by Aiden Bates
And everyone — everyone — called each other bro. Before, he’d addressed everyone as bro too. Now he wondered if it was because they were too drunk or high to remember everyone else’s names.
There was one exception to the rule. Anthony King, his brother’s friend, didn’t call anyone bro. He called people by their names. He looked them in the eye, too.
Anthony, with those pretty, pouty lips that would look so good wrapped around Ryan’s cock, didn’t belong here any more than Ryan did. He knew a lot of people, and Anthony and Jamie fit well together, in a way that suggested they were close, but he didn’t have that look.
Ryan made himself look away and focus on his old buddies. He had no business thinking about Anthony King. He hadn’t known a friendly touch in years; he was just feeling the drought.
Besides, he wasn’t any good for or anyone else right now. Ryan would find a friendly face somewhere well out of town, get it all out of his system, and move on.
“Hey, Ryan.” Brad leaned forward. Brad had been one of Ryan’s best friends before.
Of course, when Ryan had gone away, Brad had mysteriously developed an aversion to car rides, email, phone calls and letter writing. It must have been quite the illness to have left him incommunicado for ten long years, since he clearly cared about Ryan so fucking much.
Brad had been drinking heavily, all night long. He leaned forward too far and had to catch himself on their buddy Nelson before he fell flat on his face. “Hey, Ryan,” Brad said again. “Do you remember that time when we all went up to the water tower and spray painted Ms. Turley’s number on the side? That was comedy gold, bro!”
Actually, it had been deeply irresponsible. Ms. Turley, unbeknownst to any of the students in her junior history class, had been on the run from an abusive ex-husband. Said husband had found her, and only quick action by the Culvertown police and Ryan’s own father had saved her life.
Ryan would have to live with the shame of that for the rest of his life, and gratitude that it hadn’t turned out worse than it had. “Yeah, Brad. Comedy gold.” He managed a thin smile and sipped from his beer.
The other guys all guffawed, loud enough to set Ryan’s teeth on edge. On the inside, loud noises like that were never a good sign. They usually meant an imminent attack, or a riot.
Ryan looked away. Looking away meant he was looking directly at the beautiful Anthony again, and that was a problem. Christ, what was it about this kid?
And he was a kid, even if he was Jamie’s age. Jamie was a kid too. Fuck, right now everyone in this place seemed like a kid to Ryan, but Anthony came off as especially young.
Maybe it was the way that Anthony’s outsider status went off like a homing beacon. He knew how to behave around these people, but they weren’t his people. His off-brand or secondhand clothes were a clear sign of that.
So was the way he clearly nursed his drink, rather than guzzling it. They definitely had that in common, at least. Maybe it was those sparkling eyes of his, filled with innocence Ryan would never know again.
He’d give anything to just brush up against it.
Ryan would have remembered that face, before. Hell, back then, he’d have done something about it, too. He’d have hit on him, probably tried to fuck him.
He’d have taken what he wanted from beautiful Anthony King, even for one night only. He wouldn’t have cared. Nothing had mattered then.
This guy was new. How had he wound up around Jamie? Were they fucking?
No, Jamie had just scampered off with some other guy. However Anthony had wound up here tonight, it was one of those things that had changed over the past few years. Things like Ryan himself.
He could hardly have expected Culvertown to remain the same, after all. A decade was a long time.
He noticed that Anthony had gotten up from his place near the bar. Crap. Anthony was moving toward him.
Had he mistaken Ryan’s observation for real interest? Ryan couldn’t let him do that. Sure, the guy was hot. Gorgeous.
Ryan’s pants got increasingly uncomfortable every time he glanced Anthony’s way. That curly hair and those full lips just kept drawing Ryan’s eyes. Hazel eyes and a slim build completed a package anyone would want.
But Ryan was all used up and thrown away. Anthony deserved better.
He turned his back. It was a subtle enough hint that it shouldn’t embarrass the kid too much. After all, they weren’t exchanging words or anything. Ryan was just letting the kid down kind of easy. There was no harm in that, was there?
Unfortunately for Ryan, turning his back on lovely little Anthony meant he found himself face to face with the part of his past he wanted least. His cousin, little Tommy Roscoe, had gotten free of Jamie and made his way back to the bar. Christ, he looked terrible.
His cheeks were red, his nose covered in broken capillaries. Hair that had once been luscious and beautiful was now brittle and lank, and his eyes had a yellow cast to them.
Ryan had seen eyes like that on the inside. Those guys didn’t tend to last long. A late night call and a body bag, and that’s all she wrote.
Jesus Christ. After everything Ryan had done for him, after everything Ryan had put himself through for him, here was Tommy barely able to stand up, but getting himself another drink. A red haze fell over the scene as Ryan seethed.
He’d taken the hit, and he’d done it gladly, too. Tommy had a future. Tommy was going places. All Tommy had to do, in return for everything Ryan had done, was to get sober. All he had to do was to go and get fucking sober, and it would all be okay.
But Tommy couldn’t even do that, could he? Tommy had gone home and probably gone right to the bar. Ryan had gone to jail, and Tommy had crawled right back into the bottle.
What a waste of time. What a waste of space. What a waste of a life — of two lives, to be freaking honest, because any potential Ryan had was sure as hell lost now.
He stepped forward. He’d lost the thread of the conversation with Brad, Nelson, and the others. What did it matter anyway? They were babbling and insignificant, and they hadn’t given two shits about him until he walked in the door.
He wanted to walk over to Tommy and slap that glass right out of his shaking hand, give him rehab the same way Ryan had gotten it. He wanted to run and get a room, hide in it for a week, and not talk to anyone. Maybe a dark corner would do the trick.
Someone touched Ryan’s elbow, from behind and a little to the side. Ryan spun around, pulling his fist back. Someone was talking, but he couldn’t be heard over all the other noise, and who the hell cared? It was all just blather anyway, stuff to get in the way of keeping body and soul together —
Except the face in front of him was vaguely familiar. And nobody was wearing orange jumpsuits. These were clothes for the outside. The person mouthing words at him was someone he kind of knew, and his face was far too pretty for prison. No one stayed that pretty on the inside for long.
Ryan remembered where he was. The person grabbing — not grabbing, but gently touching — his elbow was lovely Anthony King. Earlier, his face had been hopeful, with a little flush of arousal to give him an added hint of sweetness.
Now he looked concerned, with his brows drawn together and those perfect little blow job lips just caught in his teeth. Was that a hint of pity Ryan saw in his eyes?
Ryan’s guts boiled. He had no room left in his life for vulnerability. And what the hell did this kid think he needed pity for, anyway?
Anthony’s gaze slid over to Tommy for barely half a second. He didn’t know, couldn’t know, the story. He hadn’t even been in Culvertown back when it had all happened.
Then he turned his attention back to Ryan. “Your family owns this hotel, right? Why don’t you give me the tour?”
Yeah, that was definitely pity. It was also a way out.
Ryan snorted and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, okay.” He stalked out of the game room, leaving Anthony to scurry along behind him.
They emerged from the game roo
m into the lobby in a cloud of smoke and haze. Ryan turned to Anthony and muttered, “Thanks.” Then he stalked away toward the exit. There was still time to make it to Fernley, if he tried.
Anthony, apparently, was having none of that. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked in a laughing tone. “We came out here to get a drink, right?” He inclined his head not back toward the wretched games room, but toward the actual hotel bar. “Let’s get a drink.”
Ryan knew he should just keep going. There wasn’t anything for him in Culvertown. There never had been, although he hadn’t recognized that at the time. He had to wonder who this handsome kid thought he was, talking to Ryan Roscoe like that.
“Okay,” he said with a tolerant smirk. What the hell, it was probably better for him than being alone right now anyway. If he were alone, he’d think about Tommy. That would just make him angry, and that was the last thing anyone needed right now.
They grabbed a table where Ryan could see the doors and the windows. A server came by and took their orders, and she brought them back quickly too. “So. You’re in town for a couple of weeks?” Anthony smiled at him. That little flush spread over him again, and he wetted his lips with a bright red tongue.
“Yeah. That was the plan, anyway. I might take off sooner.” How could Anthony come out of a place that reeked like an ashtray and still smell good enough to pull at Ryan’s heart, like soap and clean laundry, would remain one of the mysteries for the ages. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“Huh? No. No, my mom and I are originally from Florida. We moved out here a few years ago, after my parents got divorced.
“My mom got a job working here in the hotel as a housekeeper. And the rest is history.” Anthony’s cheeks darkened a little bit at that, but he didn’t hesitate to say it. He held his head up when he mentioned his mother’s job, too.
“Your mom came all the way from Florida to Nevada to take a job cleaning hotel rooms?” Ryan raised an eyebrow. “I know my family pays a decent wage, but nobody pays that well for housekeeping.”
If he kept Anthony talking about himself, he wouldn’t have to divulge anything about his own life, and that was usually the better plan. Plus, he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe anyone coming all this way to clean rooms.
“Yeah, well.” Anthony smirked. “Sometimes you need a change of place, I guess. And it’s nice here. I’ve made some good friends.”
“You did. You and Jamie seem pretty tight.” Ryan pretended he wasn’t jealous of that.
“Jamie’s been my best friend more or less since I moved here. We tried to make it more than friends, but it just didn’t work out. And you know what? I’m glad.”
His smile was so bright it could have lit the heavens themselves. “He’s a great guy, a good friend. I’m lucky to have found him here.”
Yes, yes you are. Ryan only half paid attention. He registered most of what Anthony said, but his real attention was on the soft curve of Anthony’s mouth and the way his pulse fluttered in his long, thin throat. How nice would it feel to put his mouth on that spot, to feel that pulse against his tongue while he sucked a mark in?
Was he only this distracted by the other man because it had been so damn long since he’d gotten any? Maybe. Anthony was enticing on his own, though.
Ryan would have wanted him even if the past decade had never happened. That mess of dark hair was just perfect for him to run his fingers through, maybe tug a little. Those eyes that sparkled just right for him — well, who could possibly resist them?
And what could it hurt to feel good for just one night? The kid would have to be delicate as hell if he couldn’t handle a night. They were both adults, for all that Ryan kept thinking of him as “the kid.” They should be able to handle a roll in the hay without any drama.
No. Ryan might want it, and hell, he knew Anthony wanted it. The way Anthony licked a little bit of beer foam from his finger told him all he needed to know about how much Anthony wanted it, for fuck’s sake. But Ryan didn’t need to sit around stupid Culvertown one minute longer than he had to.
Those hazel eyes sparkled at him. It could be so easy to get lost in them. And he wouldn’t have to stick around afterward. All he’d have to do would be indulge them both and take off.
It would be wrong, though. This wasn’t just some guy, this was a good friend of Jamie’s. Getting involved with someone so close to his baby brother would be a screw-up of epic proportions.
Ryan had already made a huge mistake being here at all. He should just back off, before anything else went wrong.
Like his drunk cousin Tommy staggering into the hotel bar.
His legs were shakier than a newborn giraffe’s. Tommy sidled up to the bar and tried to get up onto a bar stool. It took him three tries. How in the name of all that was holy could Tommy manage to fail to get onto a bar stool three times before finally sticking the landing?
Damn it, Tommy. I asked one thing of you. One.
Ryan needed a distraction. The bartender was already there, handing Tommy a whiskey before he even opened his mouth.
Ryan turned away, only to see Anthony looking on. Who was that expression of concern for — Ryan or Tommy? Or the bar’s liability insurance?
Whatever. He wasn’t supposed to be all that concerned for anyone here. It was for Roscoes to look out for one another, not outsiders.
Ryan grabbed Anthony’s arm. “Come on, quick. You wanted a tour, let’s do a tour.”
He wasn’t mistaking the little hitch in Anthony’s breath when he grabbed onto the younger man. Anthony definitely didn’t resist when Ryan tugged him out into the hallway. He didn’t stop until they’d gotten to a dark, quiet corner of the lobby, far from where Tommy could see him and try to talk to Ryan, or some bullshit like that.
He pulled Anthony to him and claimed his mouth in a rough, demanding kiss. He took the younger man’s perfect little lower lip between his and sucked it into his mouth. Anthony moaned softly, gripping his waist and rocking gently into him.
Oh, yeah. Ryan was going to do this. It was a bad idea, but Ryan didn’t care anymore.
“Hey,” he said, coming up for air. It was a soft, intimate murmur. “Don’t expect anything from me in the morning.”
It was a challenge, and Ryan knew Anthony understood it as such. For a second, he thought Anthony might demur. Then Anthony just smirked. “Fine by me,” he said, and followed where Ryan led.
3
Anthony stood a few steps behind Ryan, discreet and unassuming, while Ryan went to mutter a few words to the pretty woman at the dark walnut reception desk. The woman blushed a little and passed him a room key. Nothing else changed hands, not even payment, and Ryan headed toward the elevator.
Anthony followed him with a little smirk. It must be nice to be part of the family that owned the hotel. It was good to be a Roscoe in general. Anthony had been able to enjoy a few fringe benefits from the sidelines, but it wasn’t the same as being an actual Roscoe.
The elevator slid smoothly up to the tenth floor, and Anthony contemplated his silent companion. While it might be good to be a Roscoe in general, Ryan Roscoe didn’t seem lead as much of a charmed life as the rest of his family. He might be able to wheedle a room key out of the reception clerk just as easily as Jamie or Liam, but he was different from the other Roscoes, and it wasn’t just the leather and tattoos.
There was something in the defensive way he held himself, or the hollowness of his cheek, maybe. Something dark, or haunted.
Anthony wasn’t going to pry. Something in him wanted to ask, to try to help soothe whatever worried the beautiful man beside him, but that wasn’t why he was here. They were here for a quick, dirty fuck in a hotel room, and that was all.
It wasn’t the way Anthony usually liked to handle his business. He was usually more of a romantic than that, but tonight, he just needed to get Ryan’s hands on him. He’d take what he could get and he’d like it, too.
He had no doubt about that.
Maybe silence was golden, after all.
“This should be fun,” he tried.
Ryan didn’t answer.
Anthony frowned. If he couldn’t hear the way Ryan’s breathing had changed, the way he kept glancing at Anthony, he’d think Ryan didn’t want to do this. Why would he have come along if he didn’t want to be here? He wanted this, so why was he being so standoffish?
When they reached their floor, Ryan unlocked the door and let Anthony in. Once the door was closed and locked behind them, it was like someone had flipped a switch on Ryan. He hadn’t even let his hand graze Anthony’s arm since he kissed him, but now he turned around and pushed Anthony up against the wall.
His lips smashed against Anthony’s, claiming and bruising and taking what they wanted. He grabbed at Anthony’s clothes like they personally offended him, and who knew, maybe they did.
Anthony’s heart raced. He loved this. For all Ryan’s indifference in the elevator, he was all hunger and passion now.
He relaxed into the touches and let Ryan take control. Something about the frenzied way Ryan needed him right now spoke to him, set his blood aflame. He put his hands under Ryan’s plain white shirt, eager to see more of him. God, but he was beautiful.
Ryan got him naked fast, and his own clothes soon joined Anthony’s in the heap. Anthony got to stare for a few seconds, and that was good, because he was only going to get tonight. He wanted to commit as much of this to memory as he could.
Ryan was stunning, all lean muscle and beautiful ink. Anthony couldn’t keep his hands, or his mouth, off of him. He stepped up and ran his tongue along the line of a tattoo that wrapped from Ryan’s shoulder, around his left pectoral, and down his breastbone.