So far, so good. Lunchtime and no problems or meltdowns.

Noel had picked Tristan up at eight on the dot, and he’d only had to remind him where they were going once. Then he seemed to recall he’d written visiting Stratton w/ Noel in black magic marker on the back of his left hand. He glanced at it once in a while. Tristan had kept his notebook close, jotting things down every few minutes.

Noel had taken Tristan to Dixie’s Cup for breakfast, because it was his favorite diner in town. The owner had been working and served them herself. Noel didn’t know Dixie Foskey well, even though he ate there often, and she seemed a little high strung, but she had been very sweet. Curious, even, by Tristan’s odd habits, and Noel had steeled himself for more of the same over the course of the day.

He showed Tristan the room he rented, and then they spent the rest of the morning exploring the older buildings and shops along Main Street and other parts of downtown. A section of a block that had burned down two summers ago was almost finished being rebuilt, and he told Tristan about that particular series of events.

By the time lunch rolled around, Noel was starving. He turned the block and spotted the sign for Mineo’s Deli. He’d only eaten there a handful of times, because Dixie’s was closer to his place, but Mineo’s was a genuine, New York style deli. They even made their own cured meats on site.

“Want some lunch?” Noel asked out of habit. They were eating no matter what Tristan said.

“Is it lunchtime?” Tristan checked his watch. “Oh, okay. Sure, let’s eat.”

Mineo’s had been busy every time Noel stopped in, and today was no different. A line of at least six people stood between them and the cash register. Customers placed their order, paid, took a number, then waited for it to be called, because everything was assembled to order. Besides deli sandwiches and hoagies, they also offered wraps, soups, a variety of personal-sized pizzas and six different kinds of wings.

Noel perused the vast menu board of options, unsure what he was in the mood for. “What are you feeling?”

“I don’t know. You decide.”

Tristan seemed genuinely perplexed, and it struck Noel that for the last few years, Tristan ate the food that was put in front of him. He didn’t have to make a choice. Noel thought back to college and the things Tristan liked to eat.

“How about the turkey club?” Noel said. “You like mayo, right?”

“Yes. Okay, that sounds good.”

“Excellent.”

By the time they reached the register, Noel had decided on corned beef on rye with mustard. A classic combination. He gave their orders to the girl at the register, plus two large sodas they could fill at the dispenser. She slid his debit card through the machine.

A man with dark hair and wearing a blue Mineo's apron slipped past behind the counter. He sidled up to a sandwich station, then grabbed two red baskets. Lined them with waxed paper. Noel stared, willing the man to turn around. He took his debit card by rote, then his order number the same way.

Reaching for a bag of rye bread, the man in the apron showed his profile, and surprise sent Noel’s heart racing. Shane. The stripper from the party. Shane turned back to his sandwich making quickly, but Noel had seen him.

Tristan touched his elbow, cluing Noel into his holding up the line. They filled their soda cups, then found a table as close to the service counter as possible. Noel sat facing it. He couldn’t explain his newfound fascination with Shane. He hadn’t honestly expected to see the man again, assuming that no one would strip at a party in a town they lived in. Assuming, again, that Shane lived in Stratton. Which was a logical assumption, since he worked at Mineo’s.

So many assumptions when the object of his interest was assembling his lunch less than ten feet away.

And Tristan, bless him, noticed. “Do you know him? Do I know him?”

“No, you don’t know him.” Noel tried not to stare. “I barely know him. We crossed paths the other night.”

“He’s cute.”

“And probably taken by an equally cute girl.”

Tristan angled himself to study Shane, his sharp gaze so like his old self when they’d go out looking for action. “Dunno about that. I’d lay odds he swings our way.”

“Based on what?”

“Instinct.” He leaned forward and pitched his voice low. “You know my gaydar has always been better than yours.”

True.

“Number four-oh-six!” Shane’s shouting voice made Noel jump. He glanced down at their order number: 406.

Noel stood to fetch their order. Shane had the tray in his hands. His eyes widened briefly when he saw Noel, startled. Trapped. He blushed, then dropped his gazed to the tray. The two feet between them suddenly felt like a chasm. Noel took their food without a word, unwilling to speak up and embarrass Shane further.

“Okay, I don’t know how you know him, but that was kind of awkward,” Tristan said when Noel sat back down. “You two hook up or something?”

“No, nothing like that.” He couldn’t make himself tell Tristan about Shane. The entire situation was too personal—not for himself, so much as it was for Shane. Noel could read people pretty well, and he’d seen the shame in Shane’s eyes. The fear of people knowing too much.

Lunch passed pleasantly enough with inane chatter. Noel didn’t see anyone he really knew. He’d lived in Stratton for about eighteen months, but his overnight shifts left little actual interaction with the town, and he wasn’t a social butterfly. The few friends he had were fellow officers, including his weekly workout buddy, and that was okay with Noel.

He couldn’t help a few more glances at Shane. Even though he’d seen the man practically naked, he was just as stunningly handsome in a polo and khakis. He worked with the precision of someone with years of practice, reaching for ingredients almost blindly. Noel found himself insanely curious why Shane made sandwiches by day and played stripper by night.

It wasn’t the time or place to ask.

Tristan practically made love to his turkey club and potato chips, savoring each bite like a man eating his final meal. The assisted living center provided decent enough food, but there was something special about house-roasted turkey piled up with hickory smoked bacon on homemade bread. He only glanced at the back of his hand once, then immediately at Noel to verify he was in the chair across from him.

Noel took the tray and empty baskets over to the waste bin and left them there. Shane had disappeared from the sandwich station, replaced by a young guy with curly brown hair. Disappointment settled in his heart, and Noel tried to shove it away. No sense in wondering about Shane today when he had Tristan to entertain for the rest of the afternoon.

They left Mineo’s still sipping their sodas. Noel turned them left, so they could continue the tour of town.

“Hey, wait a sec!”

Noel stopped at the familiar timbre of Shane’s voice. Tristan kept going for a few steps before he clued in. Shane jogged up the sidewalk toward them, his cheeks a little flushed.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Shane asked. His gaze flickered over Noel’s shoulder. “In private?”

“Um, sure. Give me a second?” Noel said.

Shane nodded.

Noel led Tristan over to a public bench situated near a lamppost. Tristan had already opened his notebook. “Hang here for a minute. I’m going to talk to him. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Tristan said while writing his reminder.

Shane had moved a few yards farther away and stood near the mouth of a narrow alley. The street was quiet of pedestrians, and the occasional car whizzed past. “Is he writing your life story or something?” he asked when Noel joined him.

“He has short-term memory problems. Long story.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. He’s managed to work out a system that helps.”

“Writing everything down?”

“Yes. But I don’t think you flagged me down to talk about Tristan.”

“No.” Shane’s gaze slid sideways. “I wanted to say thank you for not mentioning Saturday back there.” He spoke so tentatively, as if speaking about the incident would somehow send him back.

“It didn’t seem appropriate.”

“I try to keep that part of my life private. I don’t usually do parties in town because it gets awkward when you run into someone who’s seen you mostly naked, writhing around to Bon Jovi.”

The unexpected mental image of Shane in that thong shaking his ass to rock music made Noel’s blood hum. “I imagine it does. Can I ask you something?”

“I guess.”

“Why do you do it?”

Shane flinched. “I’m a good dancer, and I need the extra money.”

“Okay. And I’m not judging you, I promise. I grew up poor, so I know what it’s like to struggle for what you need.”

Shane met his gaze finally, surprise widening his brown eyes. Eyes that seemed to take him in and really see him. “What’s your name?”

“Noel Carlson.”

“You’re not from around here. The accent is subtle, but it’s there.”

“I was born and raised in Arkansas. Moved to Pennsylvania for college about six years ago, and I never left. You?”

“Lived in this area my whole life.”

Noel briefly weighed his chances of this conversation blowing up in his face. Half and half, but if it did, he’d just avoid the deli from now on. “So you must know the best places.”

“Best places?”

“The best places to go if you’ve just met someone you want to get to know better.”

Shane studied him intently. Noel liked that they were about the same height. Shane was lean and wiry, while Noel had a bit more bulk. Shane was dark-haired and tan, while Noel was fair. Fascinating opposites.

“I might know a place,” Shane said. “It’s out of town, about fifteen minutes from here. But it’s friendly. Open-minded.”

“Think you could help me find it?” Noel shifted his stance a bit, tilting his hip, opening himself up.

Shane relaxed completely, a visible change in posture and expression. “Yeah, I can do that. You free tonight?”

“I’m driving Tristan home around seven, so I’ll be available after eight.”

“How about I pick you up at nine?”

Noel made a note to guzzle coffee later. The one bad thing about his days off was making himself sleep during the day and stay up at night, so it didn’t screw up his work schedule. And he hadn’t slept since yesterday. “That works. I live over the Helping Hands thrift store. Room 2B.”

“I know where it is but let me get your number in case something comes up.”

“Sure.”

They exchanged phone numbers. Noel couldn’t help a slight thrill from it, knowing he now had a way to contact Shane if the need arose. And if he was reading the signals correctly, something else was going to arise that night. Unless Noel found a way to ruin it before it got rising.

“So I’ll see you tonight?” Shane said.

“Definitely.”

Shane’s lips twitched without turning into an actual smile. “I should get back to work. Short shift, short break.”

“Yeah. Later.”

Noel watched him walk back to the deli, admiring the view without openly leering, then joined Tristan on the bench.

“I take it that turned into a date?” Tristan asked.

“Yep.”

“What’s his name?”

“Shane.”

“Sounds like a porn star name.”

Noel nearly snarfed his soda. “This from a guy named Tristan?”

“Touchè. So now what? Have we seen all of downtown?”

“Almost.”

They continued the tour, and even though Noel was enjoying his day with Tristan, he was really, really looking forward to tonight.

* * *

Shane left Mineo’s at six with a spring in his step that he’d maintained ever since making a date with his Hot Cop Hero, who now had a name. He’d never met anyone named Noel, but he liked it. It fit. He also liked that Noel hadn’t been pushy about what had happened at Saturday’s party—not that he couldn’t potentially press tonight, but Shane didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to anticipate the date, then enjoy it while he could before he inevitably fucked it up.

Halfway home his phone rang. The name simply said Green.

He’d spoken with Chet two nights ago about doing another video. Chet had sounded genuinely surprised to hear from him, and he’d twisted himself into a pretzel explaining how far he’d come as a producer and how much more he knew. Chet wanted to be known as a decent guy in a sometimes difficult business that chewed people up and spit them out. He treated his models with respect, made sure they were tested regularly and had never bounced a check. The sincere pride in his voice had kept Shane from waffling on the request.

Chet had said he’d have to check the schedule and get back to him. Part of Shane had hoped Chet would forget the whole thing, because he really didn’t want to do another porn shoot. But then he thought about Jason sleeping on the couch for over ten hours Tuesday, and his resolve to help cut that last bill down returned.

“This is Colby.” He’d given Chet his real name for those checks, but he only ever referred to himself by his porn name when doing business.

“My boy, my boy, how’s tricks?” Chet asked. Despite the sleazy name, he was a pretty average-looking guy. No slicked-back hair or cheesy mustaches—unless he’d changed his look in the last few years.

“Same as always. Any news for me?”

“I had a boy come down with the flu, so his spot on Saturday’s shoot is open.”

Saturday. Two days from now, and he already worked at the deli that night. “What’s the spot?”

“Bottom.”

Fucking figures. Fuck. “What time?”

“Start around nine, should finish around three. Tony’s a good top, he knows how to get the job done.”

Shane resisted the urge to bang his forehead off the steering wheel. “How much?”

The figure Chet quoted would saw off a good chunk of that damned bill. Four or five more like it would pay it off completely. Give Jason the break he needed to have a fucking life again. To breathe. He’d gone back to work yesterday without his usual energy, and that scared Shane. He couldn’t pussy out now.

“I’ll do it.”

“Fantastic! Your first bottom video was a big seller, my boy. You do what you did before, be honest with the camera, and we’ll do real well.”

Shane nearly told him he didn’t give a shit how well it sold. He didn’t. Chet offered two different kinds of contracts: money upfront with nothing additional, or royalties only. Shane couldn’t wait for the royalty checks. He needed it upfront and fast, even if he would earn less in the long-run.

He also needed to check the website tonight and see how big this Tony was.

“Text me the address,” Shane said. “I’ll be there nine sharp.”

“Shaved clean.”

His balls whimpered. “Fine.”

“You have recent results?”

He had to think on that a moment. Test results. “A few weeks ago.” After his most recent hookup.

“Good, bring me a copy. See you Saturday, sweetheart.”

Shane tossed his phone into the passenger seat, disgusted with himself and with taking orders from someone else on his personal hygiene. Shaving his balls for one video was going to be a pain, and they itched like hell when the hair grew back.

Fuck my life.

Jason was eating at the kitchen table when Shane got home. The trailer smelled pleasantly of tomato sauce and spices, and Shane helped himself to a slice of the frozen pizza Jason had cooked. Jason sat straighter, less slumped than the last two days. Shane couldn’t seem to keep his own shoulders back. He hunched over his paper plate, unable to really enjoy the pizza.

“What’s up?” Jason asked. “You look like you got kicked in the nuts by a kid with pointy shoes.”

“I got another last-minute gig Saturday, so I won’t be around.”

Jason quirked an eyebrow. “With that much enthusiasm, are you sure you want to bother?”

No, I don’t want to do it, period, but I will for you. “I have to. I’m filling in for someone.” Not a total lie.

He expelled a long, hard breath that got Shane’s attention. Jason gazed at him with open concern. “Jo, I don’t work my ass off so neither one of us can have a life. You’re too young to be so fucking old.”

Shane blinked. “Huh?”

“We’ll have the bill paid off in another two years or so, and I’m fine with that, because it’s the best we can do. But you don’t have to put your life on hold for me. We’ve fought too hard for both of us to be living on pause.”

“They’re my bills, Jason, I should be the one working two jobs and exhausted all the time.”

“The bills wouldn’t exist if I’d paid attention!” Jason rarely raised his voice, but he’d shouted that. Shouted it at the table, not at Shane, but it still hurt.

They didn’t talk about this. The past was the past. They moved forward, learned from their huge mistakes and tried not to make them again.

We don’t talk about this.

“We both did things wrong,” Shane said, surprised at the wobble in his voice.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. You were just a kid. You were my little brother, and I wasn’t paying attention like I should have. I left you behind with that bastard.”

“How the fuck were you supposed to know he’d start sticking his hand down my shorts while he jerked off? I could have told someone sooner, and I didn’t. I let it happen for months.”

Jason’s face went scarlet. “You were ten. I was eighteen. An adult. I should have taken you with me when he kicked me out.”

“Maybe so but I’m an adult now too. I could have prevented the medical bills, but I didn’t. I can shoulder my share of the load for what happened, so you can stop punishing yourself.”

His eyes narrowed. “You know what, Jo? Do whatever the fuck you want.” Jason stormed away from the table. A moment later, his bedroom door slammed.

Fuck, fuck, fuck my life. What the fuck was that?

They didn’t talk about the past because every conversation became an argument. A fight over who got to take the most blame for their stepdad kicking Jason out, then molesting Shane for four months before Jason got the truth out of him. The blame for what happened after Jason found out. The blame for what Shane did when he was fifteen that financially crippled them.

Too many what ifs. What if Shane had fought the abuse? What if Shane spoke to an adult sooner? What if he’d just kept his mouth shut? What if that nail hadn’t been in that particular piece of wood? What if he hadn’t let the bullies get to him?

Shane cleaned up the kitchen, then went to take a shower. As much to wash away the argument as to get ready for his date. He didn’t shave his balls. Not yet. Tomorrow. The guys got one more day before torture. He cleaned up and shaved his face instead. Picked out a tight, royal blue T-shirt and black jeans, then let his hair air dry in whatever tousled way it might.

He still had an hour to kill, so he booted up the ancient computer that he and Jason shared. They kept it in the tiny third bedroom that was little more than a closet. He used a neighbor’s WiFi signal to get online. Mean Green Boys was a bizarre name for a porn site but Google found it fast.

Since it was technically illegal to create porn in Pennsylvania thanks to antiquated prostitution laws, Chet shot locally, always indoors and very discreetly, and then sent the edited footage a secondary party in California, who uploaded it to the website. All business information was through the state of California. Shane had no idea why Chet didn’t just move to California and remove all of the potential illegalities, but he didn’t care enough to ask. Chet was careful, and he only worked with models he trusted—one careless word to interested authorities, and they’d all be busted.

Without log-on information, Shane could only view stills and some clips.

Tony was easy to find, and the size of the guy’s erect cock made Shane’s stomach knot.

Shit, that’s going to hurt.

He’d have to get up early Saturday and stretch, or he was going to be limping into Mineo’s that night. The last thing he needed to do was lie about being rabbit-fucked by a horse cock for four hours while shooting porn. Paul would fire his well-used ass on the spot.

Noel also presented an opportunity to ease himself back into bottoming. Shane wasn’t above meeting a guy and then fucking him within a couple of hours, especially when he was stressed or horny. But going out with Noel tonight wasn’t about getting his rocks off. This was an actual planned date, not a booty call. Jumping Noel’s bones on the first date might not send the best message, but he was attracted to Noel. He wanted to have sex with Noel.

Granted, he wanted to be the one doing the fucking, but he could switch it around for tonight—and for the sake of his ass at the mercy of Tony’s big dick. Good Lord.

He cleared his browser history, then shut the computer down. No sense in worrying about Saturday’s shoot all night. He had a date with Noel to look forward to, and damn it, he was going to enjoy himself tonight. One way or another.