Dreamspinner Press Year Six Greatest Hits

by JD Ruskin

  Nobody wanted to leave, though, and a couple of smaller conversations began simultaneously. Chase’s dad put another log on the fire. The flames leaped high, and we could see each other’s faces in the orange glow. I was sitting on the ground next to Dane, leaning back against the log he was sitting on. Sarah and Jesse and Chase were on the log next to me.

  “So you got married on May 15,” Chase was saying to Sarah. “My dad performed his fiftieth gay marriage that day.”

  I’d forgotten that Mr. Hayes was a minister. He never seemed like one when he was with us. He joked around a lot and went fly-fishing every day all day.

  But Chase’s comment captured Dane’s attention.

  “You perform gay weddings, Phil?” he asked Mr. Hayes.

  “It’s legal in Iowa,” he replied. “And I do commitment ceremonies in other states where it’s not yet.”

  “Could you do one of those for Josh and me?”

  Good thing I was sitting down. Otherwise, I’d have fallen. I stared at Dane, but he didn’t notice. He was totally focused on Phil’s answer.

  “I’d love to, Dane. I’d be honored.”

  Aunt Kate, who had been talking teenagers with Chase’s mom, was suddenly totally focused on this conversation. In fact, everyone was still.

  “A second wedding,” my aunt exclaimed, turning to my uncle. “Both our boys married, Karl. But when?” she demanded.

  “Can you pull off the mission on Friday night, Kate? Is three days enough time?” Dane had a real twinkle in his eye as he teased her.

  “You could have it by the swim pond at sunset like Jesse and I did,” Sarah volunteered.

  “Between dinner and dessert,” Dane agreed. “That way, dinner’s out of the way—”

  “And dessert is a cake, of course,” Aunt Kate interrupted. “Oh, this will be lovely.”

  “A great idea,” Phil said. Then he turned to Dane and me. “I always counsel my couples, so you boys come visit me tomorrow at my favorite fishing spot around lunchtime.”

  “We’ll be there,” Dane said.

  “You bring lunch,” Phil said.

  I still hadn’t said anything. I didn’t say anything until after everyone else headed indoors, their plans on our behalf floating back to Dane and me as we put out the fire.

  “We can use some of the decorations from mine and Jesse’s wedding. That would be wonderful,” Sarah said.

  “We’ll invite all the guests, of course,” Aunt Kate answered.

  “I can’t wait to tell everyone,” Chase said.

  When their voices faded, I turned to Dane. “You’ve never even said you love me.”

  He lowered his face to mine like he was going to kiss me. But he whispered instead. “It wasn’t just this ranch I fell in love with when Jesse read me your letters all those years ago, cowboy. I realized that on that last mission in Afghanistan.

  “At first, I thought it was the ranch, but then I knew I was falling for you too, and your goodness and openness. When I met you at last, I couldn’t believe you were still that way and accepting me too. Even when I was broken.

  “I was so afraid I’d wreck everything, and I did. But you gave me another chance, and I won’t fuck this one up. I love you with all I have, and I promise you’ll know it every day of our life together. Forever. ”

  I couldn’t think of a thing to say after that.

  So Dane and I got hitched Friday night. We weren’t really married, not yet. But we pledged to love and cherish each other till death do us part. Jesse stood up with Dane, Sarah with me. My aunt cried and my uncle smiled. And just on time, the sun setting over the Gallatins turned the tops of the Absarokas pink, and the first stars began to shine. My favorite time of the day.

  Forever.

  LISA M. OWENS was raised in the Midwest and now lives in Paradise Valley in southwest Montana. Her husband, two dogs and The One and Only Cat run the place so she can concentrate on writing. She is a member of Romance Writers of America and its LGBT chapter, Rainbow Romance Writers, and The Authors Guild.

  Website: http://www.lisamowens.com

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/AuthorLisaMOwens

  By LISA M. OWENS

  Worth the Coming Home

  Worth the Seeing Through

  Published By DREAMSPINNER PRESS

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  To J, my partner on this long strange journey—you inspire me.

  I’D LIKE to thank all of the wonderful readers and reviewers on Literotica and Nifty who have supported my work. In particular, I have benefitted from the generosity of Bianca Esteban, who seemed to know my characters as well as I did, and Lisa Tepper, who helped me see that comedy makes romance even better. And I owe so much to Ronen, who seemed to have walked out of the pages of my writing to remind me that fiction is another word for life.

  Finally, I give tribute hereby to the original Xavier Mayne, born Edward Iranaeus Prime-Stevenson, author of Imre, the first openly gay American novel. I hope he would be pleased with how I’ve carried on his tradition and his name.

  “YOU WANT me to what, now?” he asked, convinced he had heard incorrectly.

  “You are to infiltrate, gather information, and convey the results to the attorney general’s office. I don’t see what’s so difficult to grasp. We do this all the time.”

  “I didn’t expect when I joined the state police that I would be asked to—”

  “To what? Do your job? We serve as the investigative force for the AG’s office. Sometimes that involves going undercover. That’s all I’m asking you to do.”

  The trooper was silent for a moment.

  “This isn’t like pretending to be a drag racer to stop sideshows or something. What you’re asking me to do is—”

  “I’m asking you to take on this assignment, which was handed to me by the AG himself. You are the only one who can do this.”

  Officer Brandt looked up, met the Chief’s eyes.

  “Why? Why am I the only one?”

  The Chief sighed and sat on the front edge of his desk.

  “I would think that’s pretty obvious,” he said, in a more conciliatory tone than he had used before.

  “No, it’s not obvious to me. I wish you would explain.”

  The Chief looked at the ceiling, clearly wishing that something would fall from the heavens and smite him so he could avoid having this conversation.

  “Look. You’re the youngest guy on the force. You sped through college and the academy, and you’re on the force at twenty-four. That means you are the closest in age to the targets of the investigation.”

  “But, sir, you said the men who work there aren’t the target. You said the AG is going after the person who owns the place, and whoever is funding him.”

  The Chief’s eyes rolled—again—as he drew a deep breath.

  “What I meant was that you are the closest in age and appearance to the ones who work in the house. If we’re going to get good intel on what’s going on in there, we need someone working there. And the only way we get that is to send someone who looks like he could work there. And that’s you.”

  Officer Brandt was stunned.

  “Wait, this is about how I look?”

  “Undercover work requires a physically appropriate operative. This is basic, Brandt! I wouldn’t send Ramirez to infiltrate an Asian gang, would I? You look like the men who work there, that’s all. You remember when they nailed that senator, the one from, what, Iowa?”

  “Do you mean Larry Craig, from Idaho?”

  “Right, that one. Now, when they wanted to stop men’s rooms from turning into pickup joints, they didn’t send some fat slob in there, right? They sent someone who could get the right kind of attention.”

  Brandt was silent. His role in this investigation had not been clear to him when he entered the Chief’s office; unfortunately, clarity made things worse. He had drawn this assignment because the Chief thought he looked the part. He shuddered at the thought.

  The
Chief forged ahead, clearly hoping to bring this conversation to a close before more awkward words were spoken.

  “One of the AG’s close friends and campaign donors is a contractor who works in the area where the house is located. His guys got a call to help with a renovation at the house, and they told him some of the stuff going on there. What we want you to do is pose as a carpenter and see if you can’t get them interested in hiring you.”

  “And how do I do that?”

  “You look the part, you act interested, and you say yes to whatever they propose you do. It’s that simple.”

  Brandt sighed. It was anything but simple.

  “You’ll keep working with Donnelly on this—report progress to him, and he’ll get you whatever you need to make it work on the inside.”

  Brandt closed his eyes, sighed. Donnelly was his partner, and having him involved in this investigation would normally have been a good thing. But what he was being asked to do—he would rather Donnelly not know about it at all.

  “You’re the finest we have, Brandt. Now go make us proud.”

  “Yes, sir,” Brandt managed to utter as he stood and backed out of the Chief’s office.

  “SO, WHAT does that involve, exactly?” Donnelly asked, lifting his second beer to his lips.

  “How the fuck should I know? It’s not like I’ve ever looked at one of these things.” Brandt drained his second beer, started looking for the third. The tavern was quiet, as one would expect on a Tuesday evening. Brandt and Donnelly had their entire half of the bar to themselves.

  “Well, all they told me was that I’d be coordinating your support while you’re on the inside, and I get the concept of that, but I don’t really know what it’s going to involve. I was kinda hoping you had more info.”

  Brandt scoffed. “Nope, they haven’t given me much except a passcode to use so we can get on the site and take a look—see what it’s all about. I’d rather have a root canal than punch up that website, I can tell you.” His third beer arrived, much to his relief.

  “Well, ya gotta look sometime. It’s Tuesday, and Thursday is your… insertion.” Donnelly failed to control his giggling at this word, and Brandt landed a boot squarely on his shin to let him know he should have tried harder.

  “Okay, funny guy, finish your beer and we’ll go look. You and me. And no hiding your eyes at the gory parts, like you always do with those stupid Saw movies.”

  Donnelly wasn’t laughing anymore.

  Back at his apartment, Brandt poured two large shots of Jäger from the freezer and handed one to Donnelly, who was seated in front of the computer. Brandt sat next to him and took a big draw off the Jäger, then began typing the web address into his browser. The screen filled with a banner announcing “Str8 Frat Dudes!”

  Brandt took a deep breath as a photo collage of muscular young men in various states of undress filled in behind the banner. Donnelly looked at Brandt, his expression betraying the queasiness he was clearly trying to hold at bay. They tipped their glasses up and swallowed the last of the burning liquid.

  “Well, you gonna click Enter?” Donnelly finally asked.

  “You do it,” Brandt replied. “I don’t think I can handle what I’ve seen already.”

  Donnelly took control of the mouse and clicked the button.

  “Okay, it says to enter your ID and passcode.”

  Brandt handed over the slip of paper the Chief had handed him earlier in the day. Donnelly typed.

  “Okay, we’re in.” He looked at Brandt. “So to speak.”

  Both men stared at the screen, gaping. Where the photography on the opening screen had left something to the imagination—if you were inclined to imagine what a football player might look like should his tight pants come unlaced, for example, or what would happen if an impossibly beautiful young man should pull the shorts off of another impossibly beautiful young man during horseplay on the beach—now there was no imagination required. The goods were on display in all their glory.

  “Holy fucking shit, man,” whispered Donnelly, his eyes darting to the safety of the wall behind the computer screen.

  “My life is over,” mumbled Brandt. “How am I supposed to do this? Going undercover there means doing, well… that.” He pointed at the screen, at all of the naked flesh displayed there, at all of the smiling faces of men who clearly enjoyed displaying it.

  “At least you can see now why the Chief chose you for the job,” Donnelly offered, as if this were good news.

  Brandt turned on his friend and partner. “What the fuck does that mean?” he spat.

  “Hey, chill! I just meant that of all the guys we work with, you”—he pointed at Brandt—“are the closest thing to that”—he pointed at the screen.

  “If you are telling me that I look like some male whore who sells himself on a fucking website, I’m going to offer you some free dental work, courtesy of the curb out front.”

  “That’s not what I meant. It’s just that you are pretty much their age—”

  “I’m twenty-four. That’s two years younger than you, old man.”

  “Yeah, but you look younger. And look at these guys—you are in as good shape as they are. Whoa! Except that one. Holy shit, look at those abs.”

  “Should I leave you alone so that you can beat it looking at all of the pretty boys?”

  “Shut up. I’m just saying that you are a good fit for this cover. That’s all. So, is this a standard prostitution sting? Go after the johns?”

  “No. That’s what’s weird. They want me to get accounting records, of all things. They’re going to try to shut them down on Revenue Code 164.32.”

  “Sorry, my Revenue is a bit rusty. Let’s see, 164, that’s consumer taxation, and the 30s are all about retail goods….”

  “And services. Apparently the AG is going to charge them with not paying taxes on personal services rendered.”

  Donnelly frowned, considering. “Why not just go for prostitution?” he mused. “Seems like that’s an easier one to make stick.”

  “Because they aren’t prostitutes—they perform in videos. The closest thing to prostitution is the live shows they do. But there’s no touching or anything. The clients who pay to see the shows can be in other states or countries. It would be hard to make prostitution stick.”

  “So, if they hire you on, you’re going to be doing… what? What do they do on video that people will pay money to see?”

  “Well, let’s hit the Videos button and find out.”

  AN HOUR later, the two troopers sat before the computer, slack-jawed. An empty bottle of Jägermeister lay on its side on the floor.

  “Oh. Fuck.”

  This was all Brandt could think of to say. What they had just seen, what he and Donnelly had just subjected themselves to, well, he had no words for.

  “Why would anyone want to watch that?” he finally asked, slurring a bit. The bottle of Jäger had been nearly full.

  “Well, imagine if that young man—Trent, was it? Imagine if Trent, instead of being a football player who liked jacking off after a long, hot shower—” Donnelly paused to shudder. “—were instead a cheerleader who liked massaging her breasts and playing with a vibrator after a long, hot shower. Would that change things for you?”

  Brandt slugged Donnelly on the shoulder. “Of course it would change things, dipshit! But that’s a whole different deal. A hot chick doing that is a… a work of art. A dude? Sick.”

  “To you, sure. But to someone who’s into guys, well….”

  Brandt squinted at his partner. “Something you need to tell me, buddy?”

  “Fuck off. I’m just saying that there are people in the world who like to look at guys the way we like to look at chicks. Different strokes, man.”

  “Heh. That Trent guy had some different strokes all right. That thing he did with his other hand—what the hell was that? How could that possibly feel good?”

  Donnelly looked queasy again. “I have to say I wasn’t watching that closely. Aft
er that long, slow camera pan down his back to his ass, I kind of had to look away. I don’t need to be looking in super close-up at some guy’s pucker.”

  “Great. Some partner you turned out to be.”

  “Sorry. I promise that when you’re doing it, I’ll watch every second.”

  “The hell you will. I don’t want anyone watching anything. What if my family finds out I’m doing this?”

  “What, do you think your dad has a subscription to Str8 Frat Dudes?”

  Brandt glowered at Donnelly. “My point is, this could fuck up my future life pretty bad. Once this shit gets out on the Internet, there’s no getting it back. The Chief says that they would enjoin them from using any clips that I appear in once the charges are filed, but I don’t see how that does any good.”

  Donnelly looked at his partner seriously. “This is what you signed on for, you know. Sometimes you gotta work ugly in order to do good.”

  Brandt laughed ironically. “Ugly I could do. This, I’m not so sure about.”

  “So, what’s your back story?”

  “I’m supposed to go in as a carpenter on the crew that’s working on a bathroom project in the house. My story is that I’m working my way through college, but the pay I get as a carpenter isn’t cutting it. I chat up the guys who work in the house, see if they will put a word in for me or get me an audition or something. That’s all there is.”

  “Okay, that’s pretty straightforward. Let me know if there’s anything you need.”

  “What I will need is a dignity transplant once this is over.”

  “Come on, it won’t be that bad. Most guys jack off every day for free—you’re going to get paid for doing it. How awesome is that?”

  “Have I told you lately that your upbeat personality is the reason everyone hates you?”

  “No, but thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, asshole. Now get the hell out of here so I can contemplate my fate in peace. And come back tomorrow so you can help me get ready.”