Hogtying the Bartender

by Charlie Richards

  When a hard-working man meets someone special, he must weigh the risks versus rewards for turning his life upside down.

  Vance Weimer has been leading a quiet life for over a decade. Between his work as a foreman at a pig farm and dealing with his teenage son’s monthly visits, he hasn’t had time for anything else. That all changes when he attends a birthday bash for his boss at a gay club. Unable to resist bartender Jimmy Gibson’s flirtatious advances, Vance gives in to temptation and slips into the back for a little fun. While he’d planned for it to be a one-time thing, he can’t get the handsome man out of his mind. Vance starts a liaison with Jimmy, but due to the bigoted attitudes of his ex-wife and son, he keeps it discreet. A verbal faux pa in front of his family drives a wedge in his budding relationship. On top of that, another suitor—one open with his sexuality and charming to boot—makes his interest in Jimmy known. Can Vance come to terms with the changes he must make to fit Jimmy into his life, or will he allow life’s demands to cause him to walk away from the first person to truly capture his heart?

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Hogtying the Bartender

  Copyright © 2019 Charlie Richards

  ISBN: 978-1-4874-2398-8

  Cover art by Angela Waters

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books Inc or

  Devine Destinies, an imprint of eXtasy Books Inc

  Look for us online at:

  www.eXtasybooks.com or www.devinedestinies.com

  Hogtying the Bartender

  Carry Me Book 8

  By

  Charlie Richards

  Dedication

  May all your troubles last as long as your New Year’s resolutions!

  ~Unknown

  Chapter One

  Vance Weimer resisted the urge to massage the bridge of his nose until the car was out of sight. The second he couldn’t see the dark green Maxima, he flopped into the rocking chair on his front porch and brought his hand to his face. He rubbed at his temple with his thumb, then his brow, and finally the bridge of his nose.

  “Hey, was that Darlene’s car I just saw leaving?”

  Lowering his hand, Vance turned and spotted Brand rounding the side of his cabin. “Yep,” was all he could muster as he watched the dark-haired man climb the couple of steps and join him on the porch.

  “Wasn’t she supposed to pick up Mark two hours ago?”

  Vance nodded once. “Yep.”

  “Well, damn, boss.” Brand settled into the chair beside him. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his knees as he focused on Vance. “You okay?”

  Rolling his eyes, Vance wondered the best way to answer that. He went with a variation of the truth. “Just tired of her bullshit. And the crappy views she’s feeding Mark—” Vance groaned as he rubbed his temple again. “It’s exhausting.”

  Brand opened his mouth, then closed it again.

  Vance could make a fair guess at what Brand was thinking.

  Why the hell do you put up with her shit?

  The answer was simple enough, too.

  Because of my son.

  Vance would do damn near anything for Mark. He truly hoped the young man would grow out of his belligerent teenager phase soon. Too bad Darlene’s entitled attitude didn’t help with that.

  Brand straightened and smacked his jean-clad thighs with his palms. “Well, all right then. Go get changed.” He rose to his feet and headed toward the front door of Vance’s cabin. “We need to leave in five if we don’t wanna be late.”

  Groaning, Vance lounged in his chair and scowled at his friend. “I am so not in the mood for a birthday party,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “You go on without me. Tell Laramie my ex-wife was just leaving when you were heading out, too, and when he gets back, I’ll make my apologies.”

  The right side of Brand’s mouth curved into a half-smile as he reached for Vance’s upper arm, making the scar on his upper lip pucker. “Oh, no, boss-man.”

  Brand used his hold to yank Vance from his chair. His massive six-foot-five frame, complete with brawny arm and leg muscles, allowed him to drag Vance to his feet with ease. Then he turned him and began frog-marching him into the house.

  Vance glared at Brand, but the guy paid him no mind. Had it been any other man, Vance would have been severely pissed. As it was, Vance had been friends with Brand even before they’d started working together. Twelve years of friendship could allow for plenty of leeway.

  “Good grief, Brand,” Vance snapped, pulling away when Brand paused in the doorway to his bedroom. “What the hell?”

  “Now, now, Vance.” Brand swept his gaze over him, grinning widely. He waved his hand toward the closet. “Should I pick your clothes while you shower?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Vance unbuttoned the top couple of buttons to his flannel shirt as he asked, “Why is me going to this shindig so important to you?” After tugging the shirt over his head, he began moving toward the ensuite bathroom. Vance paused in the doorway and tossed his flannel shirt into the laundry basket. After that, he pulled his undershirt over his head while muttering gruffly, “I sure as hell ain’t gonna be good company.”

  “That’s the point,” Brand replied glibly. “I’m too good a friend to let you sit around here by yourself and stew over your shitty ex-wife.”

  Vance grunted as he threw the undershirt into the basket, not bothering to counter his statement. Brand was a good friend, and his ex-wife was shitty. As he began swinging the door closed, he heard Brand make another comment.

  “Besides, what better way to lift your spirits than to get your dick sucked?”

  Pausing, Vance lifted a brow as he met Brand’s gaze.

  Brand shoved his thumbs into his belt loops as he rocked onto his heels. “And how would I be able to enjoy my own blowjob if I knew you were here wallowing?”

  “We’re going to a gay club, Brand,” Vance couldn’t help pointing out.

  While Vance had never been, he knew The Red Door, the place where Laramie’s gathering was taking place, was a gay club. His boss was gay and had been with his firefighter partner, Trace, for several years. Usually, Laramie didn’t do much more than a barbeque to celebrate his birthday, but since he was turning thirty-five, Trace had convinced him to go out.

  “So.” Brand rolled one huge shoulder in a half-shrug. “A guy’s mouth can feel just as good as a woman’s.” His eyes narrowed, and his lips twisted in a smirk. “And I know that you know that.”

  Vance nodded once. Brand was one of the few people who knew he was bisexual. He just hadn’t acted on it in... it felt like forever. Vance had been faithful to Darlene, and ever since his divorce over a decade before, it’d just been easier to find the occasional female company than create waves with a vindictive ex.

  Swallowing hard, Vance felt
his heart rate spike. His breathing became shallow. He swallowed hard, again, struggling to get moisture into his too-dry throat.

  His blood flowed south just thinking of giving in to his desire.

  Brand chuckled gruffly, drawing Vance’s attention. “I think it’s been waaaay too long for somebody.” He cleared his throat, then motioned toward the shower behind Vance. “Hurry up, man. I’ll find you somethin’ hot to wear.”

  Feeling his cheeks heat, Vance nodded once more, then turned and started cleaning up.

  Almost an hour later, Vance followed Brand past the bouncer and into The Red Door. His ears were immediately assaulted by the loud thumping of the dance music, easily heard even in the foyer. Vance paid the cover charge as his senses became acclimated to the smell of alcohol, cologne, and something decidedly masculine.

  His body reacted to the scents, his blood heating in his veins. He fought the desire to reach down and adjust his half-hard prick. Then as Vance followed Brand through the doorway and into the club proper, he thought, what the hell.

  Vance reached down, took a slight slide step, and adjusted his dick behind his fly. Feeling a bit more comfortable—how did Brand convince me to wear these Wranglers again—in jeans he hadn’t worn in over two years, since he thought they were a size too small, Vance strolled toward the bar. From beneath the brim of his black Stetson, he noticed he was garnering a number of appreciative looks from the men seated at the tables they passed.

  Huh. How about that.

  Spotting the broad shoulders of one of Trace’s firefighter buddies, Vincent Androse, leaving the bar with a pitcher of beer in each hand, Vance called to the man.

  Vincent swept his gaze over the area and, noticing Vance, lifted his chin in greeting. Then he tipped his head to the left.

  Vance followed the man’s indication and spotted their buddies crowded around three tables that had been pushed together. Tapping Brand on the shoulder, he pointed. Brand nodded, then tipped his head close to Vance’s own.

  “I’ll get us a couple shots and a vodka on the rocks for you,” Brand called over the din. “Then meet you there.”

  Opening his mouth, Vance almost replied that he could get his own damn drink. He thought better of it and stated, “Thanks. Next round’s on me.”

  Brand grinned broadly. “Yeah, it is.”

  Vance tipped his head back and laughed, already feeling so much better. He nodded and clapped Brand on the back, then headed toward the crowd. Having seen all the men at Laramie’s barbeques on many occasions over the years, he knew them all and knew they wouldn’t judge should he decide to take Brand’s advice and slip away with someone for a little mutual fun.

  His half-hard dick thickened further.

  God, it’s been way too long.

  Making his way to the table, Vance glanced around discreetly with new intent. He recognized when a guy gave him an appreciative look, sure, but how would he know if the man would be willing to drop to his knees in a back room for him? How could he be certain the guy wouldn’t expect him to blow him back?

  While Vance figured that made him sound like an asshole, he’d never been on the giving end before. He had no intention of starting with some random hook-up. His job as foreman at Laramie’s pig farm suited him well because he liked giving orders... not receiving them.

  Vance knew he would need to be in a relationship with someone to go down on them... man or woman.

  Maybe there’s something to Darlene’s claim that I’m a selfish lover.

  Pushing aside thoughts of his ex-wife and her accusations, Vance grinned at Laramie. “Hey, happy birthday, Lare,” he greeted, raising his voice to be heard over the music. “Sorry I’m late.”

  Laramie nodded and leaned toward him so he didn’t have to shout. “Thanks for coming, Vance. I’m glad you made it.” Then the left side of his lips curved into a wry smile. “Ex late again?”

  Vance grimaced. “Yeah. You know how she is.”

  “I do.” Laramie looked like he wanted to say more, but then he grinned broadly. “But now you’re here, so”—he waggled his eyebrows playfully, the move telling Vance his boss and friend was already at least two drinks in—”are you gonna show your sexy moves to the hot young studs who’ve been eyeballing your ass since you walked in the door?”

  Laughing, Vance crossed to an empty chair and dropped into it. He used the excuse of moving away from Laramie to try to avoid the question. Too bad the man he was seated next to, Randy Coughlan, a friend and paramedic, wouldn’t let it go.

  Giving him a knowing look, Randy leaned toward him. “Well?” He glanced around as if assessing who was looking their way. “Or are you so out of practice that you need us to point out who’s interested?”

  Vance opened his mouth, but his brain stalled, and no words came out. To his relief, Randy’s partner, Brendan, came to his rescue.

  Brendan wrapped his arm around Randy and tugged him against his side. “Leave him alone, Ran. He doesn’t need your help.” After placing a kiss on the skin of Randy’s neck, he continued, “Overheard your ex-wife held you up. If you need one of us to run off a guy because he’s making you uncomfortable, just let us know.”

  As Vance nodded, he realized the guy assumed he was straight. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Deciding he wasn’t going to start the night out by lying to anyone, Vance shook his head as he leaned close.

  “I’ll let you know, thanks,” Vance acknowledged. “But I’m bi, so I might end up interested after all.” Seeing Randy’s wide grin and the way Brendan’s black brows shot up, betraying his surprise, he added, “Not looking for anything permanent, no time for that, but it’s been a while since I’ve had some fun, so—” Vance forced his mouth closed to stop the verbal diarrhea.

  Good grief, he mentally admonished himself. Shut the fuck up already.

  “Ah, well.” A smile creased Brendan’s dark-brown features, and his eyes twinkled. “Then good luck finding a bit of fun.”

  “Thanks,” Vance said, because he thought it was polite.

  “You want a beer?” Brendan asked, reaching for an empty plastic cup near one of the pitchers that Vincent had set on the table. “I can—”

  “Naw, Vance don’t drink beer if he doesn’t have to,” Brand stated, announcing his arrival. “Do you, buddy?” The big man placed the shot glass and the tumbler of vodka he was holding in his left hand in front of Vance. “There ya go.”

  Even as Vance nodded, he grabbed the shot of whisky, then knocked it back. The burn warmed his throat, followed by his belly. He hummed appreciatively as he reached for the vodka glass, pleased to see Brand had even had the bartender add a lime wedge.

  Perfect.

  To his surprise, after Brand had settled in the chair on his right, his friend slid the second shot glass toward him. He’d had it in his right hand with what Vance figured was a glass of bourbon. It was Brand’s drink of choice, just like vodka was his own.

  “That for me, too?” Vance asked while reaching for it.

  “Yep. I had one at the bar.” Brand winked as he leaned close. “While talking to the bartender and telling him about you.”

  Vance turned his head and craned his neck, but he couldn’t see over the crowd. Instead, he knocked back his second shot of the evening. After placing that glass on the table beside the first, he took a sip of his vodka.

  The smooth taste of the drink, offset just a bit by the lime, caused his taste buds to tingle just right.

  “Why was Jimmy asking about Vance?” commented another guy, Ryan Straton, from where he sat on Brand’s other side. “Or was it the new guy? Uhhh, Clayton.” He finished with a snap of his fingers, obviously just thinking up the guy’s name.

  Vance knew that Ryan was a detective, and he often worked with Vincent’s life partner, Detective Carl Lewis. From what he’d heard, the pair made a pretty formidable team on the force. They didn’t end up with too many open cases.

  Carl also had to de
al with a not-so-nice ex-wife.

  Maybe I should ask for advice.

  “It was Jimmy,” Brand told everyone, a crooked smile curving his lips as he gripped his bourbon. “And I caught on to his interest when he made a comment about what I wanted for my husband.” Snickering and waggling his brows, Brand focused on Vance as he took a sip of his drink. “He got real interested in you when I said I didn’t have a husband.” Pointing at Brand’s hat, he added, “He told me he liked your hat. Now, aren’t you glad I convinced you to wear it?”

  Vance laughed even as he felt his cheeks heat a bit. “Is he good looking?” he couldn’t help but ask.

  Brand nodded as Randy laughed.

  “He’s a very good-looking guy,” Ryan stated even as he leaned back in his chair and wrapped his arm around his own partner, Doctor Morgan Pruitt. Grinning at his lover, he added, “Not as good looking as you, of course.”

  The slender blond man leveled a hungry look at Ryan. “Nice save, hero,” Morgan teased before leaning over and pressing his lips to Ryan’s.

  When the kiss went from chaste to tongue-fucking an instant later, Vance turned his attention back to his vodka. He lifted it to his lips and took a deep gulp. Between the couple of shots and the vodka, he felt warm... or maybe that was the idea of a hot guy asking after him.

  A bartender, huh?

  Turning to Brand, Vance couldn’t help but ask, “Is it stereotyping to think a bartender in a gay bar would be good with his, um”—he cleared his throat, realizing not just his buddy was listening—”hands? And they know the score, too, right?”

  Brand laughed, his dark eyes twinkling. Vance knew his buddy was fully aware of what he’d actually intended to say.

  Weren’t bartenders usually good with their mouths?

  Vance hadn’t said it, but his dick had sure liked the idea, going long and thick in his jeans.