For a Good Time, Call

by Anne Tenino

  Riptide Publishing

  PO Box 1537

  Burnsville, NC 28714

  www.riptidepublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All person(s) depicted on the cover are model(s) used for illustrative purposes only.

  For a Good Time, Call…

  Copyright © 2017 by Anne Tenino and E.J. Russell

  Cover art: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm

  Editor: May Peterson, maypetersonbooks.com

  Layout: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at marketing@riptidepublishing.com.

  ISBN: 978-1-62649-592-0

  First edition

  April, 2017

  Also available in paperback:

  ISBN: 978-1-62649-593-7

  ABOUT THE EBOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED:

  We thank you kindly for purchasing this title. Your nonrefundable purchase legally allows you to replicate this file for your own personal reading only, on your own personal computer or device. Unlike paperback books, sharing ebooks is the same as stealing them. Please do not violate the author’s copyright and harm their livelihood by sharing or distributing this book, in part or whole, for a fee or free, without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner. We love that you love to share the things you love, but sharing ebooks—whether with joyous or malicious intent—steals royalties from authors’ pockets and makes it difficult, if not impossible, for them to be able to afford to keep writing the stories you love. Piracy has sent more than one beloved series the way of the dodo. We appreciate your honesty and support.

  Thirty-seven-year-old Nate Albano’s second relationship ever ended three years ago, and since he’s grace—gray asexual—he doesn’t anticipate beating the odds to find a third. Still, he’s got his dog, his hobbies, and his job as a special effects technician on Wolf’s Landing, so he can’t complain—much.

  Seth Larson, umpteenth generation Bluewater Bay, is the quintessential good-time guy, content with tending bar and being his grandmother’s handyman. The night they meet, Seth’s looking for some recreational sex to escape family drama. But for Nate, romantic attraction comes before sexual attraction, so while Seth thinks they’re hooking up, Nate just wants to talk . . . genealogy?

  Dude. Seriously?

  So they declare a “just friends” truce. Then Seth asks for Nate’s help investigating a sinister Larson family secret, and their feelings start edging way beyond platonic. But Nate may want more than Seth can give him, and Seth may not be able to leave his good-time image behind. Unless they can find a way to merge carefree with commitment, they could miss out on true love—the best time of all.

  About For a Good Time, Call…

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Dear Reader

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Anne Tenino

  Also by E.J. Russell

  About the Authors

  More like this

  It’s just a theater, not a torture chamber. You’re here to consult, as a favor to a friend, nothing more.

  No matter how many times Nate Albano had repeated that to himself in the last few hours, his palms were still sweaty as he entered the Bluewater Bay Theater lobby. Chill. Focus on the task at hand—or on the building itself, not what it stands for in your own pathetic life.

  From his research into town history, Nate knew that the theater had started life as a vaudeville house in the early twenties, but had hosted barely six months’ worth of acts before it closed, a victim of the rise of the nickelodeon and the difficulty of luring quality performers to the Olympic Peninsula. It’d had a second life as a first-run movie house in Hollywood’s golden era, but had closed again with the rise of the multiplex and a downturn in the local economy.

  Now, it was experiencing another revival—in more ways than one. The vintage movie posters lining the lobby were a little yellowed with age, but now they were encased in glass and high-end frames. The carpet, still dotted with random crimson tufts where the installers had been sloppy with the vacuum, hadn’t lost the odor of newness. No doubt about it—the playhouse had benefited from its association with Levi Pritchard.

  Nate could relate. He had Levi to thank for his own presence in Bluewater Bay. In the aftermath of Jorge walking out on their six-year relationship, Nate had burned so many bridges in Hollywood that he hadn’t worked for over a year. Then he’d gotten that call out of the blue—Levi had recommended Nate for a spot on the special effects crew of Wolf’s Landing on the strength of his work on the SFX crews of Levi’s indie films. So what if setting foot in a theater again knotted his belly and sent his pulse into overdrive? Levi had asked for his help on his latest community theater production—and Levi could pretty much ask him to do anything, short of taking a flying leap off the edge of Sandy Bluff, and Nate would follow through.

  When he slipped into the auditorium, Levi was standing at the edge of the stage, flanked by a woman wearing a headset and a man scribbling notes on a clipboard. Nate knew the drill all too well—he’d logged enough hours in darkened theaters to identify the defeated slump of the crew’s shoulders and the tension fairly vibrating off Levi. Welcome to tech week.

  Nate started down the aisle as Levi cursed under his breath.

  “The set looks great, Jack, don’t get me wrong. But the vibe for this scene—Darla, can we do something with the lights to make this look more like a luxury hotel gone to seed and less like the Transylvania Holiday Inn?”

  The woman muttered into her mic, and the lights bathing the stage dimmed and took on a bluish cast.

  “Yeah, that’s it. Can we get more of the moonlight effect through the window? And what about— Nate.” Levi beckoned him over. “Thank God. Come meet everyone.”

  When Nate reached the front of the house, Levi clapped him on the shoulder. “Folks, this is Nate Albano, who’s on the special effects crew for Wolf’s Landing. Darla’s our lighting designer.” She nodded but turned away to continue her conversation. Levi turned to the man with the clipboard, a thirtysomething guy with sandy hair and a determined chin. “And Jack’s my technical director. He’s done miracles with our limited budgets.”

  Nate shook hands, nodding at the set, with its dark wainscoting and realistic plaster walls. “I can tell. You must have a killer fly system to be able to cap the walls with the ceiling that way.”

  “Yeah.” Jack shrugged. “Thanks to Levi. He ponied up half the cost for the upg
rade a couple years back.”

  “Don’t give me more credit than I’m due,” Levi said. “Guy Parker was the real hero there. Between his fundraising campaign and his own donations—”

  Jack leaned toward Nate and spoke out of the side of his mouth. “Only because he didn’t want the scenery to fall on his wife’s head.”

  Levi chuckled. “Elle Parker is one of our regular actors—she’s playing Elizabeth. Hey, Elle,” he called. “Come on out and meet the man who’s facilitating your murder.”

  A willowy blonde woman poked her head out of the wings. “You bellowed, oh fearless leader?” She walked out onto the apron, her long rehearsal skirt setting the residual construction dust swirling. A thin, nervous-looking man in a business suit followed her, squinting in the lights.

  “Elle, meet Nate.” Levi nodded at the man. “That’s her husband, Guy.” Guy raised a hand in greeting but didn’t come closer.

  Elle leaned over to shake Nate’s hand. “Pleased to meet you. I make it a practice to be on good terms with all my killers.”

  “Don’t think of me as a killer. I’m more a serial enabler.”

  “That’s right,” a deep voice boomed. “Don’t encroach on my territory.” A huge guy—made even huger by boots with stacked soles and a shirt with some serious shoulder padding—stomped onstage. His face was seamed with scars and distorted by some convincing prosthetics.

  Holy— Ty, the cook at Flat Earth, was intimidating enough just wielding his long-handled pizza peel. But now? “You’re playing the Creature, Ty? Wow. Talk about typecasting.”

  “Watch it, Albano,” Ty growled, “or I’ll slip jalapeños under the mushrooms on your next combo pie.” Then he grinned, offering Nate a fist bump.

  “Elle, Ty, can you run through the blocking for this scene for Nate? I want him to see what we’re trying not to do.”

  “Sure thing, Levi.” Ty lumbered off stage right, while Guy sidled over to stand next to Nate and Levi.

  Elle took her place in the middle of the set and began to pace, glancing at the camelback clock over the fireplace, peering out the window as if waiting for someone to return.

  Something thumped stage right outside the door. Elle spun around as the door swung open slowly, revealing Ty looming outside, filling the doorframe. He growled low in his throat, took a step forward . . . and banged his head on the lintel.

  “Ow!”

  Elle burst into giggles as Ty rubbed his forehead.

  Levi sighed. “Ty, we talked about this. You need to slam the door open. Try it again, and this time, really whale on it.”

  “Got it.” He exited, closing the door gingerly.

  The actors started the scene again, and on cue, Ty flung the door open so hard that it bounced off the wall and creaked closed in his face. This time, even Levi laughed—although he also pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “See why I called you? This is a climactic scene. If we were doing Young Frankenstein instead of just Frankenstein, that would have been golden.”

  Nate’s cell phone shrilled from his jacket pocket. “Shit. Sorry, Levi. Should have silenced it before I came in.” His mother would have murdered him for disrupting a rehearsal with a cell phone call. He pulled the phone out—speak of the she-devil—and took great pleasure in turning the damn thing off when he saw his mother’s name on the caller ID.

  Levi cleared his throat. “Didn’t mean to invade your privacy, but Iris Bedrosian, Nate? The Iris Bedrosian?” His eyebrows snapped together. “You’re not leaving Wolf’s Landing for Broadway, are you?”

  “Trust me. There’s zero chance of that.”

  “Then why— I mean, sorry if I’m intruding, but it seems odd she’d call you if it wasn’t about a job.”

  “Well . . .” Nate rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s my mother.”

  “You’re kidding. We’ve known each other how long, and you never thought to mention it?”

  “Not exactly something I advertise. I didn’t speak to her for over fourteen years.”

  Levi nodded. “Mom issues. I get it. Been down that road myself.”

  “Yeah? Did yours lie to you the way mine did to me?”

  “Actually, it was the other way around. I lied to her and my father about being bisexual.”

  “We didn’t have that issue, but—” Nate shook his head. “Hey. We’re not here to talk about motherly love or lack of it. I take it you want to beef up the impact of this scene.”

  “You think?”

  “So . . .” Nate squinted at the coffered ceiling on the hotel room set. “How would you feel about an audience-shits-their-pants moment?”

  Levi grinned. “I’d kill for one. Think you can deliver?”

  With this set and a competent TD? “Yeah, I can do that.”

  “That’s why I love working with you. What have you got?”

  Nate pointed to the ceiling. “We can take full advantage of the current design. All we have to do is—”

  “Levi?” Carter Samuels called from halfway down the aisle. “Are you ready to go?”

  Levi’s smile bloomed as he gazed at his husband. “Hey, babe. What—” He winced. “C.J.’s party. Damn. I forgot. But it’s tech week—”

  “Yeah, and your actors and crew have other jobs.” Carter sauntered over. When he gave Levi a kiss, the expression on both their faces was one of total adoration. Just like I thought I had once. “Come on, you slave driver. Let everyone go.”

  “You’re right.” He turned to the stage. “That’s it for tonight, everyone. Tomorrow night, same time.” He grabbed Nate’s elbow. “Not you, though. You can fill me in on your ideas at the party.”

  “I . . . uh . . . wasn’t planning to go.”

  Levi frowned. “How long have you been in this town? Six months? Seven?”

  “Eight and a half, actually.”

  “Eight and a half, then, and you haven’t gone out with us once.”

  “I have. A couple of times.”

  “Only because you were forced. This’ll be an easy one. It’s just over at Ma Cougar’s, nothing too fancy, everyone welcome.” Levi lowered his voice, let go of Nate’s elbow, and squeezed his shoulder instead. “It’s been three years since he left. Isn’t it time to get out there again?”

  What was it about people who were stupid in love? Why did they think everyone else burned to be in the same state? Nate was managing just fine on his own. He had his job, his dog, his hobbies. If he was lonely from time to time, so what? Better that than a futile search for a soul mate, someone who got him. I’ve had that. Twice. Can’t expect lightning to strike a third time.

  “I’m good, Levi. Really.”

  “Even so, you’re coming along tonight. Have a drink or two and tell me about your ideas, because we’ve only got a week to implement them. Jack? Can you join us?”

  “Sure. Soon as I lock up.”

  “See you there.” Levi slung his arm across Carter’s shoulders. “Let’s get going—the sooner we make our appearance, the sooner we can leave.”

  Nate sighed and followed the couple up the aisle. What the hell—it wasn’t as if he had to meet anyone’s socializing expectations. It’s just a drink. For Levi, surely he could survive one evening out.

  On Sunday morning when Seth Larson went to his grandmother’s house to steal coffee, he found her lying in wait for him. “I’m absolutely certain there are squirrels in the attic,” she said in greeting after he’d let himself in the kitchen door.

  “Grandma.” That was totally a whiny voice. You’re thirty, shape up. “Let me at least finish one cup first.”

  Peering at him over the top of her newspaper, she nodded. He’d been his grandmother’s de facto handyman long enough—twelve years, on and off—to read her unspoken message. This was part of her plan to get the Sentinel House—the Larson family manse—in shape to sell.

  He couldn’t crush her dream of getting rid of this albatross and moving into Bluewater Bay Senior Estates. So, he spent the next eight hours huntin
g for squirrels in all the hidey-holes and crawl spaces his great-great-grandfather had had built into the place.

  It took all day, and he never found a single squirrel. He did run across a total of five mummified rodent corpses. Thank God for work gloves, because when he planted his hand right in the remains of the first one and it crunched flat under his weight, he nearly shrieked. He managed to contain it to a yelp. Yet another reason for Grandma to sell the damn place. If only they could convince the rest of the family.

  Finally done, he had to rush back to his studio apartment over the garage. He had barely a half hour to clean up and make it to Ma Cougar’s to meet Lucas Wilder. Even though he was looking forward to going out tonight, Seth debated with himself about it while he was in the shower. Grandma had seemed unnaturally melancholy. Maybe leaving her alone wasn’t a good idea. But he wanted to get out, even needed it. Since his grandmother had decided to get the house sale-ready, she’d been having him do more chores than normal around the place. He’d hardly seen anyone under fifty all week other than at work.

  What am I going to do when Grandma moves?

  Well, there was something he hadn’t thought of.

  Huh. Realizing he was doing nothing but standing in a spray of warm water, staring at droplets forming and then running down the glass door, Seth shook himself from his thoughts and finished washing up.

  It only took him a few more minutes to fix his hair and trim his beard with the clippers in order to keep it just the length he liked. He was only meeting Lucas after all, this wasn’t a date in either Grandma’s sense or his own. He hadn’t gotten “social” in a while, but he had high hopes that Lucas would make a good wingman.

  Maybe “high” hopes was a bit of an exaggeration.

  Ma Cougar’s was less than a block away. The hip new gastropub had been built on the site of the town’s first lumber mill, which in turn had been built by none other than his own great-great-grandfather.

  Interesting how his father and uncle were okay with selling off the mill land, but couldn’t bear to part with a house neither even wanted to live in. He filed that thought away for future use, when the sale of Sentinel House became a family “discussion.”