He didn’t have a fucking clue what he was doing. And any day now, it was going to bite him in the ass.
Enjoy the ride while it lasts. Just enjoy the ride.
IT WAS TWO weeks until Butterfly Nights, and Ethan still didn’t know who their headlining act would be. Two weeks until the show poker game, and he knew he’d never be ready to take Crabtree on. He was losing it—not only his edge, but maybe even part of his mind. This was going to bite him in the ass. Hard.
It might even kill him.
Sam noticed his unease and tried to soothe him. He was only going to therapy once a week now, but he seemed more confident and less prone to a panic attack. He was as sunny as his nickname promised almost all the time. More and more it was Sam managing Ethan and Randy, and not simply in bedroom games. Which was probably why that day when Sam came into his office wearing his lime-green scrubs and a bright smile, Ethan looked at Sam with all the weariness and terror he felt and telegraphed, Help me.
Dropping his duffel in the corner, Sam hurried forward. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
“I can’t do this. I don’t know why I ever thought I could. I don’t know how to get out of it.”
Sam put a hand on his shoulder and began to massage gently. “I got a text from Caryle. She’s coming over with the costumes to show us. As soon as she gets a model, she says she’s going to do a new round of advertising.”
“We have no headliner. Just some lackluster buzz and some poker tournament I don’t even fully understand but for which I am on the hook to Billy Junior.” Ethan buried his hands in his hair. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this.”
Sam’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “I need to hit the bathroom quick, and then we’ll go downstairs and play some craps, okay?”
Ethan didn’t want to play craps. He wanted to crawl into the secret closet and wall himself in. “Fine,” he said instead.
Fifteen minutes later they were at the table to the left of the demon statue, Ethan staring into its unseeing golden eyes as Sam rolled the dice. It was weird, how some days the demon looked friendly and some days it looked sexy and sometimes it was the most menacing thing he’d ever seen. It was that now. It mocked him, leering tall as water poured from its nostrils, gleaming gold and glinting in the soft casino light.
Why had he ever thought he could run a casino? He had ten million dollars in the bank, all of it put there by a mob man. Sarah had pulled him aside the other day and coached him as to how to respond to that, should the Nevada Gaming Commission ask, and he was told to say a private investment he’d made had turned up surprisingly beneficial, which was why he’d quit his job. When Ethan had explained this wasn’t true and could easily be proven, Sarah had simply replied the proof was being arranged, and not to worry. If the Gaming Commission wanted details, he was to send them to her and she would take care of it.
This wasn’t even his game anymore. It never was. He was a fish all over again.
A group of college girls stood off to the side of the statue, giggling, reaching around the sprays of water to rub the exposed organ. Ethan watched them, noticing how they blushed when they first fumbled, but once they took the fat golden cock into their hands, their faces twisted into a quiet sort of triumph. When they walked away, they looked bolder and more confident. Sarah had given him a printout showing the guests who rubbed the demon dick stayed in the casino an average of two hours longer than the others, and they tended to spend at least half again as much money as their non-dick peers. They also won more, but because the house always wins, they collectively lost more too.
Was he rubbing a stupid golden phallus, thinking he was doing something wicked, giving himself a false sense of security, but he was really playing stooge for the house?
A hand on his back startled him, but when it slid down and around to his hip in a familiar way, he knew Randy was standing there even before he turned to face him. “Hey, Slick.”
Ethan stared at him. I can’t do this, Randy, he wanted to say, but couldn’t, just looked at him, afraid if he spoke, the chaos inside him would come tumbling out.
Randy hooked his finger in a belt loop. “Come on, baby. I have something for you.”
They started for the stairs. Ethan realized he’d abandoned Sam, but Randy shook his head and tugged again.
“Peaches is the one who called me. Come on, baby. Come on.”
Now they’re both coddling you.
Ethan stopped as they passed the demon statue and looked down at the gleaming cock. It already looked more polished than the rest of the statue, partly because the staff rubbed it too. They were buying it along with everyone else.
Swept up in a sudden gust of fury and terror, Ethan stormed across the casino, ignoring Randy’s calls. He didn’t know where he was headed until he got to the roulette table, but once he saw the spinning wheel, he pulled out a handful of chips, ordered change, and put fifty dollars down.
On black, and another stack on red.
“Slick, come on,” Randy said, coming up beside him. “Don’t do this. Don’t aggravate yourself.”
“I have perfect odds.” Ethan glared at the wheel. “One of them has to win.”
One of them had to lose too. But one would win. That would be enough.
Randy said nothing, but Ethan could feel his tension and his displeasure. Ethan was ready to launch into a justification for himself when he saw Randy wince. Returning his focus to the wheel, Ethan saw the little white ball bouncing happily in the double zero.
Green. It had landed on green.
“I fucking hate roulette,” Randy murmured, but Ethan said nothing, just watched the dolly come down, feeling it hit the number like a punch in his gut. That wasn’t even comedic. It was ridiculous. Only two numbers on the whole table were green. It wasn’t fair.
“It isn’t going to work.” Terror, full of teeth and claws and golden demon leers, gripped Ethan. “It isn’t going to work, and I’m not only going to look foolish in front of all of Las Vegas, they’re going to kill me—”
Randy dragged him across the floor, this time not letting him stop for anything, not until they were inside the elevator and the doors were closed—and then he kissed Ethan hard on the mouth. At first Ethan stood there, still numb, and then he kissed back, hesitant, then desperate. There was no arousal, or if there was any, it was buried under fear, self-doubt, and a churning internal chaos he couldn’t stop.
Eventually it got the better of him, and he drew back, gasping, his chest tight. “I’m so stupid.”
“It’s okay, Slick. It’s okay.”
Ethan shut his eyes. There was something wrong with him. Something really wrong.
The elevator doors opened, and Ethan slipped out of Randy’s arms and stepped out. But when he would have gone into the safety of his office, Randy took him to a corner by the bathroom. “Let’s stay here for now.”
Ethan tried to move away. “I don’t want anybody to see me like this.”
“That’s why we’re staying here.” He drew Ethan toward him. “Come on, baby. Stay here with me and put yourself together.”
Ethan stared over his shoulder at his office door, which was still closed. “Who’s in there? What’s going on?”
“Leave it for now.”
Ethan stormed to the door, throwing it open. The office was empty. “There’s nobody here.” He turned to Randy to glare at him, saw the other man’s face and figured it out.
Bugged. His office was bugged.
Video too?
Red. Ethan literally saw red, the whole world reducing around his eyes, but he didn’t feel angry. He felt hot and numb.
Randy took his hands, his face full of concern—and love—and led him away from the door, down the hall, and into a closet. He pulled on a light above their heads, a single bulb swinging on a chain, and it filled the room with dim, dusty light. When Randy led him to the floor, Ethan went in defeat into Randy’s arms.
“I’m so stupid. So incredibly stupid.”
“Why are you putting up with me when all I do is break down? I’m a farce. I’m ridiculous. Why aren’t you making fun of me?”
“You aren’t making a fool of yourself. You’re amazing. You’re fucking amazing. No one’s telling you to stop because we’re all too amazed. You’re making this place work, and it’s good. It’s great. You aren’t a fool. You’re a god.”
“But I don’t know what it’s for. I don’t even know how it’s happening. I don’t know how to keep it going, either, and people are starting to notice, and they’re going to find out. They’re going to find out I’m making it up. They’re going to laugh at me, and I deserve it. I’m betting on black. That’s all I’m doing. Or black and red and it’s going to come up green. How did it do that? It’s stupid. I’m stupid.”
Randy gripped his face. “You are not stupid.”
“I am and you know it. That’s why you haven’t been saying anything. Because you know. Jesus Christ—I didn’t know he had my office bugged, but you did. Why didn’t you say? Are you laughing too?”
“Jesus fuck, no, Slick. Fucking hell—no, I am not laughing at you.” Randy sank a little harder against Ethan. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I should have told you about the office. But you were flying too high. I thought telling you would be like making you slow down.”
“Your house? Is it bugged?” Ethan thought of the X-rated plays that went on there on a regular basis.
“I fucking hope not. But maybe. Don’t think about it. It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters, because I’m an idiot.”
Randy grabbed his face and stared down into it. “You are not an idiot.”
“I’m a big, stupid, stupid fucking idiot. Why the hell are you with me, Randy?”
He tried to look away, but Randy held his face, so he shut his eyes.
A soft, gentle kiss landed first against one of Ethan’s eyes, then the other.
“I’m sorry.” Now Randy sounded broken. “I shouldn’t have introduced you to him. I should have been involved more, should have helped. I should have stopped this.” He stroked the sides of Ethan’s face, then sighed as he rested their foreheads together. “But you were flying, Ethan, and I got caught up in watching. I didn’t stop you because I thought you had to know how good you were. I didn’t think you needed me.”
Ethan laughed, a bitter, strangled sound. Not need him? The thought was so ridiculous he couldn’t even begin to address it. I fucking need you, Randy. I need you. I love you. I love you, and I need you, so much it’s probably bad. I love you more than I ever loved Nick, need you more than I needed him, and I’m scared, fucking scared, because I don’t know how—I don’t know what to do with that.
How could he ever be the man Randy saw in him if he needed him so much? How could it ever be anything more than a lie? How could Randy love a lie?
How could Randy love him when he could barely love himself?
All this churned and bubbled inside him. How the hell was he supposed to say that?
I need you, he tried to say, to keep it simple.
Except when he opened his mouth, something swept up and stopped it, and tears came out instead.
This drew him out of his swirl of despair when nothing else could, and he swiped angrily at them. “I never cried. I never cried for years, and now it’s all I do.”
Randy’s laugh was wicked but rueful. “I know exactly what you mean. But don’t, sweetheart. I know I shouldn’t say that, but don’t. I can’t bear to see it. Because if you cry, I’ll fall apart, and then I don’t have anything left to impress you with, if I can’t even be strong for you.”
You’ll always impress me, Randy, no matter what you do. You’re always strong for me. You’re strongest, actually, when you hold me like this and go all soft and tender. But he couldn’t say this, either. He couldn’t even say half of it. He buried his face in Randy’s neck, curled his fingers around his shoulders, and held on. “I love you.”
“I love you too, baby.” Randy kissed his hair. “We’ve got to get out of this pit we fell into, Slick.”
“If we leave the pit, we have to face the mess.”
“What’s messy, baby? Because I can’t see it. Tell me so I can help.”
“I’m Crabtree’s stooge. He’s laughing at me because I’m so stupid.”
“He would never use his casino like that. It isn’t his in name, but it’s his in his heart. You might as well know. Crabtree and Billy Senior were lovers.”
Ethan opened his eyes and blinked. What? But what about Evelyn?
“This place, Herod’s—it’s all he has left of Billy. His Billy. He wouldn’t fuck with it. He’s got some plan with it and you, and it’s not that he’s having a good time at your expense. If I thought for half a second he were pissing with you, I’d tear Nevada apart until I found him, and I’d take out his fucking teeth one at a time.”
He’s in Utah, Ethan almost said, then realized he couldn’t trust that, either. He looked up at Randy instead. “Why? Why would you do that?”
Randy stared at him for a few seconds before taking Ethan’s face in his hands and looking him straight in the eye, his dark, beautiful Randy eyes cutting holes through to the back of his head. “Because my name is not Nick Snow.”
It was as if the “Hallelujah” chorus ran backward through Ethan’s head. He had never known so many emotions at once in his life—joy, fear, disbelief, anger, sorrow, and love, beneath it all, love—so he shut his eyes.
Randy pulled Ethan to his feet and into the hall. “Come on.”
As they walked, Randy’s fingers brushed Ethan’s hand, and he felt Nick’s ring against his skin. Randy still wore it. Ethan noticed it at least once a day. He’d thought it was a reminder, either to Randy or to him. Some sort of warning not to get too close, to go too deep. But maybe that was wrong. All his thoughts seemed to be wrong, so this one must be too.
But he couldn’t think for the life of him why Randy would be so attached to some other man’s ring.
Outside the door to Ethan’s office, Randy stopped. “I want to go in there, and I want to make love to you.”
“You said the office was bugged.”
“Oh, there’s hidden video too, most likely.” Randy grinned.
Ethan’s blood began to hum.
Randy reached out and ran his hand down Ethan’s neck. “I owe you a lap dance, for the fountain, and it occurred to me you might want to play out the fantasy you confessed the other night.” Randy touched his fingers to Ethan’s lips. “Show him, baby. Show him how strong you are. When life fucks you over, you don’t slow down. You just keep going, keep moving, eyes peeled for the next opportunity, the next dance. Don’t get bogged down in the endings or the parts where you know you’re fucked even before you get there. Bluff, baby. Bluff until they all fold or until you start to believe it yourself. If you fail, get up and bluff again.”
He ran his fingers down the line of Ethan’s stubble then leaned forward to kiss the edge of his jaw before he whispered in his ear.
“Bluff him. But don’t bluff me.” He nipped at the lobe of Ethan’s ear. “Fuck me.”
Ethan stared at him a moment, swimming in that speech. Then he pushed Randy inside and against the door as it slammed closed, grinding them together as he took Randy’s face in his hands.
When Randy pushed him onto the small sofa Sam had dragged out of storage, Ethan went, sinking into the vinyl and spreading his legs, his cock swelling as Randy began to dance before him. There was no music, but it didn’t matter. Didn’t matter at all, because it was Randy, and he was moving, graceful in a way only he could do. He could have been a pole dancer, the way he rotated his hips, so expertly, so smooth, so perfect, so professional. Knowing Randy, he likely had been a professional.
And he worries about me seeing him as not strong. How could I see him as anything but?
Hips
still undulating to an unheard beat, Randy drew the hem of his T-shirt slowly up the sides of his body, over his nipples, over his shoulders. The fabric tangled in his arms, briefly obscuring his face as he exposed himself, as the shirt lifted higher and higher. Then it came away entirely as Randy stood, still dancing, still smiling, cool and easy and beautiful, still Randy, moving before him.
Don’t slow down. Bluff.
Ethan still felt raw inside, but he kept his exterior cool, taking strength and security from Randy, replacing his veneer as his lover danced and stripped before him so expertly that there was no question—Randy had done this before.
Now he’s doing it for me.
Chapter Twenty-One
ETHAN KNEW THE body undulating before him so well he could almost paint it, but this was like seeing it for the first time, and he didn’t know where to look because he was trying to see everything. Randy’s thighs, so strong, not tanned like his torso, but defined and muscular. Thighs that hugged his beloved bike, that tensed when he crouched, that twisted with him when he maneuvered beneath an engine. Thighs he usually spread out over a chair, one leg extended to the side while he played poker.
Thighs which grazed Ethan’s own now, which bore him, stabilized Randy as he leaned back, as one hand braced against the edge of the couch and the other slipped inside the waistband of his underwear to touch himself.
Ethan looked at Randy’s chest, which was broad and thick with muscle. He took in Randy’s belly, a tiny, tiny bit of paunch Ethan knew he was self-conscious about. The tiny bit of paunch Ethan loved to touch, to kiss, because it made Randy quiver and go soft.
As Randy positioned his arms behind his head, Ethan studied them—muscled arms, his prizes, which he showed off with shirts too tight and with sleeves barely there. He saw the black tattoo on his lover’s shoulder—a spade, small and subtle. Ethan had kissed it. Licked it. Sucked it. Bitten it.
He took in Randy’s floppy hair, greasy because he used too much gel. Sam was always after him for it, and Randy would yell at him then run his hands through his mop, making it worse. Dark, unruly hair matching the stubble on his jaw, the wildness of his big brown eyes.
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