"What did you hear?” He looked at her.
"Just office gossip,” she replied, and looked around. “This really is a beautiful place. I guess that's the golf course, right over there."
"Yes, it is,” he agreed. “Now, what did you hear?"
"Kurt quit,” Sara spoke up. “Didn't give notice or anything. I saw him and Joe arguing in the parking lot. Neither one looked happy."
"That's a shame.” Jeff looked around, then shrugged. “Construction workers come and go all the time. So?"
"Seemed to coincide with someone's bad mood,” Cindy said to Sara.
"And with someone else lurking about the finance office. All of a sudden, Lana's hanging around like a vulture. What's up with that?"
"I don't know what you mean.” Jeff looked around again. “Where's that waiter with the drinks?"
"Look.” Cindy faced him. “We're your friends, have been for several years now. We spend all day with you, five days a week. Believe me when I tell you we're sensitive to your moods."
"And we notice things.” Sara added. “Like Kurt all of a sudden stopping by the office every day for a drink of water. What, they don't have water on the job sites any more?"
He felt his face redden. Perhaps they hadn't been as discreet as he'd thought.
Cindy took a step closer and spoke quietly. “The looks you two exchanged were scorching hot. You were subtle, not many people noticed, but we did. And do you know what we thought?"
Jeff dropped his face into one hand.
Sara said, “We thought, 'Good for them!’ We were happy for you. We tried to tell you that the other day, but it's a difficult thing to bring up."
"Yeah, it is.” He glanced from one woman to the next. “Thanks for your support. But it's over. Kurt's leaving, or has already left, and Lana and I are getting married ... in July."
"That's a stupid month for a Kansas wedding!” Sara snapped.
"And you're a stupid man, if you chose her between the two of them,” Cindy said.
"It's not that simple.” He shook his head.
The sound of an engine revving had heads turning toward the golf course. Jeff gasped when he spotted Kurt on his motorcycle, sans helmet, zipping across the fairway. “Oh, shit!"
"Oh, my God!” Sara squealed, and both women laughed.
"What the fuck?” Myron Birdwell could be heard spouting. Jeff watched the man storm to the edge of the courtyard. Lana was hot on his heels, Jeff, Cindy, and Sara not far behind.
"This is private property, young man!” Birdwell hollered over the noisy engine. “You better get that vehicle off the grass!"
"I'm here for the party!” Kurt raised a beer bottle and took a swig, then tossed the empty across the lawn.
"I'm calling the police!” Lana stormed.
"Don't get your panties in a wad.” He grinned at her. “I'm not staying. In fact, I'm leaving town."
"Then you best get going,” Birdwell growled through gritted teeth. Not all of the two hundred guests were listening, but the crowd grew bigger by the minute.
Kurt looked at Jeff. “I'm giving you one more chance. Catch.” He flipped something in the air, and Jeff caught it. It was a quarter, and it landed on heads. “Heads or tails, man. Last chance to choose."
Jeff was dumbfounded. He glanced at the growing crowd, and knew the scene would soon be out of hand. He looked at the anger-distorted faces of Lana and her father. The future flashed before him, with images of snotty, spoiled children making that same face at him when he tried to deny them something one of the Birdwells wanted to bestow. It was a stark, unwelcome image, and Jeff closed his eyes.
"Go on,” Cindy whispered, nudging him. “You're a smart man. You can get a job anywhere. Do what your heart tells you."
"My heart?” he repeated. He hadn't listened to his heart in years.
"Look at that face,” Sara said, nudging him toward Kurt. “Look at what you see in those eyes! Do you see that in any other eyes around here?"
Jeff opened his eyes and glanced at Kurt. There was definitely something there that was missing from Lana's stern frown. He was torn.
"You need to shut up!” Lana stepped toward him, speaking to Cindy and Sara. “Or you'll be the next ones looking for jobs!"
"Damn,” Jeff muttered softly, and cast smiles at both of his coworkers. He reached for Lana and pulled her into his embrace. “Lana, sweetheart. Leave the girls alone. The office needs them.” He planted a firm kiss on her forehead, and she snuggled into him.
"If you think so,” she agreed.
"I do. Cindy's the only one who knows how to do my job, and you'll really need her, because I'm quitting."
Lana pulled back and gazed up at him, mouth agape.
He smiled at her, and over her head he smiled at her father. “Sorry, Mr. B. I've discovered what I have to do, and that's follow my heart. You see, I'm gay."
"You stupid son-of-a-bitch!” Lana took a swing at him, but he was already moving.
He jogged toward Kurt, both grinning like fools, and threw his leg over the back of the bike.
"Hang on!” Kurt told him, and revved the engine, pulling out in a big circle.
Jeff waved to the smiling Cindy and Sara, and caught of glimpse of Lana stomping her feet in anger. He closed his eyes and said, “Let's get the hell out of here."
The motorcycle pitched forward, and Jeff grabbed Kurt's waist tightly.
"I told you to hang on!"
"Are you drunk?” Jeff hollered in his ear.
"No! Are you?"
"Nope. I was determined to get there, though. Until you showed up."
"I couldn't let you make the wrong choice.” Kurt called over his shoulder. When they'd gone several blocks away from the Country Club, he slowed so they could talk easier.
Jeff hugged the other man's waist. “When you tossed me that quarter, it landed on ‘heads'."
"Do you still have that coin?” Kurt asked.
"Yeah.” Jeff opened his palm, exposing the quarter.
"Look closer at it."
He studied the first side, heads. Flipping it over, Jeff found heads on the back side as well. He laughed out loud. “It's a trick coin! Both sides are heads!"
Kurt grinned back at him. “Like I said, I couldn't let you make the wrong choice. I had to hedge my bet."
"You're crazy!” Jeff hugged him tightly, and Kurt pressed back into him.
"It's been said before. I hope you're ready for a little crazy in your life."
"I am.” Jeff sighed, and rested his head on the shoulder before him. When he finally glanced around, he didn't recognize the neighborhood. “Where we going?"
"To a motel, tonight. I wanted to make sure our reunion wouldn't be disturbed. Then tomorrow, we have some decisions to make. The world is open to us—we can go wherever we like."
"I was thinking San Antonio sounded good. It might be nice being close to family."
"Are you serious?” Kurt glanced back again.
"It's up to you. I want you to be happy.” They locked eyes and Jeff said, “I love you."
Kurt grinned in delight. “I love you, too! We're both going to be happy—very, very happy."
"Watch the road!” Jeff nudged him, and Kurt straightened quickly, veering back into his lane.
"Ah, where's your spirit of adventure?” he joked.
"I think I just found it, today,” Jeff replied, and squeezed Kurt's waist again.
With another wide grin, Kurt hollered, “Hang on, baby! It's going to be a wild ride!” He revved the engine loudly, and the bike zipped down the road.
Hardcore
by Selah March
Also By Selah March
Moondance
To Have and Have Not
Fortune's Fool
Dedication
To my ever-patient crit partners, Barb, Don and Eva,
and my ever-loving husband and children,
who will never read this story.
Chapter One
Jesse Bonham di
dn't know when he'd lost sight of the difference between right and wrong. He was pretty sure it'd been a gradual kind of thing. But when the hooker's eyes got big with fear, staring at him like he was evil incarnate, he caught a clue that maybe it was time to chill. Step back a little. Take stock of his methods, maybe.
Yeah. Just as soon as he found out what he wanted to know.
"Sanchez. Paco Sanchez. I need to know where to find him, LaNay.” He tightened his grip on the whore's hair and leaned in, pinning her to the dirty brick wall with his hip. He was close enough to smell the tang of fear in her sweat, but he made a point of not touching her skin—not violating her that way. He wouldn't go there unless she gave him no other choice. Which proved he still had some scruples, didn't he?
"Don't know,” LaNay rasped. “Wouldn't tell you if I did, cocksucker."
"You sure about that?"
"Yeah, ‘cause unlike some people, I ain't got no death wish."
Fuck it. He didn't have time for this shit. He brought his hand up quick and wrapped it around her throat. “You think I won't kill you? Try me."
He squeezed, just a little, and the full thrust of her terror hit him square in the chest. Underneath it, he sensed defiance ... desperation ... but it was jumbled, and he couldn't filter out the truth from all the fear. Was she more scared of him? Or of what might happen if she spilled what she knew about Paco?
"Listen, man,” she said. “Don't know where Paco's at, but I can tell you where you'll find his latest piece of ass."
"I'm listening."
She rolled her eyes, flashing the whites and looking more like a spooked mare than a woman. Her dangling, chandelier-like earrings winked in the dim light. “Paco finds out this come from me, my blood's on your hands, Bonham."
"He won't."
He felt her disbelief bleeding through her skin into his, fucking up anything he might try to read. But he couldn't blame her. Why should she trust the guy with his fingers wrapped around her windpipe?
They glared at one another through the murky light of the alley. Jesse shifted and felt the solid weight of his .45 pressing into the small of his back. If he took it out ... if he stuck it in her ear ... would she talk then? But what the fuck was the use of being able to touch people and feel what they felt if he had to flash the hardware to get a simple piece of information?
A tear leaked from the corner of her eye and left a long trail of saltwater and cheap mascara in the layer of makeup that covered her cheek. “You know that new place on Gilmore? Where the Hotel California used to be, before it burned up?"
"You mean Heliotrope? The gay club?"
"I thought you might know it.” She bared her teeth at him in a sneer. “You'll find Paco's new boy behind the bar."
"His new boy? You mean—"
"I mean Paco's flavor of the month happens to be dick. Maybe you and Paco got more in common than you think."
He closed his eyes and tried to hang on to his temper. “You got a name to go with that address?"
She shook her head. Her earrings did the rhumba. “White boy, dark hair. Taller than you, and built like a brick shithouse. Pretty face, too."
Jesse eased up, letting her take a deep breath. Before she could step away, he twisted his fingers in her hair. “Give Sanchez a message when you see him. Tell him I'm coming for him, and if he doesn't give me what I need, he's a dead man.” He released her.
She laughed, hoarse and raspy. “Looks who's talkin'."
She straightened the bits and pieces that made up her work uniform and sidled out from between him and the dirty brick wall. The red print of his hand on her throat was obvious, even in the shadows. Not the only mark on her, but this one was his. When had he lowered himself to roughing up women?
"You won't last a week if Paco hears you callin’ him out, Bonham. You'd best get your fine ass outta town.” LaNay turned and walked away, her stilettos striking the pavement in a weirdly cheerful rhythm. In another moment, she was gone.
And he was left to wonder where he'd misplaced his conscience.
* * * *
"Uh oh. Here comes trouble."
When Frankie nudged him and pointed toward the door, Sean looked up from polishing the bar long enough to check out Heliotrope's most recent patron—a tough-looking guy in his early thirties, his bristly, dark blond hair and beat-up leather coat damp with the night's mist. A newcomer? Not a regular, even if Frankie did seem to know him. Sean would've remembered that face. Those eyelashes? That perfect, Cupid's bow mouth, so at odds with the line of his square jaw? Yeah, he'd definitely remember.
Sean watched the guy make his way through the Friday night crowd of men, taking in his slow, deliberate stride, the set of his broad shoulders and the glint in his eyes.
"What can I get you?"
The man flipped a hundred dollar bill onto the shiny surface of the bar, focusing on Sean and ignoring everyone else in the place. Quite a trick, if only because Frankie's outfit was damned hard to miss.
"Jack, rocks. And a little conversation?” He phrased it as a question, but there was no mistaking the demand for a request.
"What kind of conversation?” If this chuckle-head thought a hundred bucks would buy him a blowjob in the men's room, he'd better think again. “I'm working a long shift, and the management doesn't—"
"The kind of conversation that doesn't involve you getting your knees dusty, kid. Don't sweat it."
Sean felt a flush of heat rise to his face. He was tempted to tell the guy where he could shove his cash along with his attitude. But he needed the money. “I have a break in five minutes."
"Good enough."
Sean served the man his drink, then watched as he sauntered away and took a seat in a booth in the far corner of the room. When he was out of earshot, Sean leaned over and asked Frankie, “Who the hell is that?"
His friend shrugged, making his long, black wig bounce on his shoulders and his rhinestone earrings twinkle in the low light. “Name's Jesse Bonham. Used to be a cop, ‘til he got busted for manslaughter a while back. Did eighteen months hard time, then his lawyer got it kicked on a technicality."
"And now?"
"And now he's just mad, bad, and dangerous to know.” Frankie snapped his fingers in the air like the diva he was.
Sean stared at Bonham through the murky air of the barroom. “What's he want with me?"
"Don't know, but you'd make a hell of a couple.” Frankie's voice took on a dreamy quality even as he leered at Sean. “You all dark, and him all fair like he is. Angels, man—Lucifer and Michael. I'd pay good money to watch that action."
Sean felt heat rise in his face a second time. “Dude, you need to brush up on your theology. Lucifer was the fair one. The Angel of Light, remember? And Michael was the warrior. I'm no Michael, that's for damn sure."
His friend looked at him sideways from beneath his fake eyelashes. “If you say so, college boy."
"Whatever. Don't you have a set coming up in a few minutes, Countess Francesca?"
"Yeah. And you've got a date with the Devil.” Frankie clapped him on the shoulder and slid off his stool. “Tell Bonham I'll do a number just for him. He'll know it when he hears it.” He walked away laughing.
Sean checked his watch. Time to meet the mystery man. He poured himself a soda and handed his rag to the bartender next to him, saying, “I'll be back in twenty.” Then he wove his way through the crowd.
As he reached his destination, Bonham shot him a look from hooded eyes that hit him square in the gut and settled somewhere a few inches further south. The jolt made him stumble as he slid into the booth. He frowned and cleared his throat. “What's this about?"
Bonham smiled at him. It didn't look too friendly, even with the way his hazel eyes crinkled at the corners. “I'd tell you I'm a sucker for a pretty face, but I guess you've heard that before."
Sean nodded. “I could say the same for you."
"Right. Just a couple of pretty boys, shootin’ the shit.” Bonham rolled his glass be
tween his well-shaped hands in a way that made Sean stare a little too long. Then he said, “What's your name, kid?"
"Sean Carr. And you're Jesse Bonham. Now that we've been properly introduced, can we cut to the chase?"
"Pushy little bitch, aren't you?” Bonham quirked an eyebrow at him and smiled wider.
Sean slapped his palm on the table. “That's it.” He reached into his front pocket, dug out the hundred and tossed it down. “You have yourself a good night.” As he stood, Bonham reached out quick as a snake and grabbed his wrist. His fingers felt warm. Firm. Determined. When Sean looked into his face, the older man's eyes had widened and dilated—the only sign that Sean didn't imagine the hot current that arced between them.
"Sit down, kid. I promise to be nice.” His voice sounded smooth, like a swallow of single malt whiskey, with a burn that was more of a glow.
Sean knew he should walk away. He knew it in his brain, and he knew it in his gut. But his dick had a different idea. He stood there, staring down at the older man, wondering why the air felt electrified all of a sudden. Thick and hot and full of anticipation, like those minutes just before a storm. He kept staring, noting how Bonham had a dimple in his chin and another at the corner of his mouth. Wondering what the man's reddish-gold stubble would feel like against his face. Sean licked his lower lip and watched the pupils of Bonham's eyes dilate further as he tracked the swipe of his tongue.
"Please. Sit."
Sean shrugged and slid back into the booth just as a drum roll announced Frankie's set. He twisted in his seat to better see the stage, and grinned when he caught his friend's signature flash of skin through a costume made mostly of sequins and mesh.
"Could I maybe get your attention?” Now Bonham sounded pissed off.
Sean glanced at him. “So much for nice."
The older man sighed and inclined his head in the direction of the stage. “That your buddy up there?"
"Yeah. You should give him a listen. He said he'd do a number just for you."
Bonham sat back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest as the band launched into a disco version of “Just Like Jesse James” that only Frankie, in full Cher-mode, could pull off.
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. III Page 18