a viable career. How I double majored in journalism and psychology. Why I turned down a more prestigious magazine’s offer to write for a local online publication instead.

He was interested in every word. And there were so many of them. My only excuse for talking so much is that his nearness drove me insane.

That and the constant touching. His leg against mine. His arm brushing my back or my side each time he shifted in his seat. Nothing I could point to as confirmation of flirting, but the possibility alone made sitting beside him feel like the world’s kinkiest foreplay.

I still don’t know that much about him. All I found out could fit into a frustratingly small beer glass. Originally from North Carolina, he’d chosen to retire after several decades in the service and he’d recently moved to town to work with Ken and Brady.

And he smelled like the woods. Fresh and clean and irresistible.

I can’t remember being attracted to an older man before, no matter how good he smelled. He’d been a Marine as long as I’ve been alive, so he has to have at least sixteen years on me, but my dick doesn’t seem to mind. It wants to see him again as soon as possible. So do I.

Not that I’ll get another chance. Somewhere between our exhausted bartender closing up and my last trip to the restroom, I lost sight of him before I could get his number.

That was my plan. What new guy in town would turn down a friendly digit exchange? It’s always good to have someone on your speed dial that can point you toward the best restaurant or most reliable dry cleaner. Someone you could call if you woke up in the middle of the night with the need to talk. Or, you know, have passionate, explosive sex.

I thought I was frustrated before, but it’s nothing compared to this. The need feels different now. Stronger. And it’s no longer a random itch anyone can scratch. Now it’s all about Carter.

“Finally.”

What the fuck?  “What are you doing here? I thought you left hours ago.”

Instead of answering, Billy Ray surprises me with a chokehold that cuts of my air and drags me back to the side of the building. Fuck, he’s stronger than he looks.

“You got him?”

“Yeah,” Billy Ray grunts at the stranger as I struggle against him. “I thought he was never coming out. Probably had a few more dates to line up. Fucking fag.”

Fucking fag? This from the guy who kept asking me to blow him? Panic sends spikes of adrenaline through my veins and I lodge my elbow as hard as I can into his gut. That frees me, but only long enough for the unknown assailant to pin me against the wall.

“If you’d gone in to get him like I told you, it wouldn’t have been a problem.” He taps my cheek in a fast, stinging slap. “Stop squirming so I can talk to you, Green. You like to talk, don’t you? Got a way with words? I know you’ve been the one badmouthing me and convincing her not to come home. Did you really think I wouldn’t get her back?”

It takes me a minute to register his words. Her? Home?

The switch flips and suddenly I know who this skinhead-looking asshole is.

Toni’s ex. He’s talking about Toni.

“Fuck off and leave her alone,” I snarl defiantly, pushing against him. “She doesn’t want to have anything to do with you.”

Asshole responds with a laugh and a sucker punch that shocks all the air from my lungs.

“Yeah, you’d like to think that. You’re not getting any, so nobody else gets to either, is that it? I know all about your little diary. Shit, the only reason I let her keep that job was because you were a bunch of harmless dick lovers and the money was good. But that’s over now. As soon as we have a chat about you staying out of my business, I’ll be giving her all the dick she can handle.”

She took him back? Did he force her? Did he make her set me up with his friend so he could—

I can’t think anymore as the two men start to chat. One fist glances off my cheekbone while another, less forceful punch pounds into my side. It still hurts like hell, but I’m counting my blessings that they’re either almost as bad at fighting as I am, or not really trying to kill me. I dodge as much as I can, swear and kick out, managing to connect with someone’s thigh. I hear an agonized shout as my left eye swells.

“You queer piece of shit,” Billy Ray whines. “You almost kicked me in the balls.”

“I can’t kick what you don’t have, jackass,” I manage. I’m hoping the driver I called will show up soon to scare them off. Until then, I’ll have to distract them.

“Come closer and I’ll give you what you begged me for a few hours ago.” I mime jerking off with my hand, baring my teeth in a grin that’s all bravado.

“I didn’t want that.” I hear his quick denial, followed by a push that slams me back into the wall. “It was an act. You were the one begging for it.”

“I’ll never be that desperate.” There’s blood in my mouth and I grimace at the coppery taste. “A waste of closeted space and a guy who has to hit girls to make his tiny prick pay attention? I wouldn’t touch either one of you if you paid me.”

The tiny prick in question bunches my shirt in his fist, tightening the fabric around my neck. “Shut your dick-sucking hole or we’ll forget we’re just talking and get serious.”

But I can’t. I refuse to go down like this. To let an eighties’ reject and his abusive buddy beat me up outside a bar. It’s too fucking clichéd.

“I’m guessing you’re the dick-sucker,” I challenge Asshole. “You should know your buddy wants it bad. He was practically pushing me out the door, desperate to get some before you got here.” I try to laugh, but cough instead when his fist twists, tightening the fabric like a noose. “You two are perfect for each other.”

I might have gone too far. No filter is not a noble cause of death. I see the rage building in Asshole’s eyes and I’m really wishing Fiona hadn’t parked out back. That big, intimidating Brady was still here. That I could—

“Who the hell are you?” Asshole asks before he releases my shirt, disappears and let’s out a scream that’s loud enough to wake the dead.

I slouch against the wall and rub my sore throat, trying to breathe. Why is he making so much fucking noise?

I hear talking over the rush of blood pumping through my veins and then Toni’s ex is whimpering. “You don’t need to call the cops, man. I’ll go. Please. It hurts...”

Am I a bad person for enjoying that? My knees go liquid, my back scraping down the bricks until my ass hits hard concrete. I hear myself moan, but it’s more from relief than pain. I’m just happy my part in the punching and choking portion of the evening has ended.

“Damn it.” The curse is followed by swiftly retreating footsteps.

I think it’s over. And I might need to throw up.

A pair of large, calloused hands push the hair away from my face, and when I try to jerk away instinctively, they freeze. “They’re gone, JD. It’s Carter. Carter Willis. You’re safe, but I need to make sure it’s okay to move you.”

I let out a shaky breath. “Carter. Good. Safe is good. But I’m not in a hurry to move anything.”

Safe is good.

“Can you open your eyes?”

“Of course I can.” But do I want to? Not at all. “What are you doing here?”

There’s silence for a heartbeat or two, and then, “I was trying to stop you from getting your ass kicked. You want to tell me what you were doing out here alone in the first place?”

That gets me to open my good eye and glare. Really? “I’ll give you a hint. It wasn’t ballroom dancing.”

“I guessed that much on my own,” he grits, studying my injuries. “Can you stand?”

Before I manage a response his arms slip around me, and he’s carrying me as if I weigh nothing. I’m not sure if I’m impressed or completely emasculated.

“I can walk,” I offer politely through stiff lips, leaning my heavy head on his shoulder to soak in his strength.

I don’t think I’m lying. I could walk. But this is nice too.

“Did you get a good look at them?” The question pierces the fog I’m drifting in. “I only saw the one, but I’m hoping you can describe them in more detail to the police.”

“Of course,” I mumble into his neck, inhaling his woodsy aroma distractedly. “It was Billy Ray and Asshole.”

Strong arms tightened around me. “You know them?”

“Asshole is my neighbor’s ex-boyfriend. The other guy was my date.”

Carter is swearing under his breath until we reach a brand new, shiny black truck. “Brady was right after all,” he says finally, managing to unlock the passenger side door while balancing me on one knee. “You have shit taste in men.”

And you can’t get laid to save your life.

Tell me about it.