by Alexa Land
Take a Chance on Me
by Alexa Land
The Firsts and Forever Series
Book Fifteen
U.S. Copyright 2017 by Alexa Land.
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission in whole or in part of this publication is permitted without express written consent from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either used fictitiously or are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, business establishments or locales is purely coincidental.
This gay romance contains adult language and sexually explicit material.
It is intended for ADULTS ONLY.
Books by Alexa Land Include:
Feral (prequel to Tinder)
The Tinder Chronicles (Tinder, Hunted and Destined)
And the Firsts and Forever Series:
1 Way Off Plan
2 All In
3 In Pieces
4 Gathering Storm
5 Salvation
6 Skye Blue
7 Against the Wall
8 Belonging
9 Coming Home
10 All I Believe
10.5 Hitman’s Holiday (novella)
11 The Distance
12 Who I Used to Be
13 Worlds Away
13.5 Armor (novella)
14 All I Ever Wanted
15 Take a Chance on Me
Dedicated to
Sandrine Gasq Dion
The MM community lost a fantastic author
and the world lost an amazing woman
with her untimely passing.
I’ll always cherish the memories
I have of you, Sandy.
Acknowledgements
Thank you Jera
For all the late-night chats, the encouragement, and the feedback. But most of all, thank you for your friendship! <3
Special thanks to
Rianna, Melisha, Kim, Ron & Kelly
I truly appreciate your help and support <3
Special thanks to Kristin, who sparked the idea for Mrs. Nesbitt :)
And thank you as always to My Firsts & Forever Group on Facebook for the laughs, the enthusiasm, the suggestions, and for keeping me company every step of the way!
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Bonus Recipe: Duke’s Sugar Cookies
Chapter One
“Wait, is that a macaroni Elvis?”
Duke Blumenthal had been startled by several of my treasures, but that one stopped him in his tracks. My new roommate and I were carrying a dresser across my bedroom, and he’d just spotted the dried noodle portrait propped up in the corner, awaiting a place of honor on my wall. “Isn’t it awesome? You find the best stuff at garage sales! I got that just last week.” He stared at it for another moment, until I said, “My arms are about to snap off. Can we please put this down?”
He shook himself out of it, and as we continued across the room, he said, “Won’t that attract vermin?” His deep voice matched his huge build.
I grinned at him. “Your house seems pretty vermin-free, Duke. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“I’d like to keep it that way.”
We put the dresser down in a corner, near the doorway to the bathroom. As much as I’d liked my old apartment, and especially my former roommate River, my new digs were pretty sweet. The bedroom was nearly twice as big as my old one, and having my own private bathroom was awesome.
The part I was a little iffy on was my new roommate. Duke was nice, but oh my God was he uptight! I went over to Elvaroni and tapped one of the glued-on noodles with my fingernail. “This stuff isn’t even food anymore. It’s all been shellacked, see? No self-respecting vermin would waste his time on this shit.”
Even though he looked skeptical, he murmured, “Yeah, okay,” and headed for the door. “What’s left in the truck?”
“Just my new bed. It’s another two-person job.”
I followed him down the stairs and out of the house, then jogged around him and climbed into the moving van. When I pulled off the tarp with a flourish and revealed my latest and greatest treasure, Duke asked, “What exactly am I looking at here?”
“My bed.”
“But it’s round. And huge.”
“I know! Isn’t it awesome?”
“I have no words.”
“It was only two hundred bucks! I totally scored, right?”
“Where’d it come from?”
“A warehouse sale at a porn studio.”
Duke’s blue-green eyes went wide, and he took a step back. “You bought a used porn mattress? Are you nuts? Didn’t you stop to consider the germs, the bodily fluids, the—” His gag reflex kicked in, and he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. My new roommate was a total clean-freak, and I probably should have guessed a used mattress would make him squeamish.
“Yeah, but it’d been in storage since the late 1980s. It’s not like a strain of mutant, twentieth century herpes has been lying in wait all this time, looking for its opportunity to leap out and infect an unsuspecting host!”
“I still don’t want to touch that thing. You shouldn’t, either.”
“Fine, don’t touch it then. I’ll do it myself.” I had no idea how I was going to get it up the stairs and into my room, but step one was to get it out of the truck, so I wedged myself behind it and pushed off with my legs to get the thing moving. Once it gained some momentum, I was able to roll it fairly easily.
Duke stepped out of the way as my new bed rolled down the ramp and out of the truck. But when it hit the street, I lost my grip on it. As it started to wobble, I yelled, “Timber!”
He tried to scramble backwards, out of its way, but he stumbled and landed on his ass in the street. Duke was a huge guy, probably six-foot-eight and solid muscle. He was also a cop, so he’d probably faced some scary shit in his day. But somehow, that bed was just too much for my quite possibly germ-phobic roommate, and he yelled like he was auditioning for a horror movie. In the next instant, the porn mattress landed on top of him.
I tried to shift it, but the thing was a dead weight. There was no sign of life from underneath the mattress, and I started to panic. What if he suffocated? I made another desperate attempt to haul it off him as I called, “Save yourself, Duke! Don’t let it end this way! Think of the headlines: ‘San Francisco police officer smothered by cum-soaked 1980s porn mattress.’ Jesus, why is this so heavy? Do you think it gained weight from all the bodily fluids it absorbed over the years?”
Apparently, that was all the motivation he needed to free himself. Duke flipped the mattress up and over and scampered out from under it. The thing landed partly in his driveway, overlapping the street and sidewalk. He shuddered and marched up the front steps, and I called after him, “Where are you going?”
“Shower.”
“What about my bed?”
“Burn it.” I watched as he disappeared through the front door of the tidy, white duplex, and then I sighed and climbed onto the mattress.
I was spread-eagled on my new bed and staring at the blue September sky when my neighbor came home about ten minutes later, carrying a sack of groceries. Xavier lived in the other half of the duplex,
and we’d only met briefly, but I liked him. He was a nurse and seemed like a nice guy. He also looked like a big, blond, ruggedly handsome Viking, which earned him major bonus points, as far as I was concerned. He paused to contemplate the scene in front of his home and said, “Hi Quinn. What’re you doing?”
“Moving in.”
“You seem to have hit a snag.”
“Duke got all squirrelly at the idea of a used porn mattress and went inside. I’m waiting to see if he takes pity on me and comes back to help.”
“A used what now?”
“I bought this bed at an adult film studio’s warehouse sale.”
“I hope you soaked it in bleach.”
“Like I told Duke, it had been in storage for thirty years. That means it’s perfectly sanitary.”
“Yeah, I don’t know about that. The squick factor alone would have made me steer clear.”
“It probably had sheets on it when they were making the porn.”
“I know, but still.” Xavier shifted his grocery sack to the other hand and asked, “Did you get anything else at that warehouse sale?”
“Just a couple 1980s porn costumes.”
“Seriously?” When I nodded, he asked, “Why?”
“Because they were hilarious. Don’t worry, I’m going to wash them before I wear them.”
“Where exactly would you wear such a thing?”
“Anyplace, really. You could also stay in and make a theme night out of it: get dressed up and watch 80s porn while enjoying some wine coolers and whatever the hell they ate back then. Oh man, I totally need to do that!”
“You’re an interesting person, Quinn Takahashi.”
“Thank you.”
“Is it insensitive to ask why you’re a blue-eyed blond with a Japanese last name?”
“I was adopted,” I said. “I’ve been asked that a million times before, so I guess a lot of people find it unusual.”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s none of my business.”
I just shrugged. “It’s not a secret.”
“Still.”
We chatted for another minute, and after he went inside, I stared at the sky some more. A little while later, Duke came back outside dressed in a pair of blue coveralls and yellow kitchen gloves. Since his dark blond hair was dry, I couldn’t tell if he’d actually showered. As I got to my feet, he produced a tape measure and said, “It occurred to me this might actually be too big to fit through the door.”
I studied Duke as he measured the mattress. He was actually a good-looking guy, despite the I-don’t-give-a-fuck buzz cut and the frown line that was trying to carve a permanent home for itself between his brows. He had nice eyes and a square jaw, and his nose was slightly on the big side, but it suited him somehow.
Was he always so dead-serious, though? I’d only met him on a couple of occasions before agreeing to rent a room from him, so I didn’t know him very well. His former roommate and mine had moved in together, which left both Duke and me looking for replacements. I’d jumped at the offer of a bigger room and private bath for less money than my old place, but maybe living with Duke was going to be problematic. I used to accuse River of being uptight when we shared an apartment, but with this guy, I needed to totally recalibrate my uptightness scale.
He straightened up after a few moments, and the frown line between his brows deepened. “As I suspected, this won’t actually fit through the front entryway. Even if we got it into the house somehow, we’d have the same problem with your bedroom door.”
“Aw. I was really looking forward to having a big, round bed. Now what am I going to do with this thing?”
“Take it to the dump.”
“That’s so wasteful, though. Oh hey, I just had an idea.” I pulled out my phone and fired off a quick text, then said, “My friend Skye is a metal sculptor, so I’m asking him if he could use the springs. It’d be cool if part of it could live on in a piece of art.” A reply popped up a few moments later, and I told Duke, “Skye’s stoked about getting to recycle the springs into one of his projects. He and his husband Dare are out of town though, so they can’t help me get the mattress into their warehouse. I don’t suppose you want to take a field trip to Oakland, so you can help me unload it.”
He considered the question before saying, “I need to be back here by five, because I work at six.”
“That’s perfect! I need to return the truck by five, so we’ll definitely be back by then.”
“How are we getting into the warehouse if no one’s there to let us in?”
“I have a key. I’m in Dare’s dance troupe, and that’s where we practice.”
Between the two of us, we managed to lift the mattress and balance it on its edge, and then with a lot of effort, we rolled it back up into the truck. As I folded the ramp, Duke said, “Be right back. I’m going to lock up.”
I called after him, “Thanks, Duke! You’re a prince among men!” He just kept walking.
After I pulled the rolling door shut at the back of the truck, I shot Skye another text to let him know I’d be delivering the mattress. I got behind the wheel and started the engine, and I was trying to find a decent radio station when Duke opened the driver’s side door and said, “Move over.” He was dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt, and the gloves and coveralls were tucked under his arm. He’d also donned a pair of mirrored, aviator-style sunglasses, as if he needed to look more like a cop.
“Why?”
“Because I’m driving.”
I repeated, “Why?”
“Do you want my help or not?”
“I really do.”
“Then move over.”
“Fine.” I climbed over the gear shift and into the passenger seat, and then I tugged down the legs of my red shorts, which were riding up something fierce.
“Fasten your seatbelt.”
“I was just about to, right after I saved myself from this atomic wedgie.”
Duke frowned at that. I was beginning to realize that was his go-to facial expression. I strapped myself in, then sat there and fidgeted as he spent a solid minute adjusting and readjusting the rearview and side mirrors. Finally, I exclaimed, “You should have just let me drive! I had ‘em all where I wanted them.” He leaned out the open window and adjusted the mirror an eighth of an inch up, then an eighth of an inch back down again. “That’s right where you had it!” He tilted it up an eighth of an inch again, and I flopped back in my seat and groaned.
He asked, “Are you always this impatient?”
“Yes. Are you always this slow?”
“Yup.”
“Fantastic.”
He wasn’t kidding. Eventually, he put on his signal, pulled away from the curb, and started rolling down the street at about three miles an hour. “We only have four hours to make it to the East Bay and back. Go crazy, shoot for double digits on the ol’ speedometer there, Duke.” He ignored me and kept creeping along. I muttered, “Sweet Baby Jesus, give me the patience to survive the world’s slowest trip to Oakland.”
When I started tapping my foot, he said, “Could you not?”
“This is making me crazy! We’ve been driving for twenty minutes, and we’re still in our neighborhood!”
“It’s only been ninety seconds.”
“You’re shitting me.” He shook his head, and I told him, “If I ever get a terminal illness, I’m hiring you to drive me around. You’ll make the last week of my life feel like fifty years.”
He chose to ignore that. I reached above him, pulled my yellow plastic sunglasses out of the visor, and stuck them on my face. That only killed about four seconds. My leg started bouncing quicker than ever. He clamped his huge hand down on my knee to stop my foot from tapping and shot me a look over the top of his shades. “You have to be able to drive faster than this,” I said as he let go of me. He turned on the signal and looked both ways, then inched into an intersection and made the world’s most cautious left turn. “You’re a cop. That must mean yo
u go on high-speed chases and are used to driving—” I leaned over and looked at the dashboard, “faster than fourteen miles an hour, otherwise you’d never apprehend any criminals. Kudos on finally reaching double digits, though.”
“I’m still getting used to this big truck.”
“It’s not that big.”
“It’s probably twice as long as my pickup.”
“And?”
“And I’m not going to drive very fast until I’m comfortable with it.”
“You should have just let me drive,” I said. “We’d already be there.”
“That’s exactly why you’re not driving. I knew you’d be reckless.”
“What are you basing that on?”
“Absolutely everything about you.”
“That’s unfair! You barely know me.”
He turned a corner and accelerated a bit, but not enough. Then he asked, “How fast would you be driving on this road?”
“Fifty.”
“The speed limit is twenty-five.”
“But whoever decided to make it twenty-five was wrong,” I said. “It should be fifty, so that’s what I’d drive.” The frown line got so deep that I could have stuck a quarter in there, and his clenched forehead would have held it for me. He didn’t say anything though, and I wasn’t a fan of awkward silences, so after a while, I blurted, “Tell me about you, Duke. Were your parents massive John Wayne fans? Is that what happened there?”
“It’s a nickname.”
“What’s your real name?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Why wouldn’t your name matter?”
“Because I never use it.”
“Is that because it’s really bad? It is, isn’t it?” He didn’t say anything, so I prodded, “Come on, you can tell me.”
“I can, but I don’t want to.”
“If I guess it, will you tell me I’m right?”
“No.”
I twisted around in my seat so I could study his profile and tugged on the seatbelt to adjust it as I asked, “Is your name Marion?”