As you'll recall, I ended Don't Look Back last week and promised to start something new this week, and I've done that. I'd like you to meet Vinnie and Ethan - Rose and Thorne. I hope you like them. I've also started a second book about Marshall and Lee, called Moving Forward, and I have the first flash of that too. I'll let you know when the first book is available in its entirety as a freebie. I have the cover made already. Hope you like my offerings, and don't forget to see what the other Briefers are up to. Their links follwo my tales. Enjoy!
“Remind me again whose stupid idea this lipstick was,” I huffed
out beneath my breath. Without thinking, I licked my lips. They felt greasy,
and tasted even worse. I forced myself not to grimace, afraid it might crack
the foundation I’d slathered on my face.
“Mine, you sexy beast,” came the smart-ass reply in my ear.
“I think you got purty lips, mmhmmm.”
“Fuck you,” I growled. “You should be doing this, not me,
and you know it. I did it last time.”
“What I know is you look better in a skirt than I do. And
out of it, too.”
I felt my cheeks go hot at Ethan’s words. Luckily the
darkness hid a multitude of sins and none the wiser. Hopefully, no one else was
listening—I knew I’d never hear the end of it.
I pulled a compact from the purple paisley cloth purse slung
over my shoulder and flipped open the mirror so I could assess my surroundings.
I couldn’t see a damn thing. I growled again. I’d have to move closer to the
half-assed excuse for a light this park possessed. The city fathers had been
too cheap to install proper lighting, which is why they had this mugging
problem to begin with.
“What’s wrong, Vinnie?” Ethan’s concern came through my
earpiece loud and clear. He might aggravate me some of the time—or most of the
time—but he always had my back.
“Nothing,” I muttered as I wobbled toward the light. These
heels were ridiculous. How did women do it? I’d just gained an all-new respect
for the fairer sex. They made it seem so effortless, while I possessed all of
the grace of a wounded water buffalo. I’d tried opting for flats, but Ethan had
nixed the idea. Said they wouldn’t go with the skirt. Plus he said the heels
made my legs look longer.
Pervert.
The light pole stood just behind a metallic park bench
shrouded by shadowy bushes. I think it was supposed to impart something of a
pastoral feel, and maybe it did during the day, but at this time of night it
only gave me the creeps. An icy finger climbed my spine, which I hurriedly
dismissed.
The bench was a stone’s throw from the paved path which
wound through the park, accessible to pedestrians and bikers both. I hadn’t
seen much foot traffic tonight, mostly couples, hand in hand, seeking
seclusion. Under other circumstances, that could be Ethan and me. Preferably in
another park.
The path was about as well-maintained as the park was lit. I
stumbled over what I assumed to be a tree root and valiantly fought to keep my
balance. I lost the battle for equilibrium and dropped to my hands and knees,
tearing my panty hose on the rough surface and skinning my knees and palms. I
swallowed my cry of pain and clumsily regained my feet.
Just then something rustled in the bushes. I tensed. My hand
snaked toward the gun which I’d tucked into the waistband of my skirt,
underneath the jacket. I half expected a menacing figure in a long trench coat to
jump out in front of me and flash his shlong. What I wasn’t prepared for was
the small Pekingese which emerged from the darkness and flew at me. It yipped excitedly,
like it thought I was about to steal its favorite bone.
It was just a dog. I needed to lighten up.
“Vinnie, what’s that noise?”
“It’s a dog, what does it sound like?”
“What’s it want?”
I rolled my eyes, even though I knew he couldn’t appreciate
the gesture. “Gee, lemme ask him, Ethan.” I leaned down toward the canine,
remembering to offer it my hand first. A stray thought ran through my mind,
something about dog’s saliva having magical healing properties. With my luck,
that was just an urban legend. Like the tooth fairy.
“You be careful, Vin, you hear me?”
That kinda went without saying.
“Nice puppy, good puppy.” If the dog was a healer, he
obviously didn’t choose to waste such abilities on me. He made no move to lick
the hand I held out. His high-pitched whine was getting on my last nerve. He’d
make a great secret weapon if I ever needed to wake up the dead.
“Please be quiet,” I pleaded with the animal. To my
surprise, he suddenly ceased his yapping as if I’d flipped an invisible switch,
and he regarded me with a quizzical look. I was impressed with myself. I’d no
idea I possessed such power over animals that I could bend them to my will. I’d
have to remember that when I was dealing with Ethan in future. But my sense of
accomplishment was short-lived.
A sense of disquiet
slapped me like a blow to the chest. Goose bumps played up and down my arms,
and the back of my neck prickled. Something wicked this way comes? The darkness
felt almost palpable. I imagined it closing around me, suffocating me. I
quickly pushed the image away.
Something was tugging at my purse. My first irrational
thought was the dog had latched onto it and was trying to pry it away from me,
even as I wondered what he’d want with it. That notion was quickly dispelled as
the force grew stronger, yanking at the purse with a strength far beyond that of
any small animal. If I hadn’t had it looped over my shoulder, my hand entwined
in the strap, I’d probably have lost it.
Belatedly, it dawned on me I was being mugged. This was it.
My attacker was not quite as tall as me, but, even in the
dim light, I could see he had the advantage in weight. “Let go, lady,” he
fairly hissed, “I don’t wanna hurt you.”
“Hurt me, my ass,” I muttered, just as he directed a kick to
my shins that threatened to topple me. I wobbled on the heels but didn’t fall.
One point for the good guys.
Marshall felt as though he was the belle of the ball. Or
whatever the male equivalent of that might be.
Partners was hopping with its typical Western Night
activity. The club was filled to capacity—wall-to-wall men with the urge to
drink, dance, and play games, not all of which took place in the bustling game
room. The small, private back rooms were high traffic areas on Western Night,
and extra servers and attendants were on hand to make sure everything ran
smoothly, and see that some sort of order was preserved.
Marshall and Lee hadn’t been back to Partners since before
Thanksgiving. Mostly because they were busy, but also to put a little time
behind them in order to forget the fiasco that was Rhonda. The way she’d tracked
them down and tried to ruin their lives was a disaster narrowly averted. They
didn’t realize how much they’d missed the place—and how much they were missed
by their friends there—until Lee received an email from Slim, checking on them
and asking when they were coming back.
They returned to Partners the first week in February. A
slight chill hung in the air, necessitating jackets, but not coats. The promise
of spring was in the air, and hormones bubbled in the veins of those at
Partners. Different men kept coming up to the table Marshall and Lee shared
with Roy and Slim and Denver and Rye, asking Marshall to dance. Each and every
one of them made sure he asked for Lee’s permission first, which was always
given. Lee encouraged Marshall to get out on the dance floor and kick up his
heels. Have a good time. And so he went with them, and he whooped and hollered
and had a grand old time. But he always returned to Lee after just one dance,
and never went with the same man twice.
“Thanks for the dance,” Marshall told a tall, lanky cowboy
who’d just escorted him back to their table. Only Lee and Slim were in
evidence. The others must be off doing something else.
“You sure you don’t want to go again?” the cowboy asked
hopefully, and Marshall shook his head. He reached for Lee’s hand and squeezed
it, making it more than evident where his interest lay.
“Thanks but no thanks.” He raised his voice slightly, in
order to be heard above the crowd around them.
The cowboy politely tipped his hat and walked away, as
Marshall scooted closer to Lee and rested his head on Lee’s shoulder. He felt
Lee’s lips graze the top of his head softly.
“Have a good workout?” Lee teased.
“Yeah, it was fun. So when you gonna take me out on the
floor yourself?”
“Think you have room on your dance card for me?”
Marshall shifted his head and looked up at Lee. “You know I
do,” he said earnestly before he saw the twinkle in Lee’s eyes, and knew he
wasn’t being serious. They had an arrangement. Marshall was free to do what he
wanted, with whom he wanted, as long as he was honest about it, and didn’t try
to hide anything. Marshall knew it was Lee’s way of giving him an out, should
he ever want one. To keep him from feeling tethered. He didn’t want an out, and
he knew he never would. Dancing with other men was just that—dancing, nothing
more. None of those men meant anything to him. Lee was all he wanted or needed.
And dancing is where their involvement began and ended.
Marshall wasn’t the only one with a growing popularity at
Partners. Lee had received his share of propositions, and he’d done a little
dancing himself. Marshall couldn’t very well get jealous over something he was
doing himself, and he knew he had no reason to, but he did watch Lee’s partners
carefully, just to make sure no one was getting what he considered handsy.
“You know something,”
Lee said, “I have a sneaking suspicion this has got to do with that damn YouTube
video.” Marshall and Lee had found themselves the unwitting subjects of a video
which was shot at Partners and subsequently posted on YouTube. In the video,
they were dancing together, having a damn good time, attracting an appreciative
audience to the dance floor. When the music ended, Lee had bent Marshall over
backward and laid a huge liplock on him, which produced cheers from the
spectators, who’d also taken pictures, as well as a video, of their exploits.
The video had almost been their undoing—operative word almost, unwittingly
drawing Rhonda to them, with her threats to tell everyone about them and their
relationship. But now that was all just water under the
bridge, and they were moving forward with their lives—with love and confidence.
“You mean we’re famous?”
“Infamous is more like it.” Lee snorted. “I guess it could
be worse.” Marshall understood what Lee wasn’t saying. That the men at Partners
accepted them at face value, and liked them without question. They were safe
there. They could relax among their friends and simply be who they were.
“I was talking to the owner about that video,” Slim
interjected, leaning toward them to make himself heard. “He thinks business has
gone up thanks to you two. You’ve put Partners on the map. Gay men all over
Texas thank you.” He winked at them.
At that moment, Denver returned to the table and threw
himself into a chair, reaching for his beer.
“A man can sure work up a thirst on the dance floor!” he commented.
“Oh yeah? What’s that got to do with you?” Slim punched the
younger man lightly on the arm when he scowled.
“I’m a grown man, same as Marshall here. Don’t see you
pickin’ on him.”
“Give’em half a chance and they will,” Marshall said. “You
know how old men get sometimes when young men get all the attention.”
“Is that a fact?” Lee drawled.
to be continued
Now go visit the other Briefers and see what's going on with them!
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