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John’s Match

Woodland Village 3

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Musa Publishing

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www.MusaPublishing.com

First Published by Whiskey Creek Press, November 2007

Published by Musa Publishing, April 2012

This e-Book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means
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isbn: 978-1-61937-248-1

Published in the United States of America

Editor: Elizabeth Silver

Cover Design: Kelly Shorten

Interior Book Design: Coreen Montagna

Warning

This e-book contains adult language and scenes. This story is meant only for
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Store your e-books carefully where they cannot be accessed by younger readers.

For my friends and family, who give me the encouragment

I need to climb over that annoying brick wall called writer’s block!

Chapter One

ravel crunched beneath John Kramer’s loafers. He rubbed his hand over
his face, weariness stealing over his body. What a day. Once home, he’d

hibernate under the sheets for the entire weekend. The afternoon meeting with
the debt collectors had sucked big time, and he was running out of options. If he
didn’t think of something soon, Electronic Games would swoop in for the kill.

Being the CFO and VP, he felt responsible for Fantasy Arts’s financial

health. He rubbed his face again, his jaw aching from tension. Oh God. He

was

responsible. It’d been his call on that investment deal that had put the company
in this vat of shit. Ryan Adams, his employer and most importantly, his friend,
had trusted him, and John’d been over confident, overzealous in making a fast
buck to pay off their new building while upgrading their computer equipment.

He’d thought the deal would give them some breathing room until their new

3D game hit the market.

It’d taken them five years to build the sterling reputation of Fantasy Arts,

always on the cutting edge of the gaming industry. He’d never accept seeing

Ryan’s baby sold because of his dumbass error. How in God’s name had he ever

messed up this badly? A headache snaked its way across his skull. Not from
drinking; he had nursed a scotch and soda all evening. Late nights at work, tak-
ing care of his father, his life was not his own. And now he left the

Roadhouse

alone, like too many Friday nights.

He kicked a rock with the toe of his wingtip. Empty bed, empty heart,

but that was how he’d set up his life. Better to be alone and in control. Control
bought him freedom. Freedom meant not answering to anyone. He coveted
his time and privacy and his need for doing things his way. Work swallowed

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his life more and more, and usually, he enjoyed it. So what if he hadn’t had a
relationship in years?

Preferring the secluded edge of the grassy woodland away from other cars,

John had parked his Ferrari across the lot. A copse of trees hid his car from view.
Crickets chirped and the air smelled of pungent herbs as toads croaked. He

smiled at nature’s symphony and looked up at the bright Milky Way, a carpet
of stars spilled along the black sky. Romantic, he thought, and then he frowned.

As he approached his car, he heard two men grunting.

John stopped near enough to make out a man bent over his hood of John’s

Ferrari; pants were bunched around the guy’s ankles, his ass exposed. It shone

pale in the moonlight. It didn’t take John long to know what the hell was
going on.

Fuck! All he needed. Ready to pull the goddamn guy off his car, he stalled

when another guy came into view, his condom-sheathed cock primed and

ready for entry.

Double fuck.
John’s muscles tightened into a freeze frame of indecision. He should pull

them apart and tell them to get a room. He didn’t want spunk all over his car.

And they’d better not scratch the damn paint.

As he approached the couple, he slowed his step. Oh for fuck’s sake. He

couldn’t break up the sex fest. It’d be too damn embarrassing. And in some ways,
he envied their enthusiasm.

He’d never had sex on the hood of his Ferrari, and

a hysterical laugh lodged in his throat at the absurdity of the situation.

Ducking behind a tree, he tried hard not to react to all that deep guttural

moaning, but his cock had a mind of its own. He adjusted his pants, easing the
bulge pushing against his briefs. He really had to get a life. When was the last
time he’d kissed a man? Really kissed him because he couldn’t wait to taste him?

He licked his lips and closed his eyes as he leaned his head against the tree trunk.

And waited.
And waited some more.

Determined not to look, he closed his eyes. Unfortunately, this only ampli-

fied the groans and grunts. Sweat broke across his forehead, and he loosened
his tie. He wasn’t a pervert, but damn, if they kept it up for much longer, he’d
be coming in his pants. The live sexual display beat his favorite porno movie
by a long shot.

John’s Match

Luckily, no one came this far out, not among the trees and marshy ground.

It was probably why the guys had chosen his car and this spot, secluded from

the rest of the parking lot.

They had to be young, lasting this long, and he frowned thinking how once

he would have done something this randy. Not anymore; he was too set in his

ways, too comfortable. Too damn concerned of soiling his Italian leather shoes.

The grunting ended in a swift shout of pleasure. Finally, they were done.
Adjusting his tie, which felt like a noose around his neck, John gazed across

the parking lot, thankful the only people getting into their cars were several

yards away.

What a shitty ending to a perfectly shitty day.

Suddenly dead tired, he was peeved at finding himself in this situation.

His car now needed a wash, and he was horny as hell, hiding behind a tree like

some dirty pervert.

Having enough of waiting around, he strode over to his car, ready to tear

apart the two guys, but only found one. A young man sat with his knees up
and his back against John’s car door. At least he’d pulled up his pants, but even
from where John stood, he could see the guy was in trouble.

“Hey, are you okay?” He knelt by the crouched figure. “What’s your name?

Can you stand up?”

His head lifted, and John could see the guy was years younger than John’s

thirty plus.

“Rob…”

Plop went Rob’s chin on his chest.

Oh, shit.

John Kramer stood on his neighbor’s doorstep with Rob hanging off his

arm. He shifted his burden. As the young man breathed heavily, the sour smell
of beer wafted near John’s face.

After several attempts at conversation, he’d found out Rob’s last name and

address, stunned to learn that the guy’s father was his new next door neighbor.

Far from a congenial way to introduce himself, he’d felt it was his duty to take

the guy home before he’d passed out, or worse, tried to drive home.

Now here he was on the porch steps, ringing the doorbell.
He grabbed Rob’s pointed chin. “Are sure this is your father’s house?”

“Yeah, yeah. Ugh, I’m gonna blow chunks.”

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John quickly bent Rob over the railing of the square porch as the poor kid

retched. He massaged the slender back, the T-shirt sweaty from a night of danc-
ing. He hoped this was the place. He glanced at his cottage and sighed. Only
a few feet from his front door, but it seemed like the distance spanned miles.

He punched the doorbell again, one hand still on Rob’s back, the other ready

to knock, when the door flew open. A whoosh of air hit his face as a man wear-
ing a plaid robe glared at him from under the porch light. John frowned at the
frayed condition of the cuffs and the robe hanging loosely over thin shoulders.

John had a difficult time reconciling this man as anyone’s father with his

hair hanging in his eyes. The scruffy beard made him appear homeless, and he
looked too young to have a son this old. “Are you Scott Marwick?”

“Yes. What’s going on here?”
“Your son needed a ride home.” He lifted Rob onto his feet using the back

of his T-shirt.

Rob stumbled but remained upright. A grin spread across his face aimed

at his father.

“Hiya, Dad.”

The father’s forehead crinkled as his eyes narrowed. “Rob? Where have

you been?”

Rob turned to John, his arm snaking around John’s neck. “With John here.

Gay bar, can you believe it? In this town? Isn’t he a gorgeous Daddy?” Then
he went to kiss John’s mouth.

Ouch. Daddy?

John turned his head away, hoping to avoid the kiss, but Rob’s lips landed

smack on his cheek, leaving a wet, slobbering imprint. He wiped his cheek with
the back of his hand, controlling the impulse to drop the guy onto the porch
step and beat it home.

He untangled Rob from his body. “Hey, don’t play games.”

“Ah…don’t tease…”

The words died as Rob crumbled, John catching him before he fell.

Scott slipped his hand under his son’s arms and lifted him to his feet, his

glare pinning John. “What the fuck did you do to my son?”

John snapped, having enough of playing Good Samaritan. “Saved him

from being road kill. I found him drunk, blocking my car door. I didn’t want
to leave him stranded in a parking lot.” He wouldn’t mention what his son had
been doing on his car.

John’s Match

“That’s not what it looks like to me.” Scott peeled back his son’s eyelid,

practically growling. “He looks stoned. What shit did you give him?”

John instinctively stepped back. “I don’t take drugs or give them to unsus-

pecting men.” He bit back using the term “twink.” He hated that particular
term. Nothing was wrong with young healthy men wanting a good time.

Even under the dim light, Scott’s eyes blazed. “My son isn’t some goddamn

rent boy.”

“Jesus Christ, man. Aren’t you listening to a word I’m saying?”

Rob groaned, and his head wobbled on his father’s shoulder. “Don’t feel so

good…” Then his head thumped down, and the guy passed out.

“I’m putting him to bed. You” — he pointed to John — “stay put.”

John bristled under the command. He should get the hell out of there, but

the bastard was his neighbor. All he needed was all-out war between him and
this asshole.

Scott returned, shutting the door behind him.
He tightened the belt of his robe. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I

don’t ever want you near Rob again.”

John was never tongue-tied, but the piercing glare of those dark, dark eyes

under the overhead light left him unbalanced. Were they navy blue or brown…
too hard to tell, the black lashes thick and distracting.

John straightened his tie. He’d be damn if he moved first. “Look, we’re

neighbors, so let’s be reasonable, here.”

“Rob never gets drunk, and he doesn’t take drugs.”

Yeah, and the sun sets in the East.

The man either had no clue about his son’s lifestyle or was in denial. John’d

had enough of being accused for an action he hadn’t committed. He was too
old for that shit.

John closed the space between them, pleased when he saw the muscle in

Scott’s jaw tense. They were almost the same height, but John had the advantage

of buffed muscles, a solid chest, and his clean, well pressed clothes. He knew he
looked good, kept in shape, and had too many admirers to worry about what
this piece of shit thought of him.

“Let’s get something straight. I’m not the type of man who gives drugs to

get a piece of ass.” He shoved Scott back with a well place palm to his chest,
noting with surprise how firm it felt under the material. “I told you the truth.

I found Rob drunk and gave him a ride. I suggest you talk with your son and
find out why he had to get so pissing drunk he threw up all over your hedge.”

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“Why you son of a bitch — ”

John blocked the upraised hand. “Temper, temper…” He escaped down the

porch steps two at a time, smiling as curses followed him all the way to his car.

Well, that hadn’t gone so well.
What a way to end his night.

He’d keep this encounter to himself. His friends would just tease him that

he’d gotten what he’d deserved for sticking his neck out. Well, hopefully he

wouldn’t have too much interaction with his neighbor. All they shared was a

stretch of beach with other residents on their street. If John was lucky, he’d
never have to talk with the man again.

Scott closed the door and leaned his forehead on the panel. He willed his

heart to slow down and his fingers to unclench. Taking a deep breath, he pushed
from the door and made his way to the extra bedroom. His son lay passed out
but breathing normal. He rearranged the bed’s covers and brushed away the
sweaty bangs from Rob’s forehead.

He’d never seen Rob this wasted before, and it had shocked him. Maybe

that asshole had a point that he needed to sit Rob down and have a heartfelt
talk. His life had been spinning out of control, and he didn’t want to take his
son with him.

He left Rob and began turning on lights as he walked through the living

room. Too wound up to go back to sleep, he poured himself a thimble of vodka.

Not that he’d been sleeping — more like tossing and turning, his stomach in
knots, wondering if it’d been a wise decision to change residences.

He stared at the clear liquid and then tossed it back. He winced as it burned

the back of his throat. Not used to drinking hard liquor, it reminded him too
much of his dad, drunk most evenings, hidden bottles of gin stashed in clever
hiding places. But right now, he liked how the vodka made him feel numb.

Boxes were strewn everywhere, and the sight of them made him sink into

the sofa. His body ached with fatigue. He didn’t want to deal with unpacking.

He didn’t want to

deal, period.

When would he ever get over losing his partner? Over the humiliation of

discovering David had died in the plane crash alongside his lover? His lover! A

work colleague David had been seeing for years. The humiliation, betrayal, and

utter surprise had shattered Scott’s world into too many fragments. And he’d

John’s Match

stopped writing, words suddenly his enemy. They taunted him and refused his
plea to dance on the page.

And he was guilty, guilty as David for stepping out on him. He’d been too

wrapped up into his writing to notice that his relationship had been unraveling

at a rapid rate of acceleration. By the time he’d realized it, David had cleaned
out their joint savings, most of his income wiped away like chalk on a black-
board. The lawyer’s bill would take most of his money if he’d ever get it back,
now sequestered in a foreign bank account. That was another issue he couldn’t
deal with.

He had their son to think about, now in college and unaware of David’s

betrayal. So why had Rob gotten so drunk, he couldn’t stand or see straight?

That obnoxious neighbor had accused him of being clueless when it came to

Rob. But he hadn’t always been that way. And never with David; they could
finish each other’s sentences, give a certain look and know exactly what the

other person was thinking.

That wasn’t being clueless.

Yet David had betrayed him. Scott couldn’t have written a more devious

plot. It’d already been done, a tiresome story line, but this was reality, not fic-
tion, and he had to live with the certainty that his trust had been stomped on.

Tired of these circular thoughts, he shuffled out to the backyard for fresh

air. The yard overlooked the beach front. He strolled along the fence line. The
full moon highlighted the crest of the waves. It was peaceful here, away from

Manhattan, the noise, and confusion.

Here, he might be able to write again, or so his agent hoped. He could just

picture Carlos, his thin, brown hands wringing profusely, sweat beading down
his back, praying for a miracle. He smiled at the image of his agent, but he had
liked the man from the start. An honest family man with six kids, Carlos was

wiry, short, and as tenacious as a bulldog when it came to negotiating contracts.

But even his agent had to work within the confines of the publishing indus-

try. The business was fickle. If Scott didn’t write the fifth and final book of his
fantasy series, he’d be history. His fans would tie him up and sling him onto a
fiery pyre like one of his dead warriors. His writing career would be over, and
then what would he do to earn a living?

He ran his hand through his hair, his fingers snagging on the tangles. He

wanted to do right by Rob, give him all the opportunities in life he had lacked

from a broken home. College cost Scott plenty. His debts had piled up, but
he’d die a pauper before he told Rob the truth about David possibly robbing
him of a future.

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A movement along the shoreline caught his attention. Two men were walk-

ing along the tide, holding hands and laughing. He’d heard that Woodland

Village was gay-friendly, but he didn’t think he’d run into three in less than

eight hours of moving in.

That asshole next door popped into his head, and a fissure of irritation ran

through him. The man was classically handsome, but he made Scott’s blood
simmer in the worst way. Too perfect, with his Hollywood good looks that
bordered on contemptibly boring, if not for the slight crook in the bridge of
his nose and those startling hazel eyes. Okay, so even in his anger, Scott had
noticed those eyes.

Rob had to see through that jerk’s shit, didn’t he? His son didn’t go in for

quickies, and that ass was too old for Rob, old as he was, or older. Not that
thirty-something was over the hill, but it

was pretty much ancient in gay years.

Once back in the living room, his gaze landed on the pile of cardboard boxes.

One box was labeled “Writing Files,” penned in bold, black strokes. Staring at

the carton, he hesitated to open it. He couldn’t gather up the energy to look at
anything he’d written since David’s death. It was all shit anyway.

Turning his back on the boxes, he slumped on the sofa and kicked up his feet

on the coffee table. The windows were open, allowing in the scented air — salty
and clean and purifying.

What in the hell did he think he was doing by moving here? He had no

desire to write and certainly no ideas for plotting out his next book. If he had
no stories to tell, then what good was living?

Chapter Two

ohn sat at a corner table at the

Coffee Zone, reading the Wall Street Journal. The

place hummed with customers — mostly locals, with a few tourists braving

the fickle weather. Even on a foggy day, Woodland Village was popular with
the Manhattan crowd wanting a breather from the city’s summer heat.

The coffee house had been serving the residents for years, and the smell

of their signature brew filled the room. John came here every morning for
his usual and had known the two baristas since they were teenagers. He liked
the feel of community the owners nurtured; residents gathered here to talk,
play chess, argue politics, read. It was a homey place and comfortable, with its
unmatched furnishings and funky artwork on the walls. Even on a Saturday,
amid the tourists flocking in from the city, he recognized most of the customers.

“Ah, can I join you?”

John looked up and frowned. Rob wore a pair of sunglasses, despite the

gray day. John quickly looked past Rob. “Are you alone?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “I left the ogre at home.”
“Sure, sit.” John motioned to pull out a chair across from him.

Rob tossed his sunglasses on the table. Now that John could get a good look

in the daylight, he noticed his slim build, his height a few inches shorter than his
father. Even after a night of drinking, Rob’s eyes were lighter and brighter than
his father’s sullen glare. His hair was short, the color golden brown in the light.

Rob dressed to entice, in a stark white, long sleeve T-shirt and black jeans

with studs around the pockets. Nice and tight, and yes, a great ass, too. John

noticed the outline of a nipple ring. The guy was young and slim and would have

Viki Lyn

been nice to chat up. He quickly stamped down the thought. Not with a father
ready to shoot him on the spot. He didn’t need that kind of drama in his life.

“How are you feeling?” John asked to be polite. The poor guy had to be

nursing a horrendous hang-over.

“It could be worse. Dad gave me some aspirin.”

Ah, to be young. If John had drunk that much, he’d be in bed with cotton

mouth and every muscle aching as if he’d been hit by a truck.

Rob’s face flushed. “Ah, I didn’t catch your full name yesterday.”

“John Kramer. And you’re Rob Marwick.”

Rob laughed. “I do remember my name, even after last night.”

“So do you live with your father?”
“I’m a physics major at Columbia. I’m down for the weekend helping him

move in.”

So the guy had brains as well as a nice body. So why had he gotten blith-

ering drunk at the

Roadhouse? He seemed smarter than that. “What happened

last night?”

Rob shuffled his feet. “Ah, got drunk, and well, boy trouble. I don’t usually

do something that dumb.”

John thought it best to change the subject. At twenty-something, boy

trouble was a common reason to get stinking drunk. He’d indulged in the pity
fuck a time or two.

“So, did your father move from the city?”
“Yeah. I stayed behind because of school.”
“I hope he likes it here. It’s pretty sedate compared to Manhattan.” Although

John wondered if the man would like it anywhere; the sour expression etched

on his neighbor’s face seemed like a permanent tattoo.

Rob shrugged. “Dad’s a recluse. He’s here to write anyway.”

“He’s an author?”

Rob’s grin got wider, if that was at all possible. “Yeah, I’d say he is. Scott

Marwick.”

“Sorry.” He held up the

Wall Street Journal. “This is what I generally read.

I take it he writes fiction.”

“Yeah, fantasy. Great stuff.” Rob touched the handle of John’s coffee mug.

“Can I buy you another, to apologize for last night? I feel like a real schmuck.”

John nodded. “Latte would be great.”

John’s Match

“No special order?” Rob’s eyes twinkled. “Non-fat, shot of hazelnut…?”

John winked. “I’m a simple guy. Just whatever milk they use.”
Rob smiled back and gave him a salute before heading for the coffee bar.

A man suddenly blocked his view. When he looked up, it was into the face

of his best friend.

Ryan was already pulling out Rob’s chair to sit.
John grabbed the seat. “Hey, that’s taken.”

“I didn’t see you go home with anyone last night.”
“You were too busy making out with Martin in the shadows. Anyway, it’s

a long story. Pull up another chair if you’re sitting here.”

Ryan grabbed one from a vacant table. As he sat, he glanced over at Rob

standing in line waiting to order. “So, who’s the pretty boy?”

“He’s not a boy; he’s over eighteen. A student at Columbia,” John said rather

gruffly. “He has a name. Rob Marwick.”

“I didn’t see you leave with him.”
“I rescued him from the parking lot last night. Too drunk to drive, so I

took him home.”

Ryan wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh, yes, Good Samaritan that you are. And

I guess you had to stay the night to make sure he wouldn’t choke on his vomit.”

John pinched Ryan’s arm. “You have a dirty mind, and I took him to his

father’s place. You might have heard of him: fantasy writer, Scott Marwick.”

Ryan gripped the edge of the table as if to keep him from flying off. “You’re

shittin’ me!”

John should have known that Ryan would recognize the author’s name.

Ryan had made his first splash into the computer gaming world with a fantasy

role playing game —

Kingdom of Ciatha. Although he’d branched out to stay

ahead of the curve in the industry, fantasy was Ryan’s true love.

Ryan was practically bouncing on the seat of his chair, his hands suddenly

motioning in the air. “He’s living here now?”

“Whoa, slow down. What are you on?”
“It’s just…that writer could be our salvation.”

John frowned. “Yeah, well, how can he bail us out?”

“He’s a genius and has written one of the best fantasy series since

Lord of the

Rings. Can you imagine if we can get the gaming rights? It’d be sensational, a

real coup. It’d quiet our debtors until we can recoup our losses. Not to mention
the sales it’d bring in.”

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“This Scott guy is an ass.”
“You met him?”
“He’s the one that lives here. His son’s just visiting.”
“Fuck, who cares about nice? The man’s a hermit from what I’ve heard. His

fans are clamoring for his head. It’s been years since his last book came out. He
must be here to write. How cool is that?”

John smiled at his friend’s enthusiasm, happy to see a smile on what had

been a very somber face lately. They’d both been holding late night meetings,
desperate to come up with a solution to their financial difficulties, neither of
them relishing the idea of layoffs, or worse, selling the company.

A wicked gleam lit Ryan’s eyes. “And I’d love to rub it in — ”

“Patrick’s face. You’re still angry at him for trying to buy you out the first

time. It’s only business.” Electronic Games was their biggest competitor, and

Ryan and Patrick always were trying to outdo each other.

“It’s personal.” Ryan sniffed. “The guy’s a fucking vampire. He smells blood

and swoops in for the kill.”

“If it wasn’t for my error in judgment, you wouldn’t be in this position.”
“Fuck it, John. I signed off on the deal. I’m just as responsible. We’ve all

trusted people at one time or the other that have cost us plenty. We’ll figure a

way out of this.” He patted John’s back. “We always do.”

“Yeah, there are lots of asses in the world,” John grumbled, Scott being

one of them.

Ryan turned in his chair and followed Rob’s backside. “Speaking of ass,

that one’s mighty fine. So he’s the son. And you know Scott. That’s perfect.”

Turning back to give John his full attention, he continued. “You’ll be able to

set up a meeting with him.”

“You’re on your own. The man hates me.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “You drove his drunken son home so he wouldn’t

twist his car around a tree. I’d say he owes you.”

John shook his head. “It’s not that simple. He thinks I’m fucking his pre-

cious son.”

Ryan smirked, “Well, are you? You do go for younger men.”
Before John could answer, Rob returned with the coffees and nodded to

Ryan. “Ah, hi, I’m Rob.”

Rob set down the cups and shook Ryan’s hand before sitting. Nice kid,

with manners, John noted. The father had, at least, raised a decent young man.

John’s Match

“Thanks for the coffee. Rob, this is Ryan Adams, a resident of the Village

and a friend. He owns the gaming company, Fantasy Arts.”

“Yeah, dude, a gaming company?”

Ryan smiled. “Yeah, it’s true.”

“Wow, no shit! I’m so into

V-Blood. I tell you, it has ruined plenty of study

nights for me.”

Ryan laughed. “Sorry, but I can’t help that.” Ryan crossed his arms on the

table, and leaned toward Rob. “I’ve read all of your father’s books. Even the
more obscure ones. He’s the best in the genre.”

John kicked Ryan under the table, but he knew it was useless. The Ryan

Charm had been turned on full force. The man dazzled both men and women
into doing his bidding.

John looked at his wristwatch. “Ryan, don’t you have to be at Drew’s?”
Ryan waved away John’s concern. “I’m always late.”

“Yeah, and he always complains. Why don’t you surprise your poor brother

for a change?”

Even though Ryan got the hint, it didn’t stop him. His attention was still

dialed in on Rob. “How would your father like to see his characters come alive
in a computer game?”

Rob tugged at his lower lip. “It’d be awesome, but he hates gaming. Calls

it the downfall of human intelligence. He’d never agree to it.”

“Figures,” John muttered under his breath. It was time to change the direc-

tion of the conversation and hope Ryan took the hint and backed off. “Are you
staying in town for long?”

“I leave tomorrow. Today, I promised Dad I’d help him unpack.” A wor-

ried expression crossed Rob’s face. “Ah.” He lightly tapped his cup. “I have a
favor to ask. I usually don’t butt into his life, but I wondered, since you’re his
neighbor, if you could check in on him.”

John gripped the handle of his cup. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. This is a friendly

town.”

And he’s old enough to take care of himself, he thought, but he didn’t express

his opinion.

“Is something wrong with your father?” Ryan asked.

Well, that was blunt and to the point, but when Ryan wanted to know

something, he never held back.

Rob traced the lip of the cup round and round before he spoke. “He’s

kinda depressed.”

Viki Lyn

Red flags frantically waved a warning in John’s head. He didn’t want to get

involved in a family drama involving depression. It had taken him years to get
over the guilt of finding his mother dead. He’d never felt so helpless, the sense
of loss emerging again and again.

“Shit. Sorry, man.” Ryan frowned at Rob, his eyes softened. “What about

your mom?”

“My dad’s queer like us.” He grinned, his eyes crinkling. “I’m adopted.

Most couples wanted babies, but not Dad and Pops. They took me into their

home, and well, I’m proud to be their son. When Pops died, Dad kinda lost it
for a while.”

John reached across the table and laid his palm on top of Rob’s hand. “How

long has it been since he passed on?”

“Three years now.” Rob’s fingers trembled. “He died in a plane crash. Pops

had a Cessna, loved to fly. Funny, but Dad always hated it, wouldn’t ever go

with him. It’s like he knew this would happen. Dad hasn’t written a word since.”

Ryan stood and shoved the chair in, curling his fingers around the back-

rest. “Don’t worry; we’ll keep an eye on him.” He pointedly glanced at John.

“Won’t we?”

John folded his hands and nodded. “Sure.” But he was irritated at Ryan

for volunteering him to babysit a depressive, especially since Ryan had a more
pressing motive of befriending the reclusive writer.

Ryan rested his hand on Rob’s shoulder. “We’ll invite him to Skye’s open-

ing. That’s my brother’s partner. It’s next Thursday, and the guys are having a
party afterwards. He can meet the Villagers.”

“That’d be so awesome,” Rob injected. “He needs to get out, have some fun.”

More like get laid, John thought. The man needed to loosen up. There were

plenty of men that had lost their partners, and it didn’t turn them into assholes.

Enough talk of Scott. While he felt bad that Scott had lost his lover, John

still didn’t like the guy. And knowing Ryan like he did, he’d be badgering him
to set up a meeting with the man. For right now, he wanted to go home and
try to salvage what he could of his weekend.

The morning sun leaked through the closed shutters in the kitchen. Scott

was sitting at the table nursing a coffee and reading the

New York Times when he

heard the front door opened. He folded the paper as Rob walked into the kitchen.

John’s Match

Standing near the backdoor window, Rob opened the shutters to let in the

light. “Nice day. Let’s take a walk on the beach.”

“You want to tell me why you got so blotto last night that you passed out?”

Scott kept his gaze on his son’s back, keeping his voice flat. The thought of
Rob driving home drunk sent cold fear through him. He couldn’t lose another
person he loved.

Steam rose from his coffee cup and curled around his face as he waited. Rob

said nothing as he picked up a section of the paper and pulled out a chair. He
sat and opened to the sports page.

“I had my reasons,” Rob spoke through the newsprint barrier.
“Did you and Julian have a fight?”
“We broke up. He moved out last weekend.”

Relief shot through Scott. He had never trusted that smooth-chested golden

boy. Julian never stayed put in one man’s bed. Now the burning question was,
had Rob escaped one asshole for another by fucking that ass?

Scott wanted to ask, but

shit, Rob could vote and join the military. He

couldn’t ask him if he’d fucked the bastard.

“So are you seeing this other man now?”

The question was safe enough, wasn’t it?

“He has a name. John Kramer. He told the truth. I saw him at the coffee

shop this morning. He’s a nice dude. You should get to know him.”

“I’m not here to socialize.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you should be. You’ll never get better by hiding out

like a fucking hermit.”

“I like it that way.”
“Shit, Dad.” Rob’s voice rose, his fingers crimping the edges of the news-

paper as he lowered it. “Why can’t you get it together? Pop’s dead, man. He’s
dead. He wouldn’t want you wasting your life like this.”

Then David should have been faithful. But he couldn’t explain that to his son…

or all the ugly secrets would come spewing out — and the truth revealed. His
relationship had been a lie. So, end of discussion.

“I’m not discussing my private life with you.”

Rob grumbled as he roughly folded the paper. “You don’t have a life.”
Scott pulled at his beard. He wouldn’t get in a knock-out fight with his

son. Rob was the only bright spot in his life, and he didn’t want to be the one

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to extinguish it. He tried for a smile. “Are you going to lecture me or help me
unpack?”

“Not before you promise me that you’ll go to Skye Taylor’s art show.”

He clenched his hand. “Who the hell — ”

“A friend of John’s, and he said that he’d invite you along.”
“Get off the subject of John Kramer. I don’t like him, so why would I go

out with him?”

“He’s not asking you out on a freakin’ date. I met his friend, Ryan, who

owns a cool gaming company. And they have a friend Skye, who’s an artist and
dates Ryan’s brother, and — ”

Scott laughed, despite his annoyance at Rob for trying to help him out of

his funk. He held up his hand. “Stop. Shit. A gay soap opera right here in the

Village. Who would have thought? Okay, I’ll go if he invites me.”

Rob set aside the newspaper and reached for Scott’s hand. “Do you pinkie

swear?”

Suddenly, Rob seemed like a kid again, and Scott’s breath caught as he

blinked back the sudden watering of his eyes. He smiled at the memory of Rob
insisting on a pinkie swear after reading about it in one of his Japanese mangas
he’d loved as a child. It had been ages since Rob asked him for one “You drive
a hard bargain, kiddo, but okay.”

Scott crossed pinkies with his son. The simple action warmed his heart, and

for one bright moment, he felt like himself again.

Chapter Three

cott had no problem finding the Carl Williams Gallery. John had slipped
an invitation in his mailbox a few days ago, so Scott had had no choice but

to attend. He’d promised Rob, and he’d never broken a pinkie swear to his son.

He peered in the bay window, and his chest tightened. There were too

many people crowded into the tight space. Painfully shy all his life, crowds left
him frozen with indecision. Should he go in or leave? David would have held
his hand, given it a gentle squeeze, and guided him through the perils of small
talk and social niceties.

He tugged at the edge of his jacket, indecision churning his stomach. No

one would notice if he came and went. Surely he could tell Rob he’d attended
the exhibit, which was the truth. He was here, wasn’t he, peering into the

window like an idiot savant?

Turning to leave, he bumped shoulders with a man wearing a suit. “Oh,

excuse me.”

“Oh, hey, Scott, right?” He touched his own clean shaven chin. “Glad to

see you got my invitation. I rang your doorbell, but you didn’t answer. Did you
just get here?” John checked his wristwatch. “I’m late, as always. Work was a
bitch. Ryan and Martin should be right behind me.”

Scott stared at John as if he were an apparition that had appeared out of

thin air. They met eye to eye, and John’s eyes flickered eerily green under the
street lamp. John must have come from work, dressed in a conservative navy
suit. Scott looked down at his jeans and loafers. At least he had put on a shirt
and thrown on his tweed jacket, but he was sorely underdressed.

He swept back his shaggy hair, knowing he needed a haircut. Why was

he fretting about his clothes? What did he care what this guy thought of him?

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“Let’s go in.” John strode past him, as if expecting to be followed.

Scott rubbed his chin and watched John’s backside disappear into the gallery.

His heart did a funny jig; the suit fit John’s muscular physique well.

Scott pressed his hand to his chest. It had been a very long time since he’d

felt this strange yearning in his heart. He sighed and followed John through
the front door. He might as well join the party, since going home was the
cowardly option.

As he walked in, a blast of heat hit his face, along with a mixture of cloying

perfumes and colognes. Several attendees crowded around the paintings on the

walls. It was like entering a bee hive, the buzz electrifying. Adrenalin made him

tense. The room was too hot, and he fought for a full breath. He slipped off his
jacket and draped it across his arm.

First stop was the bar, where a bartender poured Scott a glass of red wine.

Taking a sip, he took another, amazed how good it tasted. He admired the

building, with its exposed brick and massive wood beams stretching across the
ceiling. Rob had told him that the artist’s lover had renovated the space, while
giving Scott the rundown on all the gay couples in the Village.

The paintings were installed on pristine white walls. He’d read on the

Internet that Carl Williams had jumpstarted Skye Taylor’s career by giving

him his first one-person show in New York. Scott admired the vibrancy and
textures of the paintings on display but knew very little about art. His life
revolved around writing.

Skye Taylor stood out among the chic crowd, tall and with a casual air

about him. He looked nice, not pretentious like that ass John Kramer. Even
dressed in simple black jeans and a white shirt, Skye looked like a model. Scott
shook his head. It seemed the Village’s gay scene consisted of a small group of
beautiful, successful men. A clique he’d never fit into.

The blond man standing next to Skye had to be the architect, Drew Adams.

Although too delicate looking for his taste, Drew was also good-looking. Drew

kept his hand possessively on Skye’s shoulder. Not that Scott blamed the man.
Skye had many admirers crowding around him.

“What do you think of Skye’s work?”

He jumped at John’s voice, his wine splashing over the edge. He licked

the drops with his tongue from his fingers. The tip of his ears grew hot as he
noticed John’s eyes widen in amusement.

John looked him straight in the eyes. “Good, isn’t it?”

“Huh?”

John’s Match

Wow, those eyes were flecked with amber, and when the overhead lights hit

them just right, they glowed. John had a square face, and

shit, dimples bookend-

ing a slender mouth, with a gentle curve in the center of the upper lip. Damn
sexy, and one of those mouths that made his own water. He looked away and
took another sip of wine, almost choking on it.

“The wine.” John smiled. “I wouldn’t want to waste a drop, either. Ryan

is our wine connoisseur. He picked it out.”

Under the glare of the overhead lights, Scott noticed the thin lines edg-

ing John’s mouth, and laugh lines, as well. He also had two deep worry lines
between his brows.

“The wine?” John repeated, lifting up his glass.
“Oh, yeah, it’s great. I imagine you have quite a collection.”
“I like a good vintage. Not much of an art aficionado, though. I’m quite

the philistine.”

“You can’t be, since you know what the word means.” Scott smiled.

John laughed, and a tug of desire yanked at Scott’s heart. David had had a

similar laugh that had made his world come alive.

“You’ve caught me.” John arched his hand to take in the gallery. “How

about I show you around?”

Bad idea. He didn’t want to spend more time with John or get to know him

or his friends. He’d come to the Village to write. Not make friends — although
he’d lost plenty in the last three years.

He cleared his throat. “I’d prefer to look around on my own.”
John’s frown lasted a second before he smiled again. “Are you familiar with

Skye’s work?”

“No, but I like what I see.”
“Come on. Let me introduce you to the artist. He’s a good friend of mine.”
“You seem friendly with every gay man in the Village.” His sarcasm slipped

out before he could stop it. “Look, thanks, but I’d prefer to be left alone.” Scott
turned away from John’s astonished face and walked away. Not long after, he
heard his name called from across the room.

“Hey, you must be Scott.” Skye approached Scott and gave him a hug. Scott

stiffened, but then relaxed as Skye stepped away. “Ryan told me to look out for

you. Glad you made it. You’re coming to my party afterwards?”

At the thought of meeting more people, his lungs seized in protest. A

trapped sensation overwhelmed him. “Ah, need to get home, but maybe some
other time.”

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“Well, if you change your mind, let me know.” Skye patted his shoulder.

“Drew and I are pretty informal. We’re only a few doors down from where you

live. We’d love to show you around sometime.”

Friendly and open; was this guy for real? But he looked sincere. Scott wasn’t

sure what to make of such a welcome, but he found himself promising to call.

An entourage of well-dressed men and women pulled Skye away to their

small circle of friends, leaving Scott on his own. He made his way around the
perimeter of the gallery, enjoying many of the paintings. One especially caught
his eye. A large rectangle canvas painted in earthy tones with faint images of
people barely showing through the thick texture of paint. A depiction of how
he felt these days, suffocating in a thick miasma of depression.

As he drank his wine, he viewed the works and lost himself in the soft hum

of conversations. He stared at his empty wine glass. There was nothing here
for him. Without David, he had no anchor to keep him moored in one place
for long. All these people surrounded him, but he felt alone.

Slipping out to the street, no one noticed he’d left. Relieved to be outside,

he felt like a fraud among the successful and elite. Part of him believed his career
had crashed and burned because he had been a sham. It had been dumb luck
that his story had caught the imagination of millions of readers.

He took the long way home, needing to walk off the excess agitation.

Ready to turn a corner, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, stopping him
in his tracks.

“Hey, why did you walk away from me back there?”

Scott recognized the cultured voice. When he turned to face his assailant,

sure enough, it was John Kramer.

John removed his hand but didn’t back away. “I wanted to introduce you

to some friends of mine.”

“I don’t need friends.”

John shoved his hands into his pant pockets. “What’s with you? You’ve had

a stick up your ass ever since we’ve met.”

“Then let me be clear. I don’t like you.”
“Look, I didn’t fuck your son, if that’s what’s eating you. I told you the

truth the other night.”

It didn’t matter. John reminded him too much of the bullies from his child-

hood — the kids that were handed everything and earned nothing. He had
nothing in common with John Kramer, who dressed in designer suits and wore
expensive, ridiculous watches. He didn’t trust people like that.

John’s Match

He gave John a cold stare. “I’m going home to write.”

“Really?” John returned the icy glare. “You’re going home to sulk. I doubt

if you’ve written one word since you’ve moved here.”

“Fuck you.”

John shook his head. “How did you get such a sweet natured son? Rob’s

concerned about you. He’s worried, and rightfully so. Think about him for
once before wallowing in self-pity. You think you’re the only one that has ever
lost someone close to them?”

The slap came quick, and Scott stepped back, his hand stinging. John rubbed

his jaw, but didn’t move or strike back. He just stood there, staring at Scott

with eyes that blazed.

“Do you feel better?” John drawled.

Scott shot across the street. He shook his hand, still stinging from his slap.

The last time a guy had gotten him this bent out of shape had been back in his

college days. The star runner, what was his name? Jonathan. Ugh. Another
egotistical bastard named John. They had crossed paths at a frat party, and the
guy had been a real jerk, hitting on him. He’d politely refused, but the guy

wouldn’t take no for an answer. So Scott had decked him and broken his nose. He

ruefully smiled. His temper had always had a short fuse when it came to idiots.

Scott hurried home. He shivered, despite it being a warm night. He’d go

home and hide and yes, wallow in self-pity. John had been right about him. He

wouldn’t be writing, and that just made him crazier.

He needed a drink, and that thought caused his skin to crawl. He would

never become a drunk like his dad. Never. Although, he had a stash of pills
saved up, boxed away…waiting. Could he end his life? Leave everything behind?

Rob would be better off he if was dead. He’d get the life insurance, a hefty

sum that would carry him for a few years, support him while in school. He’d
made sure to check the exclusion period on his policy. Yeah. Scott was worth
more to his son dead.

When he stepped into his living room, he realized that his life had reached

a crossroad. End it, or start to live again. He’d spent years becoming a successful

writer, a loving partner and father, because David had believed in him when

no one else had. He bunched his hands into fists. He wasn’t a fraud! His talent

was real and burned in him. The flame might be sputtering, but it still glowed.

Scott turned on a single lamp. From a box, he pulled out a framed photo-

graph that Rob had insisted he take with him. Sitting on the floor, he stared at
the color image of the three of them during happier days. David had his arm
around Rob; Scott held David’s hand. At thirteen, Rob looked fresh faced and

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vulnerable. David wore his broad smile, and even in the photo, they looked

like a perfect family — a family he’d always coveted but never thought he’d
ever have in his lifetime.

David had looked happy and content, damn it. So why had he taken a lover,

a lover he’d had for years before both had died in a mass of crumpled steel? And
that thought got him nowhere but more depressed.

He thought again of the pills, but Kramer’s words echoed in his head.

Think

about Rob.

Rob wouldn’t understand if Scott took his life. But how was he going to

get it back?

Chapter Four

ohn gathered his courage and rang Scott’s doorbell. Not sure if he was a
masochist for trying to befriend such a grouch, he pushed the button a few

more times. Maybe the guy wouldn’t answer the door.

Scott didn’t like him, he made it very clear, but Rob had called this morn-

ing, concerned when his father hadn’t returned his phone calls. Being Scott’s
neighbor and a friend of sorts with Rob, John couldn’t refuse when Rob had
asked him to look in on his dad.

Since the art exhibit, John hadn’t spied Scott on the streets. The shutters

were closed most days, and Scott never seemed to leave the house. In John’s

estimation, that was a sure sign of depression. He’d seen enough of the signs

with his mother to be concerned now.

He remembered days when he’d come home from school and an eerie quiet

blanketed the house. He’d rush through every room, calling out his mother’s
name, eventually finding her in bed, an arm over her eyes, blocking out the
light. As if the sunlight would have made her ill.

Shaking off his sense of foreboding, he punched the doorbell.

The man wasn’t answering his door.

John followed the path around the house to the backyard. The saltbox-style

cottage was similar to the row of cottages lining the beach front, the backyard
enclosed with a bleached wood fence. He tried the gate, but it was locked, not
that it would stop him. With his long legs, it was easy to breach the short fence.

He crossed the yard to the back door. John turned the knob, thankful when it

clicked open.

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“Hello, Scott?” he called out as he opened the door wider, uneasy about

entering uninvited. Then he remembered the worry in Rob’s voice, and he
pushed open the door and strode into the kitchen.

The smell of rotting food hit his nose with a vengeance. He choked back

his disgust. Plates were piled high in the sink, newspapers and empty take-out
cartons littered the table. Despite it being late morning, the shuttered windows
cast a pall over the room.

He hesitated at the living room entrance and called out Scott’s name again.

Sidestepping around the stacked boxes, he headed for the hallway. The atmo-

sphere felt too familiar as dread weighed down his steps. His mother’s ghost
seemed to haunt the room, taunting him to leave at once. And God, he wanted
to escape.

John paused and ran his hand through his hair, trying to banish the image

of his mother, slumped in the driver’s seat, her eyes wide open and haunted.

Not even in death had she found peace. Death by asphyxiation wasn’t a pleas-

ant way to die.

John continued his search for Scott, cursing under his breath at being put

in this situation again He’d been too late for his mother, too slow, fighting

with the handle of the locked car, exhaust fumes burning the back of his throat,
watering his eyes, screaming at his father for the keys. His father had just stood

behind him, clutching the seams of his pants, rivets of tears streaking his cheeks.

He’d found the keys in his father’s pocket, but he had been too late. Seeing

his father cry had done him in. Tears stung his eyes at the memory, too vivid, too
sharp, too real. A catch in this throat forced him to take a deep breath. Shaking
off the memory, he got out his cell phone, prepared to call 9-1-1.

All the hallway doors were open but one. If Scott was here, he’d be behind

the closed one.

John was letting his imagination run wild. Scott was probably out. It would

be fine. Scott would be fine. He wouldn’t have to make that phone call to Rob,
telling him his father…

John swallowed hard. He fumbled with the doorknob with his sweaty

hand. With the toe of his foot, he tapped the door open. Slowly, carefully, he
stepped inside.

This had to be Scott’s bedroom. Clothes were tossed on the floor, the bed

sheets twisted as tight as his stomach. The odor of perspiration hung in the air.

He heard water running in the attached bathroom. It sounded like a faucet was

turned on, but no other sound came from the closed door.

John’s Match

He faced the barrier, his nerves twitching under his skin. He pushed at

the door, and it creaked open. His thumb twitched on the phone’s emergency
button as he stepped inside.

Expecting the worst, his heart fluttered in his throat at the sight of Scott

huddled on the floor, rocking with his head down on his knees, clutching a
handful of pills. The smell of alcohol led to the near empty bottle by Scott’s side.

John knelt, his anxiety flaring into temper and roaring for an outlet. He

swatted the pills out of Scott’s hand and grabbed his hair, lifting back his head.

“How many did you take?” John tugged the clump of hair in his hand. “Answer

me!”

Scott shook his head, muttering, “None. Didn’t take…any.”

The man stunk worse than a distillery. Maybe Scott hadn’t taken the pills,

but he must have come to the edge of hell. The pills, the alcohol, told the story.

Scott’s clothes were wrinkled and soiled, as if he hadn’t moved from his spot

for days. John hated to think the last time the man had changed. He grumbled
but helped Scott to his feet, none too gently.

Bloodshot eyes rolled upward but then focused on John. “Why the hell

are you here?”

Good question. John wanted to be anywhere but holding up a pathetic

drunk. Without answering, he shoved Scott onto the toilet seat and grasped
his shoulder to keep him from falling. He leaned slightly toward the shower
stall and turned on the water, testing for a cold temperature.

Facing Scott, he demanded, “Take a shower. You stink.”
Scott looked up at him, his dilated eyes trying to focus.
Scott was a mess, and a twinge of compassion made John loosen his vise-

like grip on Scott’s shoulder.

“Get the fuck out of my house.” Scott raspy voice was still effective.

The feeble push of Scott’s hand on his chest made John laugh. “I should

leave you to rot in your vomit.”

Losing his patience, he picked up Scott by his armpits and stuffed him

clothes and all into the shower. Scott struggled and coughed as water splashed
over his head, directing the spray all over John.

“Shit.” John let go of Scott and stepped out of the way. At least the man

stayed upright. “Do I have to strip you, too?”

Scott, now conscious and with eyes on fire, slammed the shower door and

started removing his clothes, almost tripping over his pants. John shook his
head but didn’t bother to help. Let the ass do it himself. It was a glass door, but

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John had no desire to stick around and see Scott naked. The man was all skin

and bones and stunk to high heaven and back.

John picked up the scattered pills and flushed them down the toilet. He

checked the medicine cabinet, satisfied there wasn’t anything that Scott could

OD on. After he closed the bathroom door, he leaned against it, letting out

a pent-up sigh. His hands and legs trembled as his anger waned into fatigue.

How dare that man try to take his life while he had a son who loved him?

He slammed his fist into the wall. God, how much he wanted to sink to the floor

and cry. Cry for his mother and all those wasted years. Cry for himself, for his
guilt of not being able to save her. Cry for Scott and the misery that ate him
from the inside out. He hated Scott for evoking these feelings of guilt — guilt
and disgust for his mother choosing death over a life with her family.

He cracked open the door, relieved to see Scott washing up. Closing the

door to give the man some privacy, he decided to stick around. He took in the

view of the bedroom. Picking up the clothes along the way, once John got to

the foot of the bed, he tossed the clothes into a heap near the closet door. Then
he made the bed.

Next, he tackled the kitchen, gathering the newspapers and mail scattered

across the table. As he was shuffling them into a pile, a couple of envelopes fell
to the floor. He picked them up, noticing the pinkish hue of the paper through
the clear address windows. That usually meant money due. He read the return
addresses and then quickly shoved them under the pile of mail, but noted one
letter was from a law firm in Manhattan.

Was Scott in financial trouble? Writers of his caliber made good money, but

if he hadn’t published in a while, maybe he had spent his royalties? Or didn’t
save along the way? Maybe he could use the money, giving John an opportunity
to talk about what Fantasy Arts could offer Scott.

John frowned, not liking how his thoughts had turned to finding an advan-

tage over Scott. Putting this thought on hold, he went back to cleaning the
kitchen.

He scraped the food off the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher, threw

away the trash, washed off the kitchen table and counters. He put on a pot of
coffee, happy to see Scott had a grinder and fresh beans from the

Coffee Zone.

Every so often, he checked on Scott by putting his ear to the bathroom

door. Satisfied when he heard Scott brushing his teeth, John went back to his
household chores. It wasn’t too long before Scott strode into the kitchen, dressed
in fresh khaki shorts and a polo shirt.

John’s Match

John took in the slender man with the surprisingly muscular legs. If Scott

shaved off his beard, he’d be somewhat presentable. Now he just looked unkempt,

with his mop of hair and thick beard hiding his face. Maybe all his hair was

symbolic for wanting to hide from everyone?

Curious as to what Scott would do next, John ignored him and went back

to wiping down the kitchen counter. He kept his distance and watched Scott
from the corner of his eye. Scott poured a cup of coffee, dumping in a couple of
teaspoons of sugar, and sat down at the table. Then he stared out the window.

John flipped the dish towel onto the counter. He’d have to make the first

move, say something, but what? He hardly knew the man, but he had experi-
ence dealing with his mother’s depression.

He sat next to Scott and took his hand, warm and moist from the shower.

He used to hold his mother’s hand when she was in one of her moods. They

never talked, but John sensed that he’d been a lifeline for his mother.

John gently squeezed Scott’s hand, not saying a word. Scott’s gaze remained

on the view from the kitchen window. John didn’t need to talk. He joined Scott
in silence. The view of the ocean waves relaxed him and defused the rest of his
anxiety and anger toward Scott. Holding hands was nice, almost intimate. It had
been so long since he held hands with someone, and he liked the feel of Scott’s
hand in his. Maybe he could even like the guy, if Scott kept his mouth shut.

He smiled. Like that would ever happen.

John’s simple gesture of support almost unhinged Scott. His skin felt flushed

from the hot shower and his embarrassment. Of all people to find him, it had to
be John. Yet, the man had stayed, had cleaned up his pigsty, and now held his
hand and remained quiet. No lectures or recriminations, only peaceful silence.

He curled his fingers around John’s strong hand, the texture of skin different

from what Scott had expected. Not soft, but rough. Yet John’s fingernails were
manicured, as was John’s appearance. Even on a weekend, John wore pressed
shorts and a spotless ironed shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

Scott closed his eyes briefly, trying desperately to get a grip on the emo-

tional seesaw clouding his mind. He’d never met a man this neat and perfect,

who smelled so fresh and clean and pure.

Purifying; strange word to associate with a guy.

Time crawled, but Scott liked sitting at the table, holding hands, viewing

the people going about their day. Joggers, beach combers, sunbathers…people

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living and breathing and enjoying each other’s company. Would he ever feel
that way again?

Another squeeze of his hand, and then the comfortable touch was gone.

John stood and rubbed his stomach. “I’m starving. You must be hungry.”

He strode over to the fridge and half of him disappeared behind the door. “Just

as I thought. You’re also starving yourself to death. Don’t you eat?”

He closed the fridge door and pulled out his cell phone.
Scott just stared at John, not sure if he should be offended that he’d taken

over like he owned the place or if he should be grateful. Since he had no energy
to move, he decided it was best to be grateful.

“Hey, Giovanni, how’s it going? It’s John. Can you do me a favor?”

Scott was amused by John’s ability to get groceries personally delivered

within record time. He’d supposed it was the Kramer name or small town

courtesy of a market such as

Delucchi’s. But whatever it was, within the hour,

John was slicing and dicing vegetables and preparing a chicken to roast.

John turned to Scott, waving a knife at him. “This will take a while. Why

don’t you go lay down? You still look tired.”

Scott wasn’t ready to leave, enjoying watching a man cook in his kitchen

again. “Not sure I can sleep.”

“Then read or rest.”
“Man, you’re bossy.”
“Yes, and you’ll obey, or I’ll carry you to bed myself.”
“Pushy bastard,” Scott mumbled but smiled to ease the barb. He rose from

his chair and left for his room. John probably would pick him up in a fireman’s
carry and toss him on the bed if he didn’t comply. Better just to go along with
him for now. Once John left, then he could go back to sulking.

The bed had been made, and he shook his head. John had to be a neat freak,

or maybe one of those rescue types that were always helping people out of their
messes.

Ugh. He hated to think of himself as one of those people, but he was

buried in one big heap of shit.

Keeping the room dark, he turned away from the shutters. He didn’t bother

to get under the covers. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift. Becoming
a drunk like his old man wouldn’t solve his problems. He had thought about
taking the pills, ending his life, but when it came down to it, he couldn’t leave

Rob with the aftermath of his death. David had done it to him, and he’d be

damn if he did it to their son.

John’s Match

Scott turned on his side and hugged the pillow to his chest. He could hear

John in the kitchen. Nice and soothing to hear such familiar noises. David had

done most of the cooking, especially after Scott had thought a clove of garlic
meant a whole bulb. David had laughed so hard and then taken away Scott’s
rights in the kitchen.

Scott smiled at the memory, and then the tears came. When would he get

over the pain of those memories?

Then he let sleep take him.

“Hey, wake up.”

A low timbre vibrated in Scott’s ear. Sexy and warm and inviting, the voice

roused him from sleep. That’s not all it roused; his cock was painfully hard.

The whisper of breath close to his ear didn’t help the situation, but fuck, what

a nice way to wake up.

When Scott became fully conscious, John’s hazel eyes blinked at him. Scott’s

heart leaped into his throat as he struggled to sit up. “Sorry, ah, must’ve slept,”
he muttered, not liking the sudden loss of equilibrium.

John helped him sit up. The touch almost undid him, his heart flopping

like a fish out of water. Shit. He didn’t want to feel this way about John Kramer.

“I hope you’re hungry. I made enough for leftovers.” Just then, Scott’s

stomach growled, and John laughed. “Good sign.”

“Give me a minute, okay?”

John nodded. “Only a minute.” And then he left the room.
In the bathroom, he relieved himself and splashed cold water on his face.

His nose wrinkled from the leftover odor of vodka. He’d never touch the stuff

again. What a mess he’d made of his life. He hit the edge of the sink with his

fist. David, the shit, still had him by the balls. He wouldn’t allow the ghost of
David to destroy what little he had left. No more.

Scott squinted as he walked into the kitchen, his eyes adjusting to the

sunlight. “It’s bright in here.”

“That’s usually what it’s like in the afternoon. You’re living in a tomb, for

God’s sakes. Why move here if you’re not going to enjoy the sun and the ocean

view?”

Scott stayed by the doorway and crossed his arms. While he appreciated

John for cleaning his messes, it annoyed the hell out of him. “I know you found

me in an awkward position, but don’t think that gives you the right to tell me
how to live my life.”

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John glared back, stabbing the cooked bird with his carving knife. “Just

shut up and eat.”

Scott eyed the succulent chicken and the stir-fried broccoli and mushrooms,

and his mouth watered. He was hungry, damn hungry, and not just for food.

And he was being a total idiot even thinking of John in that way. Besides, he

didn’t want to feel

anything for the man standing in front of him, daring him

to sit down.

He took the knife from John’s hand. “I’ll do the honors. You cooked.”

“You sure you’re not going to use that on me?”
“Ha, ha.” Scott served up two plates, setting one in front of John before he

sat. The aroma made his mouth water. “This smells fantastic.”

“My mother taught me how to cook.”
“Oh, the only child, then?”
“Yeah,” John chuckled. “What gave it away?”
“No daughter to pass along all those wonderful family recipes.”
“Well,

Food and Wine and Gourmet provided most of them.”

Scott took a sip of milk, and white foam streaked his moustache. John

pointed to his lip, and Scott chuckled as he wiped his mouth. “Can’t take me
anywhere.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You probably look good with a moustache, but the

beard needs to go.”

“Yeah, well, that’s your opinion, Mr.

GQ.”

John played with the thin leather band around his wrist. Scott thought it

strange that John would wear something so…cheap.

Their eyes met, but Scott didn’t want to look away.

“You should go out more, meet people,” John stated.
“I’m a writer. My characters live in my head. I don’t need external stimulus.

It’s hard to explain to someone who doesn’t understand creativity.”

John’s brows rose.
Oh crap. He’d stuck his foot into his big, fat mouth. “Ah, look, I didn’t mean

to say you’re not creative. Fuck. I don’t even know what you do for a living.”

John smiled. “You really know how to make friends, don’t you? You’re

right, I work in finance, not terribly exciting, but I have a passion for numbers.

But that doesn’t mean I’m a complete moron when it comes to understanding

the creative mind. Many of my friends are artists, designers, architects.”

John’s Match

Half joking, Scott groused, “I can’t write to save myself, so you can cross

me off your list of creative friends.”

“You’ll get it back. According to Ryan, you’re the next best thing since

Tolkien.”

“God, I hate labels. My fucking publisher was harping on branding me some

kind of superstar of fantasy. It’s ridiculous. My books are far from

Lord of the

Rings. I had hoped they would be perceived as contemporary in their execution.”

“Why be insulted when you’re good at what you do?”

Scott shook his head at John. “You’ve always had it easy, haven’t you? With

your Ivy League education, your looks, your fancy clothes. No one has ever

refused you, have they?”

John set down his fork and rested his chin in his hand. “I’ve been lucky, but

I’ve earned everything I own. I work hard, take risks, and sometimes, I lose.

And yes, I’ve been rejected by a number of men. You, for starters. And I don’t

see why I need to justify my success to you. You’re just as successful, and I’d bet

you could afford the fancy car if you wanted it. So why play this

poor me act?”

Scott ran his hand down his face. “You’re right.” If John only knew his

financial situation, he’d laugh all the way back to his place. Putting all his money

and trust in David’s hands had been stupid. And he was sure Mr. Finance would
point it out. He didn’t need a lecture. “Sorry, what I said was uncalled for.”

“And quit apologizing for being an ass. I’m not some prima donna that gets

insulted easily.”

Scott chuckled. “I guess not, or you wouldn’t be here now. Look, my child-

hood sucked. My mother left us when I was five and never came back. Can’t
blame her; my dad was a drunk. But part of me hated her for leaving me behind.”

“Sorry. That had to be difficult.”

Yeah. But he’d risen above his upbringing, taking charge of his fate. He

was at least proud of that fact. “Let’s just say I lack social skills. I didn’t have

many friends growing up.”

“So you think I was one of those asshole jocks that teased you in high school.”

Yeah. He never trusted the John Kramers of the world. Well-dressed, suc-

cessful, and so self-assured. “Weren’t you?”

“I hung out with people I liked, regardless of their social status. You judge

me with childish eyes. That’s not fair.”

“Then I wished I’d known you in high school.”

Scott took a deep breath and concentrated on his food. He felt John’s gaze

on him, the heat emanating from across the table. His heart pounded as he

Viki Lyn

stirred the broccoli around with his fork. When he looked up, their gazes met,
and an ache crossed his chest. He stared at John’s mouth, and heat flared low in
his stomach. Quickly looking away, he went back to cutting his chicken into
tiny pieces.

“Do you like sailing?” John asked quietly.

Scott looked up. “Sure, but haven’t done much of it.”

“I have a sailboat — ”
“Of course you do.”

John smirked at the barb. “Would you like to go out tomorrow?”
Scott chewed his lower lip. “Ah, I should write.”

“Maybe it’ll clear your head, help with that writer’s block of yours.”

Scott peered at John’s empty plate. “You’re done.”

“I’d love seconds, but I’m stuffed. Yeah.” John pushed the plate toward Scott.

Scott picked up the dishes. “I’ll clean up. How about I meet you at the

pier in the morning?”

John brushed back a loose curl drooping in Scott’s forehead.
Scott’s heart did a complete loop. He started for the counter. “I’m feeling

better so you can leave now.”

“No way am I going home.”

Scott dropped the dishes in the sink and pivoted. “I’m not going to do

anything stupid.”

“I’m staying the night, so get used to it. I’ll sleep on the sofa. Now, clean

up, and then we’re taking a walk on the beach. After that, you can do what the
fuck you came here to do — write.” And as John stalked out of the kitchen, he

yelled back, “And call your son!”

Asshole.

What right did John have, coming into his life and acting like some kind of

dictator? He scrubbed the dishes and then furiously wiped the table and counter,
letting his anger fizzle. He hardly had to clean up. John was a neat cook.

And that bugged him, too.

Chapter Five

ohn had tossed and turned most of the night, his feet hanging off the six-foot
sofa. During those bouts of wakefulness, he’d sneaked into Scott’s room to

check up on him, opening the shutters enough to let in the morning light. Not
that he thought Scott would try anything, but he wasn’t into taking chances

when it came to depression.

The morning sun was his alarm clock, and he groaned from his cramped

muscles as he sat up. He tossed aside the blanket and stood. After a few side
bends, he padded over to the window, pleased to see a cloudless sky. It was a
perfect day for sailing.

He tapped on Scott’s bedroom door.

Silence.

Walking in, John smiled at Scott, who was half exposed, the covers half off

the bed. He wore navy blue pajamas, the shirt bunched around his waist. So
defenseless lying there, clutching a pillow. The image of a naked Scott flashed
in his mind. Quickly dashing the visual, John shook his head; he would be
crazy to even think of Scott in a sexual way. The man disliked him. Yet when
he looked at Scott, John got that tic in his jaw, which came on when nervously
attracted to a man.

Careful not to wake Scott, he raised the blanket up to Scott’s shoulders

and smoothed it down. He sat on the edge of the mattress close to where he
could touch Scott’s hair. The curls were soft under his fingers. Scott smelled
like sleep, a sweet reminder of how much John missed sleeping with someone.

Satisfied that Scott was okay, he’d have enough time to go home, shower,

and change.

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John didn’t know if Scott would keep his promise to go sailing. Scott needed

fresh air and a new perspective on life. John would rope him up and toss him
into the boat if he had to. The man needed to leave the house and join the living.

John pushed aside his pang of guilt at the other reason for befriending Scott.

It wasn’t like he was helping Scott because of that.

Still…he wasn’t exactly innocent in his reasons for sticking around.
If he could earn Scott’s trust, then he might agree to meet with Ryan. And

if Scott needed the money, that would make it easier for Scott to put aside his
principles. When he had mentioned Scott making enough money to buy a fancy
car, he’d noticed a quick tightening of Scott’s mouth.

As if John had discovered a secret of his.

So maybe Scott was in a financial bind.
For now, he wouldn’t mention that he worked at Fantasy Arts. Scott would

find out soon enough.

When John returned to Scott’s house, he could hear Scott moving around

in the bedroom. John brewed a pot of coffee and then poured a large mug,
putting in two teaspoons of sugar. He remembered how Scott had taken his
coffee yesterday. He heard footsteps, and when Scott entered the kitchen, John
almost dropped the mug.

The sight of a cleaned up Scott made his jaw drop. John tried not to stare,

but fuck, he liked what he saw.

Scott had shaved off his beard, keeping light stubble, showing off a narrow

face and a nicely shaped mouth. His wavy hair was pulled back with a headband.

Several rebellious curls spouted from the confines of the band, and John itched
to touch them. Those intense dark eyes took over. So he’d been right. They

were dark blue, almost navy, even in the light.

John handed Scott the sweetened coffee. “Two teaspoons of sugar, right?

I noticed yesterday.”

“Wow, such service. How much do you charge?”

John grinned. “I’m expensive.”
Scott’s sharp eyebrows rose, and that sexy mouth curve upward.

That smile was as dazzling as his son’s, and it sent a shock through John’s

heart.

John stroked his jaw, easing the tic. No way would he ever get involved

with Scott. The man had a depressive nature and a brittle personality, even if

it didn’t show this morning. Scott looked relaxed, dressed in shorts and a plain

white T-shirt. He’d bet Scott was a runner with those muscular calves.

John’s Match

“It’s a perfect morning for sailing. I’m glad you want to go,” John said,

reaching for his car keys he’d tossed on the counter.

“I’m not always a flake.”

John chuckled. “Yeah, well, I’m just getting to know your effervescent

personality, so give me a break.”

Scott stood very close, so close that John could smell his freshly washed

hair and the hint of cologne, pleasant and clean. John turned away, jingling
his keys in his hand.

“Yeah, a perfect day to sail,” John muttered, too aware of Scott’s presence.

Scott smiled. “You already said that.”
John headed for the door. “I’ll drive. You can drink your coffee in the car.”
John took the porch steps two at a time. He couldn’t stay any longer cooped

up in Scott’s house. He needed to clear his head. This wasn’t how he wanted
things to go between them. Sex complicated friendships, and he needed Scott
on his side. And whoa, when did he think of Scott and sex in the same sentence?

John led Scott to his Ferrari.
Scott let out a low whistle. “I should have known you’d own one of these

babies.”

“I know, predictable.” John shrugged.

Scott let out a long, infectious laugh, shifting the earth from under John’s

feet.

John fumbled with the key fob to open the doors. As he slipped into the

driver’s seat, he tried to ignore Scott moving in beside him. This meant ignoring

Scott’s scent, his tall physique folding into the bucket seat, his fingers turning
the volume down on the radio. Light hair sprinkled across Scott’s knuckles.

Those fingers were long and looked strong, and John would bet they’d feel

good touching him.

Scott didn’t talk on the way to the pier, which was okay with John. The

silence between them felt natural. John parked his car in the lot reserved for
the marina occupants. The sailboat was moored near the yacht house, and it
didn’t take long for John to ready the boat. John reached for Scott’s hand to
help him board, but Scott slipped past him. Apparently comfortable at sea, Scott
impressed John by making it to his seat without stumbling.

“Nice One-ten,” Scott said, running his hand along the polished wood as

he sat.

Viki Lyn

“You know your boats.” John was proud of this one and kept it in prime

condition. It’d been his grandfather’s sailboat and had been passed down to him
after his death.

John sailed toward the scattered islands off the shore. Scott sat with his

eyes closed, his face to the wind and his hands on his bent knees. John smiled,
pleased that he could give Scott a moment of peace.

“This is heaven.” Scott’s attention rested on John. “I wish we could just

keep going.”

“That’s why I love it. It’s really the only time I can be completely alone,

without distractions.”

“It’s a nice old boat.”
“It was my grandfather’s. He raced in the America’s Cup.”
“Cool. How about you?”
“No way. I sail strictly for pleasure. My father loves to sail, so he taught me.”
“You come out here with him and your mom?”
“My mother died. God, it’s already been fifteen years. I take my father on

his good days.” John frowned, wanting to forget his father’s illness, if only for
an hour or so.

“It must be nice to be close to your parents.”

John shrugged. “I guess that’s a rarity. I liked my parents…most of the time.”
Scott rolled his eyes. “Are you Kramers always so formal? No Dad, Pops, Pa?”

“It’s that damn silver spoon stuck up my ass.”

Scott chuckled and then went back to gazing toward the horizon, ending

their conversation.

John enjoyed the comfortable silence between them. Again, it felt natural,

like it had in the car. Not awkward, but a respect for each other’s need to take
in nature. John’s senses were heightened every time he took to the sea, the salty
taste in his mouth and the crisp ocean smells quieting his mind.

He also took pleasure in looking at Scott. He admired the thick curly hair

that hadn’t seen scissors for quite some time, making it more unruly than styled.

Thick-lashed eyes stood out from a thin, angular face. Scott certainly wasn’t

conventionally goodlooking, but exotic and almost cat-like. Not a bad mouth,
either, if he kept it shut. And he had a dimpled chin when he did grace the

world with one of his rare smiles.

John checked his watch, surprised how quickly the time had passed. He

headed the boat toward shore, and in one pass, grabbed the mooring. Taking

John’s Match

care of securing the boat, Scott brushed past him, sending an electrical charge
through John. He took a deep breath and went back to his task. At this rate,
he’d want to jump the man’s bones no matter the consequences.

Scott stood on the pier, staring toward the ocean. John came up from behind

and put his hand on Scott’s shoulder so not to startle him.

Scott looked John’s way. “Thanks. That was great. My head feels clear for

a change.”

“You’re welcome.”
“Ah, are you hungry?” Scott pointed to a wood building at the end of the

pier. “I heard the

Shack’s good.”

“Sure. The best chowder in town.”
“Then it’s my treat. For taking me out.” A red blush spread across Scott’s

neck. “Not out, like on a date, but you know…”

John held up his hands, laughing. “Don’t worry. I know I’m not your type.

But maybe we can be friends.”

“I can use one,” Scott chuckled, his smile growing wider.

Friends would work. Maybe… If Scott would let John into his life just a

little and if John could keep his dick zipped securely in his pants.

John turned away. He tugged the front of his shorts to ease the tightness in

his crotch. What the hell was going on with him? He couldn’t trust that Scott

would get over his depression. That should be enough to curb any sexual feel-

ings he had toward Scott. Anyway, his purpose was to be friends, introduce
him to gaming, and get him to sign with FA.

“Lead on. I’m starving.” John walked up the pier, glad to focus on lunch.

That sounded safe enough, but safe from what? What exactly was he afraid

of when it came to Scott Marwick?

Scott unbuttoned the top button of his shorts. He hadn’t eaten this well since

forever. It had to be the sailing and the ocean air that had fueled his appetite.

He rubbed his stomach. “God, I feel like I’m going to explode.”

Scott slipped out of the booth, grabbing the bill from John’s outreached

hand. “I said my treat. Don’t be an ass about it.”

“Fine.” John grinned, pointing to Scott’s button. “A little tight?”

Scott rolled his eyes as he buttoned his shorts. “Come on.”

Viki Lyn

After paying the bill, Scott followed John to the car. He was surprised that

he wasn’t ready to go home. “Now what? Show me around town?”

“Grand tour will take about thirty seconds. I thought you wanted to write?”
“Ugh. And you call me depressing.”

Several feet from the car, John pushed the unlock button on his fob. “I’ve

never said that.”

“Thought it.”

John smiled at Scott. “Caught me.”

The Ferrari was bright and shiny like the owner. John could have stepped

out of a James Bond movie, with his chiseled face and body that showed off
nicely in shorts and a T-shirt as well as in a designer suit. For being in his late
thirties, John had a well-toned body and a carefree smile that came all too easily.

Scott sucked in his stomach and then scoffed. What did he care if he had

a little pooch? He wasn’t going to be getting physical with John anytime soon.

“You know, maybe you’re right. I should go.” Suddenly nervous, he wanted

nothing better than to go home. These feelings for John cropped up like weeds.

John opened the passenger door. “Get in, and shut up.”

“Never took you for a sadist.”
“No? How disappointing.” John leaned against the door frame. He wasn’t

going anywhere. “I want to show you my pet project.”

“Okay. This should be interesting.”

A smile lit John’s face. “Great.”

Scott reveled in John’s happiness, unable to keep from smiling. John drove

a few miles from town before he turned onto a country lane. The road cut
through a strand of trees, past a lake, and ended at a dead end.

A three-story lodge stood in the center of a landscaped yard. There were

a few classroom-style buildings along the side yard, a basketball court, and a
paved area with a large, rustic barbecue grill.

“What is this place?” The sign above the door lintel read

Millicent House.

A group of teenagers were hanging out in the front, talking in small groups.

A few others sat on the grass with sketchbooks. Teens of all colors. Scott figured

they weren’t from the Village.

John placed his hand behind Scott’s back and led him through the front

door of the lodge. “This was my mother’s dream. When she died, my father
and I made it happen.”

John’s Match

John greeted an attractive woman who was filing books on a shelf. “Hi,

Julie. How are things?” He led Scott forward. “Scott, please meet Julie Stead,

our Program Director.”

Julie put the books down and shook Scott’s hand. “Nice to meet you.” She

slipped her hand through John’s elbow. “Did you come to see the renovations?”

Scott followed John’s gaze that swept over the open living area. Several

sofas and chairs were grouped around a fireplace. The furniture looked new,
but comfortable, and sturdy for a group of unruly teens.

“What do you think of the new fabric? I just love it.” Julie’s enthusiasm

was evident in her voice.

“Good choice.” John patted Julie’s arm. “I’m going to show Scott around.”

Julie smiled at Scott. “Nice meeting you. Let me know if you need anything

before you leave.”

“Will do.”
“What do you do here?” Scott asked as he followed John to the stairs.
“It’s a place for teens who suffer from depression. They get counseling but

also take art and writing classes and learn to express themselves through the
creative arts.”

Scott tensed. Did John think he was a depressive? He could see why he’d

come to the conclusion, but he’d be wrong. He’d gone to counseling, taken
medication for a year, and eventually weaned off of the drugs. David’s death
triggered his gloomy moods, not because he was wired that way. He’d never
had a problem with it until his partner’s betrayal.

John gave Scott the grand tour, and Scott took it all in. Each of the dorms

on the upper floors had bunk beds, laptops, and refrigerators and were occupied
by typical teenagers: posters tacked to the walls, crumpled clothes on the beds,
books lying open.

Several of the outer buildings were classrooms. Everywhere they went, kids

and adults stopped to say hello to John. To John’s credit, he knew everyone’s
name and spoke kindly. Scott had to reassess his opinion about John’s personal-
ity. Sure, he was opinionated and a control freak, but he also seemed to have
a genuinely kind heart.

Scott let out a whistle when they stepped into a spacious room blinking

and humming with the latest computer equipment. It looked like a control
room from a Sci-Fi movie.

“This is certainly state of the art,” Scott said in awe.

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“Courtesy of Fantasy Arts. Ryan’s idea. He didn’t want computer graphics

to be left out of the curriculum.”

“It’s very generous of him.” Scott frowned at the tender voice when John

said Ryan’s name. He knew Ryan was the owner of the gaming company. Was

John in love with him? He’d heard that Ryan had a boyfriend.

“Ryan is a good friend. He teaches here when he can. Loves the kids.” John’s

eyes sparkled. “He’s one himself. But then, that’s why the company is successful.”

“Computer gaming? I don’t have a high opinion of it. It’s a bunch of teens

blowing things up, spending hours comatose in front of the boob tube. I didn’t
allow Rob to play games, which was to his advantage. He’s always been top
in his class.”

John’s brows hitched at his diatribe, but honestly, Scott detested what the

industry stood for: mindless hours pursuing a mindless task.

“You’re misinformed. Studies actually have come out in favor of gaming.

You probably picture a disturbed teen playing in his dark basement, imagining

gunning down his enemies. Right?”

“Something like that.”
“Most teens play with others, and it’s a social gathering for them. Racing,

puzzles, and sports are the top sellers, not the first person shoot ups.”

“How do you know so much about the industry?”
“Ah, well, you see…” John stroked his chin. “Ryan talks about it all the

time. He’s obsessed.”

Ryan again. Scott inwardly cringed at the stab of jealousy the name evoked.

“So what’s your involvement here?”

“I’m on the Board and handle the financials. Also, I teach the kids what

it takes to live on their own so they understand how important it is to get an
education or a trade where they can support themselves.”

“A worthy cause.”
“That’s why I hope you’ll agree to my proposal. I want you to consider

teaching a workshop. You’re practically a cult figure with these kids.”

Panic hit at the idea of speaking in front of a group of people, even if it

was a room full of teenagers. His shyness had prevented his agent from booking

promotional tours. He even had it written in his contract that he would not
make public appearances.

“What do you say?” John looked at him with anticipation.

Scott gritted his teeth, knowing his face showed his annoyance. “Teaching

is for people who can’t write.”

John’s Match

John crossed his arms. “It would only be one day. It might do you good

to reach out to others less fortunate. A way to get over that block of yours.”

“What are you — my shrink?” Scott fisted his hands, his temper igniting.

“I said no.”

He should have known John had an ulterior motive for being nice to him.

The guy had wanted a favor.

Scott stormed to the Ferrari, barely able to catch a breath. He hated being

summarized like a paragraph in a self-help book. John had no idea what he’d
been through and had no right to analyze him.

John grabbed Scott’s arm, stopping his stride and yanking him around.

“What’s your problem? For fuck’s sake, don’t be so goddamn selfish by making

everyone around you as miserable as you are.”

Rage flushed Scott’s cheeks as he pushed John back. “Take me home.”
John scoffed. “That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.”

A cold silence filled the car. The drive home seemed to take forever. John

parked in the driveway and kept the engine running. Scott chewed his lower
lip, waiting for an apology. When none was forthcoming, he got out of the car.

Now that his temper subsided, he wanted to say something, anything to

try to salvage the day. It had been good, and he’d had fun. John had been great
for the most part. And he had no friends here. He ducked his head inside the car
to say something, anything, but John sat with his fingers curled tightly around
the steering wheel, staring out the front window.

Fine.
Scott could be as stubborn as the next guy.
He slammed the door behind him and strode up the porch, refusing to look

back at John. Once inside his house, he got a beer from the fridge and noticed
the bottle shook in his hand. John had a way of fueling his temper. Arrogant,
conceited, and totally in the wrong, how dare that John size him up as a miser-
able, selfish man?

Because that’s what I’ve become.

He couldn’t teach kids. It wasn’t in him. He was too fucking shy and too

embarrassed to admit it. So why hadn’t he explained the reason to John, instead
of letting him think the worst of him?

And again, Scott didn’t write a single word for the rest of the day.

Chapter Six

ohn let himself into the palatial home, his heels echoing on the tile floor. He’d
tried to talk his father into moving into a townhome, but he’d refused, not

wanting to leave the memories of his wife. John had felt just the opposite and

had moved away from his mother’s memories as soon as he could.

“Hey, it’s John,” he called out as he walked through the living room. “Father?”

A tall, thin woman met John at the stairway. Her silver hair was pulled

back into a no-nonsense bun. In her hand was a dish towel. The severity of her
hair and clothes belied her gentle nature. Her smile always reached her eyes.

“John, honey, I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Hello, Mrs. Whitman.” He gave her a peck on the cheek. He’d hired Mrs.

Whitman a year ago, when he’d realized his father was never going to recover.

She had been a godsend, the woman caring from the start. She treated his father

with respect and dignity.

“I had a lunch meeting and thought I’d stop by before going back to the

office.”

She motioned toward the stairs. “He’s upstairs taking his coffee.”

“How’s he feeling today?”

She patted his arm. “He had a bad morning, but is feeling better now. He’ll

be glad to see you.”

John swallowed the dry lump in his throat. Just one time, he wanted to

hear that his father had had a pain-free morning. He tried for a smile, but it
slipped as he headed upstairs.

The balcony door was opened, and his father’s weak voice answered, “Out

here, son.”

John’s Match

John found his father sitting in a lounge chair, drinking a cup of coffee.

Next to him was a tea tray with a carafe and an empty cup.

It always startled John how this once-robust man now barely filled out the

chair. His frown deepened as he noticed how the morning had swiftly turned
cloudy. He shivered as the fog crept across the manicured lawn.

He kissed his father’s dry, cool cheek and swept back a silver strand of hair.

Worry made him speak before thinking. “Are you warm enough in that?” He

frowned at the lightweight sweats and his father’s bare feet.

“Yes. Don’t baby me.”

John ignored his father’s annoyance and fetched him a comforter from the

bed. He returned and tucked it over his father’s lap.

Mr. Kramer waved him away. “Don’t tower over me. Pour yourself a cup

and sit down.”

John bit back a smile and did as his father commanded. He sat in the chair

directly across his father, scooting it in to be closer. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than yesterday.”
“Good. I took out the boat on Saturday.” John leaned back and propped his

feet on an ottoman. “Then I went to Millicent. I’ll have to bring you out there
to see the renovations. Julie did a nice job with the furnishings. You’ll approve.”

“Maybe next weekend, we can take a drive.”

John nodded. “We changed out some of the furniture, but it’s still homey.

We don’t want the kids to feel uncomfortable.”

“Good. And how’s the rec center coming along?”
“Martin’s drawing up the plans. I’ll meet with him first before we approach

the Board with the design and costs. But I’m worried about paying for it. FA
gives a lot of money to Millicent, and with its troubles, I’m not sure how we’re
going to pay for it…”

“All in good time. I still have clout with investors. Why didn’t the Adams

boy take on the project?”

“Drew?” John scraped his fingernail on his thigh and jiggled his right foot.

Ryan’s brother, Drew, had a thriving practice, and Martin was his assistant, a

rising architect in his own right. “Too busy. Martin is as good — and younger.

He can relate to the teenagers better than us old fogies.”

“John, stop fidgeting. What’s wrong?”

John started to change the subject, but his father knew him too well for

him to feign ignorance. “What isn’t? I feel responsible for FA’s troubles, and

well, I had an argument with a…”

Viki Lyn

God, what did he call Scott? Not a friend.

“…a friend’s father.”

Mr. Kramer’s eyes twinkled. “Didn’t like you stepping out with his son,

did he? What silly boy are you dating now?”

There was nothing like a parent for taking a child down a few pegs. “Rob’s

far from silly. He’s a physics student at Columbia. It’s his father who’s the real
shit.”

“Watch your language. Is it because his son’s a homosexual?”
“My God, say gay. That term’s antiquated.”
“So is your old man.”

When his father smiled, John’s heart melted. He forgave him his old fash-

ioned words, like he forgave him for not understanding his being queer. Both
of his parents had accepted him within the limits of their experience. That had
to be enough.

John grinned. “He’s gay, too.”

“Oh, my. Well, that’s the way of the world nowadays. But I wish you’d

settle down. I worry that once I’m gone, you’ll be alone.”

An ache pierced John’s heart. “You’re going to outlive your friends.”

Mr. Kramer shook his head. “Not this time, son. Randall is a good friend,

as well as my doctor. He’s doesn’t sugar coat the truth, not with me. I have
maybe a year at the most. We need to start preparing for it. I should have done
this sooner.”

Losing his father would be like cutting off an arm. John relied on him, on

his voice of reason, his calm approach to a situation, and most of all, his love.

It rang deep and true, and no one came close to meeting it.

John crossed his leg over his thigh and rested his hand on his knee. “Fine,

but let’s talk of this later.”

“You need to find someone.”
“I have a great job, good friends, a nice place. I’m content to live alone.”

He preferred being in control and not having to deal with another person’s

emotional baggage, especially someone as temperamental as Scott. Now why
did he pop into John’s head again?

Mr. Kramer laid his hand on John’s thigh. “What do you possibly get out

of dating all those young boys of yours?”

“They are not boys, for God’s sakes. But I suppose because it’s safe.”

John’s Match

His father patted John’s knee before sitting back into his chair. “When did

you ever care about being safe?”

“Just in my personal life.”
“So you’re not interested in this friend’s father?”
“Scott? God, no.” Although he didn’t want to consider why Scott got his

briefs all in a twist. “He’s some famous writer I’ve never heard of. Ryan’s all
ga-ga over him because he’s some fantasy guru, and he wants the rights to his
characters. He thinks the money we’d make from the game will save us from
having to sell the company.”

“And will it?”
“There’s a good chance it’d calm our debtors enough to buy us time.”
“So you’ve already made your decision to befriend this Scott, haven’t you?”

His father brought the comforter up to his shoulders. “Be careful. I know you

have taken this loss all on your shoulders, but when the solution involves people’s
emotions, someone could get hurt.”

“It’s not like I’m

pursuing him.”

Those faded green eyes met John without compromise. “So why are you

agitated? Or even care if he’s your friend or not? Especially if he is just a means
to an end.”

John had no answer for his father. He shouldn’t care, but he did. The time

he’d spent with Scott sailing had been really nice. He liked that arrogant side
of Scott, at least in small doses. During lunch, they’d never run out of subjects
to talk about or argue about.

Still, for some reason, Scott brought out his temper. When Scott had refused

to even consider his proposal to help out his kids, he’d lost it. That wasn’t like
him. Usually, Ryan used him as a front man when the situation called for tact.
So why did he let this guy rile him so much?

“I got upset when he refused to teach a workshop at Millicent. I told him

he was selfish, in not so many words.” He’d been harsh and judgmental, and

what he’d said was totally out of line. Not everyone wanted to teach teenagers,

and he knew that. He owed Scott an apology, but part of him rebelled at the

very idea of kowtowing to that guy.

His father, always the voice of reason, spoke John’s thoughts. “It’s his choice.

Not everyone has your generous nature, John.”

“Yeah, I guess I should apologize to him.”

His father chuckled. “Good idea. You don’t know the circumstances of this

man’s life or why he refused. Don’t be so quick to judge him.”

Viki Lyn

“But he’s judging me.”

Oh fuck. That had come out like a childish whine.

“Then be the better man.”

John looked up from his printed spreadsheet, and smiled as Ryan poked

his head around the doorjamb of his office. Those eyes held mischief, and John
folded his hands on the desk, ready for one of Ryan’s harebrain schemes that

would hopefully make them another million. They could use a miracle about

now.

“You got a minute?”
“Always, boss-man,” John quipped, setting aside the spreadsheet and laughing

at Ryan rolling his eyes at his nickname. Every computer gamer had to defeat
the “boss” in order to win, and Fantasy Arts’s games were famous for having

very bad-assed bosses that were difficult to kill.

“It’s bad enough my staff calls me that. Not you, too.” Ryan took the leather

chair near the window and got comfortable. “I’ve been mulling over the whole
deal with Marwick.”

John cleared his throat, annoyed that Scott’s name had come up. “Ah, there

is no deal.”

“Yet. But when did that ever stop us?” Ryan grinned, slumping farther in

his seat and crossing his feet at the ankles. He was settling in for the duration.

John recognized that smile and posture all too well — Ryan’s determination to

dig in until he got what he wanted.

Ryan brought his fingers together. “I’m convinced it’s fate that he moved

here.”

“Or just plain bad luck,” John mumbled before he cleared his throat to

speak his mind. “The man’s a recluse. Shit, he hardly leaves his house. He hates
computer games with a passion. He’ll never agree to work with us.”

“That’s why you’ll convince him.”
“Hey, I already asked him one favor, and he bit my head off.”
“I heard you guys went sailing this weekend and then to lunch. That doesn’t

sound like a man who’s a hermit.”

The rumor mill in the Village thrived. John scoffed. “I guess you didn’t hear

how it ended. I asked him to teach a workshop at Millicent, and he lit into me.”

“That’s rich.” Ryan leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees. “The

great John Kramer has finally met his match — a man that doesn’t fawn all
over him.”

John’s Match

“Let’s get back to the task at hand,” John said gruffly. “He won’t go for it.

Trust me on this one.” Yet he was running out of options fast, and Electronic

Games was breathing down their necks.

Ryan pulled a paperback book from his jacket. He tossed it to John. “This

is the first book in Marwick’s series. Read it.”

“You know I don’t read fiction.” The book looked like it’d been through

the washer — wrinkled cover, paper yellowed with age, dog eared. Ryan must
have read this book several times. He flipped opened to a few pages and smiled
at the miniature drawings in the margins. “These are yours?” He held up a page

with a drawing of a warrior.

“Pretty lame, but when I read the book, I was blown away. I couldn’t wait

to get my hands on the rest of his work. You read it and then tell me if I’m
blowing air out of my ass with this idea of mine.”

“I don’t see how reading this is going to help our situation.”
“Know thy enemy — or at least how his mind works.” Ryan’s eyes narrowed.

“If we can’t convince Scott, there’s always his agent. What better way to market

his upcoming book? It’d be a way to reintroduce him back into the public’s eye.
Capture new young readers. A perfect springboard for his new book.”

“Look, hold off on calling his agent. He hasn’t even written the first chapter

yet.”

“That’s why he’s here, right? To finish the series.”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure he’ll be able to type one word of it.”

Ryan stood but didn’t move to leave. “You usually aren’t this negative. Is

there something more to it?”

John bristled. “No, why would there be? I hardly know the man.”

“He has writer’s block, right? If he works on our project, maybe it’d help

him get his mojo back.”

John scratched his chin. That wasn’t a bad way to approach Scott. He still

felt guilty for scheming behind Scott’s back. At least, that’s how it felt to him.

“He doesn’t know I work for you.”

“Why haven’t you told him?”
“I had my chance, and I skated around it.” He pulled at his tie, not sure why

he hadn’t come clean to Scott. “I thought he’d really shun me if I mentioned it.”

John frowned as his friend laughed at his expense.

“I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting this guy,” Ryan asked. “Is he really

that difficult?”

Viki Lyn

Not that John understood what made Scott tick, but he had caught glimpses

of a man who could smile. “He’s hurting.”

Ryan’s voice turned from playful to gentle. “Then you can understand him.

You’ve had enough of that in your life.”

“It’s not the same as losing a lover.”
“No, losing your mother the way you did was worse.” Ryan circled around

the desk and put his hand on John’s shoulder. “You’re my best friend. You’ve
always been there for me and everyone else in your life. You never let anyone
give to you, John. It’s not fair.”

Shit, where had that come from? He shrugged his shoulder, and Ryan’s

hand slipped away.

“I told you I’d see to it.” John gruff voice masked his inner turmoil. He

didn’t want to think about his mother’s suicide. It had been so long ago. And
now with his father sick and dying…

“I saw my father this morning.” John’s voice cracked. “He’s getting worse.”
“Oh shit. My old man mentioned he wanted to go see him.”

John shuffled his papers on his desk just for something to do. “Then he’d

better go. Soon.”

Ryan rubbed John’s back. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay, I’ll talk with Scott.”

Ryan stepped away from John’s desk. He tilted his head and gave John one

of those “I knew you’d do it” smiles.

“I need to apologize for my behavior, but shit, it might make him go bal-

listic again.”

Ryan strode toward the door. He turned, and those eyes wickedly danced.

“That’s why I pay you the big bucks.”

John rubbed his face with his hand, anxious for Ryan to leave. The big

bucks weren’t going to be worth the pain of dealing with Scott.

“I hear Scott Marwick lives here now?”

John jerked his head toward that familiar voice, and if he hadn’t been at

work, he would have groaned. The owner of Electronic Games stood behind

Ryan, looking ready to salivate. Patrick Hudson had some nerve eavesdropping

on their conversation.

Ryan pivoted around and crossed his arms. “How did you get past the

receptionist?”

John’s Match

“She must have been on a break.” Patrick shrugged his shoulders. “I’m here

as a friendly adversary. Honest.”

“An adversary is never friendly,” John grumbled.

Patrick pushed his way past Ryan and into John’s office. “I suggest the three

of us sit down and discuss the reality of your situation. Fantasy Arts needs
money, and I can offer you a very lucrative sum and the resources you’ll have
by being under the umbrella of Electronic Games.”

John had to agree with Patrick on that count, but having numerous technical

resources and personnel did not equate with creating a great product. FA banked
on the creativity and enthusiasm of their staff. It’s what made coming to work
a pleasure for John. Patrick would never understand that aspect of business.

Ryan stepped between John and Patrick. “I’m not selling. Not to you. So

there’s nothing to discuss.”

“Your debtors don’t feel the same way. It’d be in your best interest to hash

out the deal among the three of us. I’m a generous man.” He turned to John.

“I’m sure John would agree, since he’s the voice of reason here.”

John folded his hands on the desk. “I support Ryan’s decision.”
Patrick shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t try to help you out. I’ll see myself out.”
Once Patrick left, Ryan sank into the chair. “Shit.”
John twirled around his cuff link. “I didn’t want to say anything, because I

don’t know Scott’s financial situation, but I think he might be strapped for cash.

If that’s the case, and Patrick goes after Scott for the rights, he can outbid us.”

“Then you’ll have to get to Scott first.”

Guilt tore through him at the idea of treating Scott like a commodity. But

he didn’t have a choice. The stakes had gotten higher. He needed Scott to sign on
to FA before Patrick dangled an even more enticing offer in front of the writer.

Chapter Seven

cott still had unpacking to do. Procrastinating was his mode of operation
these days. He had at least converted the smaller bedroom into an office. He

liked the space because of the morning sun. Windows overlooked the side yard
and straight through John’s kitchen.

He’d spy on John sometimes. After their blow up, he’d avoided John, partly

from embarrassment in not telling him the truth about his shyness. Some eve-
nings, he’d heard a faint laughter coming from John’s house. John had a lot of
friends.

John also had odd working hours. Maybe he commuted to the city by train?

He was in finance, like David. The difference was David had come from a middle

class family and clawed his way to the top. John had all the advantages of being
born into wealth, provided with the best education, and social advantages.

He swiveled in his office chair and stared out the window. He’d been doing

a lot of introspection about John lately. John reminded him that he used to have
a life well-lived with friends and family. He missed Rob, and he missed David.

And he missed being a family the most.

He turned on his laptop and watched as the Windows logo floated across

his screen and his icons popped up one by one. He clicked on the icon to open
his novel. He squirmed to get comfortable and thought about John again.

A handsome man — oh fuck, who was he kidding? John was gorgeous.

Scott had enjoyed their time sailing, and even lunch. John didn’t back down

from him, that was for sure. And Scott hadn’t laughed like that in a long time.

It had felt good.

Better to concentrate on his writing and not on his lack of a love life.

John’s Match

He paged down to his last paragraph and read it. The manuscript was pure

crap — just a rehash of the other four books. He couldn’t think of a single plot
bunny to jumpstart his creativity. He’d always been able to rely on the words

floating inside of his head. It was the loss of these words that now left him in

despair.

Was it because David had first loved Scott’s writing before giving Scott his

heart? How many other men had David slept with when they were swearing
monogamy? Thank God David had remained clean of diseases, at least.

Scott rose, and his bones creaked from lack of exercise. He went to the

fridge and got a beer. Beer and wine were safe; he hadn’t indulged in getting
drunk since that incident. He avoided the bills on the table and walked out to
the backyard. The fence was only a few feet in height, giving him a view of the
ocean. He squinted from the sun, noticing a man approaching him from the shore.

As the figure came closer, it turned out to be the artist from the other night.

Scott eyed Skye warily.

“Hey, Scott. Beautiful day.” Skye stretched his arms over his head, his biceps

flexing in a short-sleeved T-shirt.

The guy was too damn friendly. Scott walked up to the fence as Skye

came up to the gate. Skye’s jeans were spattered with colorful paint, his long
hair gathered back with a work bandana. Skye was sexy; too bad he was taken.

Scott held up his beer. “Want one?”

“Sure. I need a break. That’s why the walk on the beach.”

Scott retrieved another beer from the fridge and brought it to Skye, who

had let himself into the backyard and taken a seat on one of the sun-bleached
patio chairs. Scott sat next to him, figuring he might as well get comfortable;
Skye didn’t look like he was leaving any time soon.

“Working on a Saturday?” Scott eyed the paint-splattered jeans.
“Yeah, Drew’s in New York at a seminar.” Skye shrugged and looked out at

the sea. “It’s funny…Even though we live together, I still hate it when he’s gone.”

“That’s how I felt when David left on business.” Whoa. That had slipped

out. Now why had he done that?

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” Skye ran his hand over his bandana. “Ah, I heard about

your boyfriend’s death. This is a small village. It’s hard to have a private life

here. So what did he do for a living that he’d leave town?”

“He had to travel to London quite often for business. He was in banking.”

Probably had a lover there, as well.

“Ah, a Wall Street man and a writer — an interesting combination.”

Viki Lyn

Scott took a sip of beer. “It worked for years. Then fell apart. The cheating

bastard.” He winced at the bitterness of his words.

Skye tilted his head. “Ah, I thought…”

“I was mourning a broken heart. Yeah, that’s what most people think.”

More like a raging heart. Scott turned away, having said too much.

The waves crashed along the shore and echoed straight into his heart.

Betrayal had cut him up. He’d trusted David, trusted him to be honest, trusted
David to want him for the rest of their lives. The bastard had escaped by crashing
his plane, escaping the confrontations, the dirty slurs, the explosive arguments.

“Hey, Scott.” Skye placed his hand on the armrest of Scott’s chair.

Scott turned toward the artist. The man was beautiful and nice…lucky

Drew. But how much longer until one or the other became bored and stepped

out?

And fuck, was he a cynic.

He forced a brighter smile. “Yeah?”

“There are men that honor their commitments, and if they don’t, well,

sometimes you just need to figure out if it’s worth hanging on to all that hurt.”

Skye stood and headed for the gate. “I’d stay longer, but I’d better get back

to the studio. Sometimes painting’s a bitch, you know.” He held up the bottle.

“Thanks for the beer. Don’t be a stranger. Drew and I would love for you to

come to dinner some evening. I barbecue a mean steak. I’ll let you know, okay?”

Scott nodded, too choked up to answer. He was hanging onto the hurt

because at least it meant he felt something. But Skye had a point. If he clung to
the pain for much longer, it’d be impossible to let it go. Would he allow David’s
death to control the rest of his life?

He tossed his beer bottle into the outdoor trash and strode into the house.

With a sense of newfound purpose, he sat at his desk and got to work. His

fingers trembled. He fidgeted. He half-rose in his seat. Then he sat back down.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before opening them. He glanced

at his last bestseller next to his laptop. The elfin character was depicted on the
cover, arching his bow, a shadow behind him.

The question he had to ask himself was would he let David take away his

words forever? Or did Skye have a bit of wisdom — was holding on to all this

hurt worth the silence?

Slowly, he tapped out a string characters across the screen.
Slowly, sentences formed.

John’s Match

Slowly.
It wasn’t up to his standards, but at least he was writing.

As John scanned the beach, he noticed a lone figure walking along the tide.

Recognizing Scott, he kicked off his boaters and loped across the sand. He’d

waited until the weekend to approach Scott. Rob had called and assured him

that his dad was doing better and that John didn’t have to worry about him. But

John did worry, and now he had to figure out how to ask Scott if he’d work

with Fantasy Arts. He owed Ryan that much.

“Hey, Scott,” he called out. “Nice out, isn’t it?”

Scott bent to pick up a seashell before turning around. “What are you

doing here?”

Always the gentleman, John laughed. “You really know how to make a guy

feel welcomed. Last I heard, this is a beach for all the residents, and I do live on
the strip.” He pointed to his cottage.

Scott tossed the shell back into the tide.
John walked up, but stood far enough to leave a comfortable space between

them. “Thank God I have the thick skin of a rhino.”

“Thick and stubborn.” Scott smiled, and then his mouth took on a smirk.

“Then we should get along fine.” Scott looked him up and down. “First time

I’ve seen you slumming it. What’s with the outfit?”

So what if he wore ripped jean shorts and a faded T-shirt? He wasn’t always

in suits and ties and stiff white shirts, or ironed polo shirts and khakis. John
knew how to relax as well as the next guy.

“So why the social call?” Scott asked snidely. “Checking up on me?”

John gritted his teeth, his jaw tense. Why did this man make everything so

hard? He rubbed his chin and worked to curb his irritation. “I want to apolo-
gize for the other day. I was out of line.” Again, he was the one apologizing.

Scott dug his bare toes into the wet sand. “Ah, well.” Scott scratched his

stubble. “I didn’t really explain why I said no.” He looked up, and the sunlight
brought out the blue in his eyes. “I don’t do well in front of groups.”

“You would be the grown-up, you know.”

Scott sighed. “Yeah, well, sometimes I wonder. When it comes to me and

Rob, I swear he’s the one taking care of me. I haven’t been a good father these
last couple of years.”

Viki Lyn

“Since David.”
“Ah, yes, David.” Scott picked up a smooth black rock. He pocketed it. “So

what about you? Are you dating anyone?”

“Whoa, where did that come from?” John laughed. “I go out, have a good

time, nothing too serious.”

“I bet you like them young.”

Why, that judgmental ass! Avoiding another confrontation, John sidestepped

around Scott. He slipped off his T-shirt and flung it over his shoulder, then
kicked off his sandals, and picked them up before heading to the shoreline. The

water washed over his feet and cooled his temper. The sun warmed his back

as he skirted the edge of the tide. At least he’d get a tan while putting up with
this ill-tempered jerk.

Scott jogged up to his side.
John kept walking. “Look I’m not going to apologize for dating younger

men. They are less…complicated.”

A gruff laugh blew past his ear. “God, what planet are you on? My son is

far from emotionally simple.”

John dug his toes in the sand and turned to face Scott head-on. Fuck. The

man wouldn’t let up. “The ones I date don’t want an emotional attachment. It

works for me.”

“Haven’t you ever wanted a long term relationship?”

John shrugged. “Work takes up a lot of my time.” A feeble excuse, but

damn, he didn’t have to justify his life to this guy, a guy who could barely get
up in the morning. “And I have my father to look after.”

“So, you look at a relationship as a burden you’d have to take on?”
“I guess, yeah. I can’t take on another cause.”

Scott tensed. “Like me.”

“Hey, I’m not talking about you.”
“Sure you are. You come in and take over, make me all better. That’s what

you do, right? But see, relationships are messy, confusing. You’ll never find a

man that will fit into your neat and tidy world.”

John clenched his hands at the bit of the truth in what Scott had said. “You’re

one to talk. Your relationship didn’t turn out so hot.”

“Fuck you!” Scott turned on his heels, but John gripped his shoulder enough

to stop him from taking off.

“What is it with you? I came here to apologize, and you shit all over me.”

John’s Match

Scott rubbed his temple and looked down at his bare feet. His shoulder

hunched as he dug in toes into the sand. Then his body deflated, as if all of his
fight was knocked out of him. He looked back at John. “I’m still so angry at
David that I take it out on anyone standing in front of me. Half of the time, I
don’t mean the crap I say. God, I’m sorry John. I had no right to summarize

you like that. I hate it when someone does that to me.”

The breeze blew Scott’s hair into a nest of tangled curls. John wanted to

run a comb — or at least his fingers — through that unruly mop. He reluctantly
removed his hand from Scott’s shoulder, his anger ebbing as the tide washed
in and out. “Apology accepted. How about a coffee? I haven’t had my fix yet.”

Scott shyly smiled. “You sure you want to spend more time with me?”

“Yeah, even though you’re a fucking bastard.”

Scott hesitated for a brief second and then laughed. “Why not? It can’t get

much worse between us.”

John ordered two lattes from the counter and carried them to their table.

They had found a booth by the windows facing the street. John set the cup

brimming in foam in front of Scott. “Here you go, double shot, non-fat. Now
me, I go for unadulterated milk.”

“You must be a gym bum.”
“Wrong again. My father has a pool, so I swim to relieve tension. Or take

a run on the beach, play tennis, sometimes golf.”

John refused to think about the reason why he sat here, needing to set up

a meeting between Ryan and Scott. He didn’t want to add any more pressure
on their tentative friendship; it was fragile enough. Their blow-up at the beach
had proven that. He couldn’t have Scott suspecting he’d only befriended him
because of wanting the character rights to his books. Although wasn’t that the
truth? His plan was to win Scott over by taking him sailing now and again,
show him around town, dance at the

Roadhouse, and build trust between them.

But somehow, he didn’t think it would go that smoothly.

“Do you play sports?” John asked.
“I’m a head case, not an athlete, but I play a little tennis.”
“I belong to the country club. They have lighted courts, so we could play

at night.”

“Rob put you up to this, didn’t he?”
“To what?”

Viki Lyn

“I’ve been a real shit to you, so why do you keep coming back?”

John leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I want to make sure you’re

not going to do something stupid like swallow a shit load of pills.”

“If I was going to kill myself, I would have done it a long time ago.”
“It took my mother forty-three years to do it. So excuse me if I don’t

believe you.”

Scott’s eyes grew round. “Oh shit, so when you found me…”
Now why had he told Scott that? He hadn’t planned to spill his guts like

that. Too late to backpedal, he had to say something. “Yeah, it wasn’t one of

your better moments. Or mine.”

Scott reached across the table and touched John’s hand. John was surprised

by this gesture. Scott stroked John’s fingers. That also felt nice.

“I’m sorry,” Scott said. “You must have hated what I put you through that

day.”

“It brought up bad memories, but I’m glad that I found you alive.”

Scott sat back. John missed the warmth from Scott’s touch.

“I was drunk.” Scott shrugged. “I was too much of a coward to take those

pills. I promise you won’t find me in that situation again. Do you want to talk
about your mom?”

“About as much as you’d like to talk about David.” If they could be civil

to each other for more than a few hours, John might consider opening up to
Scott. He folded his hands on the table. “Why can’t you write?”

“The words are just not there.”

This was John’s opening to slip in the meeting with Ryan. It’d be sooner

than he wanted, but he’d wet his toes and see what happened. “How do you
get out of your funk?”

“There are authors who swear there’s no such thing as writer’s block. It’s

an excuse of sorts, but for me, writing used to come so easily. Frightfully so.

My characters have always lived in my head, but now it’s like they’ve packed

up and left town.”

“Have you thought about doing something else for a while?”

Scott wryly chuckled. “Like what?”

“Well, participating in another creative outlet.”

Scott crumbled a napkin in his hand. “Are you suggesting I take up painting?”
John laughed. “God, no. Something related to your writing.”

John’s Match

“I suppose like teaching a workshop.” Scott smirked. “Or worse, creating

a silly computer game. That’d be rich.”

Fuck. John wasn’t good at this, not when Scott detested the industry. “Would

either of those ideas be so bad? With computer gaming, you’d gain new reader-
ship. That’s good marketing.”

“Spoken like a numbers man, but not an artist. I want to keep the integrity

of my characters intact, and that’s not by making them into mindless avatars.”

He let out a sigh. “I need to hit the beach, clear my head.”

No convincing Scott yet, he’d have to think of another approach. “You

enjoy running? Seems like a boring way to stay in shape.”

“Yeah, well, you swim laps. Talk about dull.”
“Let’s play a game of tennis. The guy I usually partner with moved to the

city.”

Scott smirked. “Yeah, you just want someone you can beat on the court.”
John laughed as he brushed back his hair. “Hey, I play fair. How about I

pick you up later for a game?”

Scott leaned on the table, his face very close to John’s. “You don’t give up,

do you?”

John couldn’t quite catch his breath. Scott’s face, his smell, his hands…the

sudden stirring in John’s groin troubled him. He tugged at his pant leg as he
moved back in his chair, away from the temptation. “No, I don’t. Remember,

you called me stubborn and…what was it? Oh yeah, thick.”

Scott smiled and straightened up. “Sure, okay, one game. It’d be good to

get some exercise.”

John pushed back his coffee cup. He had wanted to kiss Scott. Own that

mouth, and that body, and other things that really didn’t have any place in
friendship. His heart pounded for someone so completely wrong for him.

And for someone he was about to use to bail him out of his shit.

Oh God.
That was just wrong on so many levels.

Chapter Eight

he tennis ball zipped past Scott. He’d lost the set, again. The tempting flex
of muscles every time John served or returned a shot left Scott defenseless.

He was too distracted by John in tennis shorts and shirt, his tanned skin golden

against all that blinding white clothing.

John twirled his tennis racket as he sauntered up to the net. “Had enough?”

He grinned, his teeth shining brighter than his tennis outfit.

“Haven’t played for a while,” he said. Damn. He hated losing to John.
“You’re good, just rusty.” John glanced at the clubhouse. “There’s a great

sauna in the locker room. How about we call it night?”

Scott was still catching his breath “Sounds good to me. Don’t think I could

go another set even if I wanted to.”

Although sitting naked in a steam room with John might not be the best

decision. He hadn’t had sex in a long while. Just hook-ups when he felt the
need. And kissing, that hadn’t been since David. He just couldn’t bring himself
to be that intimate with another man. So why couldn’t he tear his gaze from

John’s mouth?

Scott covered his racket. It had felt good to get physical, but he’d pay the

next day, his muscles already screaming at him. He missed his early morning
runs in Central Park. It had been a way to clear his head before starting his day.

Maybe he’d start up a routine; the beach was a perfect location.

Scott walked into the locker room behind John, finding the place empty.

“Where is everyone?” Okay, he could restrain himself. He was big boy and not

some horny teenager, but damn, he wished there were other people milling
around.

John’s Match

John took his watch out of his locker to read the time. “It’s a geriatric

membership. They’re at dinner by now.”

Scott opened his locker and hesitated. Maybe John would have a drink

afterwards. Then again, it was a Saturday night; John probably had a date.

Biting his lip, Scott cursed his shyness.

Just say it, coward.

“Dinner and drinks are on me, then.”

John peered from around his locker, already stripped down to his briefs.

“Sure.”

Scott’s heart skidded as he caught a view of all that bronze skin and rich

brown hair dusting muscular legs and a fine looking chest. He buried his head
in his locker, embarrassed to undress in front of John. Taking a couple of deep
breaths to calm the hammering in his chest, he convinced himself he had nothing
to be ashamed about. Not his scrawny body or his average looks. John probably
preferred confident men who paraded around in their birthday suits with no
shame whatsoever. Not someone who needed a shave and a haircut. Shit. He’d
let himself go without even realizing it.

John stood by the sauna door, a white towel wrapped around his waist.

“Are you coming?”

Scott fingers itched to yank off that skimpy towel, the V-line of dark

hairs disappearing beneath John’s waistline enticing erotic images. His dick
hardened at the visual of John’s cock dancing in his head. John smiled — more
like a predatory grin — one of his hands holding the towel close to his privates.
Scott was already perspiring. He rarely played the role of aggressor. So why

was he imagining himself sexually approaching John? He needed to get laid,

but not with John.

“Yeah, I’ll be sec. Meet you inside.” Scott pulled off his tennis shirt and tossed

it into his duffle. Never comfortable with public nudity, he’d strip in private.

Thank you very much.

The steam assaulted him as he walked into the sauna, clutching his towel

wrapped around his waist. He breathed in the scents of cedar and eucalyptus,

the hot mist already melting away his aches. Taking the top bench across from

John, he stretched out and adjusted his towel.

Several minutes went by in silence. Since David’s death, men were a passing

interest, without a thought after the sex. Scott didn’t believe for one second
that was how it’d be with John. That’s why he had to stay put on the bench,
keep his hands clasped over his cock.

Viki Lyn

A hand touched his shoulder, and he opened his eyes, not realizing he had

been drifting asleep. Startled to see John, he jerked up his head. Their noses
bumped, and he yelped, pulling back.

John’s laugh was muffled by his hand as he massaged his nose. “You pack

a hard punch.”

“Oh God, sorry. You startled me.” He reached for John’s face. His fingers

feathered across the square chin. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I hit you just as hard.” John traced the bridge of Scott’s nose. “Looks like

we’ll both survive without too much damage.”

Scott’s heart skipped a beat when John smiled, those dimples tempting him.

His need to touch John burned deep inside. Now was his chance. Should he

take it? Did John want him?

John’s finger slid across Scott’s bottom lip.
Oh God. Yeah, he wanted John.
His mouth parted, and he sucked in John’s finger, smiling at John’s eyes

flashing bright. John pulled it out slowly. Once released, John held Scott’s chin.

There was no going back now. Scott kissed John.

Tongues thrust and collided for one shocking moment and then found their

way around each other. He hadn’t kissed this possessively since David — maybe

not even then.

John’s hands raked through his hair, and then his fingers feathered his cheeks,

his neck. John liked to touch, and Scott liked a man that held him so firmly.

Hot for it, his cock poked through the towel. Steam swirled around him. John

pulled Scott closer as the marathon kiss continued.

Scott grasped John’s shoulders and kneaded them as he pursued the deep

taste of John. He wrapped one leg around John’s waist, the other dangling
off the bench. He leaned back, keeping a hand on John’s shoulders. A blast of
steam misted his face.

John gazed at Scott’s cock. “Nice,” John said, his voice rough. “How about

I relieve you of that?”

“Shit, all it’d take is one touch, and I’d come. It’s been a long time for me.”
“That’s okay.” John glanced at the glass door. “We should take this else-

where, though.” He grinned. “My father belongs to this club, and while he’s

okay with me being gay, he wouldn’t like to hear his son is using the sauna for
his sexcapades.”

Scott smiled back. “I guess no dad, however accepting, is that liberal.”

John’s Match

Scott ran his hands through John’s hair. The smile on John’s face sent a

shiver through him. Such a bad boy grin…

And oh hell, why bother fighting it? Not when he was this horny. It was

too late for regrets or rational thought.

John ran the pad of his finger along the length of Scott’s cock.
Scott moaned, not able to control the sound coming out of him. And when

John’s hand gripped his dick, he jerked, practically coming undone. Once John

let go of Scott’s cock, he stood and grabbed Scott’s wrist, pulling him up. He
hugged him and kissed the side of his neck.

John’s lips teased near his ear. “Shower.”
Scott found himself pulled into the first shower stall they came to.

Thankfully, they were individual units with opaque curtains. If someone walked

in, it wouldn’t be obvious that two men were in the shower getting off on each
other. If they kept quiet.

He wasn’t ready to be an exhibitionist in a swanky country club’s locker

room. He nervously laughed at the absurdity of his situation.

John stepped back. “Are you okay?”

Warmth spread across Scott’s chest at the tender way John asked. “Yeah, I

want this.”

He didn’t want to think too much, but he knew he’d feel too much. The

kiss between them said it all. John would be a dynamo in bed, and Scott could
imagine how John’s cock would feel up his ass, filling him with all that fucking
tenderness.

John reached over and turned on the shower as he gently pushed Scott

against the cool tiles. John’s fingers traced the rim of Scott’s cock head, the
other hand holding the base. Then John began his assault, moving his thumbs
in tiny circular motions up and down Scott’s shaft.

Back and forth. Up and down. Oh…God almighty, it felt incredible.
Scott wrapped his arms around John’s neck as he arched back. Fiery sensa-

tions rippled through him. Those thumbs of John’s were magic. He breathed
in the smells of sex and soap. The spray of water pelted his skin.

Maybe it was just sex, but fuck, it was worth the awkwardness once it was

over.

John knelt, lifted Scott’s cock, and licked the underside. Scott’s groan lodged

in his throat as he tried to hold back the noise. His brain had registered a faint
conversation coming from the locker room. The rattle of the metal locker doors
confirmed it. They weren’t alone.

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The intruders didn’t faze John. His tongue slicked over Scott’s head, the

tip of his fingers brushing Scott’s balls. Scott grabbed a handful of John’s hair
and leaned against the shower wall, lost in how good John’s mouth felt — hot,
moist, unyielding.

Up, down, and around, John’s tongue never let up. Scott closed his eyes

briefly, taking in the incredible sensations, so close to coming.

Scott looked down. “I’m going to lose it if you keep this up.”
John smiled with Scott’s cock still in his mouth. He looked so fucking hot,

his mouth eagerly sucking Scott off.

Scott tugged at John’s hair. “Get up.”
John’s brows rose, but he stood. “You could have come.”

“No, I want us to both get off.”

John grasped Scott’s shoulders and moved his hips to rub their dicks together.

His mouth skimmed Scott’s ear. “Come on, let it go.”

John nibbled on Scott’s earlobe. He sucked the thin skin between his neck

and shoulder, easing off with a kiss.

A hickey at his age, how embarrassing, but Scott didn’t want John to stop.

He slid his hands down to John’s ass and cupped his cheeks, one finger tempt-
ing the puckered hole. He pressed John’s ass, bringing it forward and adding

to their friction.

John groaned and tightened his grip.
He didn’t realize how much he’d missed holding a man he cared for, skin

against skin, the tension ramping at an accelerated pace.

John moaned in Scott’s ear as his forehead rested on Scott’s shoulder. Scott

smiled; John was losing control because of him.

Then suddenly, John pulled back.

“Fuck, why?” Scott asked, amazed at John’s self-control.
“I’m not done touching you.” John took Scott’s dick in his hands. He palmed

Scott’s cock and began to snake his hands back and forth along the length. The

slight twisting motion sent a charge through Scott’s body.

“Shit, did you make a study of jerking off?” Scott rasped. He pressed his

hand to the wall to keep his balance. No way was he going to hang on to his
control at this rate. One more twist of John’s nimble hands, and that would be it.

Scott loosened John’s grip from his cock and brought John’s hands to his

own hips. He could be a cock tease as good as John. “Hold me here.” He rocked
forward into John’s groin, the friction snapping a hot wire between them.

John’s Match

“Oh, yeah. I like it,” John groaned.

John set the rhythm between them, and as their cocks met, the sensations

aroused Scott to a fever pitch. He didn’t know he had it in him to feel this much.

His chest hurt, but in a pleasurable way.

The water splashed at their feet. His surroundings faded, and only John and

the meshing of their cocks existed. Brought to the brink, he closed his eyes, con-
centrating on the heat in his groin. One more, just one more bump and grind…

Scott brought his head down on John’s chest to muffle his cry as he came.

John’s grunts echoed in his ears, and John’s body convulsed as come shot on
Scott’s stomach. John gripped his hips and kissed Scott, not demanding but slow

and gentle, taking his time exploring Scott’s mouth with his tongue. This was a
colossal mistake, letting John kiss him after what they’d just done. Scott knew
it, but he couldn’t stop. They fit perfectly, and they kissed perfectly.

Gently, John pulled away, allowing Scott to catch his breath. He reached

for a cloth and spurted body wash onto it before handing it to John.

“Thanks.”

John wiped his chest and then moved down to his privates. Scott’s gaze

wandered to John’s groin, unable to look away from the rich brown curls and

semi-soft cock being thoroughly washed.

Scott eyes darted away. He lowered his voice. “Look, I can…” He pointed

to the curtain. “It’d be better if I cleaned up in another stall. Just in case some-
one else walks in.”

“No sweat. We can clean up, and then I’ll take you up on that drink and

dinner.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll just, ah, go.”

Scott scurried into another stall several feet away. He licked his bottom lip,

tasting John. John’s kisses had sparked an incredible connection between them.

He usually could tell if the sex was going to be good by the first kiss. John had

hit it out of the ballpark. Damn that man. Didn’t he fail in anything?

John squirted a stream of shampoo on his scalp. He massaged it into his

hair, trying not to think about Scott only a few stalls down. Naked. Soapy.
Rubbing himself.

Okay. Stop now.

Did Scott buy into his nonchalant attitude? He had tried for casual and

hoped he’d pulled it off. Horny as hell, he had wanted more than anything for

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Scott to touch him, or better yet, take him in his mouth. When Scott kissed
him, he had been surprised at how good Scott tasted. He immediately knew
that kiss would lead to more.

John traced his lip, thinking back at those kisses. It’d been a dry spell — no,

more like a drought — since he’d been kissed with such intensity.

The writer wasn’t his usual type, too lanky, but those eyes had snagged his

attention. Dark, dark blue that held in too much pain, but when Scott smiled,
it changed everything about the man. And he loved a guy who had a keen mind.

Yet, Scott seemed emotionally vulnerable. He’d bet every bad review would

spiral Scott into a minor depression. Or he’d cover up his hurt by lashing out
at others and staying away from his friends, if he had any.

John rinsed his hair and then stepped out of the shower. He wrapped the

towel around his waist and ran his fingers through his wet hair. He passed the
sink and stopped to get a new comb from the jar. The reflection of Scott bend-
ing over his locker reflected in the mirror.

Holy shit.
A fantasy of Scott on all fours popped into his head, and he almost dropped

his comb.

Scott stood and slipped on his T-shirt. Curly hair edged the collar. John

looked away from Scott’s reflection. He rubbed his scratchy cheek.

Scott came up from behind. “I like your five o’clock shadow. Sexy.”
John ignored the flush of heat along his neck. He turned to face Scott. “Still

up for that drink?”

“Sure. I owe you one.” Scott looked down at the floor and back. “Ah, about

what happened…”

John turned away, afraid of showing how much he’d like to do it again.

“Hey. Just friendly frottage. Don’t think too much about it.”

“Yeah, okay.” Scott half turned his head toward the exit. “So I’ll meet you

at the bar.”

“Sound good.” John stared into the mirror, watching Scott leave the room.

He sighed. Better to get dressed and pretend nothing had happened between

them.

And he had to come clean about his position at FA. He knew how Patrick

worked, the sneaky bastard. The guy was as quick as a rattlesnake. It wouldn’t

take him long to approach Scott. He didn’t want Scott to find out he worked
for Ryan through someone else. That would fracture the trust growing between
them.

John’s Match

His heart sank at the realization that he had crossed the line with Scott. Now

he had to act as if it was no big deal that he’d had Scott’s cock in his mouth. But
in his heart, John understood it had changed everything between them.

Chapter Nine

cott entered the Millicent House’s main building and smiled at teens slumped
in the oversized chairs and the L-shaped sofa reading or playing on their

tablets. Nice to see kids still read paperback books, although he did notice a few
had electronic readers. That was the way of the world — technology whipping
through like a gust of wind and leaving him in the dust.

Rob teased him about how he was born in the wrong century because

he refused the advantages of most technology. He owned a laptop, for God’s
sake, a cell phone. So what if he didn’t subscribe to cable TV? Most of it was
shit anyway.

Julie smiled at him behind the counter as he approached her. “Scott, right?

It’s nice to see you again. How may I help you?”

“Ah, I’m here to meet John. Is he still in his meeting?”

She looked at her wristwatch. “They are running a bit late. About thirty

minutes. There are plenty of books and magazines, so help yourself.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that.”

He’d been seeing a lot of John lately. In the evenings, they’d play tennis and

then go out for bite. John took him sailing, and most weekends, they’d meet
for a jog on the beach or kick back with a beer. They talked about almost every
subject but work and writing. And both of them stayed clear of mentioning
the “shower incident.” Scott couldn’t deny that it fueled his fantasies, and he

wanted John sexually again. He just wasn’t quite sure how John felt about him.

He perused the bookshelves, smiling at the crinkled paperback copies of

his books. He chose a copy of Lackey’s

Magic’s Pawn, a book he’d read years ago.

He’d been astounded that a famous writer had gotten away with a gay hero. The

John’s Match

book had helped him come to terms with his own sexuality during his awkward
teenage years, and since then, he’d always held a soft spot for the author.

“May I sit here?” Scott motioned toward the empty side of the sofa.

A teen lay with his back against the armrest on the far side, legs bent, knees

poking out of his ripped jeans. A book rested against his knees as he read. He
grunted what Scott took as a yes.

“Good book?” he asked.
“This guy’s incredible.” The blond sat up and lifted the book so Scott could

see the cover.

No mistaking, the book was one of his earlier works.

The boy flipped away his bangs hanging in his eyes and tilted his head

slightly. The teen set the book back on his knees. “You look familiar. Are you
a teacher here?”

Did the kid recognize him? There was a photo of him printed on the inside

book jacket. “No, just meeting a friend of mine.” He pointed to the book. “So

you like fantasy.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, I want to be a writer.”
A nostalgic pang crossed his chest at the teen’s pure joy in saying those words.

He smiled, strangely touched by the kid’s enthusiasm. “Do you write fantasy?”

He shrugged his bony shoulders. “Yeah, I’ve written lots of short stories,

and now I’m working on a series. I’m not very good, but I will be.”

Scott settled in and put down the book. “I’m Scott.”

“Josh.”
“Well, tell me about your story.”

And Josh did, with a vengeance. It wasn’t until John leaned over and tapped

him on the shoulder that Scott realized he’d been talking shop with this kid for
over thirty minutes and having a blast giving out pointers on plotting and pacing.

Scott stood and squeezed Josh’s shoulder. “Good luck with that book of

yours. It has great potential to be a very good story.”

John looked from Scott to Josh, and then chuckled as he picked up Scott’s

book. “Josh, you have no idea who this is, do you? Say hello to Scott Marwick.”

“No shit!” Josh jumped up and stood at eye level to Scott. “Wow, you’ve

been so cool. Thanks.”

Embarrassed, Scott became tongue tied. He sourly glanced at John for

blowing his cover. John smiled, and his anger vanished. He had enjoyed teach-
ing Josh a few tricks.

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“Are you coming back?” Josh asked.

John intercepted the question. “He has a busy schedule.”

“How many of you are writers here?” Scott asked.
“Just five of us.”

Scott inwardly kicked himself for what he was about to say next. John had

to be rubbing off on him. “I don’t see why I can’t come back, maybe give you
more pointers. Would you like that?”

“Would I? Wait until I tell the others. That would be so cool.” Josh held

out his hand. “Thanks so much, Mr. Marwick. I can’t tell you how much this
means to me.”

Scott bemusedly shook the boy’s hand. Josh retrieved his book and rushed

out of the room.

John crossed his arms, his dimples deep as his smile was wide. “That was

awfully good of you. He’ll be jazzed all day.” John laid his hand on Scott’s
arm. “Thank you. Josh is a good kid but comes from a terrible home situation.

Talking with you, well, it does mean the world to him.”

Scott liked it when John touched him. It’d been a long time since he felt

this way about a man. But he pulled away, thinking it’d be better not to get
used to this type of affection from his friend. Friend, yes; he’d call him that.

“He’s the one I should thank. God, I used to be like that.” Scott brushed

his hand down his face. “Where did it all go?”

“You just need to find your way back to it. Your creativity, your words…

they are still a part of you.”

“How can you be so sure about me?”
“I have good instincts when it comes to people.” John caressed Scott’s face

for a moment. “Come on. I promised you a relaxing day.”

“How about you tell me where we’re going. I don’t like surprises.” He’d

only been told to dress casual and to bring a jacket.

“Nope.” John led Scott to his car.

Scott remained quiet on the drive, using the opportunity to really take

in John’s appearance. Fine-looking, self-assured — and those hands, they had
expertly stroked his cock. He chewed his lower lip and lowered the window
to bring in fresh air.

When he turned back, John glanced at him with a confused look on his

face. “Is everything all right? You look a little pale.”

“I’m great, doing fine.”

John’s Match

Scott breathed in the fresh scents of the woods bordering the road. John

turned into a tree-lined lane. The smell of a barbecue wafted in front of them
as John eased his car under a shade tree. He cut the engine and half-turned to
face Scott, his arm slung over the passenger seat.

Scott caught a whiff of John’s cologne as John leaned forward. The man

smelled rich and successful and wonderful. Dizzy from John’s nearness, he
pressed his back against the door and played with the edge of his collar.

“There’s a path that leads to the lake. My friends are here for a barbecue.

You’ve met Skye. He asked me to bring you today.”

Scott crossed his arms and pushed back into his seat. “I don’t like parties.”

“I know, and I understand it might be uncomfortable. But it’ll just be Drew

and Skye, Martin and Ryan, Carl, you, and me. That’s not a crowd.”

John looked at him with such sincerity, and he didn’t want to be a complete

wet rag about it. He relented. “Okay, but I didn’t bring anything.”

“I have chips in the trunk. We got off easy this time.” John brushed back an

erratic curl hanging down Scott’s forehead. “You’ll like my friends.”

Scott felt his cheeks burn from John’s touch.
John chuckled. “Shy, aren’t you? Except when it comes to kissing me. You

took me completely by surprise.”

“Fuck you.” Scott laughed, pushing John back. He stepped out of the car

and away from the tempting urge to kiss John again. Now why did John have to
bring that up? He’d have a difficult time banishing mental images of John naked.

They scrambled down the steep path leading to a stretch of beach lining

a lake. Scott took in the sundrenched landscape, the leaves bright green and
translucent. Many of John’s friends had already been swimming.

Drew and Ryan stood in dripping swim trunks, chatting with Skye while

he flipped steaks on the portable grill. Skye was in his usual jeans and T-shirt, a
bandana keeping back his thick hair. Scott recognized Carl, impeccably dressed
in pressed navy shorts and an Oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He talked

with a younger man, dressed more hip than the others, jeans riding low on his

slender hips, a snake tattoo curled around his bicep.

“Who’s the guy with the tattoo?”
“Oh, that’s Ryan’s boyfriend, Martin Pierson. He’s also an architect and

works for Drew. Very talented. He’s designing the new rec center for Millicent.

He also designed the FA building for Ryan. That’s how they got together.”

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Martin turned, as if hearing his name, and waved. Scott admired Martin’s

beautiful, almost androgynous face and slender body. But he liked his men
solidly built, like John.

Scott suddenly felt possessive and reckless. He ran his hand along the contour

of John’s jaw. “You have nice looking friends; you fit right in.”

John’s eyes lit with uncertainty. He shifted the bag of chips in his hands.
Scott took the bag. “Let’s go.”

Stuffed with steak, corn on the cob, and a couple of beers, John sighed in

contentment. As he lay on the chaise lounge, he studied Scott from half-closed
eyes. He sat nearby, talking with Skye and Drew. Skye had staked out the other
lounge, his feet in Drew’s lap. Drew didn’t seem to mind; he lazily massaged

Skye’s bare soles.

Connected.

That’s what they were.

Ryan sat cross legged on the sand, nursing a beer, Martin next to him, their

knees touching. Who would have thought that his friend’s life partner would
be a man? He knew Ryan as well as anyone and sensed his friend’s pride and
love for Martin. It was real.

Again. Connected.
A shadow blocked out the sun, and he looked up to see Scott.

“Can I sit here?”

John made room and bent his legs, giving Scott space at the end of the

chaise. He was insanely happy that Scott had come to sit with him. He didn’t

want to go deeper into why, not when they were having a good time together.

Scott had surprised him by his willingness to get to know his friends. He hadn’t

sulked in the corner or scowled, but had made an effort to get to know them.

Scott sat and placed his hand on John’s knee. “Nice party, and you’re right,

your friends are great. Thanks for bringing me.”

“I’m glad you’re having a good time.”
“So how do you know everyone? Are you all childhood friends?”
“Drew and Ryan, yes. Our families have known each other forever.” Now

would be a good time to confess he worked for Ryan — just slip it into the con-
versation — but he hated to ruin the good feeling between them. “Carl moved

John’s Match

from New York to open his gallery a couple of years ago. Skye and I didn’t
hang out too much, but I always liked the guy. Martin I know through Ryan.”

“Ah, they’re an interesting couple. You and Ryan seem very

close.” Scott

turned away from John, his back stiff.

Puzzled by the sudden chill in Scott’s voice, John ran his hand down Scott’s

back. “Hey, we’re good friends, but that’s all. He’s my boss, so we spend a lot
of time together.”

Scott shifted around, his eyes round with surprise. “You work at Fantasy

Arts?”

Oh, fuck! Busted.

Might as well tell all; he had no choice but to be honest. “You’re looking

at the VP and CFO. We built the business from the ground up. We share that
in common. I’m proud of what we’ve accomplished.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It just never came up.”

Okay, a little white lie, but better to sound casual about it, not make it a

big deal. Scott didn’t know about them wanting the rights to his books, and
he wasn’t about to bring it up right now. Again, he hoped Patrick wouldn’t get
ahold of Scott before he had a chance to talk with him.

“You must think I’m a shit for coming down on gaming.” Scott shook his

head. “I wondered why you seemed to know so much about it.”

“Why don’t I show you around the place sometime? Maybe I can change

your mind once you see the hard work and dedication that goes into creating

a game.” John pushed forward. “We believe in our products, and while some
are more violent than others, we have strong story lines and character develop-
ment. We don’t want to create mindless drones that shoot to kill for no reason

whatsoever.”

Scott smiled.

“What?” John asked. “Did I say something funny?”
“It’s the passion in your voice when you talk about your work. I know all

about that feeling. Or at least I did.”

“How about it, then?”
“You won’t change my mind about the industry, but sure, I’d love a tour.”
“Great. What about you? How’s your writing going?”
“I’ve been making my word count. Nothing spectacular, but it’s a start.”

Viki Lyn

“That’s good to hear.” John sat up and crossed his legs. “Were you serious

about teaching a workshop at Millicent?”

“If it’s a small group and just a day or two.”
“Then I’ll set up a meeting with Julie, the three of us. So what changed

your mind?”

“Josh’s enthusiasm. Maybe you were right. I need to step away from my

own shit. David’s controlling my life, even in his death.”

“You want to talk about it?”
“I’m having too nice of a day.”

John wanted to know everything about Scott, and this brought on a twinge

of fear. Liking Scott didn’t fit with his goal. First was saving Fantasy Arts; that
took precedent over falling for Scott. He couldn’t compete with a dead man,
and he still didn’t trust Scott’s mental stability. Yet even with his doubts, it
hadn’t stopped his heart from wanting.

A football flew over John’s head, and Scott caught it.

Ryan shouted over to them. “Come on. Time to man up, guys!”
John gently squeezed Scott’s thigh. “Let’s go. It’s tradition.”
Scott rose, tossing the football in one hand and reaching out with the other

to help John stand.

John groaned as he stood, shaking his head. “My muscles aren’t going to

thank me.”

“Tell you what. Come over later, and I’ll give you a massage.”
“I’d love to, but Ryan called a special meeting this evening.”
“How long will it go on for?”
“Not sure. Probably until ten.”
“I’ll be up writing. Why don’t you text me afterwards? Come over to my

place for a nightcap.” Scott stuttered. “Ah…that’s if you want to — ”

“I’ll take you up on that massage.”

Scott’s shyness got to John. Scott must have realized he’d asked him over

for the night. Even with his doubts about Scott, he was glad for any excuse to
get closer to him.

Chapter Ten

ohn carried a bottle of wine as he walked up the path to Scott’s front door. His
headache persisted, but the promise of a relaxing night prevented him from

canceling the evening. By the end of the meeting, he had wanted to strangle

Ryan for believing Scott could save the day, like some white-hat cowboy riding
into town. He’d convinced Ryan to hold off contacting Scott’s agent. At least
it bought him some time to warm Scott up to the idea of working for FA, but

even he knew with Patrick in the hunt, he was running out of time.

John rang the doorbell. The last time he was this nervous had been in high

school when he went out on his first official date with a boy. This wasn’t a date,
just a drink between friends.

Right.
He shifted the wine bottle in his hand, noticing the sweaty marks of his

fingertips on the glass bottle.

The door opened, and John almost dropped the wine.

Scott looked…fucking good.
No, good was too bland of a word. He looked terrific. Maybe it was the

clothes — form fitting jeans, black linen shirt tucked in…maybe the hair, cut
shorter, curling around his ears. Now when had he cut his hair? Between the
picnic and dropping him off at his place, he must have slipped into town for
a haircut.

Bare feet peeked from the hem of his jeans. His blinding smile met John

head-on, causing an ache in his chest.

John held up the cabernet. “Ryan’s choice of the month.”

“Oh, another cheap red?” Scott chuckled.

Viki Lyn

“It’s worth the price tag. And it’ll go fine with just about anything.”

Scott took the bottle. “Tonight’s as good a night as any to enjoy a glass.”
John tried not to gape, but the living room had gone through a transfor-

mation from the last time he’d been here. Not only were things picked up, but
Scott had put out a few photographs and hung pictures on the walls. Pillows

were straightened, and he didn’t smell the odor of rotting food. Instead, he

smelled a hint of vanilla, probably from the lit candle on the coffee table. “I
see you cleaned the place.”

Scott uncorked the wine. “Thought I’d better. You’re a neat freak, right?”

“You did it for me?” John smiled — a habit of his when interested, and shit,

yeah, he had to admit being very interested in staying the night.

“Don’t get too full of yourself. A clean house is an uncluttered mind. I

actually wrote a couple of chapters after I came home.”

John smiled. “Good for you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a goddamn writer. Two chapters shouldn’t be a reason to

praise me, but I’m glad you’re here. I’m ready for a break.” Scott closed his
office door.

John rubbed his temple. “Damn, this headache is a persistent bugger.”

“I’ll pour the wine. Why don’t you take a seat in the backyard? Fresh air

might help your headache. I’ll give you one of my special shoulder massages.

Guaranteed to bust that headache of yours.”

“Deal.” A massage by those hands was too tempting to pass up.

John removed his jacket and draped it over the back of the sofa. Once

outside, he sat in a patio chair and kicked up his feet on a wood ottoman. The
sound of the waves lured him into a dream state of mind. He jumped when a
hand touched his shoulder.

“Going to sleep already?” Scott placed a glass of wine on the table beside John

and sat, holding his own. “Why a late night meeting? Can you talk about it?”

John rubbed his face. “Let’s just say we’re in a mess because I fucked up.”

“How so?”
“I placed a sizable amount of money in an investment that had the potential

for great returns. We had to upgrade our equipment to support new technology,
and that means a sizable cash outlay. Also, we are paying off a new building. The
industry is like any tech business. Today’s invention is tomorrow’s dinosaur.”

“Glad I’m just a simple writer. It sounds complicated. So the investment

went sour?”

John’s Match

“Yeah, you could say that.”
“You can’t take all the blame. Isn’t Ryan the president? He had to agree to it.”
“Sure, and he’s not putting the blame on my shoulders. But I know the

truth of the matter. I take full responsibility.”

Scott set down his glass and walked over to John’s chair. Standing behind

John, Scott placed his hands on John’s shoulders and leaned his head close to
John’s ear. “These shoulders of yours take on a heavy burden.”

John half-turned his head and met Scott’s gaze. John loosened his tie and

unbuttoned the top of his shirt. Better. Easier to breath.

“I love my job, the people, everything about FA. I’m behind Ryan a hundred

percent, so I need to fix it.”

“If a book tanks, it affects only me.”
“That’s not true. Your fuck-ups affect the people that love you, as well as

your readers. ‘No man is an island entire of itself.’” John quoted the poem he’d

had memorized since his college days. Even Scott had to know that he couldn’t
live his life as if no one else mattered.

Scott hand’s stilled on John’s shoulders. “‘Any man’s death diminishes me,

because I am involved in mankind. And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.’”

The hair on John’s nape prickled as Scott finished the ending to Donne’s

poem.

“David’s death diminished me.”

John laid his hand on top of Scott’s. It hurt to see the pain in Scott’s eyes.

“You only believe he has. He’s dead and has no hold on you.”

“Let’s not talk about David or business.”

John let out a sigh as Scott kneaded his shoulders, deft, strong fingers work-

ing across his shoulder blades. The guy really had magic hands, and it crossed
his mind how good they’d feel on his skin.

Those wonderful fingers paused. “Too hard?”

“Huh? No, I like the pressure. It’s good.”

Scott massaged down his spine and back up. Tingles rode beneath those

talented fingers. Ah, this was bliss. When those wonderful hands kneaded his
neck, he sighed again, not able to keep his eyes open. It had been a long time
since someone had touched him without it being foreplay. It was nice to be
pampered and unusual for him to allow it. But he relaxed into Scott’s touch
and let his mind drift.

Viki Lyn

A sudden loud popping sound startled John, and he sat up with a start.

“Whoa there. It’s probably kids shooting off fireworks.” Scott picked up his

wine glass. He sat next to John, close enough that their legs touched. “How’s
your headache?”

John was free from pain. “Amazing. It’s gone.”

“These hands are at least good for something.” Scott flexed his hands into

claws and chuckled. “I haven’t lost my touch.”

John imagined those hands were good for lots of pleasurable things. He

smiled at Scott and thought how much Scott reminded him of Scott’s hero of
his first book — a shy, angry anti-hero forced on a quest that slowly changes him.

“I’m reading

Sorcerer’s Chalice.” John had been surprised how he’d gotten into

the complex plot and really cared for the characters Scott had created. He never
read fiction, but he’d enjoyed getting to know the workings of Scott’s mind.

Scott buried his face in his hands and let out a groan. He lifted his head.

“And? I’m sure you have an opinion.”

“Ryan gave me his copy. He is one of your fan boys. He ordered me to read it.”
“Okay, you’re avoiding giving your opinion. That’s not like you.”
“Are all writers insecure like you?” John chuckled. “I’m not that opinion-

ated, and yes, I like it. Enough to read the second book, and that’s indeed a
compliment, since I never read fiction.”

Scott smiled. “Okay, thanks. It means a lot to me that you’re enjoying the

book.”

John sipped his wine, noticing the beach was empty. Perfect for a nude swim.

He drank back his wine and set the glass down before standing. He lifted his

arms over his head and stretched. “Let’s go for a swim. I need to move around.”

Off came his tie and then his shirt. Glancing at Scott, he laughed at the odd

twist of Scott’s mouth. He wanted badly to kiss him. Maybe the frigid water

would cool his semi-hard cock. Or ignite it. Either way, he wanted to fuck Scott.

Stripped down to his briefs and bare feet, he put his hands on his hips and

stared at Scott, who hadn’t moved an inch. “No one’s around. It’ll feel great.”

Deciding he had to make the first move, John went up and slowly began to

unbutton Scott’s shirt. “It’s better to swim without your clothes on.”

He peeled the shirt off Scott, and the smell of cologne and bare skin almost

got to him. Scott unzipped his jeans, and John finished pulling them down.

Should he kiss Scott now, or wait? He ran his hand down the slender chest

and smiled at the hard rise and fall of Scott’s breathing. He wasn’t the only one
affected by their nearness. Scott wanted him, too.

John’s Match

“This is a mistake, John. You and I both know it.”

John curled his fingers around the waistband of Scott’s briefs. “I like it when

you say my name.” He’d ignore the rest of the remark, not worth considering.

Not in the heat of the moment, when he had one thing on his mind.

He kissed Scott’s nipple and then licked it. Scott’s breath hitched at the

attention. John continued exploring Scott’s chest with his mouth. He paid
equal attention to both nipples, the nubs hard. Chest hair roughened his tongue
as he licked and kissed. His hands cupped Scott’s ass, the temptation to head
straight for the crack.

Scott grasped John’s chin and brought their mouths together. Pressed so

tight together, John rubbed his erection into Scott’s groin, fueling the hunger
to strip the guy and fuck him hard. Scott thrust his tongue deeper, and John’s
pulse jumped.

Scott knew how to kiss.
His cock ached as it pushed against the cotton of his briefs. Fuck, swim,

or both?

Both.
Swim first. Fuck later.
He’d take Scott in the water, or maybe the beach — who the hell cared

about a bed? Fuck. Condom. In his wallet, in his pants…

Lube? Shit.
He needed both to make Scott feel good. Was Scott even a bottom?
He reluctantly broke their lip lock. He ran his fingers through Scott’s short-

cropped curls. Scott sighed.

“I haven’t felt this way in a long time,” John confessed. “Wanting someone

this badly.” He grasped Scott’s wrist. “Let’s go for that swim.”

Scott shook his head. “You’re like a kid.” He ruffled John’s hair. “But cute.

Very cute.” Scott picked up his discarded jeans. “What are you waiting for?”

John whooped. “I’ll race you.”
He took off in a sprint, but Scott, lighter and quicker, caught up and passed

him. John stopped at the edge of the tide line. Shoving down his briefs, he smiled
at Scott doing the same. He dived into a wave, following Scott.

The shock of the water tensed his muscles, but as he swam, he relaxed into

his strokes. If he had to come back as an animal, it’d be a dolphin. He’d once
swam with a pack, and it had been exhilarating. He’d never felt so free and
playful. Scott brought this same sense of playfulness and freedom out in him.

Viki Lyn

Scott brushed against his side, reminding him again of the dolphins, how

they bumped each other for attention. He purposely bumped against Scott and
then somersaulted and headed back to shore. The water felt great, but holding
Scott would feel even better.

He stood in the shallow tide waiting for Scott, who wasn’t far behind. Lit

by the moonlight, Scott was a vision as he emerged from the ocean. Dripping

wet, the droplets glistened off his skin. Then he smiled. John strode up, grabbed

Scott by the waist, and rubbed against him. He held Scott’s chin and kissed him.

Scott thrust his tongue deeper, demanding, as he ground his hips into John’s

groin. Arms circled John’s waist, and their bodies came together in a tight clench.

John was ready to dive into something he couldn’t control, to take a risk.

He slid his hand between Scott’s thighs and pressed down on the thick cock

until a moan rumbled from Scott.

John voice was raspy. “Did you plan this? Inviting me for a massage…”

“You came.”
“Willingly.”

John licked Scott’s bottom lip and then drew his tongue down the curve of

Scott’s neck. “I want to fuck you,” John muttered as he licked Scott’s collarbone.

“Yeah, I want you, too.”

Warm, calloused fingers brushed across John’s nipples, and he arched his

back at the sudden surge of lust.

When it came to Scott, John was treading water without land in sight. It

wouldn’t be just one night of sex. He wanted to be in Scott’s bed when he woke

up in the morning.

Just the right pressure of fingers brushed along his chest, and all thoughts

that it might be a mistake were shot to hell. Scott’s warm tongue circled John’s
nipple, and teeth lightly scraped along the hard nub. “Mmm, you taste salty.”

John tilted back his head and let the sensations course through him. He

started to shiver from the slight breeze coming off the ocean. “Let’s take this
to your room.”

“Good idea. I’m not ready to share that much with my neighbors.” Scott

winked at him as he bent down to pick up his briefs, doing just that.

John took in Scott’s firm ass and the ball sac peeking from between his

thighs. Desire flared at the sight; John wanted to claim all that pent up energy
buzzing around Scott.

Once in the house, they headed for Scott’s bedroom. Scott brought out

two towels from the bathroom and tossed one to John.

John’s Match

“I just need a couple of things.” Scott got lube and condoms from his

nightstand. “Why don’t I finish that massage first? Lay on the bed, face down.”

John got himself comfortable and hugged a pillow to his chest. He lifted

his head. “Who’s fucking who?” John put a light tease to the question, but his
heart pounded at the thought of Scott spearing him in the ass. He’d had his ass
fucked before, but he preferred to be the one pounding.

“Don’t worry.” Scott sat on the edge of the bed and slapped John’s butt.

“You can be the top dog tonight.”

John relaxed. He closed his eyes and anticipated those magical hands touch-

ing him.

Scott enjoyed seeing John melting into the sheets. Straddled across John’s

butt, he pressed his hands down on John’s back and rubbed upward, putting his
concentration on the feel of skin and muscle. He’d taken massage classes when

David had struggled with a frozen shoulder.

“Ah…” John muttered into the pillow.

All that hard, firm muscle made Scott aware of his own thin body. He’d never

been buff, but he’d always stayed in shape by running. Standing naked in front
of John had taken courage. So did having an intimate encounter with another
man since David. Where did they go from here? The million dollar question.

“Turn over,” Scott said, scooting back on the bed to give John room.

Scott cupped John’s balls and coated them with lotion. Slippery fingers

swirled around one testicle before moving on to the other. John spread apart his
legs for more of that action. Scott’s fingers brushed across John’s balls, and John
groaned. Scott’s hands worked their magic — on John’s balls, his sac, his cock.

Scott turned his attention to John’s thighs, rubbing the length and then

curving his fingers inward, a whisper away from John’s erection. When Scott
straddled John’s waist and wiggled his ass, John moaned with real feeling.

John half rose and kissed the corner of Scott’s ear. “Condom?”
Scott picked up the plastic square next to him and tore it open. He rose on

his knees while John sat up. Scott ran a finger down John’s cock before sheath-
ing it. He snapped the rim in place and smiled. “Now you’re ready. Oh, and
this.” He handed John the lube.

John generously lubricated his sheathed cock. “I would like you to face

me. Is that okay?”

Viki Lyn

Scott answered by repositioning himself on his back, spreading his legs

around John kneeling in front of him. He leaned slightly up on his elbows.

John rubbed Scott’s thigh lightly. He peered straight into Scott’s eyes. “Are

you sure about this? I want you to know this means something to me. It’s not

like what we did back at the shower. It’s more than that.”

Scott smiled at John’s way of saying he cared for him. “You mean you like

me more than a friend?”

John chuckled. “Yeah, that’s what I mean.”

“Me, too. Now fuck me.”

Scott loved having John’s full attention — too much. Part of him wanted to

take it slowly, but his dick didn’t want to go slow. Scott ached to feel something
besides anger and hurt when it came to being with a man.

John was a thoughtful lover, taking every precaution to loosen Scott’s

sphincter and muscles with his touch. The burning ache soon gave way to a
more pleasurable sensation. Scott clutched the sheets, his legs bent, his hips
moving up and down, taking John’s fingers deeper into him. It had been so
long since he’d allowed this kind of intimacy. It shocked him at how he trusted

John with his body.

John removed his fingers but kept his hand on Scott’s knee. He kissed Scott

on his inner thigh and then blazed a fiery trail to Scott’s balls. An incredible
sensation rocked Scott. He spread his legs wider, wanting more of that.

John’s cock head teased Scott’s sphincter. Then John pushed in slowly. Scott

savored the thickness stretching his muscles; he enjoyed this type of connection
and had missed it. John felt different than David. There was no comparison,
really. John wasn’t David or even close to David’s personality, and he loved
differently, too — kinder, wanting to please, unlike David who always held
back some part of him.

And fuck, he was over-analyzing, when he should be in the moment. Scott

closed his eyes and refocused on the sensations of John’s cock sliding in. John
took his deliberate time about it, frustrating the hell out of Scott.

He lifted his hips and pushed into John’s cock, taking him in deeper. The

head hit his prostate, and Scott shouted out. Heat flashed through his body.

Then he met John’s gaze. “Shit, you’re gloating,” Scott rasped.

John increased the tempo, gripping Scott’s hips. He bent over Scott and

brushed his ear with his breath. “You’re so hot. Your expressions drive me crazy.”

John’s Match

Scott smiled and hugged John by his neck, lifting slightly, his dick rubbing

against John’s stomach. He inhaled John’s scent, relishing the feel of chest hair
brushing against his skin and the power of John’s length pumping inside of him.

Scott had known John would be great in bed, but he hadn’t expected him

to be so unselfish. John gauged Scott’s mood and adjusted to Scott’s needs. Scott
had never had a man do this for him. He’d be spoiled for those who would come
after John. A pang of disappointment interfered with his lust. It was best not
to think about the future.

Scott’s balls tightened, his cock filled to the limit. Another thrust by John,

and that’s all it took for him to come. Waves of pleasure rolled over him, ebb-
ing slowly as his semen wetted John’s stomach. John’s fingers gripped Scott’s
shoulders, and he grunted, coming.

Scott wished they didn’t have to wear a condom so he could feel the hot

moisture. Maybe later, if they ever got to the point in their relationship where
they were monogamous and faithful.

And fuck, when had he started desiring a commitment with John?

He shuddered into John’s arms and buried his head into his neck. If only

they could stay this way forever and avoid the reality of daily life, they might
have a chance.

John kissed the top of Scott’s head. “Wow. That was incredible.”

The kiss was sweet, and that said a lot about John. He leaned into John’s

arms, not ready to be released. “You were incredible.”

“Oh yeah?” John grinned. “Then you’ll go out with me?”
“An official date?” Scott shook his head. “I don’t know. We argue a lot, and

you’re mulish, opinionated, and — ”

“Hey, you’re describing yourself. I’m easy-going.”
“And you still want to date me?”

John’s eyes darkened, a wrinkle between his brows deepening. Scott already

recognized John’s look when he wanted to be serious.

“Scott, I like you. It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted to date someone.

I’d like to see where this takes us. But before our date” — he broke out into a

grin — “I want you to meet my father.”

“Shit. This isn’t high school.” He was half-kidding, but the rest of him was

delighted to be asked to meet a parent. Scott was surprised by John’s invitation.

The way John spoke of his father revealed that he thought highly of his dad.

Did that mean he thought highly of Scott?

Viki Lyn

“My father isn’t going to judge if you’re good enough for his son. Well…

maybe a little.” John laughed, and then he became serious again. “I gave him

your book to read. He’s already reading book two and sent me to the bookstore

for three and four.”

“I like him already.”

John stroked Scott’s cheek. “And I’m grateful he’s able to leave behind his

illness, if only for a while. So what do you say? Tomorrow afternoon?”

John knew how to sell himself. Scott couldn’t say no to such a heartfelt

invitation. “I can take some time from writing. It’d be a good break. What time,
and can I bring something?”

John gathered Scott closer to him. “I’ll let you know.”
Scott smiled, snuggling in, John’s body warm and getting comfortable. He

wasn’t quite sure they were officially a couple, but they were on their way to

a relationship. He smiled at how happy that made him feel — an emotion he’d
thought he’d never feel again.

Chapter Eleven

cott had been sitting at his laptop writing since the early morning. He’d lost
all track of time. Rob had called it

being in the Zone; an exhilarating feeling

to be so immersed in his writing that nothing else existed. Then his stomach
growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten breakfast. He should get some nour-
ishment or else he’d lose even more weight.

When he was writing, Scott lost track of practical activities, like eating.

David had practically forced food on him during those times. Scott frowned and

shut down the lid of his laptop. When he was with John, he hardly thought of

David. John’s presence demanded attention, and Scott gladly gave it to him. The

sex was great, but what was even better was afterwards, lying in bed, holding
each other, talking. And he found himself opening up more to John; talking
about Rob, his writing, even his relationship with David. He’d stop short of

David having a boyfriend and absconding with the money. It was too early in

their relationship for him to air his dirty laundry just yet.

He scooted back into his chair and let it roll back on its wheels. He looked

out and spied John moving around in his kitchen. He appeared to be cooking,
and Scott’s mouth watered. John was a great cook, like he was at so many things.

Scott stroked his chin and thought back to the last few days. Sex, food, and more

sex. He enjoyed every moment of being with John, even when he’d suggested

Scott invite Skye and Drew over for an impromptu barbecue.

John excited his passions and energized Scott to move forward. He had

started to build a new life, and it felt good. Tempted to call John and invite
him over for lunch, he pushed aside his cell phone. Better to get a quick bite
to eat and then go back to his book.

Viki Lyn

Another growl reminded him to take that break. Before he made it to the

kitchen, the doorbell rang. Scott answered his door and smiled at his agent,
looking cross as usual.

“Hey, Carlos.

Que pasa, amigo?”

Carlos held up his hand. “Don’t. I’m in no mood for bastardized Spanish.

Now let me in.”

“Who pissed in your coffee?”

Carlos ignored his barb and strode into the living room. “I came to check

out your new digs.” He bee-lined for the kitchen. Scott heard him pour a cup
of coffee, and sure enough, he reappeared holding a large mug. Dressed in his
business suit, he must have come from the city. “Nice place. But is it working
for you?”

“Look for yourself.” Scott led Carlos to his office. “It’s not terrific, but it’s

a solid beginning.”

Carlos looked him over with those dark eyes. Scott held his breath, refusing

to fidget under his agent’s intense gaze.

“What’s changed about you?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Got laid or what?”
“Shit, as if fucking will solve my problems.” He walked over to a window.

John had disappeared from the kitchen. “Take your head out of the gutter. It’s

all the fresh air and exercise I’ve been getting lately.”

When he turned around, Carlos was sitting in front of the laptop, reading

the paragraph on the screen. “This isn’t your best work, but it has potential.”

He swiveled around. “So when will the first draft be completed?”

“Let’s sit and hash out the plot, and then maybe by the end of the month.”

Carlos stood and grinned at him. “Good. That’s the first positive thing I’ve

heard from you since David’s death.”

Scott shoved his hands in his jean pockets. “I could use an advance.”
Carlos pushed the desk chair in. When he faced Scott, his smile had already

disappeared. “You know I have your back, but the publisher thinks of you as
a lost leader. They won’t part with a dime, not until they have a completed
manuscript. It’s business, pure and simple.”

Scott felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. How would he pay his bills,

Rob’s tuition, the electricity to run his fucking laptop? He had the money from

the sale of his condo, but he’d put it in CDs for when he purchased another place.

John’s Match

God. He hated to admit it, but he had to. “Most of my money’s tied up

or vanished.”

Carlos’s eyes bulged. “Did your accountant embezzle from you?”

“David. He cleaned me out. My money is tied up in an off shore account.

I’m in a lawsuit now, but you know how that goes. If I see the money at all,

it’ll be a while.”

“That bastard.” Carlos came up and stiffly hugged Scott.

Scott appreciated the effort. “That’s why I need the advance.”

“Well, there is another option. I wasn’t going to bring it up because you’ll

probably bite my head off.” Carlos handed the mug to Scott. “Fill me up.”

Once Scott had refilled Carlos’s mug, they settled around the kitchen table.
Carlos tapped a finger on the table. “The market has changed. The reader-

ship, the way the younger generation relates to characters, to media.”

Now what was his agent going on about? “Just spit it out.”

“I got a call from a man named Patrick Hudson. He owns Electronic Games,

a gaming company, one of the biggest and most successful in the business.”

“What does that have to do with me?”
“He wants to set up a meeting with us to discuss using your characters for

one of his games.”

Scott slammed a fist on the table. “Fuck no. You know my stance on gaming.

I’ve been vocal about it. If I cave, then what does it tell my readers?”

“What readers? Damn it, Scott, your following has dwindled. It’s been over

four years, and that’s practically an ice age when it comes to publishing. While

you’ve been drowning in self-pity, other authors have taken your place.”

Scott blinked back the sea of red blinding his vision, his body tensed.

Damned if he would allow his two-bit agent to call him a has-been. Scott had

made Carlos Ramirez’s career.

He strode to the back door and yanked it open. With one hand on his hip,

he turned and glowered at Carlos. “Then drop me.”

“Christ, you queers always go for the drama. I’m here because I want to

help. I also think you’re a goddamn terrific writer, and I’d hate to see your
talent flushed down the toilet because of your bastard lover. Now sit down.”

Scott’s fury lowered to simmer. He pulled out a chair and sat. Folding his

hands on the table, he then waited for Carlos to talk first.

Carlos drank his coffee, letting the minutes tick by. “Good coffee.”

Viki Lyn

The man was infuriating, but Scott’s anger began to lose its bite. He needed

the money, but he’d feel like he was pimping out his characters. Still…

“How much are they offering?”
“I’m not finished. It gets better. There’s a rival company — Fantasy Arts. I

know for a fact they are biting at the bit to get you to sign on as well.” Carlos

grinned. “Think of it. A bidding war between the two could raise your price.”

“Fantasy Arts?” That was weird. John had never said anything to him. “You

must have it wrong. John would have told me.”

Carlos smirked. “John? On a first name basis with someone there?”

“Ah, a friend, and he’s their CFO. The company’s headquarters is here.”
“Small world. Hudson let it slip that they’re interested but not as financially

sound as his company. Not sure if it’s true or not.”

Scott’s stomach twisted. “No, you have it wrong.”
John would have said something to him. Not unless the friendship, the sex,

all of it was just to loosen his defenses so John could swoop in for the kill. He felt
sick. How could he have been so wrong about John? But Scott had little success

when it came to the facing the truth about a person. John had to be using him.

John stood facing Scott’s back door, holding a covered casserole dish in his

hand. He heard voices coming from the kitchen, so he hesitated. It was a man’s

voice, and fuck, he hated how that made him feel. His stomach soured at the

thought of Scott in bed with another man.

He should go home.

Then the door flew open, and Scott looked all prissy and snarly. His hair

was mussed, his face blotched, and the edges of his mouth stretched thin. Behind

him sat an attractive Hispanic man. Older, salt and pepper hair, and dark features.

Scott narrowed his eyes. “John?”

“I’m interrupting — ”
“I’m meeting with my agent.”

The man gave a short wave from the table. “Hi. Carlos Ramirez.”

Relief eased John’s jealousy. He stepped up, but Scott blocked the entrance,

one hand on the door jamb and the other on his hip. “Why are you here?”

John held out the casserole dish. “I made extra lasagna. I didn’t want you

to starve.”

“He has your number already,” Carlos quipped.

John’s Match

Scott rolled his eyes at his agent. When he returned his attention to John,

he glared at him.

John took a step down, frowning. Why was Scott being so cold to him?

“Ah, maybe I should go. It looks like you’re in the middle of something.”

Scott put his hand on John’s arm, but it was a clench. Fingers dug into his

muscle. “Carlos and I were just discussing Fantasy Arts. It seems you and Ryan
have something you’ve been meaning to ask me?”

The quiet tone of Scott’s voice sent a chill through John. This wasn’t how

he’d wanted to approach Scott with the idea. He’d hoped to give him a tour of
the company, show how FA prided itself by staying true to an author’s voice.
Now it was all shot to hell. He was busted, and there was no place to hide from
Scott’s anger.

John shifted on his feet, the dish suddenly heavy in his hands. “I can explain.”

“You knew about it, then? Shit. I trusted you.”
“Look, I said I can explain.”
“It was all crap, to soften me up so I’d agree to sign over my characters.”

John shook his head, desperate to say the right thing. “No — ”
Disbelief raged in Scott’s eye as he pointed his finger at John. “And the sex,

that was part of the package deal.”

“Fuck no. I’d never sell myself for a business deal.” It sickened John to think

that was how little Scott thought of him.

Scott scoffed. “I should have followed my instincts when we first met.

There’s nothing to you at all.”

John didn’t have to take this shit. “Now who’s being an asshole?”
Carlos came around the table and grabbed Scott by the shoulder. He shoved

him out the back door. “Go, cool off. Now.”

Scott scowled at his agent but took off down the beach, never once look-

ing back.

Carlos pulled John into the kitchen by the arm as he took the dish. He set

it on the stove. He then slammed the door and turned on John. “I don’t know

what is going on between the two of you, but I’d hate for all of his progress to

go down the crapper because of this.”

John sank into the nearest chair. He couldn’t wrap his head around how

their relationship had crashed and burned before it barely got started.

“Tell me what your relationship is to Scott.”
“We’re friends,” John snapped. “Or so I thought.”

Viki Lyn

“Just friends or something more?”

John glared at Carlos across the table. The infuriating agent had his hands

quietly folded on the table.

“What we have is between Scott and me.” Although John wasn’t too sure

what they shared. It went way beyond sex, but he wasn’t ready to call it love.

Carlos’s hands clenched in and out. “Scott’s personal life is my business

when it affects his career. He’s finally writing again. If you’re part of the reason,

then I need to know how much damage this is going to cause.”

“Do you care about Scott at all?”
“

Carajo. He’s a friend, as well as my client. But business is business. He needs

my help to dig him out of his mess.”

John frowned, wondering how Scott had heard about Fantasy Arts wanting

the rights to his characters. “Did Patrick Hudson contact you?”

“Yes, and he mentioned your company.”

So it would come down to the bottom line. What a mess. He didn’t care

about signing Scott, not now, not like this. “I don’t think Scott will even con-
sider Fantasy now. He thinks I’d fuck him just to get him to sign on with us.

That doesn’t say much for our relationship.”

John rose to go home. He’d have to call Ryan and break the news to him.

He didn’t look forward to that phone call. Maybe he should drop by his place.
He’d rather face his friend in person.

Carlos stood. “How much do you know about David?”

The mention of Scott’s dead boyfriend stopped John in his tracks. “They

were together for a long time. And he died in a plane crash. I sensed there’s

more, but Scott hardly talks about it.”

“Let me make a suggestion. I’ve known Scott for a very long time. He has

a temper, but once it cools, he’s a reasonable man. Talk to him. Ask him about

David. Much of his trust issues are understandable, considering what went

down between them. I will tell you one thing, though: David was a shithead.”

It didn’t matter to John what had happened in Scott’s past. He couldn’t be

with a man that didn’t trust him. He opened the door and stepped out on the

porch. The breeze from the ocean cooled his burning face. He turned slightly
and nodded at Carlos. “Thanks for the tip, but it’s not going to work out
between us.”

John spied Scott jogging along the shoreline. Tempted to go to him, he

walked up to the gate that led to the beach. He ran his hand along the top of

John’s Match

the rails. Scott wouldn’t even look his way. It was true what he’d said to Carlos.

Whatever he and Scott had shared over the last few weeks was over.

He’d better go and break the news to Ryan. He left by the side entrance to

go home and fetch his car keys.

The drive to Ryan’s condo was a short one. Martin answered the door,

dressed in a navy robe and a cup of coffee in his hand. John forced a smile.

“Still in a robe this late in the day,” John teased as he walked inside without an

invitation. “Ryan’s expecting me.”

Martin grunted but then smiled. “Don’t need to answer to you. Want cof-

fee? Freshly made.”

“Had enough, but thanks.” His jumpy stomach couldn’t take caffeine. “How

are the plans coming along for the rec center?” He needed a diversion to take
his mind off of Scott. All he felt was numb.

Martin led John to Ryan’s office. “I’m pleased with the drawings. You’ll

like the design elements I’ve added.”

“After I talk with Ryan, let’s go over them.”

Martin shook his head. “No go.” He glanced at the closed door. “We’ve

both been working late hours. We need some alone time.” He frowned, drag-
ging his finger across his lower lip. When he turned to John, his expression was
grim. “I give you one hour, tops. Then I’m kicking you out.”

“Okay, beautiful,” John said, laughing as Martin stuck out his tongue at him.

John rubbed his jaw. He might as well get it over with. He rapped on the

office door as he opened it. “Hey, thanks for seeing me.”

Ryan scooted his chair back and stretched his arms over his head, produc-

ing a faint crack of his back. “Man, I need a life besides staring at a computer
screen half the night.”

John noted how Ryan looked as tired as Martin, and that didn’t help his

guilt. He straightened the collar of his polo shirt. “I’m afraid I won’t be help-
ing the situation.”

“As long as you’re not resigning, then I can handle it. Shoot.”

He took the plunge. “Patrick contacted Scott’s agent, Carlos Ramirez.”

“Ah, shit.”
“It gets worse. Patrick let it slip that we also want him. Bottom line, Scott

thinks I fucked him so he’d sign with us.”

Ryan sat up in his chair. “Ah, double fuck. John, I’m sorry, man. That’s

harsh. How are you holding up?”

Viki Lyn

Leave it to Ryan to be thinking of John’s relationship with Scott, rather

than the business. “Thanks, but right now, I’m worried about how this is going
to affect FA.”

Their banker had been excited about a game featuring Scott’s characters,

believing it to be a sellable commodity. A contract agreement with Scott would
have increased the bank’s confidence in Fantasy Art’s stability and would have
meant a sizable loan to pay off the most persistent debtors.

Ryan swiveled his chair back to his desk. He lowered the lid of his laptop.

“Maybe it’s time for a change.”

“What type of change?”
“Martin’s thinking of taking a job in San Francisco.”

Shock hit John head-on, and he sat in the nearest chair. “Are you serious?

I thought Drew was going to make him a partner.”

“Drew’s dragging his feet, like usual. You know he’s a control freak, and

I’m not sure he wants a partner. He’s hinted at it, but hasn’t done shit about it.”
Ryan twisted the ring around his middle finger. “I can’t tell Martin not to take

the job, not when it’s such a great opportunity.”

“So you want to sell?” John couldn’t take in the idea of losing Fantasy Arts.

Not when he’d lost so much already.

“I don’t want to lose Martin,” Ryan said, his voice dipping low.

John nodded. “Then you will have to go with him.”
Ryan placed his elbows on the desk and rested his chin in his hands. “This

is where I belong. The Village, this life. I’ve never wanted to be anywhere else.
But Martin’s a gypsy at heart. Anyway, he hadn’t asked me to come along.” He
let out a deep sigh. “And fuck, I love him.”

John was envious of Ryan’s love for Martin. He’d believed that he could

have had such a relationship with Scott if given a chance. “Talk to him. Tell
him how you feel, that you’re willing to sell the business. Then let me know

your decision. Afterwards, we’ll give Patrick a call.”

“Thanks. But what about you? You like Scott. Are you going to let it end

on a misunderstanding?”

John shuddered at the memory of Scott’s blazing eyes. “He thinks I fucked

him for a business deal. For all I care, he can go back into his fucking cave and
stay there.”

Ryan grinned. “You’re swearing an awfully lot for not caring.”
John grimaced. “Fuck you.”

John’s Match

Ryan laughed. He stood, walked around the desk, and leaned on the edge.

“From what you told me, it must have been a shock to Scott. He has a quick

temper; you know that about him. Maybe he’s cooled down enough to realize
he was an ass.”

John stood and shoved the chair aside. “You got the ass part right, anyway.”
Ryan embraced John in a bear hug. “You deserve happiness, John. Take it.”
John stepped aside. He smoothed his hair. “It’s not going to work out for

us. But you and Martin, you do what you have to do. I’ll support whatever
decision you make.”

John let himself out. Once on the road, he drove full speed. Driving with

nowhere in mind, he let his mind wander. If Ryan sold the business, he’d have
to figure out what he wanted to do with his life.

His job was his life. It was all he had besides his father, and if he lost him…
John parked his car at a cliff side and got out. The ocean breeze blew across

his face. He shoved his hands in his back pockets and stared out at the sea. He’d
miss Ryan if he moved, and all the people at Fantasy Arts. He’d grown to care
and love each one of them. He didn’t want this part of his life to change, but
he wanted Ryan to be happy, and Martin made his friend happy.

John jiggled his keys in his pocket. He should get back home and try to

salvage the rest of his day. His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Answering,
his heart dropped at the frantic sound of Mrs. Whitman.

“Mrs. Whitman, slow down. Is it father?”
“He collapsed!” John could hear her struggling to catch her breath. “The

ambulance took him to the hospital. Oh…John, please — ”

“I’m on my way.”

He punched the button on his key chain that opened the car doors. Once

settled into the driver’s seat, he turned the ignition but let the car idle. He
couldn’t drive. Not yet. Not until he stopped shaking. The sound of his heart-
beat echoed in his ears, and he felt light headed. His father couldn’t die on him.

Not yet. He hadn’t properly prepared for it.

He pushed his palm against his forehead and concentrated on his breathing.

He had to get it together, get to the hospital, but first, he’d make one phone call.

John got the message service. “Ah Scott, I know you’re angry with me,

but I really need you right now. My father…” His voice cracked. “He’s in the
hospital. I think it’s bad. Please, call me.” He hadn’t expected Scott to answer,
but at least he’d get the message.

Viki Lyn

John slowly pulled out onto the road. The drive to the hospital went by

in a blur. He wasn’t sure how he found himself at the reception area, asking
for his father.

Mrs. Whitman met him in the waiting room. She embraced him in a tight

hug, rubbing his back. “Oh, honey.”

He pulled away, but kept his hands on her shoulders. “What happened?”

“One minute, we were laughing about some nonsense we were watching on

TV, and then he just — ” she sobbed “ — collapsed. I called 9-1-1 right away.”

“You did everything you could.”
“Oh, John, he’ll pull through. He’s a tough old bird.”

John tried to smile, but it cracked midway. He didn’t feel like smiling; he

didn’t feel anything at all.

John sat on a plastic chair and waited. And waited some more. He tried

calling Scott a couple more times but didn’t bother to leave more messages.

The doctor had come and gone, and the news hadn’t been promising. It was

a wait and see game now. He didn’t bother to look up as he heard footsteps
approaching his chair.

A hand lit on his shoulder. Ryan peered down at him. “How is he?”

John shook his head. “It’s touch and go. How did you find out?”

“Mrs. Whitman.” Ryan sat next to John and placed his hand on John’s thigh.

“I called Drew, and he’ll get the word out. They’ll be by as soon as they can.”

John twisted his hands together. “I knew this was coming, but I refused

to see it.”

“It’s not something you’d want to think about. None of us do.”

John grasped Ryan’s hand. “He’s all the family I have left.”

“You want me to tell Scott?”
“I left a message. It doesn’t matter. We didn’t have that kind of relationship.”

And Scott hadn’t called him back.

Ryan tilted his head. “And what kind is that?”

“Where you’re there for the other person. The kind you have with Martin.”

John frowned as he thought of Scott and how much he really needed him

to be here. His feelings for the man had changed from caring to love, and now,
heartache.

Scott should be holding his hand, not Ryan. But Scott wasn’t here, and that

told him everything he needed to know.

Chapter Twelve

riting was all that mattered, and that was what Scott counted on. His

words weaved in his head effortlessly like old times. He ignored all phone

calls and deleted John’s message without listening to it. John had called a couple
of times afterwards, but Scott ignored the calls. He wasn’t ready to forgive John,
not yet. Once he finished his book, then maybe they would talk. He wasn’t
ready to face John. He cared too much, wanted him too much, and that made
him vulnerable.

Scott saved his file and shut down his laptop for the night. The clock read

three a.m. He really needed to get some sleep, but every time he closed his
eyes, he picture John.

In bed.
Naked.

Two days since their argument, and Scott already missed him, despite his

anger, despite his need to be right about John. Their relationship had seemed
so promising before he found out the truth behind John’s friendship. John had
convinced Scott he was real, honest, and not the guy Scott had labeled as a
player when they’d first met.

Scott picked up a dirty plate from the coffee table on his way to the kitchen.

Surviving on caffeine, his stomach roiled in an acid bath from lack of food. He
hadn’t eaten since the morning. Nothing had changed when it came to the way
he worked. Only this time, he didn’t have David to bring him back to the living,
to cook for him, and practically hand feed him.

He surveyed the inside of his refrigerator — hunk of cheddar cheese, wilted

lettuce, wrinkled tomatoes. He settled for a glass of water instead. The clean
casserole dish sat on the counter near the back door. Scott had rammed the

Viki Lyn

lasagna down the garbage disposal. At the time, it’d felt good; now he just saw
it as a childish act. Someday, he’d return the dish to John.

Scott drank his water and then rinsed out the glass. He thought of taking a

sleeping pill, but decided against it. Not after the debacle in the bathroom. He
plopped down on the sofa and turned on the TV, flipping through the channels
and finally settling on an old black and white Western. He fell asleep to John

Wayne having a shoot-out with the guys in the black hats.

Scott woke to the sound of his cell phone vibrating on the coffee table. He

fumbled for it and hit the call button, noticing his agent’s name. “Hey, Carlos,

what’s up?”

“You sound like you just woke up.”

He yawned into the phone. “What time is it?”
Carlos’s laugh echoed over the line. “Ten.”

“Ah shit, I’ve been up all night writing.”
“Music to my ears.”

Scott’s forehead puckered as he strained to hear Carlos over the street noise.

“Where are you? It’s hard to hear you.”

“The city, walking to breakfast. Some of us eat to stay alive.”
“Yeah, yeah. What do you want?”
“Besides a brilliant book? So have you thought more about Electronic

Games’s offer?”

“Did they call you?”
“They want to meet with us today. Let’s strike while the fire’s hot, so get

your ass over here.”

Scott thought of his bills sitting piled on his desk. The book was coming

along, but it wouldn’t be released for another year. He might be able to squeeze
out money from the publishing house once they contracted the book, but not
until then.

“How much do you think they’ll pay me?”
“Enough for you not to give a damn if you ever see your stolen money again.”

If he went with Electronic Games, he’d be cavorting with the enemy, but

he had to think of Rob and his finances. “What about Fantasy Arts?”

“Why? I thought you were through with them.”
“Yeah, I am. I’ll catch the two o’clock train.”

John’s Match

He made arrangements for Carlos to pick him up at the train station and

then hung up.

Scott stared at his phone as if it had all the answers. Damn. He wanted to

call John and…what? John had convinced Scott that he wasn’t the type of guy

who used his looks, or his money, to get his way. John had made it very clear

that he had earned his way through life, and Scott had believed him.

The doorbell shrilled. Scott answered the door, surprised to see Skye leaning

against the porch railing. Skye wore his signature bandana, which led Scott’s
gaze to those gray eyes that were now boring into him.

A warning skittered down Scott’s spine at Skye’s cool gaze.

Skye stepped up to the door. “We need to talk.”
Scott knew he had no choice, and he opened the door wider to let Skye

pass. “I can make a pot of coffee.”

“I’m not staying that long.”
“Have a seat anyway.” Scott preferred talking with Skye without the man

towering over him.

Skye sat on the sofa, his feet squarely on the floor, his hands placed on his

thighs. Scott took the chair across from Skye. Something was up, because this

wasn’t the laid back artist he had come to know, and Skye’s attitude made him

uneasy.

He clutched the back of the chair. “Did something happen to John?”

“No, he’s okay. I don’t know what happened between the two of you, and — ”

Skye held up his hand. “I don’t care to hear it, man. All I know is John needs you,

and he’s too proud to ask for help. His dad’s in the hospital and not expected
to make it through.”

Scott’s heart squeezed at hearing the news. He’d met John’s father and had

liked the man right off. “When did this happen?”

“Two days ago.”

Scott’s heart sank. “Oh, fuck, his message. I deleted it without listening to

it.” John had called him even after their blow-up. John had needed him, and
he hadn’t been there for him.

“It hit him hard. And with everything else that’s happening…”
“What do you mean by ‘everything else’?”
“Ryan’s thinking of selling the business to Electronic Games and moving to

California. Martin got offered a job in San Francisco.” Skye stood and walked

to the front door. “Well, are you coming?”

Viki Lyn

He had to go to New York. Carlos would have his head if he didn’t show.

Why hadn’t he listened to the message from John? He’d let his lover down

in the worst way. He picked up his cell phone as Skye patiently waited by the
door. “Just one sec. I need to make a call.”

David had accused him of being self-absorbed when he wrote, but that was

an author’s prerogative — and also his curse. Scott’s priorities had cost him his
relationship with David. John had given him hope of having a second chance
at love. This time, he wasn’t going to let his stubbornness or his temper get in
the way of happiness.

He called Carlos, and over his agent’s ranting, canceled his meeting with

Electronic Games. That could wait. John needed him.

John held his father’s hand. He was afraid to let it go. If he did, his father

might slip away. His father looked wizened beyond his years as he fought for
every breath. A fighter, that was his father — strong, honest, smart, dependable.

John’s standard of the man he wanted to become.

“Dammit, you need to pull through.” The back of his eyes burned. “I can’t

do this alone.”

He bowed his head and closed his eyes. Nothing registered but the beeping

of the machines hooked up to his father, keeping him alive and breathing for him.

A hand on his shoulder made him look up. The day nurse smiled down on

him. “Mr. Kramer, we need to examine your dad. Why don’t you get some rest
in the waiting room? We’ll let you know when we’re done here.”

John kissed his father’s forehead and then brushed aside a strand of hair.

“See you soon.”

He was thankful he found the waiting room empty. He chose the stiff

leather sofa for his bed and stretched out, shoving a pillow under his head. He
closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but he was restless. When he heard footsteps
come down the hall, he sat up. Skye stepped into the room, but when Scott
came into view, John’s shoulders locked tight.

He wasn’t ready for

that, whatever that entailed. If he spoke to Scott, it’d

only end up in a fight. That’s all they were good at. He didn’t have the energy
to deal with anything besides being there for his father.

He narrowed his eyes at Skye, irritated that his friend would butt into his

personal life. “This is your doing.”

John’s Match

Scott took a step forward. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to your message. Skye

told me about your dad. I would have come sooner if I had known.”

John jumped up, and the room spun.
Scott grabbed his elbow. “Hey, take it easy. Have you eaten?” He helped

John sit back down. Scott motioned to Skye. “Can you get him a sandwich or

something?”

“Sure thing.” Skye left by the elevator.

John rubbed his face and kept it buried in his hands. Heat emanated from

Scott sitting beside him. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

Scott pried John’s hands away from his face and held them.
John’s first reflex was to pull away, but Scott grasped his hands tighter.
Ironically, the first person he had wanted to see when he’d first heard about

his father had been Scott, but now, John wasn’t sure if he was ready to forgive
him. He was too tired to argue his side of the story, and in a way, what Scott
had said about him was true. He had befriended Scott so he could set up a
meeting between him and Ryan. He hadn’t expected to fall in love with him.

“John, listen. I’m sorry about flying at you the other day without listening

to your side of the story. It was wrong of me.”

John turned his head slightly to take in Scott. Scott appeared worried, two

lines deep between his brows. His hair was mussed, as if he’d just woken up,
and John instantly wanted to pat it down — like he’d done a number of times
after they’d made love.

John shrank back into the sofa, his hand slipping from Scott’s grasp. He

couldn’t be with Scott while his father lay dying in the other room. He needed
to focus on his father. “Scott, please, will you promise to do one thing for me?”

Scott nodded, his fingers picking at edge of one of the throw pillows.

“Please leave. I can’t deal with us. I can’t.”

Scott’s fingers froze. “I want to help you through this.”
John had his friends. They were his family now. “I know you came all this

way to help, but it’s over between us.”

Whatever they had shared had shattered the day Scott accused him of fuck-

ing for a business deal. He couldn’t be with a man who thought so little of his
character.

Scott touched John’s cheek. “If you ever need anything, call me. I’ll drop

whatever I’m doing.”

Viki Lyn

John bowed his head and nodded. As Scott rose from the sofa, John turned

his head slightly and watched Scott leave by the elevator. Once the doors closed,
tears formed in his eyes. His emotions were running too high and were too raw
to hold back his tears.

Scott hurried down the hall and ran into Skye coming from the cafeteria

with a wrapped sandwich in his hand.

Skye stopped him. “Hey, why are you leaving?”
Scott sighed in frustration, running his hand over his crop of curls. “John

asked me to leave. It’s over. He’ll never forgive me. Can’t say I blame him, but
fuck.”

Skye led Scott across the hall to a waiting area that had a candy machine

and drinking fountain. Skye set the sandwich on top of the vending machine.

“What do you want from John? Do you love him?”

David no longer held his heart ransom, and Scott had John to thank for

showing him he could care for another man. John had shown him another path,
and he longed to take it. John wasn’t David. John called him on his crap. He
didn’t back down from this temper or walk away, either. He had forced Scott
to face his issues.

With David, they had never fought, because David had retreated when hurt

or angry. It must have festered. David had put up with Scott’s selfish devotion
to his writing. And Scott had used David, because he needed him to take care
of him and Rob.

“I couldn’t let him breathe?”
“John?” Skye asked.

Scott shook his head, realizing too late he’d said it out loud. “David. I’ve

blamed him for so long, and he was a shit in so many ways, but so was I. I want
things to be different with John. We could have something good.”

“Then you have to fight for it.”
“He’s made it clear how he feels about us.”

Skye retrieved the sandwich from its perch on top of the vending machine.

“He’s under a lot of stress right now. He’s not thinking straight.” Skye looked

down at his feet, his teeth digging into his lower lip. “I did something to Drew
that many would find unforgivable. It wasn’t one of my prouder moments.

We’re still together because I refused to give up. I’d loved him too much, for

John’s Match

too long. Lucky for me, he had it in his heart to forgive my stupidity. John’s a
reasonable man. He’s also hurting right now. Give him some time.”

Scott hugged Skye. “Thanks. I’ll think about what you’ve said.”
Scott left the hospital through the double exit doors. John was worth the

effort to make it right. He was determined to make it up to John, but he wasn’t
sure how. John had the possibly of losing so much — his dad, his job, his best
friend. From his own experience, the feeling of loss had nearly destroyed his
career and his life. He wouldn’t let that happen to John.

He dug out his phone from his pocket and called Carlos. “Hey, I need you

to hold off that meeting with Electronic Games.”

“Why? They’re desperate to sign you. Now’s the time. If you wait — ”
“Just do it. I need one other thing.”

The heavy sign amplified through the phone. “What?”

“I want you to set up a meeting with Ryan Adams at Fantasy Arts.”
“I thought you blew them off?”
“I changed my mind. Will you do it?”
“Shit, you’re asking me?” Carlos heartily laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Call you

later.”

Scott took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He would see if his signing

with Fantasy Arts would at least make Ryan reconsider selling. Even if Ryan

moved, he could still keep the company. John would keep the job he loved so
much. It’d be one less loss for his friend. He didn’t want to see John hurt in any

way, especially not because of him.

Chapter Thirteen

cott strode into the Fantasy Arts’s lobby, admiring the view of the marsh-
lands from the building’s high glass windows. Light pale wood beams and

molding accented the modern designed furnishings; the chairs and sofas were
sleek but comfortable looking.

He walked up to the receptionist. “Hi. I’m Scott Marwick, here to see

Ryan Adams.”

The young woman smiled brightly. “Oh yes!” She pulled Scott’s book

from behind the counter. “Ah, he would kill me if he knew I was doing this,
but can you sign my book?”

“Sheila, I told you not to bother Mr. Marwick.”

Scott waved away Ryan’s comment. He signed the copy of the hardback.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Sheila grinned, hugging the book to her chest. “Oh, I did. Read it several

times. Won’t Chase and Sean be jealous! They’re both avid fans of yours.”

Ryan stepped around the counter. He patted Scott’s back. “Scott, it’s great

to see you.”

Scott gaped at Ryan, who was dressed in a dark suit fit to perfection over

his broad shoulders and tailored down to his patent leather shoes.

Ryan laughed. “You have the same expression as Martin when he first saw

me in a suit. You know, he designed this place. It’s awesome, isn’t it?”

“I’d say. He does nice work.”
“The man’s a genius, but then, I’m prejudice. Sheila, hold my calls.”

Scott wondered if the genius was going to take a job in San Francisco, but

he couldn’t read anything into what Ryan had said.

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101

Ryan led Scott through the doors leading to his office. “I’ll give you a tour

afterwards, if you still want to consider us. I know you’re talking with Patrick
at Electronic Games.” Ryan pulled out a chair for Scott to sit and then closed
his office door.

Ryan sat in the adjacent chair. “I’ll be upfront with you. We surely can’t

meet Patrick’s offer. You could use us to get a higher price, and I wouldn’t fault

you for it. But what we can do is keep the integrity of your story and characters.
Also, you would have full control of the story content and work closely with

our writers and our Art Director.”

Ryan was not a bullshitter. Scott had learned that much about him in the

last few months. “What can you offer me?”

“Usually, I have my numbers man here, but John took a leave of absence.”

Scott’s heart turned over at the mention of John’s name. “Did you tell him

about the meeting?”

“Not yet.”
“Good. Hold off until things are final.” Scott leaned slightly forward and

placed his hands on his thighs. “Not to sound, how should I say it, like some
kind of Messiah, but if I sign on, will you keep the company?”

Ryan sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Someone told you.”

“Word gets around.”

Ryan took a moment. He spoke almost in a whisper. “You’re doing this

for John, aren’t you?”

“No, I need the money.”
“But you can get more if you go with Patrick, so why come to us?”
“Maybe I’m upping the ante.”
“No, that’s not your style. When I suggested it, you frowned. That’s your

agent’s M.O., and he’s not here. You really care for John, and this is your way
of apologizing.”

Scott bristled at how transparent he was. Ryan had his number, all right.

“Yes, okay, I want his forgiveness and his friendship.” He shrugged. “If he’ll

ever talk with me again.”

Ryan grinned. “Oh, he’ll have no choice if you’re working with us.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”
“I’ll be honest with you. If I sign you on, I won’t sell, and that would make

me one very happy man. Will I move to San Francisco with Martin? That will

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102

depends if my bro offers Martin partnership. That’s between them. If I do move,
the company will be in reliable hands with John as acting President.”

Scott nodded his approval. “Then I’m on board.”
Ryan stood, his smile wider than the bay window overlooking the courtyard.

“Come, let me show you around. I’ll introduce you to Sean. He’s a fantastic

artist, and the best part? He loves your books as much as I do.”

Affected by Ryan’s enthusiasm, Scott smiled. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad

making a computer game from his books. He respected Ryan, and John certainly
cared for his staff. He could tell by the way John talked about his work. It felt
good that he was able to do something positive for John.

After the tour, Scott felt even better about signing with Fantasy Arts. He

agreed to meet with Ryan in the next week to talk about his contract. He
still smiled as he got into his car, shaking his head. Sean and his staff were as
enthusiastic as Ryan. The excitement must have rubbed off on him. He looked
forward to the project, amazed at his change of heart.

Next, he drove to the hospital, having one more task. Skye had kept him

informed of Mr. Kramer’s progress. It had been a relief when he’d heard John’s
dad had been moved from the ICU to a regular hospital room. He had given it
a lot of thought, and decided he needed to talk with Mr. Kramer. To apologize
for hurting John and to maybe get insight into John’s mind and figure out a

way to get back into his heart.

Scott picked up a couple of magazines at the hospital’s gift shop. He found

Mr. Kramer’s room and knocked at the opened door as he stepped inside. “Mr.
Kramer, it’s Scott. Scott Marwick.”

Mr. Kramer turned his head and smiled, waving him inside. “Yes, yes, come

in. I know who you are. I might be sick, but I’m not senile.” His laugh came
out more of a croak. “Good to see you again.”

Scott handed him the magazines. “I thought you might want a diversion

from TV.”

Mr. Kramer shifted through the magazines and nodded. “Just what I like to

read. That’s very thoughtful. Thank you. Please sit.” He set aside the magazines
and shut off the television.

“I was glad to hear you were doing better.”
“Better than expected. You missed John. He should be back in an hour.”

Scott grimaced. It was only a few weeks ago when John had enthusiastically

introduced Scott to his father. It had gone better than Scott had expected. He

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103

had enjoyed talking with Mr. Kramer on many issues, including writing. The
man was well informed about most subjects.

“We’re not seeing each other now,” Scott admitted, not daring to look into

those too wise eyes.

When Scott looked up, Mr. Kramer had a surprised look on his face. So

John hadn’t told his father about their argument. Of course he wouldn’t. John

was too nice to paint Scott as the bad guy.

Mr. Kramer stroked his chin. “So that’s why he’s been moping about.

Refusing to go home, even taking a leave of absence.”

“I don’t think it’s because of me, sir,” Scott informed him. “I’m sure he

wants to spend more time with you, now that you’re doing better.”

“Yes, that is true, but I know my son, and he has been struggling with some-

thing that goes much deeper. I thought it was because of his business failure,
but now I see it had to do with you.”

Scott tried not to hope, but maybe there was a chance for them, if John’s

father suspected John wasn’t happy about their separation.

“We had an argument, and I said some things that were very hurtful. Mostly

out of anger, but also because of my insecurities. I’ve come out of a terrible
situation, and what I’d trusted to be real wasn’t. I should have known that John

wasn’t David.”

And then Scott spilled everything: all of his hurt, frustration, and astonish-

ment when he’d found David had been seeing another man, taken their money,
and stripped Scott of the life he once had.

He continued, “When I found out John wanted me to sign on with Fantasy

Arts, I saw red. I blew up in his face, accused him of using me for a business deal.”

Mr. Kramer nodded his head. He picked up a magazine and played with

the edges. “Did John tell you about his mother?”

“Just that she committed suicide.”

He rolled the magazine, gripping it tightly. “We found her in the car, the

gas on. John tried to save her. I stood right behind him, frozen, not able to
move or think. He had to grab the car keys out of my pocket. I let my child
take on this burden of saving his mother, when it was already too late. That’s
my pain I carry to this day.”

Scott placed his hand on Mr. Kramer’s arm. “I’m sure John doesn’t blame

you.”

“I blame myself. John has shut part of himself off to others because of what

he had to go through with his mother. He likes to be in control when it comes

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104

to his relationships. You’re the first man in a long time that has interested my
son. I don’t want to see John turn his back on a chance at happiness because of
a misunderstanding.”

Scott couldn’t think of anything to say. No wonder John had reacted with

so much anger at finding Scott drunk with a handful of pills in his hand. Did

John still think he’d consider taking his life? It’d been a shitty moment, but he

never would have offed himself.

And they had been happy together. “I love your son, Mr. Kramer.”

“John judges people by their actions, not just their words.”

Scott fidgeted in his chair. He hoped signing with Fantasy Arts would be

the required action to change John’s mind about him. “I plan on making sure
he’ll stop long enough to listen to me.”

Mr. Kramer clapped his hands together. “Good. Now, enough about John.

Let’s talk about your new book. I’m dying to read the ending.”

Scott laughed. “Yes, so am I.”

John fussed with his father’s blanket, tugging down the edges and stuffing

them beneath the mattress.

“Stop fidgeting, John. It’s fine. I’m fine. Why don’t you go home for a while,

get some rest. Mrs. Whitman will be here soon.” He shooed his hand at John.

“At least one of your friends will visit and keep me company.”

John smiled at the mention of the tag team. He was grateful for his friends,

who had banded together and never given up on his father.

John handed his father a glass of water. “Okay, but drink a little first. Then

I’ll leave you alone.” John walked over to the table holding several vases crammed

with flowers. He started to pick through the dead ones, dropping them into

the wastebasket.

“You just missed Scott. We had a very nice visit.”

John’s hand stopped in mid-air. He crushed the dead rose in his hand and

turned to face his father. “Why did he come here?”

“Come and sit down.”

John sat, feeling a little like an insolent child. He still held the crushed rose,

and the petals mashed into his palms. He let his gaze linger on his father’s face. It
looked ravaged from fighting for his life, but intelligence still shined in his eyes.

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105

His father used the bed’s remote to lift himself into a sitting position. John

stuffed a pillow behind his father’s back and sat back down.

“He’s very sorry for hurting you.”

While he respected his father’s take on people, he doubted Scott had told

him the full story. “Did he tell you that he thought I…” Shit. Talking to his
father about his sex life was always embarrassing. “That I slept with him so
he’d sign on with FA?”

“Yes, he did. I found him very forthright. As I recall, you were befriend-

ing him because Ryan wanted you to set up a meeting between them. It was
business with you.”

“Yeah, maybe at first, but my feelings for Scott have nothing to do with him

signing a goddamn contract.” John brushed his hand, letting the petals litter
the floor. “Why are you taking his side?”

“I want you to be happy, to have someone you care about in your life. Don’t

let your pride prevent you from happiness. We all make horrible mistakes and
say things out of anger that we don’t really believe to be true.”

“So you think I should forgive him.”
“I think you need to figure out how important he is to you and then make

a decision about your relationship. You are a caregiver. You’ve been my rock,
and you’re always there for your friends. It’s a wonderful trait and one that
makes me proud, but it’s also your weakness.”

John stiffened under his father’s assessment.

“You give so much to everyone, but have a difficult time letting others take

care of you. When Scott came to sit with you, you turned him away.”

“I don’t need someone in my life that doesn’t trust me.” He worked to keep

his voice down, but his father didn’t understand his pain. How much it had hurt

when Scott accused him, so eager to believe the worst in him.

Then there was his mother, who gave up on life because she lost faith in

John and his father. After his mother died, it had taken him months to get over

the guilt of not being able to save her — guilt because he didn’t have to deal

with her depression any longer, and guilt for keeping a part of his heart locked

up so he’d never have to experience that kind of deep loss again.

“Mother didn’t trust we could help her. Scott can get depressed; I’ve seen it.

If he doesn’t believe in me then what would prevent him from killing himself?
I can’t go through that again.”

His father blinked a few times and reached over for a tissue. He dried his

eyes. “Was he diagnosed with manic-depression, or is he bi-polar?”

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106

“He claims it was just that one incident. Since then, I haven’t seen signs of

depression, but finding him drunk with a handful of pills in his hand scared me.”

“But he didn’t take them.”
“No, he swears it was only that one time.”
“He’s a good man that experienced a bad period. Now he’s getting on with

his life. You need to do the same. Move past your fears about Scott or else you

won’t ever be able to move forward.”

John was holding back from accepting Scott completely into his heart.

He’d accused Scott of not trusting him, but maybe he didn’t trust Scott, either?

John took his father’s hand. “I guess I have some thinking to do.”

“At least talk about it with Scott. Tell him how you feel.”
“I’d liked my life without the complications of a relationship, but Scott

blew that out of the water.”

“It isn’t like you to back down from a challenge. Love is worth all the com-

plications and messiness. I never once regretted loving your mother. Never.”

John’s breath caught in his throat. Scott had accused him of not being able

to have any messiness in his life, that his life was too tidy and neat. Now here

was his father telling him his mother had been worth all of his father’s anguish

and pain, simply because he’d loved her.

John stroked his father’s hand. “I loved her, too, but I’m not sure I ever

forgave her.”

After visiting hours were over, John left for home. Dead tired, he wanted

to sleep for a month, but his nerves jumped under his skin. He needed to wind
down. He parked his car and left for the beach. At the gate, he kicked off his
shoes and removed his socks, stuffing them into his jacket pocket.

He jogged to the shoreline and let the tide splash around his feet. He glanced

over at Scott’s cottage and noticed the lights were on. It was after eight, but

Scott never followed a schedule. He was probably writing.

John thought about going over and knocking on the door. Then the back

door opened and Scott stepped out, backlit from the kitchen light. John sucked
in a sharp breath. Before he could decide if he should wave or not, Scott turned
back and closed the door behind him.

John frowned as he thought back to his father’s words, how loving John’s

mother had been worth it. His eyes moistened. Shit. He was too emotional
lately. He picked up a smooth stone and flung it into the ocean, and then another
handful, flinging them one right after the other into the crashing waves.

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107

His mother had been ill, and it had resulted in suicide. She hadn’t killed

herself to hurt him or his father. She must have believed there were no choices
left to her. He no longer wanted to hold onto his anger or his guilt over his
mother’s death.

He shouted above the roar of the waves, “I forgive you, Mother!” Then

he dropped his voice. “I love you.”

He strode across the beach, not looking toward Scott’s cottage. He needed

to figure out what he’d wanted with Scott before talking to him. Did he take that
leap of faith? And more importantly, would Scott give him that opportunity?

Chapter Fourteen

ohn walked into the lobby of Fantasy Arts and smiled as the familiar smell
of furniture polish wafted around him. He hadn’t talked shop with Ryan

for quite a while and was anxious to catch up. By taking a leave of absence, he
realized work had consumed him. It had become his surrogate lover.

Sheila railroaded him before he made it to the hall. She gave him a brief

hug. “I’m so glad to have you back. Ryan’s been lost without you. Just don’t
tell him I told you.” She winked. “Here.” She turned to her desk and opened
a pink bakery box. She handed John a maple glazed donut. “Welcome back.”

John laughed. “Thanks.” He dubiously viewed the donut, as if the fat

and calories would attack him. Not big on sweets, he took a bite anyway. The
receptionist had been with them since the beginning, and he had a special soft
spot for Sheila and her obsession with desserts. “Hmm,” he said, as the maple
sweetness spread in his mouth. “Good.”

“It’s from that new bakery that just opened on Main. It’s heaven.”
“I’ll remember that. Any calls for me?”

She shuffled through a pile of pink phone messages. “Nothing here. Ryan

wants to see you after you settled in.”

“Sure enough.”

John bypassed his office. He knocked on Ryan’s open door and strode in.
Ryan sat behind his desk. “Hey, glad you’re back. Did you get your father

situated at home?”

“He’s doing well. He’s glad to be home. Thanks for asking.”

Ryan walked around his desk and gave John a hug, patting his back before let-

ting go. “I’m glad you’re back. We have a lot of work to do on our new project.”

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109

“What’s that about?”
“I’ve got great news. We’re not selling. This new game we’re developing is

going to blow the competition out of the water.”

“What the hell?”

Ryan looked at his wristwatch. “Martin is probably signing the papers about

now. Drew didn’t want to lose him, so he offered him partnership.”

“He made partner?” John had been out of the loop for too long. “Why

didn’t you tell me about all this?”

“You had enough on your plate, and I didn’t want to spill until I was damn

sure it was going to happen.”

“Is Martin okay with staying here?”
“I’m worth it.” Ryan smirked. Then his smile softened. “We love each other,

sappy as that sounds. He wanted us to stay together, too.”

“I’m happy for you. Really.” John gave Ryan’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.

“Now tell me about this revolutionary game of ours.”

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

John followed Ryan, who practically skipped down the hall. Ryan must

really believe the project would save their skin for him to be this excited.

John turned the corner of their conference room and skidded to a halt. His

body turned cold. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Scott stood. He brushed back his hair and said nothing.
Sean pulled out a seat for John. “Hey, it’s great to see you. We were just

going over the character sketches.”

Ryan motioned to Sean. “Let’s get coffee for everyone before we start. Sean,

I’ll need your help.”

Sean looked from John to Scott and then John again. He ran his thumb

across the thin silver bar pierced through his brow. “Ah, sure enough, boss man.”

Ryan pushed a button on a panel, and the curtains closed. He flipped on

the lights, and then Sean walked out of the room. Ryan followed, closing the
door behind him.

John barely registered what was happening, too focused on Scott. His

heartbeat drummed in his chest. He fooled with the knot of his tie. “How long
have you been here?”

“I signed on a few days ago.”

John’s breath caught. “Why?”

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110

Scott walked up to John. The smell of Scott’s cologne made John light-

headed. He reached for the back of a chair, needing to be tethered to the ground.

Scott looked him straight in the eyes. “I had the opportunity to help you

out, so I took advantage of it.”

“No one told me.”
“It happened fast, and we wanted to make sure it was a done deal. You were

going through so much shit, with your dad, with me. I was such an ass. So many
times, I wanted to apologize, but you made it clear you never wanted to see
me again. I didn’t want to add more stress to your life.”

“So you stayed out of it.” Right now, he was only capable of forming one

sentence at a time.

Scott touched John’s hand, his other gripping John’s arm. “What I said

wasn’t true. I know you’d never sleep with me just for a business deal. It came

as a shock when Carlos told me about it. I reacted without thinking it through.

God, I’m sorry.”

John ran his hand through Scott’s hair, pulling Scott toward him. He kissed

him, their mingled taste familiar and wonderful, and the chill in his heart thawed.

The kiss told him all he had to know, that they belonged together.

Scott pulled away. “Do you trust me, John?”
John kept his hand behind Scott’s neck, not ready to put distance between

them. “What do you mean?”

“I talked with your dad. He told me how you tried to save your mother. I

would never put you in that situation, ever. That time you’d found me, it was

a low point in my life, but I would never have taken those pills.”

John played with the edge of Scott’s collar. “I believe you.”
Scott nodded, but his eyes were still clouded. “I need to tell you something.”

“You want this” — John motioned to the two of them — “don’t you?”
“Yes, but I need to tell you about David. It’s important.”

John pulled out a chair for Scott. “Then let’s sit down.”

They sat next to each other, John keeping his hand on Scott’s.

Scott cleared his throat. “David died alongside his lover. He’d been seeing

someone for over two years, and I’d had no idea, being so wrapped up in my

world. He also took our money, leaving me with the condo but low on cash.”

Damn. David had been a real ass. John squeezed Scott’s hand, wishing he

had a way to make Scott’s painful memories disappear. “I understand how it’d
be hard to trust someone again, but I’d never hurt you like that.”

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111

“Yeah, I know. It wasn’t all David’s fault. He’d had enough of living with

me. I get so wrapped up in my writing that I’m not there for those I love.

He felt lonely, or he wouldn’t have taken a lover. He wasn’t the type to fool

around.” Scott took a full breath and let it out. “I wasn’t there for you when

you needed me.”

“You came to the hospital as soon as you had heard about my father. That

means something to me.”

Scott shook his head. “I hadn’t listened to your message because I was angry.

Then I was writing, and nothing else mattered. I put you aside so I could finish

my book. If it wasn’t for Skye, I might never have realized what had happened
to your dad. I was repeating the same patterns. I’d hurt you, and I didn’t want
to. Not you.”

“So you’re telling me you want to change for me?”
“For us. Yes, I’m working on it. But I might slip up, and I’ll need you to

call me on it.”

John squeezed Scott’s hand. “You know I will.”

The knock came first, and then Ryan entered with Sean on his heels, car-

rying a tray filled with Styrofoam cups.

Scott lowered his voice. “We’re okay?”
John smiled. “Yeah, we’re okay.”

“Did I give you enough time to kiss and make up?” Ryan distributed the

coffee.

“Huh?” Sean asked. “Did I miss something?”

John rolled his eyes at Sean. “Sit.” He pointed to an empty chair.
Scott piped up. “Sean, let me see those sketches again.”
Sean pushed the pile toward Scott. Scott picked up a panel. “They’re fan-

tastic, just as I pictured my characters. And that’s rare. You don’t know how
many arguments I’ve had over book covers.”

John smiled at the excitement in Scott’s voice. It felt great to hear it.
Scott winked at him and then turned his attention back to the drawings.

John knew Scott was lost in his imaginary world of fantasy. It wouldn’t be easy

having a relationship with an opinionated, passionate writer who was quick to
anger and who lost all sense of time when writing. But then, as his father had
reminded him, he never backed down from a challenge.

Epilogue

cott had stayed behind after his workshop to clean up the classroom and

wait for John. He enjoyed teaching fresh young minds. It brought back the

excitement of when he’d first started out. Josh was one of his best students. The
kid had what it would take to make it — the discipline and determination and
belief in his talent. Scott looked forward to mentoring him.

Once the teens had vacated the room, he erased the white board. Lost in

his thoughts, he hadn’t heard the door open. Arms snaked around Scott’s waist,
and then he was being kissed on the neck.

Scott tilted his head. “Ah, this is a classroom.”
John laughed in his ear. “Yeah, so?”

“Someone might walk in.”
“The kids are gone, and I locked the door.”

Scott moaned softly at the implications of a locked door and John’s hands

roaming over his body. He knew what that meant. He turned into John’s arms
and grabbed his lover’s hands. “An upstanding board member of Millicent House
seducing a teacher? Do you know what kind of scandal that would cause?”

John smiled, and Scott’s heart had no chance against that grin.

“We’ll be quick,” John promised.

Scott glanced over to the row of windows. The sun was setting and casting

a warm glow on the leaves dripping from the branches. Spring had ushered in a
season of unusually warm weather. Laughter caught Scott’s attention, and his
gaze wandered to a group of kids sitting under a tree.

“Ah, not here.” He reluctantly pushed John back. “It’ll be weird if we closed

the curtains, and you can’t be caught fucking your boyfriend in a classroom.”

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113

John stepped into Scott’s personal space. “It’s not like I was going to fuck

you over a desk.”

The thought of bending over a student desk, his ass in the air, jeans around

his ankles, and John coming from behind sent a shockwave of lust through Scott.
Now he was hard as nails.

John’s brows lifted. “You’d like that,” he said, his voice seductively low.
Scott quickly moved past John and out the door into the bright sunshine.

His dick rubbed sorely against his jeans. Damn that man, teasing him like that.

John came up from behind and grabbed Scott’s hand. He was all smiles. “So,

still want to meet the guys at the

Roadhouse?”

“You’re a fucking tease,” Scott growled, ticked off and insanely horny.

John laughed. “I can help you out, if you want?”
Scott ignored John and got into the passenger seat of the Ferrari. He buckled

in and turned on the CD player. U2 blared from the Bose speakers. He smiled
at John’s choice of music. He’d been to a U2 concert at a college stadium, too
crowded for him to enjoy the experience. That had been the last concert he’d
ever attended. He imagined John loved the excitement of a live performance
and the people pushing and shoving each other as they got into the music.

He placed his hand on John’s as they drove. The

Roadhouse loomed closer

as John steered into the dirt lot. Scott smiled at his lover’s parking spot, far
from opened car doors that might dent his paint. John was fastidious in every
part of his life.

John stared out the windshield with a faint smile. “If it hadn’t been for Rob,

we probably wouldn’t have met.”

Scott stroked John’s thigh. “We’re back where it all began. Let’s christen

this place.”

John’s mouth twitched as he tried to hold back a grin. His gave Scott’s

erection a gentle squeeze. “In the car?”

Scott laughed, shaking his head. “You’re incorrigible. Your coupe is not

for two grown men.”

John reached over and pulled Scott into a kiss. Their elbows bumped into

the leather seats; Scott’s legs cramped as he held onto John. He smiled into the
kiss. When he leaned back, the steering wheel jabbed into his back.

“See, I’m right,” Scott said smugly.
“I couldn’t agree with you more.”

Scott resettled into the passenger seat. He glanced out the window. “Why

don’t we take it outside?”

Viki Lyn

114

At Scott’s suggestion, John didn’t waste time. He hopped out, opened the

passenger door, and practically yanked Scott to his feet. Scott laughed as he
caught his balance, using John’s arm for support.

John led Scott behind a tree. Scott was satisfied that they were far enough

from the

Roadhouse. As much as he wanted to touch John, he preferred it not

to be at the expense of getting caught in the act.

Scott snuggled up to John, his hand gliding down John’s leg. He curved

his fingers around the firm thigh. “Hey, old man, you’re going to get me off?”

“You asked for it.” John backed Scott into the tree using his body. Once

captured, he cupped Scott’s ass.

“I’ll get to that later, in a comfortable bed.” John squeezed a cheek as he

rubbed his crotch into Scott’s.

Heat flared in Scott’s groin. Still horny from John teasing him in the class-

room, it wouldn’t take him long to come.

John kissed Scott’s forehead, his brow, and worked down to Scott’s cheeks.

Scott returned the kiss by taking John’s chin and attacking his mouth for a deep

and thorough kiss.

John unzipped Scott’s pants and then his own.

When he encircled Scott’s cock with his hand, Scott moaned. “Oh, fuck,

that feels good.”

“Just touching you makes me insane.”

Scott kissed one of John’s dimples. “Then get on with it.”
Scott released John’s cock from the confines of his briefs. Scott loved how

John’s hands were big enough to stroke their dicks. A quick, but satisfying way

to get off, and John liked doing it.

Lucky me.

Scott tightened his grip on his lover’s shoulders. The feel of cock on cock

sent shivers through him. John began his stroking, at first slow and then speed-
ing up the tempo. Nerves on fire, his body humming, he parted his mouth and
panted.

John nibbled his ear. “I fucking love how much you pant for me.”
Scott’s dick pulsated, his balls ached. He cried out and shot hard.
John grabbed Scott’s hair, his forehead touching Scott’s shoulder as he

came right after Scott. They hung onto each other to keep from falling. Scott
untangled from John’s arms and smiled. John already had his handkerchief out,

wiping off the come from his hands. After cleaning his dick, he handed the

cloth to Scott.

John’s Match

115

Cleaned off, zipped up, and with his shirt tucked in, Scott figured he looked

presentable. John never looked anything but pressed and perfect, even after
coming all over himself.

“Ready to meet our friends?” John asked.

Scott smiled at the term “our friends.” He’d have to agree with John. Scott

had assimilated into the Village’s gay scene without much difficulty. John’s
friends had become his friends, and, he believed, friends for life.

John wadded up the handkerchief and left it on the ground near his car.

“I’ll get it later. Don’t want to trash silk.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “I swear…Can’t you buy Kleenex like a normal person?”
John wrapped his arms around Scott. His voice dipped. “Admit that you

like the feel of silk against your cock.”

Scott gently pushed John away, his dick stirring at the sexual timbre of

John’s voice. “Come on. They’re waiting for you.”

“Not just me. It’s your celebration, too.”

Scott was excited and relieved to finally have his book in the hands of his

editor. It did deserve a celebration of sorts, and so did Fantasy Arts’s launch
of their new game based on his books. The hoopla and splash it had caused in
the media had astounded him. Carlos couldn’t have been more pleased by the
publicity. It made Scott squirm to have such attention focused on him, but John
by his side gave him the courage to meet with the press. He’d even agreed to
sign copies of the game for their launch party.

John held out his hand, and Scott grasped it.

“It was really nice of you to dedicate your book to my father,” John said.
“I enjoy his company.”

John smiled “It helps to know you can visit him while I’m working.”
Scott shrugged, but he was pleased by John’s praise. “It’s no big deal. I can

write anywhere.”

Scott meant it, too. He’d bring his laptop over to Mr. Kramer’s house, and

John’s father would read or play Solitaire while Scott wrote. Mr. Kramer had

been a wonderful sounding board when Scott had run into a brick wall with
his plot — therefore the dedication.

“Well, he’s ready to adopt you as a second son,” John laughed.
“I don’t want us to be brothers.” Scott smirked.
“No, I want us to be much more. Move in with me.”

Scott stared into John’s eyes. They were bright even in the dimming light.

Viki Lyn

116

John fidgeted. “Ah, you’re making me nervous here. Say something.”
Scott tugged at John’s hand. “Why do you want me to move in?”

“We spend all our spare time together, what little we have. It’d be nice to

come home and have you there. Even if you’re shut up in your office, writing,
and I don’t see you for days. At least we’d have the nights together.” John’s

voice shook.

Scott smiled at seeing John embarrassed. Rarely did his boyfriend show

this side of himself. “I’d like that, too.”

“So it’s a yes?”

Scott embraced John. He lowered his head so he could whisper in John’s

ear. “Despite our differences, we’re a perfect match.”

About the Author

Rainbow award winner Viki Lyn is a successful writer of sexy gay romance.

Sparked by a keen interest in yaoi, also known as Japanese Boys Love manga,

she began her own love affair with m/m romance. After reading and collecting

whatever she could get her hands on, she wrote her first man-love romance in
2009. Her stories are an eclectic mix, but it is always the romance that drives the

story to its final happily-ever-after.

A native of California, Viki travels the world in search of inspiration, but calls

Arizona home. She shares her beautiful adobe home with her wonderful husband

and favorite man (fictional or real).

Favorite movies: Something’s Gotta Give, Latter Days, Lord of the Rings,

Star Trek, Sense and Sensibility, BBC’s North and South
4

Favorite color: Red

Astrological signs: Aries sun with Cancer moon and Virgo rising

Website:

http://www.vikilyn.com

Blog:

http://www.vikilyn.com/blog