Pulp Friction Presents

Chances Are

Chances Are #1

By

Lee Brazil

Copyright 2013 by Lee Brazil

Acknowledgement

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations and incidents are products

of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. As such, any resemblance to any

persons, living or deceased, businesses, events, or locales is coincidental.

Cover Art by Laura Harner

Editing By Jason Bradley

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Dedicated to Laura Harner who had the brilliant idea that inspired me to try

something new. You're a fabulous friend and an even better writer.

To Tom Webb for all the encouragement and sprints that got us through this.

To Havan Fellows for always being there for me...sounding board, coach, critique

partner, jump starter...there's no end of the things you do for me!

Chances Are

It was as far as he could go.

Green eyes. I kept my own eyes slitted just barely open to allow me to look down

at the guy on his knees in front of me so I could remember his eyes were green, not blue.

I needed to know the hair coiling around my fingers like silk was blond not black, that the

lips clamped around my dick were full, lush and red, not a narrow slash of pink.

If I closed my eyes, the golden tan would fade to pale white skin, the round jaw

turn to carved marble, and it would be him, Dr. Cannon Malloy, on his knees, the hot

inexperienced fumbling of his tongue turning me on so much that I orgasm in seconds.

Can't have that. No, it was better to keep in mind that the lush heat surrounding

me was the new guy, the rookie. He was a good looking kid, and this was his first night at

my place, the Chances Are bar. Doesn't matter. I had a thing for uniforms, and a thing for

blonds. The uniform thing was probably because in my old life I used to wear one. That

life ended the same night I met Cannon, the night I got shot. The blond thing I also owed

to Cannon.

And fuck him for being there in the backroom of my bar with me while this

rookie with shining green eyes sucked me off. The metal tongue stud, definitely not

uniform regulation when I was on the force, took me by surprise when it slapped against

the tip of my cock, causing me to jerk. The rookie grunted in satisfaction. He had my full

attention now. Not because he was gorgeous, but of course he was. He was tall and

golden and young. The dark blue uniform suited his golden beauty. Not that he wore

more than the pants, but my imagination supplied the rest easily enough. He was really

good at this and the metal tracing the veins of my cock while wet heat caressed my length

was effective. My cock bumped the back of his throat and he swallowed. My fingers

clenched in his hair, pulling sharply. He enjoyed it; I could see the spark in his eye as he

doubled his efforts to make me come. Before long I grunted, he swallowed, and I pushed

him away.

"Jesus! Don't you even think?" We'd only just met, he couldn't be that stupid.

He wiped his lips. Standing, he loomed over me just a bit, but I wasn't

intimidated. For the first time I noticed that he wasn't even unzipped. I resisted the urge

to roll my eyes.

"Shouldn't I have?" He smiled at me, reaching into his back pocket. "You're clean,

aren't you?"

I shook my head. I don't know what he planned, but I wasn't into anal anymore.

Once, but then again, that's something else I owed to Cannon. Bastard. "You can't take a

guy's word for that, rookie." He couldn't be that naïve. A lot of things I don't do I owe to

Cannon, and virgins was one of them, relationships was another. This rookie was too

trusting, too naïve. I started to think he was newer at this than that talented tongue

indicated.

He crowded me into the desk, and I started to get a little pissed. I pushed him

away and he backed up, hands raised. "I'm sorry. I wasn't doing anything. Here."

He handed the condom to me, but I didn't want it. I didn't fuck, or get fucked, not

any more. Anything but that. I stepped into him and he retreated automatically. Don't

know what he saw in my face, but it didn't seem to please him. He bumped into the

cabinet where I kept the files. It was as far as he could go, and right now it wasn't far

enough. I had a feeling that this rookie was bad news. I had all sorts of déjà vu feelings,

and I just wanted him out of my office as soon as possible. But I was a decent guy,

whatever some people might say, and fair's fair. So, I needed to get him off, and then get

him out.

I reached for his zipper and his hand closed over mine in a crushing grip. He pried

my hand up and dropped a business card into it. Not a condom. I looked at it. He closed

my fingers, one by one, around the card and stared at me defiantly. "What's this?" I

sounded like an idiot, but he wasn't following the script, the plan.

"I—"

Heavy thumping on the door let me know my time was up. Gerry was outside the

door, ready to leave. His shift was over, and he always took the deposit in for me on

Wednesdays. The bank was just across the street, and he caught the bus on the corner.

A strange expression on the rookie's face made me stare at him as I fastened my

button fly. I kept one eye on him as I opened the door and gathered the deposit bag. It

wasn't a lot of money. Wednesday wasn't busy, never was.

"I have to go. Gerry leaves now. Sorry to leave you hanging." I had to get behind

the bar. We do a steady business with the cops and the neighborhood people, and even

though it was ten o'clock, I had four more hours until closing.

"Call me." His voice was husky and I fancied I heard just the slightest clink of that

metal stud clicking against his teeth.

He wasn't the first visitor to my office, not the first face I'd stared at, trying to

forget the one that was burned into my retinas, but he was different. I might have to get

his name. Shit. I don't think I even gave him my name.

"I'm Chance, this is my place. You want me; this is where you can find me." I

won't call. Been there, done that. Got the emotionally stunted psyche to prove it. I shoved

him out the door ahead of me and let it close on our little interlude with a sensation akin

to gratitude.

Every night…

The problem with that, of course, was that it wasn't my name. My name was

actually Aaron Dumont.

I picked up the name Chance as a kid when my grandma kept telling me "Chances

are you'll come to no good, just like your pa." She had said it so often, it just kind of

stuck. I've been Chance ever since. When she passed away and left me the remains of her

estate, I sold everything but a few special items then invested it all in a nest egg for a

rainy day.

I figured that's what she'd intended it for anyway. She'd said as soon as I joined

the police force back in the eighties. "Chances are you'll come to no good there. It's a

dangerous job and you're an accident waiting to happen."

She was right too. That nest egg came in handy after the not-so-accidental

shooting that ended my career. After my injuries healed and the physical therapy was

done, I loafed around doing nothing for a bit, sinking into depression and dying slowly

inside of sheer boredom. Then I found the bar, and Chances Are was born. I don't know if

the name was a tribute to the woman who loved and understood me or a fuck you to the

one who ruled my childhood with an iron fist. Since they're the same ruthless, gently bred

Southern lady, I don't spend a lot of time dwelling on the motivation behind the name.

Every night found me here, polishing glasses, pouring drinks, and soaking up the

world. I got to talk shop with local law enforcement without being responsible for the

paperwork. The neighborhood itself was eclectic and I got plenty of customers in on any

given night who were prone to chat and flirt and sometimes, like the rookie, even a little

more.

He was still there, watching me when he thought I wasn't looking, taking the

ribbing his buddies were dishing out with a flush and a faint smile. I was impressed. Rory

Gaines had backbone. I liked that. It kind of made me want to test his limits, crush his

spirit, just to see if he'd let me, but I knew that was the bitterness of lost love, and I'd

never actually do it. I don't think.

As I polished the shot glasses, I was giving serious thought to actually going back

to my office and digging that business card he'd given me out of the trash can. When the

front door burst open and smashed into the wall with a sound so akin to gunfire that

several of the off duty cops in the room dropped to one knee and reached for weapons

they weren't supposed to be carrying in my establishment, I forgot about everything else.

I pretended not to see the service revolvers, just like they pretended not to see when the

clock crept past the mandatory two-thirty am closing time.

Yeah. My state senator father wasn't my only connection. Not even my most

useful one.

Gerry, my bartender, stumbled back through the doorway looking like shit. You

have to know Gerry to understand that while his normal mode of presentation was

disheveled frat boy, it was usually by design. This wasn't design. His eyes were wide and

his face sported several bruises. A trickle of blood seeped from his hairline in a gruesome

trail along his nose. His clothes were covered in fall debris: dead leaves, muck from the

gutter. He appeared to have rolled around in the parking lot with a dozen rough jocks.

Only he wasn't smiling, and the last time that happened, he'd smiled for a week.

"Chance!" He headed in my direction and I met him halfway, helped him onto a

stool while the customers went back to their business.

"Fuck." One of the cops, Darrin Kelly, a plain clothes detective, threw back his

whiskey and approached us. "I've got this, Chance. I’m on duty tonight."

I zipped my lip and parked my ass next to Gerry. I had a bad feeling about this,

and the fact that an on-duty cop was drinking in my bar for nearly two hours wasn't my

business. Gerry and my bank deposit were my business. Darrin would quite likely face

disciplinary action if word got back to his superiors, but I couldn't be responsible for him.

He was adult who made his own choices, and like me, he'd have to live with the choices

he'd made.

Another longtime customer, one of the neighborhood guys, Frankie stepped

behind the bar and helped himself to a refill then tossed a fiver on the bar by the register.

Reminded me I had three hours and forty-five minutes of a business left to run. I thought

briefly about closing early, but dismissed the idea. It wasn't a big deal. There hadn't been

more than a few thousand in that deposit bag, and there wouldn't be much more before

the end of the night.

I made a snap decision. "Hey, Frankie, cover the bar for me for a bit and your

drinks are on the house." He nodded, and leaned on the counter sipping his drink. The

clients were all chatting, although some were still casting us strange or questioning looks,

but the longer it appeared nothing was going on, the less attention they paid to me, Gerry,

or Darrin.

Except the rookie. His gaze was plastered to my back. I practically felt the

emotions pouring off him when I laid a hand on Gerry to tilt his head into the light so I

could peer into his eyes. When foot falls approached and a bulky warm presence stood a

little too close behind me, I knew it was him. I hadn't decided what to do with him yet, so

I ignored him.

Gerry looked a little beat up, but I didn't see any signs of serious injury. Relief

made me a little rougher than I maybe should have been, but fuck. You spend years

teaching yourself not to care about people so you don't get hurt, and some fucking barely

legal bartender manages to sneak under your radar in the disguise of being a cute

employee? "What the fuck happened, Gerry?"

Darrin kicked me. I glared at him. "What?"

He rolled his eyes at the rookie behind me—Rory Gaines. Fuck that. He was

staying the rookie until I knew where he belonged in my life. "He's the victim. There's

laws about how you can treat people. Maybe they didn't have those back when you were

on the force. But Jesus, couldn't you just ask if he's okay first?"

"You've stayed too long."

I looked Gerry over again to see if maybe Darrin had picked up on something I

missed. He was grubby looking, a bit of blood from the head injury, but his eyes were

clear, skin tone decent. "He's going to be fine."

"Who did this to you, son?" Darrin's big beefy paw landed on Gerry's shoulder in

what I assumed was supposed to be a gesture of comfort, but Gerry just flinched and his

eyes darted around the room as though he were looking for someone.

"There were three guys." He spoke into the corner. I glanced over to see what he

was looking at. Nothing but an empty booth.

Suspicion tingled at the back of my mind. My bullshit detector going off for some

reason. "They jump you?"

"Yeah. One of them grabbed the money bag and ran. The other two tackled me to

the ground. Knocked me out. Sorry, boss." He tried to look me in the eye, but his gaze

skittered away again. What the fuck?

"Gerry?" Darrin made a few notes on a sheet of paper in a little pocket size

notebook.

I smirked at him. "Can't remember shit, old man?"

He gave me the finger before turning back to Gerry. "Now, son. Did anyone say

anything to you during this assault? Any slurs, name calling?"

Rory—the rookie, damn it—stepped in closer behind me. There's something

about just the hint of a hate crime that makes you want to cling closer to people you know

share your feelings. Some sort of combination of safety in numbers and birds of a feather

flocking together made me lean back against him, just for a second. Then I caught some

shifty little squint in Gerry's eyes.

The rookie stiffened, and I was impressed that Rory had apparently seen the same

thing I had. Then he fucked up my newfound admiration for his investigative ability with

his announcement.

"He's lying."

Gerry started sputtering and clutching his head, Darrin scoffed and I stepped

backward, making sure to let the heel of my boot land right on the rookie's toes. He

hastily backed away, but didn't utter a sound. I refused to admire that. Stoicism was great,

but it didn't outweigh idiocy. "You've stayed too long." I glared at him. Let him see how

displeased I was by his behavior.

A chastened puppy look crossed his handsome face, followed quickly by an

indrawn breath and a determined expression. "I'm sorry. But I know he's lying and you

know he's lying." A thumb jerked derisively in Darrin's direction. "He may be too fucked

up to notice that your bartender is lying, but I know the signs. He can't meet our eyes, his

lip is twitching and he's nervous as hell. He's lying."

I held Rory's gaze calmly, raised a brow and waited. He eventually stopped

speaking, his cheeks flushed an attractive pink, and his gaze skittered away just like

Gerry's had moments before. Fuck. What to do about Rory was quite obvious. He needed

something from me, and it wasn't just sex. It was something I'd actually nearly been able

to forget that I needed as well. "Go wait in my office. You aren't a part of this. is on duty.

He'll take care of it. You aren't needed here."

The protest nearly made it out, but he pressed his lips tight together, so hard that a

thin white line formed around them, and stared at me. He was fuming…steam practically

emanated from his body. But he stopped interfering, gave me a green-eyed glare full of

import, and spun on his heel.

I watched him walk away, so I saw him look back over his shoulder when he

opened the door of the office. I let him see that I was watching, let a smile twist the

corner of my mouth. He nodded again, and visibly relaxed.

"You shouldn't be so hard on him, Chance." Darrin drew my attention from the

door to my office and the man who waited for me behind it. "He's new on the job and just

showing off the psychology the department taught him."

"He needs to learn patience and a whole lot more before he becomes a good cop."

But was I the one who was supposed to teach him? Or, as my friends said, was I just

clutching at any straw that would keep my ties to the department alive? If that psycho

babble was true, then this was a new low, even for me. I shrugged it off. Chances are the

rookie won't hang around for long, anyway.

I turned my attention from the office and Rory back to the bar stool and Gerry. Of

course I knew he was lying. But about what? "Gerry? As Rory so helpfully pointed out,

you're not being entirely truthful in your story here."

Gerry's wandering gaze settled on Darrin, as though he expected support from that

direction. An apologetic smile crossed Darrin's face. He gestured with his pen, made a

jabbing motion at Gerry's face. "Your eyes keep wandering—you especially can't seem to

meet Chance's gaze. Now that's not a hundred percent indicator that you're lying, and it

doesn't tell us at all what you're lying about, but it is enough to make us want to ask you

more questions."

"I…there weren't three of them." He ducked his head and breathed heavily for a

few seconds. Frankie shoved a glass of water, a wet rag, and a cup of ice at me over the

bar. I passed the water to Gerry, and stared at the ice and the rag.

"For his face." Frankie noted my perplexity.

"Oh, we can't clean him up yet." Darrin tapped his phone. "Got to wait for the

guys to get here. Take some crime scene photos, collect the debris off his clothes for

evidence, a sample of that blood to make sure it's his. Forensics will have a fit if I mess

with anything."

Incredulity dragged my gaze from Gerry back to Darrin. "What happened to

victim's rights?"

He shrugged. "It's a fine line, Chance. Evidence is important if we ever catch

these six guys who jumped Gerry here and verbally assaulted him with homophobic slurs.

There could be all kinds of evidence on his clothes and his person."

He was talking to me, but I noticed he was keeping a close eye on Gerry at the

same time. My brain clicked out of friend-in-trouble mode and fell right back into the

ten-year-old investigative patterns. What was Darrin seeing that I wasn't? I eyed Gerry

closely, this time crushing any urge to sympathy. I know—you didn't notice them before,

I’m subtle like that.

Gerry jerked upright, his gaze intent on Darrin's face. "I never said that! No one

made any homophobic slurs! They just took the money and ran."

"All six of them?"

"There were three. One of them grabbed the deposit bag and ran, the other two

tackled me to the ground."

"Okay, okay." Darrin made a show of correcting something in his book. "Three

guys attacked you in the parking lot of a bar where gay men are known to hang out, but

none of them assaulted you verbally, and none of them touched you inappropriately."

"That's right." Gerry nodded enthusiastically and continued. "They wore ski

masks and black jackets. I didn't see their faces."

He turned to me and peered up through his sloppy, blood-soaked bangs. "I'm sorry

about the money, boss, but I figured it wasn't much and you wouldn't want me to chase

them down."

I waved it off. Yeah it wasn't much. Losing a few thousand from a Wednesday

night wasn't going to even make a dent in my pocket. "Don't worry about that, Gerry."

Nothing has changed.

"You'd better just go ahead and arrest him," I told Darrin. "He's just going to keep

lying, and we're not going to get any truth from him." Gerry's mouth dropped open and

protests tumbled over each other.

"I told you it might not have been three. I admit it, it was one…I thought you

might be mad if I let one guy get the drop—"

"Forget it, Gerry." Darrin cut him off. "You're lying. You weren't beat up or set

upon by three men, or even one, on your way across the parking lot to drop off that

deposit bag."

Damn. I still couldn't see it, but whiskey or not, Darrin's certainty was contagious.

Whatever made Darrin positive, I'd find it. I started re-examining Gerry from head to

toe.

"I'm not lying! I’m just nervous about the money and that Chance might fire me."

Gerry's gaze flicked from me to Darrin and back again, eyes big and wide, and I knew he

expected me to believe every word. He turned his pleading gaze on me. "Why would you

believe that rookie over me? Because he blew you in the office? You're letting sex

influence you!"

I stiffened and glared at Gerry. He quailed a bit as he recognized my fury. I'd

always known that the building was old and sometimes drafty. On quiet nights when I

was in the office I could hear the bartenders and customers chatting. I'd never really been

able to distinguish words unless they were loud or emphatic, or fell into one of those odd

spells of silence. It seemed to me that the only way Gerry could know with absolute

certainty what went on in my office was if he were lingering very close to that closed

door. "Were you eavesdropping?" I asked in as mild a voice as I could manage.

"Oh come on, boss! Everyone knows what goes on in your office when you go in

there with a guy and the door is closed. Okay, yeah, I was watching, he's hot."

I looked at Darrin, who nodded affirmation. "No secret, Chance. It's pretty

obvious when you go in with a good looking guy like that and you both come out all

sleepy eyed and smudgy mouthed." He shrugged. "Rory was smudgy mouthed all right,

but he didn't look very—"

I'd seen knowing glances passed around, sure. But somehow the difference

between people speculating on what I'd been doing and people actually knowing…

unsettling. "Okay, I get it." I'd have to give serious thought to finding a new place to go.

Then again, what the fuck do I care who knows I'm getting blown? "Sex and lies…two

different things, Gerry."

"You can't believe that guy over me! He's not even an experienced cop. You've

known me for years, Chance. Why would I lie to you?" More big eyes and trembling lips.

Why indeed? "Oh, I didn't send him out of the room because I thought he was

wrong, Gerry. I sent him out of the room because he was interrupting. I didn't need Rory

to tell me you were lying, and I don't need Darrin to tell me either. Are you going to tell

me he's a rookie and inexperienced, too?"

And there, I was calling him Rory again. Time to accept that maybe Rory was

going to be something more than a few minutes of relaxation in the office? I could picture

him, pacing around in that tiny space, simmering over my dismissal, and angry in a way

that he hadn't been at the one-sided aspect of our little encounter.

"What about this?" Gerry demanded, yanking his hair back to expose the injury to

his scalp. "Does this look like a lie?"

"Yeah. That looks like it hurt."

"It does! I didn't fight back; you always said if someone holds us up to give them

what they want, that the money isn't worth losing a life over. I figured the same thing

applied to mugging."

"Sure, the same thing would apply to mugging. But it doesn't apply to stealing."

Gerry kicked the rung of the stool he was perched on, and a clump of debris from his

shoe hit the floor. I scowled again. Sweeping and mopping were the last things I wanted

to do tonight, especially with the new ideas I was having about Rory…but in addition to

the aggravation of stealing my money, Gerry'd tracked enough muck in that I wouldn't

have a choice.

A bright yellow poplar leaf in the muck held my attention and everything clicked

into place. I'd seen exactly what Darrin had. I was just out of practice in drawing

conclusions. Nothing had changed. I reached out and grabbed the hand that Gerry had

used to push his hair away from his injury. Yes. A smear of whitewash ran across the

sleeve on the underside, as though he'd leaned on the freshly painted cinderblock wall

that divided my parking lot from the subdivision to the rear.

The exact opposite of the direction Gerry should have walked to get to the bank

and his bus.

"I'm at a loss."

My bar sat on a corner lot with parking on two sides. That cinderblock wall

divided my parking from the neighborhood on the rear. It was one of those overpriced,

reclaimed neighborhoods where a homeowner's association made the residents miserable

with all their Stepford home rules. It's their fault I can't live in the apartment over my bar,

what with the constant lawn mowing and tree trimming and construction noise. Their anal

retentive maintenance rules were responsible for that fence being freshly painted every

time some kid graffitied it.

The other side of my lot was bordered by an evergreen hedge that both the

neighbor and I agreed should be allowed to overgrow its former boxy shape. I could see it

all so easily now. Gerry, the cute scruffy kid who I trusted with my Wednesday deposit

had stolen my money. He'd either handed it off to someone on the other side of that

cinderblock fence, or it was still there, hidden. I'd bet he'd just leaned over and tucked it

down there, thinking he'd retrieve the bag when the furor died away.

I'm sure he didn't consider things like someone else coming along and finding it

before he got done with the cops. I'm sure it never occurred to him that everyone in the

place who looked at him would know he was lying the minute he walked in. No. Because

he was used to me…walking around with my head up my ass not noticing shit because I

didn't have to anymore.

He caught me looking and rubbed at the smudge. The still tacky paint got on his

hands and he rubbed it on jeans. His expression grew frantic, and he grabbed for the

water glass and napkin. Darrin caught his hand and replaced it on his jeans. "Son, I'm

going to ask you one last time to tell us what happened. If you're still inclined to lie, then

I'm going to have to let the boys take you in when they get here."

Gerry just kind of went limp in the seat. He grabbed the wet napkin and pressed it

to the injury on his head, and this time Darrin didn’t stop him. I was at a loss as to why,

but Darrin put down the notebook and handed Gerry his nearly empty whiskey glass. A

bit of indignation sparked, but I ignored it.

Gerry shuddered. His chest swelled as he breathed deep then the words tumbled

out so fast I could see how hard he'd been trying to keep them in. "My brother called. His

kid's needing surgery and he doesn't have the money for the hospital co-pay for it. I don't

have any money either, Chance, and I know it's not right, but I know you have plenty of

money. I figured you wouldn't really miss it. Phil and I, we got no one else to call when

things like this go wrong. Lacey's just a little kid and deserves a chance to do something

with her life. She doesn't get that surgery then she's going to die. The money was there…

you wouldn't miss it. So I took it. I used a rock from the back lot to bang myself up,

rolled in the parking lot to make it look like I'd been tossed around."

I couldn't look at him any more, his face all covered with smears of dirt and

blood, his eyes bright with tears, cheeks flushed. I stared over his shoulder at the door he

burst through all of what? Twenty minutes ago? There was a tiny little ache in my

chest…the chest I thought was numb for ever after. The one thing I'd been grateful to

Cannon for was that fucking numbness…and now, not only were rookie cops and frat

boy bartenders slipping under my guard and worming their way into my life, but they

were going to be allowed to hurt me, too? Well, there's more than one way to numb what

you don't want to feel.

"Frankie!" He looked over when I called, and at my gesture brought me a bottle of

whiskey and three clean glasses. I filled each one about an inch from the brim, saw

Darrin eyeing me slantwise. I took a gulp from one glass then swirled it in the light as

heat burned away the pain and the numbness returned. I glanced back at Gerry who

picked at his jeans with grubby hands.

I should have been angry, but I wasn't. He's right. I won't miss that money. It's a

small amount, and I have all I'll ever need from the insurance payouts over my career

ending injury. What bothered me…I was suddenly struck by his story. Not the niece,

'cause yeah, that's sad, but if he'd asked I probably would have paid for the surgery. The

whiskey masked the fact that I was actually kind of hurt that he didn't ask. So I blurted

that out because I was too busy mulling over the sense of fucking loneliness his

confession created. Loneliness that went beyond the pain, beyond the numbness that

cured the pain…it was a well of darkness…a mirror without a reflection?

Shit…Who was going to ever call me for help with something like that? Who can

I call when I need like that? Not fucking Cannon Malloy…I couldn't even call him for a

ride. And after our last meeting, he wouldn't call me if his life depended on it.

No one. I got friends, and I got customers, and I got former coworkers, and fuck

buddies…and I got no one I could call and no one who would call me. No one who

would steal for me…

"Where's the money, Gerald?" Darrin's voice was hard, judging. His gaze kept

wandering to that whiskey glass I pushed toward him, and it was embarrassing how much

he really wanted it. I saw him tremble with the need. What the fuck happened to Darrin

that that glass of whiskey was so much temptation? What brought him to my bar when he

should be out working? Why the fuck am I getting all this now? I'm disgusted that I didn't

notice Darrin's problem before, disgusted that Gerry couldn't just ask for the money he

needed. Who the hell has Cannon made me?

It doesn’t matter. I don't fucking want to be this guy anymore; I set the whiskey

glass down with a snap. Living hurts.

"Let him keep the money."

"Are you insane? He stole from you!"

Rory. "I told you to wait for me in the office." I glanced over at him, and he

looked livid. His skin was dark with anger, his lips tight. His body was tense and still,

and suddenly, I wanted him. Not just release, but him. Maybe he could be someone that I

could call…maybe I could be someone that he could call. Maybe there were more ways

to deal with the pain than numbing it.

"I’m not some lap dog you can put where you want it."

"I didn't say you were. I don't need the money. He does. I'll dock his pay until it's

paid off."

Gerry jerked upright on the stool. "I’m not fired?"

"Did you want to be?"

"No, but I stole from you. How can you forgive me? How can you trust me?"

"I can't. I'll be making all the deposits. You'll be doing a lot of mopping." I

watched Rory sputter while I spoke to Gerry. "I care about you, kid, and I wish you'd

come to me with your problem in the first place, but I understand that it was impulsive,

not premeditated, and I'll get over it."

Rory's blue eyes narrowed, his lips went white. He spun on his heel and stalked

toward the door just as two uniforms stepped inside. He brushed past them without

speaking and Darrin waved them over. It occurred to me that rather than watching the

place where Rory used to be standing, I should go get the money before someone else

found it. Letting Gerry rip me off was one thing, letting some punk from the

neighborhood do it was something else.

I don't know what Darrin told the cops, and I don't care. Nothing was stolen as far

as I'm concerned, and maybe, just maybe, Gerry gave me something I needed in

exchange.

There were signs.

Everyone was gone for the night…the last of the drinkers, the cops, Gerry, and

Darrin looking grim and defeated. The bar was dimly lit by neon beer signs, but I

discovered long ago that if you leave a single light on to mop by some idiot will try to

convince you to sell him a drink. So I was mopping in the dark and thinking about the

night…about Gerry and his brother and having someone to call, about Darrin and his

drinking and who the hell was he going to call? He was probably going to get written up,

maybe suspended from the force because I saw those two uniforms noticing the alcohol

on his breath. But mostly I was thinking about Rory. How hot he was…the things I'd like

to do with him…the arrogance…I liked him. I realized that, and while it scared me, I

thought I was ready for more than backroom sex. Besides, I owed him.

In retrospect, there were signs all along that I was getting over what Cannon and I

had shared. I've given you the impression I'm a bitter man, and that's true, but this little

incident showed me that I’m letting go, and moving on. Rory interested me more than I

thought he would…I began to think that I wouldn't have any trouble remembering the

color of his eyes or hair. After all, I remembered his name just fine.

I was mopping up the floor, thinking about calling him, when I remembered that I

threw his card in the wastebasket of the office after he left. "Fuck."

My heart tripped as I headed for my office, leaving the dirty mop water in the

middle of floor, casting the mop aside like so many of the faceless men I'd had

encounters with. All because I couldn't remember if I'd emptied that trash can or not.

What if I threw out his card?

I slowed my pace toward the door. Keep calm, dumbass. You're capable of

finding a cop in this town. More than likely he'd come back in to get a drink with his

buddies. But I didn't want to drag him off into the backroom in front of the whole bar so

they'd all know what we were doing next time.

My hand was on the doorknob to the office when a rap on the glass window

beside the entrance caught my attention. Seemed like it wasn't even necessary to have a

light on…they see a shadow move and assume you'll get them a drink. "We're closed!" I

yelled, opening my office.

The rap was repeated louder, more insistently. I scowled. Fucking drunks.

Stalking across the wet floor, I unlatched the door and stuck my head out. "It's after

hours, dickhead. I can't sell to you or I'll lose my liquor license."

He stepped out of the shadows so I could tell, even though his face was pink from

the light of a neon beer sign, that it was Rory. I needed to go get my heart checked out,

because that fucker started to race and skip along like I'd done a line of coke or

something. "Rory." My voice was husky, and he liked it, the grim line of his jaw softened

and his lips parted a little.

I was doing okay, getting myself under control when his tongue peeped out and

slid over his lips leaving a shiny trail…and maybe it was the neon lights, or maybe I just

missed kissing, but suddenly I had to kiss him.

I yanked him into the bar, letting the door swing shut behind him. I used the

excuse of locking the door to push him against it and take his mouth.

He was surprised, but willing, his mouth opened immediately, and I felt his

frustration when I ignored that invitation. A lighter feeling flowed through me. Kissing

Rory was fun; his lips were soft skin over firm muscle, plump, resilient. I licked and

sucked his bottom lip while he tried to capture my tongue and lure it into his mouth. He

could do what he wanted, I was going to enjoy the first kiss I'd shared with anyone

since…he who shall not be named.

Some day, Cannon won't even cross my mind. Tonight, he was there, but he

wasn't the center of my focus. Rory was alive, squirming and pushing against me, making

enticing little sounds of frustration.

His hands closed on my hips; he ground his cock against me, and I remembered

that I never got to see him earlier. I nipped his lower lip and leaned away from him. That

pushed our groins closer and his breath whooshed out in alcoholic fumes. "You been

drinking in someone else's bar?" I teased.

He pouted, and with his lips damp and swollen, I nearly blew off looking and

dove back into kissing.

"I didn't want to come back here, Chance. You treated me like shit, and I didn't

like it. I just came to say screw you, you don't know what you're missing."

His belligerence might have turned me off, if his eyes didn't flash with hurt, and

his cock wasn't rubbing so frantically against me. I felt a little thrill that he still wanted

me…a little regret that he'd taken my actions so much to heart.

"I’m sorry. I’m not used to this."

His cheeks flushed and his grip on my hips tightened. I cupped his jaw in my

palm and the blond stubble I could barely see abraded my skin. It felt good…

"I want to touch you." Wanted to feel him all over, let his body burn away the

memories of blue eyes and black hair. Build new memories.

His Adam's apple bobbed and he looked frantically around. "Here? Now?" His

hurt feelings were apparently forgotten easily, and I was glad because I didn't want to

hurt him.

Couldn't help laughing though. "Not unless you want every perv who walks by to

see your naked ass." The whole front of the bar was glass windows, and anyone who

came by could see right in. Rory was blushing but not protesting and I made a note of the

fact that he wasn't ruling out public sex. Interesting, but not for this time.

"We can go up to the apartment."

"Yes." I watched the muscles in his ass flex as he headed for the stairs. He looked

back over his shoulder when he realized I wasn't following him yet. "Aren't you

coming?"

"Not yet. I was admiring the view. And you'll be coming first…I owe you."

I realized how careless those words were, how they might have been interpreted

when he froze with one hand on the stair rail. "Is that what this was about? Paybacks? I'm

not a debt collector, Chance. I don't want you like that."

I’m not used to caring how people hear my words. I'm not used to caring how

people look at me. "I’m not used to this." I grumbled. "Making an effort. I didn't mean

that the way it sounded. I want you, Rory. In my bed. No debts."

"I don't do one night stands," he asserted. It was kind of a moot point, because

hadn't I already decided that I wanted more from him? But he didn't know that.

He stared at me now, earnest and so damn young looking I had to chase second

thoughts out of my head. "I need this, Rory. Need you."

An unforgettable dream.

Rory in his uniform earlier was beautiful. Rory naked on his knees in the middle

of the bed I never slept in was stunning. His body was a long lean swathe of muscle and

golden skin that lit up the dark sheets and the dark places in my soul I'd kept sealed off

until today. I didn't know what he expected, but he just continued to kneel there, exactly

where I put him, quiet, waiting. No questions, no demands, nothing crossed those swollen

tempting lips but gusts of whiskey-scented breath. Maybe he does know when to keep his

mouth shut after all.

I felt his gaze on me, following me about the room as I took my time removing

my own clothes. He wasn't impatient, not demanding. Slow and easy, folding them and

putting them aside, nudging my shoes under the bed, watching him out the corner of my

eye. I liked the idea of him waiting so patiently for me. Something made me want to see

how long he'd wait, but another something was warning me against letting him see how

much I liked it, how much I liked him. I should just climb up on that bed and quit

indulging myself. I should have learned from the past that my ways aren't for everyone.

Starting out like this…maybe it wasn't a good thing.

Maybe instead of worrying about him finding out just what a kinky bastard I was,

I should probably worry that he was drunk and didn't know what I was doing at all. I

should probably wonder if he realized what I was up to. I should probably give him a

blanket and an aspirin and tell him to sleep it off.

I should definitely not be thinking about all the things I want to do with that sleek

expanse of golden skin. I should speak, tell him, but I didn't really want to scare him off,

not when I'd only just realized I wanted him. "Rory?"

"Chance?" Was that mockery wavering in his voice?

Maybe he wasn't as naïve as his golden image made him seem. "Are you drunk?"

"Pleasantly buzzed, I’d say." His head tilted to the side as though he was thinking

about it. "Yes."

A sigh escaped me. His chest heaved as though he'd taken a deep breath, but the

rest of him remained, so still, like a statue poised, or maybe…he was too warm for a

statue. They're cold stone or metal…He was the model posing for the sculptor, maybe. It

was tempting to let him wait, to see how long he'd hold that pose, with his hands braced

behind his back, thighs faintly spread, thick cock rising in an arc of temptation, flushed

and eager.

But I was very conscious of our one-sided adventure earlier this evening, and I

did owe him something, regardless of what he might think. And completely separate from

what I wanted from him now.

Time to clear the slate.

We started over from here along a different path, but we had to start on equal

footing. Another mistake I made with Cannon. We never existed as equals…not socially,

not sexually.

"Fuck. You're thinking of him, aren't you?" Rory jerked out of position and nearly

flew off the bed before I could stop him.

I nearly let him go then. But I knew I'd regret it. "Rory. I’m not so much thinking

about him, as thinking about how to do things with you so you and me don't turn out like

me and him."

That stopped him. He dropped the pants he'd grabbed from the floor and turned to

sit on the bed. I let him sit, sat next to him, but not too close. "What do you mean?"

"What did the guys tell you about Cannon?" Because of course they had to

have…He seemed to know too much about me.

"Is that his name? Cannon? They didn't know that. They just said that you were a

good cop until he fucked up your life."

Well, that was one way of putting it, but hearing it like that told me that keeping

my own counsel over the events hadn't stopped people thinking what they wanted about

it. "Gossip isn't always correct."

His cheeks flushed and he looked like a kid caught in the cookie jar or something.

"So he's not the reason you quit?"

"I was injured in the line of duty. I couldn't do the job any more. That's why I

quit. Cannon was the reason for a lot of other things, but not for that."

"Are you going to tell me about him?"

I made a snap decision. "No. I’m not. Are you going to tell me about every girl

you kissed and every cock you sucked before you walked into my office earlier tonight?"

"Fuck no!" His brows shot up and he jerked away from me.

"Then?"

"They were different. They never meant anything to me."

Hmm. "You think the fact that he meant something to me means I have to share

him with you? Why? You think you have that kind of meaning to me? You're a great

cock sucker, kid, but a blow job isn't an all access pass."

This time I was ready for him to bolt and I had him on his back on the bed with

his hands in one tight grip while I squeezed his jaw with the other to make him face me.

His eyes were bitter, angry. Seemed a little out of context for what had happened

between us so far. "Kid…" I did my best to make the warning clear. He was breathing

hard, straining under me.

"I’m not a kid. I'm twenty-six and my fucking name is Rory. Use it."

"Sir."

"What?" His brows drew together in confusion, his lips twisted. He bucked up

and his cock brushed my skin harder, leaving a hot damp wet spot on my thigh.

"Use it, Sir." His whole body went limp beneath me and his lips parted on a

whoosh of air. His cock ground against my thigh as he reacted to just using that word. I

felt a little lighter, a little less like an asshole.

"Sir."

He did understand then, what I wanted, what was going to happen between us.

Something that had been tight and hard inside since Cannon pushed me away loosened a

little, and I swear that bastard slipped right inside. His tongue slicked over his lips, and

his eyes were glued to me, searching for something. "Rory, I'm set in my ways. I like to

do things the way I like to do them. As long as you can deal with that, I’m willing to give

this attraction between us the chance to develop."

"You mean this?" He tugged against my grip, testing, not really trying to get away

any more.

I nodded. My heart in the back of my throat told me his answer was important,

more than I wanted it to be. There was more that I should tell him…more that we should

talk about, but his near departure had made me urgently aware that I wanted him to stay.

Sex was one way to convince him to do that. I wouldn't fuck him. I wasn't ready

to consider that option, but there were still all the things that I imagined before we'd

gotten off track.

I bent to kiss him again, holding his jaw still, keeping him motionless, the way I

liked it. I explored his mouth as thoroughly as possible, tipping and turning his chin to

change angles, to deepen the kiss. When he tried to rub my tongue with his, I nipped it

sharply and he subsided.

He writhed against me, grinding his cock into my thigh, groaning into my mouth.

I allowed it. I could've stopped it, dropped my full weight on him, pinned him to the bed

the way I wanted to, but I didn't. His cock left damp trails across my skin, and that

dampness promised a lot.

He was amenable. That was enough for now. Baby steps. Maybe we'd get where I

wanted to go eventually, but we'd have to work it out together, learn each other. A

whimper escaped into my mouth, and he stilled, then jerked against me. The rich earthy

scent of semen exploded around us. A warm gush of fluid coated my thigh. I let go of his

hands and gentled my kiss.

It was a good place to start again. I'd gotten mine earlier, and this was for him,

and within certain parameters, he could have what he wanted. He tore his mouth away

from mine. "Is that it?" he asked.

Is that it? "No. It's a starting place, though."

The End

Look for more of Chance's adventures in

Second Chances Are

Coming March 1, 2013

From Pulp Friction

More Pulp Friction Coming Soon!

January

Wicked Solutions by Havan Fellows

Pulp Friction No.2

January 15, 2013

Sometimes the only way for justice to prevail is to get a little Wicked...

People who call him know the deal. He'll solve their problems, but he'll do it his way.
That's the only way Wick Templeton plays the game. His years on the force and
connections to all types of specialists put him in a league of his own. That's how he
intends to keep it.

An ex-boyfriend in need puts Wick on a path that crosses that of Ned Harris, a stranger
who proves to be a worthy adversary.

Wick's simple agenda gets a little more complicated. Item one: Clear his ex's name. Item
two: unmask the enigma that is Ned Harris.

It's a good agenda. Too bad Wick can't seem to stick to it.

Excerpt:

Wick whistled while he worked, clicking on different files in Neer's computer and

copy/saving them onto the brand new flash drive he had brought with him. Most of the

files would end up being worthless, but he wouldn't chance missing the right one because

he didn't want to transfer them all over.

"Would you mind not whistling that shit?"

Wick didn't even bother looking up, he could tell from his periphery vision that

the big brute still sat proper in the chair. "Oh sorry, was that bothering you?" He licked

his lips and when he blew between them the theme song for It's a Small World took

flight.

"Just kill me now."

"I don't take requests. Now less talking please, I'm concentrating." He continued

whistling his little ditty while he finished the last of the transfers.

He reached into his pocket for his second flash drive when he noticed a link on

the M drive that he could've sworn wasn't there before. He clicked on it...nothing. He

moved the mouse over it again and double clicked...still nothing.

"Say, Cliffy dah-ling. What's so special about the M drive?"

"Go to hell, fuckwad."

"Okay, that's a tad unwarranted." But it wasn't the words that got Wick's interest

piqued. No, he already guessed Neer wasn't a poet. The way his back stiffened when

asked about the M drive, now that interested Wick.

He messed around trying to find a back door for this elusive drive, but no go.

Finally he just put his pointer over it and clicked repeatedly out of frustration.

It opened up to a password protected file.

"Well fuck me, that really does work?" He chuckled as he searched the obvious

places on the desk just in case Neer's denseness equaled Brad's. Unfortunately, Neer

didn't leave a handy dandy sticky note with passwords stuck anywhere. Well, this was as

far as he could go without asking for help. He curled his lip up to the right, he hated

asking for help.

"Hey Cliffy, wanna play a game?"

He twirled the chair so he faced the back of Neer's head and propped his feet on

the desk.

"Go to hell, fuc—"

Wick raised his voice over Neer's, "There are five main swear words that are

frequently used in the English language to hurt people's feelings. When used with lesser

cuss words you can procure hundreds of derogatory names. When combined to make

compound words your options go into the thousands, even higher if you aren't

particularly worried about the grammar Nazis. If you insist on insulting me I'm going to

have to ask that you change it up each time. It keeps our romance alive, keeps the spark

in our relationship.

"So now, about our game. I've got a silencer in my bag here. I'm about to equip it

on my gun right here in my hand." He held up the gun, when Neer attempted to look he

stopped him. "What are you doing? No turning around. I really do have a silencer. You'll

have to have a little faith in your dance partner on this one. Now, I'm going to ask you a

few simple questions. If you answer them correctly all is well. If you don't; I shoot. Let's

say, oh I don't know...I'll begin about a foot away from you, but each time I don't get the

answer I want my aim will target a little closer...and yada yada yada. Get the gist of it?"

February

Triple Digits

by

Laura Harner

Master Archer found his forever with fellow Dom, Zachary, but when their

discreet recovery business interferes with their personal time, Archer buys

exactly what his lover needs—submissive Jeremiah. Because anything two

can do, three can do better.

Excerpt

“Come here, Zachary,” he said. His voice was a low growl, nothing like the

cultured tones he’d used with our guest. My dick responded, despite the vigorous

workout from earlier this morning.

I moved to stand between his spread knees, prepared to kneel if that’s what he

wanted, but he seemed content to wrap his arms around my waist and rest his cheek

against my stomach. He rubbed his hand over my heated ass, his firm stroke raising my

level of awareness. “Do you still feel me, here?”

His words shivered through me.

“I think I might still be feeling you through next Tuesday, but I could take more.”

Archer threw his head back and laughed. “Such an eager boy. Are you sure you’re

a switch?” His tone was teasing, but his hard hand squeezed my ass, and I moaned in

pleasure. He laughed again and the sound eased the slight concern I’d felt at his earlier

shift in attitude.

“We have a lot to do in a short amount of time.”

“You have a plan?”

“I do.” Archer reached for his e-tablet and I opened a new document on the

laptop. Archer was a genius, and there was no telling how fast his ideas would pour out

once he got going.

“Check the calendar,“ Archer said, his own fingers turning electronic pages.

“What am I looking for?”

“Hold on…” He shook his head. “Opera…no…damn, there’s a premiere…what

about…” he looked up, his eyes shining. “Check Thursday, three weeks from tonight.”

I checked. “There’s nothing on your schedule, shall I save it?”

“Yes. We’re throwing a party. Scour our old client list. I particularly want Peter

and Cartier to attend. Ah, and don’t forget to add Wick. What do you think, Zachary?

Will we draw Franklin in?”

I laughed—it was a beautiful plan. “Master Archer is coming out of retirement for

one evening to host a private reprise of Wilde Sides in his beautiful home, and bringing

in three other Masters he personally trained? How could a pain slut like Franklin resist?”

Lee Brazil Author Bio

I’m an avid reader and former teacher of grammar and composition who believes that

falling in love is the grandest adventure anyone can have. In a nutshell, that’s every story

I have to tell. Readers can find out more about me and my writing by visiting me at my

blog,

Lee's Musings

or finding me on

Facebook

. Feel free to drop me a line at

[e-mail]

Contact Links

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http://www.facebook.com/lee.brazil

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http://leebrazilauthor.blogspot.com/

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https://plus.google.com/109834603727709604675/posts

Pinterest

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You Tube

http://www.youtube.com/channel/UCKmjXLWlO4c2_5ZZQigbeZg?

Other Books by Lee Brazil

Available as ebooks from Breathless Press:

The Accident

Willow

Saint's Curse

It's Simple, Simon

Loving Eden

The Librarian

Loving Jacob

Mark’s Opening Gambit

Trapping Drake

The Man Trap

Truth Deeper Than Logic

"The Park At Sunrise" in Word Play: Story Orgy, Vol 1

TRUTH OR DARE

Keeping House

Telling the Truth

Giving Up

Taking the Dare

Risking it All

Donovan's Deal

As e-books With Story Orgy

"The Old Soda Shop" in And The Prompt Is... Volume One

"The Interview" in And The Prompt Is... Holiday Edition

As an e-book From Silver Publishing

Less Than All

In Paper Back

Encounter

A Beautiful Silence

Loving Jacob

Available as Free Stories:

Because You're You

"Be A Bad Boy" in Don't Read in the Closet: Volume One

Nothing to Forgive