by Beth Bolden
“We should . . .” Ryan said but couldn’t quite finish his sentence.
“Take advantage of this,” Wyatt said. He crowded Ryan against the wall, his hands reaching for Ryan’s rapidly hardening dick.
“In their pool?” Ryan said, his tone a little scandalized.
“They can afford to have it cleaned,” Wyatt reasoned. “Besides you think they don’t do this all the time?”
“Good point,” Ryan said and leaning in, kissed him, heat flaring between them as Wyatt began to pump Ryan’s cock just the way he knew his boyfriend loved. Hard and tight, just on the other side of pain, because nothing got Ryan going like a little adrenaline.
“What about you,” Ryan panted into Wyatt’s mouth. “I wanna . . .”
“I’ll be fine,” Wyatt ground out. But the truth was, he’d been on the edge all evening, and seeing Ryan fall apart like this, in his hands, and having seen Nick do the same to Colin? He had a feeling it wasn’t going to take long for Ryan to pull him over the edge with him, and just as he expected, Ryan’s fingers wrapped around his own cock, giving it an experimental pull.
He was right; it definitely didn’t take long. It felt like white lot lava was pouring through him and he couldn’t quite catch his breath as they frantically kissed and jerked each other off.
Ryan came first, his teeth digging into the meat of Wyatt’s shoulder as he tried not to make any noise, shuddering through his orgasm. Wyatt followed, feeling that incredible surge of pleasure intertwined with love that he never failed to feel when they were this close.
They only had a second to come down from the high, and then Nick was there, a towel wrapped around his own waist, holding a pile of fluffy white towels, and setting them on one of the low chaise lounges that surrounded the pool.
“Have fun?” he asked, his eyes twinkling mischievously, even as his expression remained casual.
“Oh yeah,” Wyatt said in a deadpan voice. “Loads.”
* * *
“So,” Tony asked the next morning as they were working on prep in the food truck, “how was Colin and Nick’s house? Everything you’d hoped it’d be?”
They’d ended up compromising on Muse today, the music pumping out of the Bluetooth speaker just loud enough that Tony had to raise his voice to be heard.
Wyatt’s hands were steady as he cut into the pineapple on his cutting board. “Yeah,” he said, “it was fun.” But his mind still went blurry and hot at the thought of what they’d done. How much he’d actually enjoyed it, even though maybe it was a little bit wrong.
“I’m so jealous,” Tony said with a hard exhale of regret.
“I can tell you though,” Wyatt added with a grin, “that he definitely puts the Sports Illustrated to shame.”
“What!” Tony exclaimed. “What! You have to tell me more, you can’t just leave it like that, that’s so unfair.”
“I don’t kiss and tell,” Wyatt said. “I guess you’ll just have to use your imagination.”
“It’s a good thing I’ve got a great one,” Tony muttered. “Won’t kiss and tell . . .you’re the worst.”
“Good thing Ryan thinks I’m the best,” Wyatt said, and knew deep down in his bones that someday, they would have that incredible devotion that Colin and Nick shared. It was only a matter of time.
And he knew, too, that it wasn’t going to be even remotely close to boring.
If you’d like to read more about Wyatt’s brother Tony, make sure to flip to the back of this boxset to check out an excerpt from Drive Me Crazy, the first book in the new Food Truck Warriors spinoff series.
The Trainee
A Catch Me short story
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Alex barked, staring at his boss, Marcella, like she’d just grown a third head. Or just saddled him with a brand new trainee on his first shift during Halloween, one of the most insane nights of the year at Temple.
Alex wished she’d just grown a third head instead. That might have been easier to deal with.
“You’re a pro, this isn’t a big deal,” Marcella insisted, tucking a long strand of hair behind an ear. She was on the shorter side, and deceptively sweet looking for someone who ran one of the hottest gay clubs in West Hollywood and did do with unflinching resolve and an iron fist.
He’d long learned that arguing with Marcella was pointless and only ended up an exercise in frustration. Before he’d gotten on her good side, he’d discovered how shitty it felt to be on her bad side.
Of course, having Marcella trust him wasn’t much better, because now she’d handpicked Alex to take a newbie under his wing on Halloween.
“Does he even have any serving experience?” Alex asked, leaning back against the narrow hallway to the employee locker room.
“He’s really cute,” Marcella said, which was totally a non-answer. The sort of non-answer she was (in) famous for.
“That’s a no,” Alex said with a sigh.
Her eyes flashed, and he remembered, unpleasantly, what it had been like when she didn’t like him. “Maybe you shouldn’t have scared the last three newbies away. Then you wouldn’t have to train one tonight.”
It hadn’t been entirely Alex’s fault. They’d been stupid and slow and further proof that a pretty face didn’t mean that you had a brain underneath it. And yes, he’d even fired the last one himself—he’d found him giving a blowjob to a customer in the VIP restroom.
Alex might have even let that slide, but it had meant he’d been dealing with a full and busy VIP section all on his own, and that had just pissed him off. You wanted to get down with some of the customers? Then do so on your own fucking time.
“I can’t keep finding pretty gay boys who want to work here,” Marcella complained, which was completely untrue. Alex was sure there was a metaphorical queue down to Tijuana because Temple was well-known and as waiting jobs went, it definitely paid well. Also, there was the bonus that a hookup was always easy to find; Alex hadn’t been on Grindr in months.
“I’ll take care of him,” Alex ground out between clenched teeth. He knew what Marcella was really saying. She wasn’t happy that she had to keep producing candidates for Alex to fire or who quit after only one of Alex’s withering stares.
It didn’t matter that if a guy couldn’t handle Alex, there was no fucking way he was going to be able to work at Temple. As far as Marcella was concerned, that wasn’t her fucking problem.
“Excellent.” Marcella didn’t even look surprised, because she wasn’t. Alex could probably work somewhere else, he knew that much, but he liked this job, and he wanted to keep it. “He’s in the front, filling out paperwork, and I’ll send him back when he’s done.”
Alex turned towards the grimy mirror, covered with years of who knew what substances, and slipped on the leather harness his wings clipped to. Temple was a paean to most everything churches didn’t stand for—specifically lust and intoxication—and also took advantage by adopting religious imagery and subverting it. The stained glass and hardwood pews decorating the interior were just the beginning. The wait staff and dancers were usually also decked out in costumes, which meant that Halloween wasn’t really that different for the employees. He checked his eyeliner and used his thumb to wipe away a nonexistent smudge under a startling blue eye.
He knew he looked good; he couldn’t look anything else and work here. Could he do without the constant stream of sexual offers and groping hands? Of course. But he also got great tips, especially with working the VIP lounge like he had been the last year. Also, most celebs knew better than to feel up the staff; that shit gone around fast, and for so much of Hollywood, queer was still a bad word.
“Are you Alex?”
Alex glanced up, and gave an inward groan.
The boy in the doorway—man, he reminded himself, because Marcella was adamant about only hiring over twenty one—was so green he was practically glowing with it.
He was definitely just over the age limit, and seemed perfectly designed to fit the twink label
. Small and slight, but with surprisingly developed abs and biceps, his blond hair carelessly swept across his forehead. Wary green eyes studied Alex, while all he could imagine was how well this kid was going to go over here.
Alex was going to spend the whole shift trying to keep the newbie from getting lured into the bathrooms.
“I’m Alex,” he said shortly. He reached out, and they shook, the kid’s hand surprisingly firm, and even though Alex could tell he was nervous and apprehensive, he also looked determined. Something that had been in short supply with the other newbies he’d tried to train over the last month.
“Matt,” the kid said. “I brought my costume. Where should I change?”
“Costume?” Alex raised an eyebrow. Hadn’t Marcella told him that Temple provided its own costumes?
“It’s Halloween!” Matt said, sounding far too excited for someone who must have left his trick or treating years behind him. Right?
Alex barely held back a snort of laughter. “Everyday is Halloween here.” And then because Marcella had basically insisted he tread lightly around this one, continued. “Show me what you’ve got.” Maybe Matt had something good, and that’s why he’d brought it. For example, after a few months of work, Alex had invested in his own leather harness to hold up his wings, after he’d gotten sick of the cheap canvas crap that Temple had.
Matt pulled a huge bright yellow coat out of the duffel bag at his feet and then a wide brimmed hat, followed by the crowning achievement, an enormous pair of boots that looked like they’d absolutely dwarf him.
“What’s this?” Alex asked, even though he already knew.
“My costume!” Matt’s excitement was undiminished despite Alex’s frown. It boded well for his ability to not storm out when shot a chastising look during service, but maybe it only proved just how naïve he was.
“You’re a . . .firefighter?”
“It’s a classic,” Matt said. “That’s what the rental store said anyway.”
“It would be. But this is Temple, and people come here for something a little. . .different,” Alex said, trying to explain gently. But he was no good at gentle, which was why he was a shitty person to be training anybody. Especially someone with those woodland hill eyes straight out of a Disney DVD.
Alex went over to the costume wardrobe, sized up Matt with a quick head to toe sweep, and pulled out the first thing in approximately his size.
“What is that?” Matt asked, eyeing the fabric, or lack of, dubiously.
“It’s a priest robe,” he told him, pushing the costume Matt’s direction. “Try it on.”
Matt did not look convinced. “It doesn’t close in the front?”
It was difficult to refrain from a bitter chuckle, but Alex did it by sheer strength of will, and also a weird little pulse of sympathy for the sweet kid in front of him who was about to get chewed up and spit out by a system he clearly wasn’t familiar with.
“It doesn’t close in the front,” Alex confirmed. “So you’re going to wear this.” He reached into the wardrobe again, grabbed a pair of gold lamé briefs, and tossed them Matt’s direction.
He caught the briefs and stared at them like they were about to bite him. Glancing back up, his voice took on a beseeching edge. Like Alex could somehow save him from this, even though this was exactly what he had signed up for. “But I’m an actor,” he said, like this explained and validated every single one of his concerns.
Alex sighed heavily. “Then act like you god damn like it,” he said with finality. “Go get changed. We have a lot to go over before the doors open.”
* * *
Matt did not know what he’d been expecting, exactly, when he’d agreed to take a job as a waiter in the VIP section at Temple. His agent hadn’t been thrilled about the offer, but with nobody biting after so many auditions, Matt needed a job. At least this one meant he might meet people from Hollywood with connections. Working at the Coffee Bean wasn’t going to get him anywhere, but this might.
Still, he couldn’t stop staring at the gold briefs in his hands with trepidation. This was not what he’d expected, but then that wasn’t Alex’s fault. It also definitely wasn’t Alex’s fault that he was both incredibly hot and incredibly daunting, with his perfectly styled dark hair swept back from his gorgeous face, and those intimidating light blue eyes, flawlessly lined with black, staring at him fiercely.
Staring at him like he expected Matt to fail. Staring at him like he expected that Matt wouldn’t make it even ten seconds in a club like Temple.
It was the same damn thing he’d experienced in his small Midwestern hometown. Sweet, hopeless Matt, with his acting dreams, and that unfortunate proclivity for men.
Well, he’d sort of shown them. He’d made it to LA. He’d found lots of other men who didn’t think he was weird at all. He just hadn’t quite nailed that acting thing yet. The closest he’d gotten so far was potentially starring as Ryan Flores’ fake boyfriend. And that hadn’t even happened because Ryan had been so obviously in love with someone else and had shown him the door before Matt could get the job.
He’d loved watching the Dodgers play before this but whenever he saw Ryan now, he got an ugly twinge that was probably jealousy. Not jealousy of his real boyfriend, but jealousy that Ryan had a job he didn’t only love, but that also paid him tons of cash.
Still, it was hard to resent someone who sent you box tickets. Even if Matt had to sell the tickets to pay for rent, the gesture had meant something. Of course he would have rather had the job instead.
He changed without saying a word. Alex had disappeared, wings swishing through the doorway with a practiced little half-turn, like he’d been born wearing them. And he seemed so at-ease with the idea, maybe he had.
He was definitely not born to be a priest, Matt thought to himself, staring at the mirror as he shrugged on the robe. The black-banded collar still went tightly around his neck, practically choking him, while the robe swished open freely to reveal his entirely bare body, leaving only his dick covered by gold lamé. He couldn’t help but wish that his Iowan tormentors could see him now. They’d probably keel over dead.
“You look good.”
Matt glanced up to see Alex back in the doorway. His eyes narrowed as he gave Matt another head to toe perusal, this time more leisurely. Yet it didn’t really feel personal, like Alex was complimenting him, or the many hours Matt spent in the crappy gym at his apartment complex, but more like Alex was sizing him up for how other people might think of him.
It was stupid and completely counterproductive to doing this job and learning everything he could from his trainer, but Matt had a sudden and desperate urge to make Alex’s brisk professionalism waver, if only for a moment. He wanted to affect him not as a peddler of hot male flesh, but as a man.
Alex stared at him steadily, and Matt met his gaze, staring right back. He had a feeling not many other employees or even club-goers were able to do that, because Alex softened a little. Not much, but enough.
“Yeah, you’re going to do just fine,” he said. “Just smile and give that little doe-eyed look every time anyone needs something. They’ll forget they don’t have their drink, because they’ll want your number instead.”
I want you to want my number, Matt thought, even though he knew how dumb that sounded. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t said it out loud, he still flinched.
“Don’t worry, they won’t bite,” Alex said, reaching out to pat him on the arm. He hesitated, grinning a little. The smile made him look far more attainable than the brooding stare ever could. “Probably.”
Matt knew he was cute, not hot, but he pasted on the best seductive look in his acting toolkit. After all there weren’t many who could look at Alex in all his winged glory and not at least try to get his attention.
“So how does this work?” Matt asked, trying to sound confident when he didn’t feel confident at all. They emerged from the back of the club onto the main floor, with the VIP section to the right, two main bars flank
ing either side, and the dance floor with its pulsating lights and stage for the dancer right in the center.
“We’re VIP waitstaff,” Alex said as they walked into the roped off section. “That means everyone you serve is probably going to get bottle service.”
“Bottle service?” Matt had never felt so far from Iowa.
Alex, who’d seemed more sympathetic in the last five minutes, actually honest-to-god flinched. “You don’t know what bottle service is? How did you even get this job?”
It would definitely suck to get this job and then lose it before he even collected a single tip.
“I told Marcella I was an actor,” Matt said, which he had a feeling wasn’t why he’d gotten the job. He’d worn the tightest lowest-necked white t-shirt he had, one of the few that had lasted through his bulk-up once he’d gotten to LA and realized that it didn’t matter how convincingly he could cry on camera. If he didn’t have any muscles of which to speak of, he wasn’t even going to make it to the audition phase of a role.
The shirt had been tight and Marcella had looked him over much the same as Alex had done—head to toe, like a slab of meat instead of a person. Of course Matt wanted to be a person, but if slabs of meat got a regular paycheck, he could be fine with that too.
Alex sighed. “I’m sure that’s the resume point that persuaded her,” he said, not sounding at all convinced that Matt’s fledgling acting career meant jack shit to Marcella.
“Bottle service?” Matt prompted again, because he didn’t want Alex to go down the path towards, why do you even have this job? He wanted Alex to stick firmly in the, how do I train him? category.
“Bottle service,” Alex confirmed. “VIPs will pay up the ass for a bottle of alcohol, usually several. And they’ll get mixers and ice, which we’ll stash in these drawers built into the tables.” He pointed to the discreet drawers under the table surface. “We have an unofficial tab guideline for VIP tables. If your table looks like they aren’t going to drop 5k, you need to get them out of there.”