by Jay Hogan
Having scalped her father, Sasha had shown no compunction in turning on her partner in crime next, taking out the good doctor in short order. Josh had watched with poorly concealed delight. The man’s expression had morphed from shock into grudging respect as he readily acknowledged Sasha’s superiority on the board.
He left soon after, and even though they’d barely brushed shoulders the entire evening, Josh felt lighthearted and content. Later that night, as he lay thinking in the dark of his bedroom, there also came a reluctant acceptance that the kind of blissful peace the doctor so effortlessly induced in him wasn’t easily found.
In that vein, just to further fuck with him, his phone had buzzed on the bedside table. Brent, asking if Josh would reconsider and meet him for coffee. Josh sighed and decided he’d leave that bag of snakes to answer until tomorrow. He rolled on his side and let sleep take him.
CHAPTER TEN
Three weeks later.
MICHAEL SAT in the break room and kept a wary eye on Lucinda who was busy on her phone. Glancing down at his own, he saw the text message sent by Josh staring back unanswered. It was a happy face with a tongue stuck out and a few pointed words.
Josh: One tongue in excellent condition seeks residence. Must be centrally heated with good plumbing. Willing to work for rent.
Michael snorted loudly. Lucinda glanced over, scowled, picked up her coffee, and left. Good riddance. He stared at his phone. The previous three weeks had passed in a flash. His bruising was nearly gone, he was back home, no muggers had reappeared. And, when their times off coincided, he and Josh spent nearly every damn minute together. Yeah, they’d thrown that whole casual fuck buddy thing to the wind. Not that they’d firmed up what was happening in its place, however. Hell no. That would make too much sense, right?
If their time off together fell between nine and three on a weekday, they met up early and fucked like bunnies on steroids, and then Josh would bundle them off to introduce Michael to one of his favourite sights or things to do in Auckland. The man was on a serious mission to share his love of the city, and Michael had bought into the package, hook, line, and sinker. Though that may have had something to do with who was selling it.
Michael loved his home country, he really did, but there was something intoxicating about New Zealand. That combination of laid-back, can-do attitude that punched well above its weight internationally, the amazing pristine environment, and the scarcity of people clogging the whole damn thing up.
So far, in Michael’s NZ education, they’d covered the official “Josh Rawlins Tour of the Museum,” which amounted to all Josh’s favourite childhood exhibitions. This had a sidebar including all the dark places Josh had sucked and been sucked off as a randy teenager when he’d had a brief crush on a gay high school senior who happened to work Saturdays at the museum.
That had been followed by a ferry ride to the charming bohemian locale of Waiheke Island with lunch at a gorgeous winery. And just yesterday, they’d gone sailing with a detective friend on his catamaran in and around Auckland Harbour. The weather had been spectacular, and for the first time, Michael found himself seriously considering the idea of staying in the country long-term. Trouble was, he wasn’t sure if that was simply down to Josh, and what would happen if that all came to an end?
If their mutual time off happened to fall on evenings or weekends, Michael hit Josh and Sasha’s for dinner, followed by a board game or an hour spent playing The Sims with Sasha. She schooled him how to create his own family and was currently busy trying to marry of one of her avatars to one of his. Michael was playing coy with that one. She’d taken to calling him Mickey, and though he grumbled endlessly to anyone who would listen that the girly nickname was screwing with his cool factor and rendering him undateable, Michael secretly loved it.
When she went to bed, he and Josh would curl up on the couch and make out, slowly and deliciously though always fully clothed and falling short of any actual sex. Michael was surprisingly okay with that. He knew Josh wouldn’t want to go there with Sasha in the house. Aside from that one kiss she’d witnessed at the netball courts, they’d been careful not to show any further affection in front of her, keeping the “just good friends” label she seemed to accept easily enough.
Michael got it, he really did, and he worried endlessly about disappointing Sasha. He loved his time with the feisty young girl. She was smart, sassy, and quick as a wink. Messing up with her dad would hurt her too, no two ways about it.
Added to that, he still worried about whether he had it in him to really be what Josh needed. Josh wanted a partner. He wanted the picket fence, the forever thing, and Michael still squirmed at the thought, though less and less. There was no denying the chemistry between them, the sex was off the charts, and they got on really well, but a long-term, you-and-no-other, settle-down-and-grow-vegetables kind of thing? Well, shit. That wasn’t something Michael had seen in his future ever, even when he was with Simon. And the fact he was considering it now with Josh, and Josh’s daughter? Well that was just plain terrifying.
He grinned and punched a reply to Josh’s text.
Michael: One residence with two floors available. Luxury fittings, spectacular scenery and plumbing guaranteed. Top floor taken. Only bottom floor available.
He hit Send and took a long pull on his Coke. Two seconds later his phone buzzed with a reply.
Josh: Have heard owner of top floor is open to a swap. Heard he prefers the view from the bottom.
Cheeky bastard, but yeah, spot on. Michael had in fact topped in a couple of their more recent sessions, but even he had to admit it had been more about keeping up appearances. There was just something about bottoming for that gorgeous man that cranked his shit hard. A fucking surprise for all concerned.
PARIS DAMN near had to drag Josh to the police van, Josh was that knackered. The young thief had led them on a merry dance through a couple of the more well-to-do suburbs on the North Shore, having ripped off the takings from a local burger joint. About seventeen, the kid was fit and fast, and without Paris, Josh wouldn’t have stood a chance of running him down. The shepherd took point and eventually herded the idiot into a small church car park where Colin and Rage lay in wait to nail him. He’d run like a dog possessed, and Josh fully intended to reward those efforts with Paris’s favourite beef heart for dinner. When he told the shepherd just that, Josh could have sworn the dog wore a fucking smirk.
“If that’s your way of commenting on my age, chum,” he griped at the animal, “I’ll start buying those cheap dog biscuits you hate so much.” He scuffed the shepherd’s neck and stood back to let him drink.
Colin appeared at his side, the man’s red hair plastered to his head, freckles dancing on his nose. He slapped Josh’s back. “Bang-up job by your mate there,” he commented. “Jeez, he’s fast. You, meh, not so much.”
Josh snorted. “Maybe ’cause some of us ran while others had nothing more to do than stand and wait for the shithead to fall into their lap. Just saying.”
Colin sniggered, and they watched Paris drink in silence for a minute.
“So, I heard Brent asked you out after the exercise last month,” the man asked with a smile.
For a second Josh had to think who he was referring to. Then it hit him. “Ah, yeah, I cancelled, though. Too, um, busy at the moment.”
Brent. The man was… pleasant, and their conversation had flowed easily enough during the exercise. They’d liked a lot of the same stuff, movies, bands, but compared to Michael? Fucking hell. There was no comparison and Josh was glad he’d never followed through on that coffee. Michael eclipsed anything Brent offered. The end.
Having Michael around pushed everyone else to the fringes. The two of them shouldn’t work, but they did. And yet Josh was still struggling to raise a conversation with him about naming what they had—moving it up to the boyfriend label. And he didn’t understand why. Sasha and Michael got on like a house on fire. Hell, Josh was pretty sure she loved the guy. So, what was it? He
really needed to just get over himself and take the plunge before Michael got sick and tired and looked elsewhere. Not that he would. That was another thing. Josh trusted Michael, apparently. And wasn’t that just a fucking miracle?
HOME BY five thirty, he walked into a house that smelled of… hell yeah…. Spaghetti bolognese. He headed for the kitchen and found Katie at the stove, stirring distractedly. She didn’t look up.
“Earth to Katie.” He planted a kiss on her cheek. “Get your mind out of the poor guy’s pants, sis. The amount of time you’ve spent together, he has to be rubbed raw as it is.”
“You have a filthy mind, brother,” she answered, holding up a spoon for Josh to taste. “Needs more garlic, right?”
He ran his tongue up the spoon. “Just a smidge,” he agreed. “Dirty but bang on, I’m guessing.”
She smirked. “Maybe.”
The guy in question was one Kevin Hodder, Katie’s latest and apparently mesmerising date/boyfriend; Josh hadn’t been able to pry the correct descriptor from her yet. The two had practically lived in each other’s pockets these last weeks, not unlike he and Michael. Yeah, the irony hadn’t escaped him. Josh had even met the guy once. He’d run out of dog kibble and dropped in on Katie to pick up some spare he left there. Kevin had answered the door in a pair of bright red Calvins and nothing else.
The man had a hot body, it had to be said, not that Josh was looking. But when his sister peeked around said hot body wearing nothing but a towel and a blush, he’d damn near choked on his tongue. He’d clearly interrupted something. Well, shit. There were some things a big brother ought to know about only in theory.
A day later after some subtle prompting and not so subtle bribery, in the form of a couple of slabs of Whittaker’s chocolate, he’d gotten the CliffsNotes version. In Katie’s words, Kevin was: hot—Josh already knew that; respectful—yet to be decided, considering the guy was banging Josh’s little sister after less than two weeks, and okay, there was maybe a little double standard in play there; a thirty-five-year-old lawyer—Josh could live with that; and finally, he really seemed to like Katie. The latter was super convenient because Katie was clearly president of the guy’s freaking fan club.
Josh was proud of himself for having swallowed the warnings about to roll off his tongue regarding taking it slow, not getting your hopes up, blah blah blah. Truth was he hadn’t seen his sister this excited about a guy in years, and he was really happy for her. At the same time, he wondered if this was going to change things for him and Sasha. The short answer to that would be, of course it would. If Katie and Kevin became a long-term thing, he couldn’t expect her to be available in the same way she was now. Shit.
Katie carried the larger pot to the sink and tipped the pasta into a colander. “Sasha tells me she’s going to Mum and Dad’s tomorrow, again.” She gave him the stink eye.
Josh checked behind him.
“It’s okay. She’s in her bedroom with her music on.” Katie poured a tiny bit of oil through the pasta to keep it separated, since it had to sit for a bit. “She’s not too happy about it, in case she hadn’t said.”
He sighed and slumped into a chair at the table. “Like she was going to keep that a secret. I thought the whole sulky, moody, teenage-witch thing didn’t hit for another couple of years.”
Katie snorted. “Whatever gave you that idea? Strap in, sunshine, your parenting life is about to go to shit from now on, with an occasional ray of gobsmacking amazingness thrown in just to keep you hanging in there.”
Josh let his head fall back. “Fuck, thanks for that.” He pressed his palms into his tired eyes. “Anyway, there was no choice. She has to finish this damn family assignment.”
Katie cocked her head. “There’s always choices, Josh. They were right dicks to her last time, and you well know it.”
He sighed. “I know, I know. Just… ugh. Don’t give me a hard time about it, please. It’s bad enough living with my eleven-year-old’s disapproval. How young do they teach you girls that cold shoulder shit anyway?”
Katie sat beside him and reached for his hand. “There’s something else. When I picked her up today, her teacher mentioned she’s been playing up a bit in class.”
“Ah, shit,” he groaned and dropped his head to the table, banging it twice for good measure. “What the fuck, Katie? She’s not that kid. She’s never been that kid.”
“I know. And it’s nothing too bad,” she explained. “Apparently, she’s just not listening, distracting other kids, and her last two math results haven’t been the best. Her teacher said that in any other kid they wouldn’t be worried, but as you said, Katie’s never been that kid. Something’s going on with her, sweetie, and you’re gonna have to talk with her.”
Josh sighed. “Just what I need. It’s this shit with Mum and Dad, isn’t it?”
She levelled a look his way. “Give the man a prize.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Well, I’m not talking about it before Sunday. I don’t want to make going to our parents’ any harder than it is. And maybe I can sweeten tomorrow for her by agreeing to take a break from the grandparents altogether for a while. Guess it’s time.”
She squeezed his hand. “That’s a good idea.”
He leaned forward on his elbows and put his head in his hands. “Christ, this is gonna open a fucking hornet’s nest. Still, maybe they’ll appreciate what they have a bit more if they don’t see her as regularly. Learn to keep their bigoted comments to themselves.”
Katie planted a kiss on his cheek. “One can only hope. Now set the table and let’s eat, I’m meeting Kevin in an hour.”
NEXT MORNING, he dropped Sasha at his parents’, and the sour look she sent him along with no kiss goodbye said exactly how she felt about it. He let it go, opting to hold his tongue until this last damned sleepover was done. If his parents could manage to keep their bigotry to themselves for a night, Josh might just have a chance at salvaging something.
With nothing on until he picked Sasha up at noon the next day, Josh finally relaxed. He glanced at his watch and realised he had just enough time to grab a coffee before collecting Michael for their date. Date. Huh. My how times change.
The early summer weather, a balmy seventy degrees, had decided today’s destination. Piha Beach, on the west coast north of Auckland, was a popular stretch of black sand, dramatic rocky terrain, and big surf. Josh had organised for them to take a surfing lesson. Michael knew nothing about that part….
“WE’RE DOING what?” Michael spun in his seat, slack-jawed when Josh broke the news.
“Mm-hmm. You know the thing, wetsuit, board, stand up, ride a wave, have fun.”
Michael rolled his eyes so hard he risked whiplash. “You do realise that’s the beach in that reality show of yours, the one where everyone. Always. Needs. Rescuing,” he whined. “As in big, fucking, dumping surf, holes and—what are they called again? Oh yeah, rips… and surf and holes and shit… and rips… and shit.”
“That’s the one,” Josh deadpanned, enjoying Michael’s freak-out. “Oh, come on, you’re from California. You can’t tell me you’re scared of a few waves. Surfing’s your birthright, isn’t it?”
Michael glared. “I’ll have you know I was born in Montana, a long way from the ocean. Mountains and skiing are my birthright, not freaking surfing and especially not drowning.”
Josh laughed. “Don’t be a baby. I checked with the learn-to-surf guy we’re going with, and he said the waves are pretty small today. You can swim, right?”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mom, I can swim. Can you surf?”
“No. But I can swim, pretty damn well actually. I was a Clubbie as a kid.”
“A what? Is that some Kiwi gay teenager kinky shit?”
Josh snorted. “No, you idiot. A clubbie is someone who belongs to a surf lifesaving club. It’s pretty big in New Zealand and Australia. Kids train and compete all over in rescue-related stuff.”
“Huh, like Baywatch?”
Josh grinned. “
Something like that. It was awesome as a gay teen. Lots of fit flesh and impressive dick on display in those tiny Speedos, and, man, when they pulled the backs of those things up and exposed those plump cheeks to get a better grip on the IRB seats—inflatable rescue boats—well let’s just say I nearly creamed my own gear on more than one occasion.”
Michael cracked up. “So, less Pamela Anderson and more—”
“The Hoff.” They laughed in unison.
“Yeah, working out my sexuality was kind of a no-brainer after that,” Josh admitted dryly. “With masses of flesh on display from both genders and you only have eyes for dick, it doesn’t leave much room for debate.”
“Not to mention the difficulty of hiding all those teenage stiffies,” Michael quipped.
“Pretty much. Also explains why I gave it up around sixteen. I had a crush on this older kid in the same IRB team. The guy sat smack bang in front of me and, holy shit, did he have a fabulous arse. I spent more time in the toilet whacking off than in training that year.”
Michael howled with laughter. “So, surfing, huh?”
“Yes, you chook, surfing. So, get your big-boy pants on and let’s do it.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, whatever,” Michael finally gave in. “But I want it on record that you owe me big time for the loss of dignity that’s about to take place. And I know exactly how you’re gonna make it up to me.”
Josh laid a hand on Michael’s thigh. “And that’s a punishment how exactly?”
Michael laid his hand over Josh’s. “Shut up and drive, wolf-man.”
JOSH WRAPPED himself around Michael, his dick still buried balls-deep in the other man’s arse, trembling from another amazing round of sex. He loved this coming-down time, replete, nerves tingling, mind empty of all but the intense high, and still surrounded by the other man’s inner heat. This odd quirk of Josh’s seemed to amuse Michael no end, yet he never complained, happy enough to indulge him.