Motel. Pool.

by Kim Fielding

  This time, Tag got a seven and an eight. Dane had a five facing up. “Hit me,” Tag said.

  Leaning forward and dropping his voice again, Dane said, “Not a bright move, mister.”

  “I never said I was bright. You’re the smart one, remember?” Tag tapped the table with his palm. “Hit me.”

  “You’re the boss.” He dealt another seven to Tag. “Aw. Busted.” He flipped his other card over, showing a queen. “You’d have won forty grand if you’d stood.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  Tag felt cold inside, like his innards had turned to ice. He remembered how when his father sank deep into depression, he never yelled or cried. He drank. Self-medicated. And he would sit in a chair in whatever rathole they were inhabiting and wouldn’t move at all. Some days Tag would find him in the chair in the morning when he woke up, and when he got home from school in the afternoon his dad would still be there, his position completely unchanged. At the time Tag used to imagine his father had turned to stone, but now he knew the truth—his dad was frozen solid. Eventually his dad would thaw for a while. Until Mom died, and then he’d iced up for good.

  “You done?” Dane asked.

  “No.”

  “You want to think about it a while? I could get you something to drink.” He looked around as if searching for a waitress. “I’d say you’ve lost enough for us to at least comp you a shot or two.”

  “I’m not thirsty.”

  “You’re a man with a mission.”

  Tag was a man with two things. One he’d always had, yet it did him no good. And the other he’d just recently obtained, but he couldn’t keep.

  Simple, really.

  Tag pulled all the remaining money from his pocket and gently set it in front of Dane. “Thirty.”

  Dane’s eyes didn’t widen. “That’s a good chunk of change, mister. You could buy a nice car for that. Make a down payment on a house. Live pretty comfortably for a bunch of months without having to work. You could fly first class to Europe and really live it up.”

  “I want thirty thousand dollars’ worth of chips. Please.”

  “Sure.” Dane took the cash and gave back a stack of chips. This time he counted them four times.

  Tag put all the chips on the mark. Given the size of the stake, which had to be pretty rare for a place like this, he would have expected someone to notice. Even in the fancier casinos, a crowd would gather to watch a thirty-grand bet. But here, the same half-dozen customers sat at the bar, another dozen or so people played the slots, and a group of four older men played hold ’em two tables away. Nobody took any note of Tag.

  “I should do a fresh shuffle,” Dane said.

  “Do whatever you want. I can’t count cards, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

  “Counting cards is the only way to win this game, mister. Otherwise, the odds always favor me.”

  “I know.”

  Dane pulled a card from the shoe and placed it in front of Tag. It was an eight. He placed the second card with a flourish. “Ace. Very nice, mister.”

  The dealer’s first card went face down, and the second, faceup, was a ten.

  Tag considered for a moment. “I’ll stay.”

  “Good choice, my friend,” said Dane as he turned his card over. “Nineteen beats eighteen.”

  Sixty grand in chips was a lot. But Tag managed to fit them all on the mark. “Can you take a bet this big?”

  Still seemingly unruffled, Dane glanced up at the ceiling. Undoubtedly there was a camera there, and somewhere in a back room, the pit boss or security or someone was watching carefully. It was unclear how they communicated with the dealer, but they must have given an all-clear, because Dane smiled. “For sixty thousand, then. You’ve been very lucky so far.”

  “Good luck is useless.”

  Dane raised his eyebrows, but the expression was a bit too theatrical. “Really? Most people would love to have good luck.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  Placing his elbows on the felt and hunching his back, Dane looked Tag straight in the eye. “What do you want, my friend?”

  The words came quickly, although Tag didn’t know the answer until he said it.

  “I want a happy-ever-after with the man I love. I want to be able to lean on him forever and know he won’t let me fall. I want him to lean on me. I want to lie in bed with him and feel our hearts beat in tandem.”

  Gaze still locked with Tag’s, Dane shook his head slightly. “You won’t find those things here.”

  “I know. But I won’t find them anywhere else either.”

  “So what do you want to do about it?”

  “Nothing I can do. Just give me my cards.”

  But Dane didn’t. He hadn’t budged. “Are you sure you want to wager everything, mister?”

  “Everything.”

  Dane stood up, palmed a card from the shoe, and dealt it. It was a jack.

  Tag’s heart lurched—tha-dub, tha-dub—and he smoothed his thumb across the card’s face. For a brief moment he closed his eyes. He was smiling when he opened them.

  His second card was a king.

  “That’s a mighty nice hand,” Dane observed as he put his own first card on the table.

  “But it’s not blackjack,” replied Tag.

  “You regretting your wager?”

  “No. It’s not so much a bet as a trade, isn’t it?”

  Without replying, Dane dealt himself a second card. An ace. He looked across the table at Tag with those black eyes so deep a man could fall right into them, and without looking down, he flipped the first card over. “Blackjack,” he whispered. And it was, because that card was a jack.

  Tag let his breath out in one long whoosh. He watched as Dane scooped all the chips off the mark to his side of the table, and then Tag stood.

  “Sorry. I don’t have anything left to tip you with.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “North Strip.”

  “Then let me give you a tip instead.” Dane produced a pair of twenty-dollar bills and set them in front of Tag. “You need cab fare, right?”

  “I don’t think that’s the way it’s supposed to work.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You gave up a lot tonight. I like you. I want you to get home safe.”

  After a brief hesitation, Tag shoved the bills into his pocket. To the extent he had thought about this beforehand, he sort of assumed he’d end up walking back to the Baja. But now he was tired, and he just wanted Jack. A cab ride would be nice. “Thank you.”

  “You’re not going home with a hundred twenty grand tonight, mister. The least I can do is give you a souvenir.” Dane picked up one of Tag’s cards and held it out. It was, Tag noticed for the first time, the jack of hearts.

  Tag put the card in his shirt pocket. Then he stood, walked out the door, and went in search of a taxi.

  Nineteen

  EVEN WHEN Tag reached the brightly lit expanse of the Fremont Street Experience, he couldn’t hail a cab. They were occupied or out of service, or the cabbie didn’t notice him. Tag couldn’t call for a ride either, because he’d left his phone back at the Baja. After nearly twenty minutes of futile arm-waving, he gave up and started to walk. The trek wasn’t especially long—maybe two miles—but the street was dark and sort of sinister. He was relieved when he made it to the motel intact.

  Jack popped into view as soon as Tag was in the room. Tag couldn’t help but greet him with a relieved smile and a tight embrace, made more interesting by Jack’s nudity. Tag gave Jack’s ass a grateful squeeze.

  “I was worried about you,” said Tag.

  “Worried?” Jack looked confused and a little pleased. It occurred to Tag that possibly very few people had troubled themselves over Jack in the past.

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t be here when I got back.”

  Jack patted him soothingly. “Tag, when I leave you, it will be because I have to. I don’t want—”

  “I know. And Christ, I
didn’t even know you last week, but today I can’t imagine going on—I don’t want to go on without you. How corny is that?” He shook his head. “But I’ve done alone before. I’ve done it most of my life. What I’m worried about is what happens to you when you… when you’re not….”

  “When my battery’s dead. Yeah. But we can’t do anything about that, so let’s make good with the time we have left, okay?”

  “Carpe diem.”

  “Huh?”

  “Latin. Seize the day.”

  Jack smiled. “Get your kicks when you can. That’s how Buddy put it.”

  Tag felt a stupid and irrational stab of jealousy. “You talked to Buddy again?”

  “Yes.” Jack gave Tag another squeeze before sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked across the room at Tag. “He knows I’m a ghost.”

  Just like that, jealousy was replaced by fear. “Is he going to—”

  “He’s fine with it. He’s met a lot of ghosts. He was born with second sight or something. And he told me— Well, that can wait.” Jack waggled his eyebrows. “Shouldn’t we be carping the diem?”

  Tag would have snorted with laughter, but he never got the chance because Jack leaned back on the mattress and started stroking himself. This somehow stole all the oxygen from Tag’s lungs. Jack was gorgeous—far more beautiful than any matinee idol or modern A-lister. And unlike those oversized images on a screen, he looked real despite being ephemeral “Hey, Jack?”

  Jack paused what he was doing. His cock was already hard, but he was listening.

  “I want you to know something,” Tag said. He didn’t want to kill the mood, but he needed to get these words out while he could. “Whatever happens… later… you’ll always be important to me.” Always be my star, he would have added if it weren’t ridiculously trite.

  Jack’s wide smile didn’t detract one bit from his sexiness. “You won’t forget about me?”

  Tag hurried across the room and launched himself onto Jack, clothing and all. The bed bounced and creaked. “Even if I meet a thousand handsome ghosts, you will be the most memorable of them all.” Tag kissed Jack’s cheek.

  Wiggling pleasantly beneath him, Jack kissed him back. “Thank you. You know, that’s what scares me more than hell or oblivion or whatever’s going to happen to me—being forgotten. If nobody remembers you, it’s like you never even existed. I know I was never anyone big, Tag, but I existed.”

  “You do exist,” Tag whispered in his ear. “And I’ll tell everyone I meet about you.”

  “They’ll think you’re crazy.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Jack put his hands on Tag’s back, just above the waistband of his jeans. “Buddy will believe you.”

  “Great. Buddy and I can become best, uh, buds.” Tag pushed up on his arms so he could look Jack in the eyes. “I’m sorry I brought the subject up. I just wanted you to know, I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.”

  “Not Jason?”

  “Jason’s a great guy. He really is. But he didn’t…. Feel this.” Tag rolled off Jack and onto his back, grabbed Jack’s hand, and set it on his own chest.

  “Your heartbeat?”

  “You do that to me, Jacky. Nobody else.” He took a deep breath and let it out. He’d waded in pretty far already—might as well plunge in over his head. “I love you, okay? Never said that to anyone before. Never. Never even knew what those words meant. But now—”

  Jack didn’t let him finish the sentence. He tugged at him until they were face-to-face, then pressed their lips together. Jack never tasted of cigarettes or onions or anything else unpleasant. His mouth had a faint tang of chlorine, and that was all. Tag already knew that for the rest of his life, the minute he went near a swimming pool, he’d think of Jack.

  “Take off your clothes,” Jack ordered hoarsely. He was breathing quickly. Was that a conscious choice or a reflex, a memory of passion past?

  Didn’t matter. Tag quickly shucked his shirt, his shoes, his shorts and briefs, and Jack made a contented noise when their bare bodies pressed back together.

  They kissed for a while, slowly and deeply, as if they had all the time in the world. Only when they were both desperate for more did Tag reach for the bottle of lube they’d left on the nightstand. He rolled onto his back with his knees bent and watched with avid interest as Jack slicked a finger and worked it inside him. Felt so goddamn good. Two felt even better, especially when Jack bent over and licked at Tag’s cock and balls, never quite stilling the motion of his hand.

  “I love how hot you are,” Jack said. “I love watching you fall apart a little when I do this. It’s the only time you completely relax.”

  Except Tag wasn’t feeling relaxed at all. His entire body zinged with energy, every nerve firing and every inch of skin screaming for more. He’d been around schizophrenics who believed the FBI or the CIA or the KGB had implanted wires in their brains to listen to their thoughts. Tag could feel those wires now, but they weren’t spying on him. They were tiny little jumper cables sending delicious shocks to his heart, to his cock.

  Groaning urgently, Tag pushed Jack away. He rose onto his knees and smiled at Jack. “Lie back, baby,” he ordered. After Jack obeyed, Tag smoothed a hand covetously over his lover’s body, tracing him from shoulder to thigh. He poured some lube onto his palm and slicked Jack’s cock, leaving Jack gasping and thrusting his hips high.

  “Giddyup,” Tag said. Then he climbed aboard.

  He hadn’t done this position often. Mostly he’d just bent over and let men plow him, or else he’d bent them and manned the plow. He’d usually bottomed with Jason—it was Tag’s preference—but not like this. Somehow it had seemed easier to passively take the cock up his ass while he was on all fours or folded double on his back.

  This was better. As he slowly impaled himself—and oh fuck, that was nice—he watched the way the tendons in Jack’s neck tightened and the way he licked his full lips. When Tag was fully seated, his ass settled in the cradle of Jack’s hips, he started a gentle rocking motion, a slight swaying of his pelvis. Jack played with Tag’s cock and balls, then wrapped his long fingers around Tag’s shaft and squeezed just tightly enough. Tag raised himself gradually, centimeter by beautiful centimeter, then lowered himself all at once, making them both cry out.

  “If I wasn’t already dead,” Jack panted, “you’d be killing me.”

  “Good way to go.”

  Judging by the look on Jack’s face, he agreed.

  Slow was good. Not just because Tag’s prostate was rubbed with each and every torturous movement, but also because he could concentrate on his lover. He could memorize every sound and every expression Jack made. And he could tell when Jack was getting close; Jack sped the movements of his fist and clutched Tag’s hip with his other hand. One more little thrust and—

  “Tag!” Jack yelled.

  Tag might have yelled too—he had no idea. Most of his senses temporarily shorted out while his climax rushed through him. When he looked down to see Jack licking his spunk off his fingers, Tag’s dick made a sincere effort to keep on going.

  But Tag was suddenly drained, and he collapsed onto Jack’s body.

  “Wish I could taste you,” said Jack wistfully.

  Tag wished a lot of things, which was new for him, so maybe that was good, in a painful sort of way. But for the moment, at least, he was content in Jack’s arms.

  TAG DIDN’T need to have sex as soon as he woke up. He’d never been a morning sex kind of guy. But Jack was naked and beautiful and willing, and neither of them knew if he’d still be around later in the day. So they made out for a while until matters escalated, and this time Jack grabbed the lube and, as he handed it to Tag, asked, “Do me this time?”

  Tag sure wasn’t going to say no to an offer like that.

  He hadn’t topped for a long time, and never like this. Jack was tight and cool inside, and of course no latex was needed between them. Jack shuddered and gazed up at Tag with wide eyes,
making Tag think Jack’s previous lovers hadn’t been especially careful about making it good for him too.

  Jack went into the bathroom while Tag showered. He ogled and leered, goosed and groped, and generally acted like a guy who’d gotten really lucky.

  Lucky.

  Jack also watched Tag empty the pockets of last night’s jeans.

  “Forty bucks?” he asked.

  “Would have been even less if I’d found a cab last night.” Tag dropped the twenties in the dresser drawer and walked the few steps to the kitchen. He was running low on groceries. He found some lunchmeat and the last of the milk, carried them to the table, and sat down.

  Jack sat opposite him. “What happened to the rest of it?”

  “Lost it.”

  “You lost sixty thousand dollars in one night?”

  “Yep.” He took a gulp from the milk carton.

  “You don’t seem especially upset about it.”

  Tag shrugged.

  “Did you make more of those stupid bets?” asked Jack.

  “I won when I made the stupid bet. I lost the sixty thou right by the book. Dane just had a better hand than me.”

  “I don’t understand.” Jack was handsome even when he frowned. “I know you’re really unhappy—”

  “Not at the moment, I’m not.”

  “Okay, but you were. So you came to Vegas… why? To throw your money away so you’d have a better excuse to kill yourself?”

  “Nobody needs an excuse for that, Jacky.” This was a hard thing to explain, but maybe Jack of all people would understand. “My dad offed himself after Mom died, but he’d come close plenty of times when she was still around. And it wasn’t because his life was shitty, although it was. He could’ve been a billionaire, king of the Midwest, and he’d still have been depressed. It’s brain chemistry. The balance is just off.” He waved his hands near his head in a vague illustration. Then he stuffed his mouth with sliced turkey while Jack thought.

  “Is your brain chemistry off, Tag?” Jack finally asked.

  Tag sighed. “Yeah. I guess so. I’ve been blaming my heart, ’cause I couldn’t feel it beating. It’s like I was… a shell. Haunted by my own pathetic self. I’ve been in denial a long time, but I think probably some counseling would be a good idea for me.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe a lot of counseling.”