by Tinnean
“What?”
“You knew I grew up in a small town out in the country, right? I’ve known how to shoot since I was a kid.”
Holy God. “What else haven’t you told me?”
Mopp shrugged. “It never came up, I guess.” He pulled on the trousers Josh had chosen for him, eased them over his butt, and stood, then wavered a bit.
Josh grabbed him, unintentionally pulling Mopp close to his body. Or maybe it wasn’t so unintentional?
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he said gruffly. “Are you steady enough?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Good.” Josh released him and took a step back.
Mopp tucked in his shirt, and Josh’s mouth went dry. He’d give anything to be the one smoothing that shirt in place.
Josh couldn’t take his gaze from Mopp’s fingers as he did up the fly. What had they been talking about? Oh, yes: guns.
“You can’t bring a rifle into a funeral home.”
“Then I’ll leave it in the car.” Mopp stepped into his shoes, then looked up at him and smiled, and Josh was almost overwhelmed by the desire to kiss him.
“Are you steady enough?”
“You already asked me that, and yes, I think I am.”
“Good. I have to go—”
“Okay, let me put on my suit jacket.”
“You should stay here…”
“No. I should go with you. Please?”
Josh had always known he was a sucker for punishment. “Okay.”
“Can we take the Harley?”
“No.”
Mopp opened his mouth. Before he could call Josh a spoilsport, as Josh was sure he was about to, Josh pressed a fingertip to Mopp’s lips, silencing him. Mopp tipped back his head, his eyes huge.
Josh grinned and continued, “Not this time.”
And it was worth it, because Mopp hugged him.
Chapter 15
MOPP HADN’T SEEN Josh’s house before, and now he stared wide-eyed as Josh pulled into the driveway of the prettiest house Mopp had ever seen. Compared to the ranch it was tiny, but with its red tin roof and Savannah gray stone chimneys, it was a real gem. The expanse of roof was interrupted by twin gables as well as a chimney to the left and another in the center. A paved walk of red and gray stones wound up to a set of wooden stairs, which led to a banistered veranda that stretched across the front of the house. Large, multi-paned picture windows framed the white double door in the center of the house.
If he ever had a house of his own, this was what he would want…
He sighed. Why was he even thinking of it? It was out of his league. Just as Jan had proved to be Just as Josh was also.
“Are you okay, Mopp? Do you need a hand?”
“No, I can manage. Thanks, though.”
He got out of the car Josh had again borrowed from JT and braced himself on the door for a moment before he stepped out of the way and slammed it shut.
“Okay.” Josh came around to the passenger side and slid an arm around Mopp’s shoulders. “Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour.”
Mopp watched with interest as, instead of inserting a key into the lock, Josh punched a series of numbers into a keypad. With that done, he twisted the latch and opened the door.
The interior of the house was as incredible as the exterior. The foyer opened to a huge living room on the left. The windows at the front of the house let in an amazing amount of light. There wasn’t a lot of furniture, though, just a sectional sofa, a coffee table, a bookcase, and a TV sitting on an entertainment center set between two windows. To the rear of the room and off to the side were a pair of french doors.
“When I bought this, it was five bedrooms, with two of the bedrooms and a half bath on the second floor.”
“And now?”
Josh grinned at him. “The half bath is a full bath.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah. And I combined the two bedrooms on this side of the ground floor to make a large master with an en suite.” He threw open the french doors, and Mopp almost swallowed his tongue.
The room was huge, with a king-size four-poster bed draped with mosquito netting, a pair of night tables, a triple dresser, and a rocker near another set of french doors that opened on to the veranda. A whitewashed brick fireplace was against the outside wall, between two windows that looked out on to the side yard and let in a lot of natural light.
The en suite bathroom was done in sea-foam-green subway tiles—Mopp had learned paint colors over the years—and had dual vessel sinks, a stand-alone shower, and a claw foot tub.
“Jiminy cricket!”
“Yeah.” Josh grinned at him. “The tub is pretty amazing, isn’t it?
“The whole bathroom is!”
Josh ruffled Mopp’s hair, making sure to avoid the patch on his temple, then glanced at his watch. “We’re running short of time. You can explore the rest of the house while I take a shower and get changed. The gun safe is in my office, which was the fifth bedroom. It’s across the hall. The combination is three-sixteen-eighty-one.”
Mopp stared at him.
“Mopp? Are you okay? Is something wrong?”
“Uh… no. I’m good. I’ve got it.”
“Take out the revolver for me, and you choose a rifle or shotgun that will suit you. Then you can get yourself something to drink. The kitchen’s at the back of the house. Help yourself to a water or a soda.”
“Thank you,” Mopp said softly. He was still trying to get his head around two things: how much he’d liked Josh touching him, and the fact that the combination to Josh’s gun safe was his birthday.
***
MOPP DIDN’T GO through the rest of the house, as much as he would have liked to—he kind of hoped Josh would want to finish the tour with him some other time—and he didn’t bother with getting something to drink. He went to the office, threw the combination, and pulled open the heavy door.
It didn’t take long for him to find the revolver Josh wanted. He stared at it thoughtfully for a long moment, then reached for its twin as well. Mopp set them aside, then selected the Winchester pump-action shotgun he knew would work for him. It was a beauty, much nicer than the one his daddy had given him, and he stroked it and petted it. But—he couldn’t help snickering to himself—he wasn’t going to name it George.
After loading the three weapons, making sure he had plenty of ammunition, and wondering if he’d watched too many cop movies with Tad and Rush, Mopp closed and locked the safe, put a .22 into the waistband at his back, and left the other two guns on a table by the front door.
Then he went to Josh’s bedroom. He tapped gently on the glass. “Josh, are you ready?” He pushed the doors open and walked in.
“No, wait…” Josh whirled to face him, holding a shirt to his chest, almost like a woman who’d been caught undressed and needed to conceal her bosoms.
“Josh.” Mopp had gotten a glimpse of his back. “Oh my God, Josh, what happened?”
Josh stood there staring at him, so pale Mopp was afraid he was going to keel over. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” Mopp went to him and laid a hand on his shoulder, preventing him from backing away.
Josh’s shoulders slumped in defeat.
“It’s okay.” Mopp suddenly felt like the parent, needing to comfort his child. He angled himself to stand behind Josh and bit his lower lip hard to prevent himself from gasping. Old scars criss-crossed the flesh of Josh’s back. “Who did this to you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters.” Mopp stroked Josh’s hair, still damp from his shower, and was tempted to press kisses to each ridged line. Instead, he touched each one with gentle fingertips. “I’m so sorry this was done to you.”
Josh gave a full-body shu
dder, and Mopp dropped his hand, afraid Josh was reacting with distaste.
“No, you don’t understand. He didn’t do anything I didn’t want him to do. I was so stupid. I’m still stupid.”
Mopp’s chest hurt. “You… do you still love him?”
“No.” Josh’s laugh struck Mopp as bitter. “You’d think I would learn after all this time.” He stepped away, put on his shirt, and tucked it into his trousers. “We have to go. Tom is going to think I’m molesting you.” He buttoned his shirt, then sat on the bed, put on a pair of dress shoes, and began to lace them up.
Mopp swallowed. “Did you want to?”
That got Josh’s attention. “What? What are you talking about?” He sounded almost panicky.
“Molest me?”
Josh moaned, and Mopp couldn’t resist a quick glance at his crotch. The smooth line of his trousers wasn’t quite so smooth.
Fuck this. Before Josh could get to his feet, Mopp went to him, nudging aside Josh’s legs so he could stand between them. Was he really going to do this?
Yes, damn it, he was. He licked his lips, almost as nervous as the first time he’d kissed Jan.
Jan’s touch always filled him with a flicker of anxiety—would he be enough for her? Was he worthy of her?
Josh’s touch, on the other hand, just made him feel comfortable. Well, he was an all-around good man. There had been a time when Josh hadn’t seemed to like him, had kept a noticeable distance between them and barely nodded hello.
But Mopp could be perseverant if anything—according to Reverend Sales, Galatians had said something about it, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up, Mopp was pretty sure—so he had persevered, and Josh had eventually given in and become his friend.
And it had been worth it when he woke up in that hospital bed and saw Josh sitting there.
Now Mopp stroked Josh’s hair, tipped his face up, then leaned down and brushed his lips over Josh’s.
Oh my God! Kissing Jan was nothing like this, and as for other girls… well, he hadn’t kissed any other girls. This kiss was warm. Soft. Dry. Moving slightly with each breath. His lips tingled, and he parted them and licked them again, this time inadvertently licking Josh’s lips as well.
“Mopp, what are you doing?” Josh got to his feet, and for a second, Mopp thought he was going to embrace him and kiss him again. Instead, he gently pushed him away. “You’re straight.”
“What’s your point?” He’d never heard his voice like that before, hoarse and breathless and almost desperate. How was he going to convince Josh it was okay, that all Mopp wanted to do was comfort him? How was he going to convince himself of that?
“Listen to me. You’re straight!”
“Josh, you’ve seen the Kinsey scale, haven’t you?”
“What do you know about the Kinsey scale?”
“I may be a dumb hick, but I read.”
“You’re not dumb.”
“Jan always thought I was.”
“She did?”
“I can’t blame her. I barely made it through high school, while her boyfriend was at the top of his class and then graduated college. All her friends went to college. Even Miss Becca and Tad have been, and don’t get me started on Rush. He has two degrees! Please listen to me, Josh. I may be straight, but when it comes to you, I’m as gay as I need to be.”
For a second, Mopp was certain he’d gotten through to him, but then Josh shook his head.
“Oh, no. I know what happens when a gay boy falls in love with a straight boy.”
He’d have asked what happened, but the way Josh had phrased that intrigued him. “Are you… Does that mean you’re in love with me?”
“We’re not having this conversation. You’ve been shot in the head—”
“It was just a graze.”
“—and obviously you’re not thinking clearly. On top of that, your girlfriend ran off with her old boyfriend, and you’re on the rebound.”
“None of that matters.”
“It matters a hell of a lot. Now we have to get to the funeral home.” He stomped out of the room.
Mopp looked after him, smiling. He knew he’d always liked Josh very much. There had been other people he’d liked, but when it turned out they didn’t want to be friends with him anymore, he’d just let it go and walked away.
So this was why he’d fought so hard to make Josh his friend. He’d never looked at another man and wondered what it was like to go to bed with him, but he found himself wondering what it would be like with Josh. Would he be tender? Would he be fierce?
Mopp shivered, the thought making his dick twitch. He had every intention of finding out.
There might be a lot of stuff involved with being with a guy—having worked with gay men since he was fifteen and having lived in a gay household for almost a year, he’d have had to be deaf and blind not to be aware of that. But he was a fast learner.
Mopp worked to wipe the smile off his face as he left the bedroom.
“Mopp.” Josh stood at the end of the hall, cradling the Winchester.
“Okay, Josh, let’s go.” Mopp took the shotgun from him.
Did he seem disappointed Mopp wasn’t going to push for more?
Just you wait, Josh Cooper.
Chapter 16
CRIS WAS GETTING the Always Reddy Pub ready for the afternoon staff. Usually he and his partner Tim Reddy—the place was named for him—handled the Sunday afternoon shift, but today they had to attend Jack Jackson’s wake.
If there was one thing Cris hated, it was funerals. They were depressing as hell, and creepy. If the casket was open, he was afraid the occupant was going to climb out. And if it was closed, he was equally afraid he’d hear knocking because the body wanted out.
He was going to this one. Tom Weber was a good man, a friend of Tim’s; he’d stepped up to the plate when Tim had asked for a favor; and most importantly, as a result, Weber’s partner had been killed because of that favor.
God, that sucked donkey dick.
He and Tim had first met Tom when they’d moved to Savannah. The bar they’d picked out needed refurbishing, and Cris had asked around, proud that Tim had let him do this. Word was Jack Jackson did good work.
Cris had given Tim the information, and then Tim had contacted Jackson to come and give him an estimate.
Jackson had brought Tom along, introducing him as his company’s bookkeeper, because at that point he didn’t know them and he wasn’t putting Tom at risk.
Of course, Cris and Tim being former rent boys, they’d spotted the underlying sexual tension between the two men. They’d kept it to themselves.
Tom had been a chemistry professor at Pulaski and Jasper University at one time, and he and Tim had gotten into a discussion about mixing drinks, of all things. That had been the start of their friendship.
Cris had just finished setting up the bar when he realized he wasn’t alone. A kid stood by the entrance to the Pub.
“You’re too young to be here,” Cris told him.
“Charles sent me. I have a message for Tim.”
Cris studied the kid—he wasn’t as young as he looked, probably more eighteen than thirteen, and vaguely resembled the blond actor from Queer As Folk—and felt a knot form in his stomach.
“What’s wrong?”
“Charles told me I should only give this to Tim or Cris.”
Charles ran one of the most elite stables in DC, which contained the most popular group of rent boys in the capital.
Although that was debatable, according to Sweetcheeks, the boy who’d taken over their own stable when Tim retired and Cris went with him. But then Sweets and Charles had a history, and neither of them thought kindly of the other.
“I’m Cris.”
“Prove it.”
Cris took his wallet
out of his back pocket, removed his driver’s license, and handed it to the kid.
The kid looked it over, then returned it to him and passed him an envelope.
Cris’s hands were shaking as he opened it. He was big, and he was supposed to be tough, but once a rent boy left the business, no one was likely to contact him again. Well, Sweets stayed in touch, but that was because he’d always had a crush on Tim, not that Cris would comment on that. But that a rival rent boy would…
The message was short and to the point: Delilah’s been murdered by her boyfriend. Get them out of there.
It was too cryptic for anyone unfamiliar with the situation to understand, but Cris got it.
“Come with me.”
“I’ve gotta get back…”
“Come with me.” He led the way up the stairs to the apartment above the pub. He’d lived there with Tim for the past seven years, and life was good. Better than he had any right to expect, he supposed.
Cris had given up his last name when he was fourteen, at the same time his family had tossed him away like so much trash. Fortunately, he’d run into Tim Reddy right after that, and he’d been with him for almost twenty years.
The funny thing was he wasn’t gay, like his family thought. His goddamned stepfather had used that as an excuse after he’d tried to rape Cris. Even then Cris had been a big boy, and he’d driven his knee into the bastard’s balls so hard “dear old dad” had vomited and almost lost consciousness. Cris wasn’t really surprised when his mom took his stepfather at his word.
After that, whether he was gay or not was a moot point. He had to sell his body to survive, and women weren’t the ones interested in fourteen-year-old boys.
Usually he was good at not thinking about that time, but… He knew what had brought up those memories—the arrival of the kid, who probably had the same story as Cris, or something very similar.
Cris opened the door to their apartment. “Tim?”
“Cris, I just got off the phone with Sweets. He’s a wreck.” Tim was so pale Cris thought he was going to fall over. “Delilah’s dead.”
“I know.”
“What?”
Cris handed Tim the piece of paper and waited as he scanned the message.