Stealing Pretty

by R. Cayden

  Horatio coughed, then nodded to Gray. “We’re in the clear,” he agreed. “But you sure you want to keep a tabloid sensation here?”

  Raiden nodded. “I don’t think they’re coming back, but if anything does go down, you know we won’t be able to keep Jameson safe.”

  Gray tensed. The same thought had been itching at the back of his mind, although he didn’t want to admit it. He wanted to kick himself again, frustrated that he hadn’t been there to keep his guys in line. His didn’t want his life to crash into Jameson’s. He was just trying to keep him safe and give him one more night of freedom.

  “Looks like it’s back to cheap motels,” Gray said.

  Jameson took his hand. “It’s okay,” he said. “We’ll figure something out.” He laughed, then laced their fingers together. “We always do.”

  “Wait a second,” Dee said, then grabbed her purse and rummaged around. “At least take my credit card.”

  “Your credit card?” Gray asked.

  Dee rummaged it out of her purse, then handed it to Jameson, along with a second card. “You said you didn’t want to use your names for anything. Put the rooms on my card! You can pay me back later. Plus, I have Jameson’s haircut in my old ID picture. If anyone takes a look, he could totally be a Dee, especially with the looks he’s pulling lately.”

  Jameson handed the ID to Gray, who nodded. “It passes the smell test.”

  “Thanks, Dee,” Jameson said, throwing his arms around her. “You’re so sweet. And I promise I’ll pay you back once this is all over.”

  “Anything for the lovebirds,” she teased.

  “Awwww,” Raiden and Horatio both chimed out at once.

  As quickly as they could make themselves, Gray and Jameson tore themselves away from the bonfire, then went to grab some supplies from the house. Gray had only managed to throw back two beers over the long evening, so he felt clearheaded enough to drive and find them a quiet place to hole up again. Still, guilt kept creeping up and snarling at him.

  He should have been there, to keep Raiden and Horatio out of this mess. Even if he was falling head over heels for Jameson, his responsibility to his guys didn’t end.

  But maybe Gray was always destined to be a fuckup. Maybe he wasn’t good enough to be a leader. And if he couldn’t keep his crew safe, that meant he couldn’t keep Jameson safe, either, and that he wasn’t worthy of the trust Jameson had placed in him earlier that day.

  He shook aside the doubt the best he could, then shoved a few more things in his bag. Jameson hurried down the stairs in one of Gray’s old sweatshirts, a backpack over his shoulder. When he reached the landing, he threw his arms over Gray’s shoulders, and the pleasure that washed over Gray’s body was a temporary relief from all his worries.

  Even if he was a fuckup, so long as Gray could make Jameson smile like that, he had to be doing something right.

  “Back on the road?” Jameson asked.

  “Back on the road,” Gray agreed.

  Jameson

  The next morning, Jameson was in a daze. He and Gray had stayed up until four in the morning, fucking in a motel with the overhead fan spinning to keep the room cool. Just like Gray said, the more he got used to being penetrated, the easier it was to give in to the release of it. They could go faster, and slower, and Jameson began to recognize how the pleasure inside of his body felt when it was stroked, teased, and pounded. And now that he knew how it felt to have someone actually inside him, Jameson needed that much, much more.

  It made him present with Gray in a whole new way. He felt a little silly thinking about it, like it was cheesy or trite, but it was true, too. He had been somewhere with Gray that he had never been before and felt things in his body that he didn’t know he could feel. The warm pleasure that coiled at his base had bloomed, and the shuddering release had made Jameson reborn. He was always desperate to touch Gray and to feel like they were joined. But while they packed up the motel and headed out to grab breakfast sandwiches, Jameson realized they were moving in unison, a perfect pair.

  Once they had their breakfast and coffees, Gray found an empty park. Jameson wasn’t sure what town they were in, just that they were about ten minutes from the motel, somewhere quiet enough that he could push his scarf aside and eat his breakfast sandwich in peace. The park was flat, with a small wooded area in the back, and they strolled to a small bench under a big old dogwood tree. Across from them, an empty set of swings swayed in the slight breeze, and down the path a bit, a yellow merry-go-round was dotted with rust.

  “Okay,” Jameson said, sipping from his coffee. “We have Dee’s credit card, a few hundred dollars in cash, the stripper’s ex-boyfriend’s car, and whatever is stuck in the trunk. What’s next, do you think?”

  Gray laughed. He tossed his arm over Jameson’s shoulder, then blew on his coffee. “I thought next was probably going to happen in bed.”

  Jameson giggled. “Or some very exciting outdoor locations,” he teased.

  Gray laughed along with him, but when a silence fell, Jameson could feel the truth, lingering in the air. It was why he had thrown himself at Gray the night before, he realized, the reason Jameson suddenly hadn’t been able to wait any longer to feel him, deep inside.

  Just too many close calls, too many high risks. They had both already known it was true, but the encounter at Gray’s house had made it impossible to deny.

  “It’s time to face the truth,” Jameson said.

  Gray nodded and squeezed him a little closer. “I think so.”

  He pushed his hands through his hair. For a split second, he considered grabbing Gray’s hand, running across the park, and maybe disappearing into the trees. He thought if they ran fast enough and long enough, they wouldn’t be able to find their way back to the flashing cameras and the mobsters, waving their guns.

  But then he felt the warmth of Gray’s embrace. He took in a deep breath, smelling the fresh air and the coffee and the scent of the hotel soap on Gray’s body. Jameson turned, brushed his lips across Gray’s, and nodded, their foreheads pressed together. “I know,” Jameson said. “It’s time.”

  Gray let out a puff of air. “I’m sorry, beautiful. I’m sorry I can’t take you on the road forever.”

  Jameson pulled his head back. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “My publicist will probably give you an award, she’ll be so happy you brought me back. And I need to see Pickles and figure out what I’m going to do next.” Nerves spun in his gut, and he fiddled with his coffee cup. “But that doesn’t mean it has to end, does it?”

  Gray smiled, half of his mouth turning up in a lopsided grin. “It? Like… you and I?”

  Jameson laughed. “Who else is there?”

  Gray kissed him, and the rough scrape of his beard felt good on Jameson’s lips, still tender from the sweaty night. “It doesn’t have to end,” he said. “I promise.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” More words danced on Jameson’s lips, but he stopped himself from saying them, anxious that it wasn’t the right time. Instead, he lifted his flaky sandwich and bit into the egg and cheese.

  “Where do you think our first stop should be? If there’s still a crowd outside your house, it might not be smart to roll up to the gate like nothing happened.”

  Jameson sipped his coffee. “We could always go straight to my publicist. Her office is like a fortress, with secret entrances and everything.”

  “Secret entrances?”

  Jameson shrugged. “She has a lot of clients with a lot of bad habits.”

  “We’ll use the Bat Tunnel at your publicist’s office, then,” Gray said. “It’s a plan.”

  Gray started to shuffle and gather his stuff, but Jameson took his hand to stop him. “Hold up,” he teased. “We don’t need to rush.”

  “Oh,” Gray laughed, then squeezed Jameson’s hand. “Sorry. Whenever you’re ready.”

  Jameson looked out over the park. The sun was just high enough that the shadows of the trees stretched acro
ss the grass. It was hard to believe that this was where they were going to call it quits and bring their adventure to an end.

  “Actually,” he said. “Can we make one last stop?” He grabbed his ear, then tugged on the lobe. He still had the clip-on earring that Gray had given him, and he rolled the silver ring between his fingers. “I kind of want a souvenir.”

  Gray popped his eyebrows up. “Can’t say no to that.” He reached up, then pulled on his own ear. “You mind if I get one, too?”

  “I thought you didn’t have tattoos or piercings?”

  Gray shrugged. “I don’t. But maybe now I will. It’s about time I try something new, too, don’t you think?”

  Jameson laughed, then smacked a kiss on Gray’s cheek. “Absolutely. You think you can find a place?”

  They finished their coffee on the drive, making their way to a nearby town. Gray relied on his instincts to find a tattoo parlor and made Jameson laugh by pretending to sniff the air while they drove around. For a second, everything felt surreal. Jameson knew that there was an absolute nightmare waiting, but in his weird bubble with Gray, they were just driving down a highway and past a bunch of fast food restaurants, cruising the radio in the hopes of finding a Queen song.

  It felt normal. He felt normal. He had on one of his favorite looks, eyeshadow that looked like exploding stars and rich red lipstick. It somehow matched perfectly with Gray’s old sweatshirt, a wolf howling on the front, and the comfy black tights he wore. And with the old car humming beneath him, Jameson was more comfortable in the seat next to Gray than he had ever felt in a limo or an SUV with tinted windows.

  “Here we go,” Gray said. They were at a strip mall, and Jameson looked back and forth over the stores, squinting. “There’s no tattoo parlor here?”

  “Nope,” Gray answered, flipping the car off. “You think tattoo parlors are open this early?” He gestured to a store with a purple awning, then hopped out of the car. “Beauty supply!”

  The bell rang when they walked through the door, and the two women working the counter turned to check them out. Jameson adjusted his scarf, then grabbed Gray’s hand. He knew that as long as they were together, he could act like himself and avoid being recognized as Justin Sweet.

  Gray greeted the women and quickly swept everyone up with his charm, telling a big story about how they were getting matching earrings to celebrate the end of an exciting romantic vacation. It was all basically true, except that Gray made up a fake history for Jameson, claiming he was an artist from a small city nearby. Jameson giggled along with the workers, the thrills of being an out gay person in public making him giddy.

  “My guy,” he teased Gray, then bumped their hips together. “He tried to buy me a clip-on earring first.”

  Thinking quick, they made up an excuse about Jameson having some dental work done recently, a flimsy lie that still worked to explain the scarf over his face. After deliberating over the choices, Jameson and Gray both went with silver rings. Jameson got a matching set, one in each ear, but Gray chose a single ring in his right ear. Gray held Jameson’s hand while he got his second one done, after Jameson asked, and the woman who did the piercing hummed at them appreciatively.

  The women complimented his eye makeup one more time while they paid, and Jameson giggled again. For the first time in his life, he was appreciating having an audience.

  Once they returned to the car, Jameson pulled his scarf down and leaned across the seats to give Gray a long, slow kiss. He licked his teeth and pushed his hands through Gray’s hair, and he let himself ask the question one more time. “You’re not going anywhere?”

  “I’m right here,” Gray said. He kissed Jameson back, then pressed their foreheads together. “You ready?”

  Jameson nodded. He pulled the scarf back up, then buckled his seatbelt. His ears were throbbing with a dull pain, and he gently touched the back of a finger against one of the rings, proof that everything had been real. “To the publicist we go.”

  “To the gas station first,” Gray said. He pulled out of the strip mall, then down the city street.

  “Maybe we could get a house on an island somewhere,” Jameson said, gazing out the window. “Would you want to live on an island with me?”

  Gray laughed. “Maybe. Can I put Raiden and Horatio on another island so I know they aren’t getting themselves killed?”

  “Two islands. Got it. I guess for that much money, we could just build a secret bunker at your place in Albany.”

  “I think your disguise is working pretty good, at least. The women at the shop loved your makeup so much, they couldn’t stop staring at it, and still, they didn’t recognize you.”

  Jameson smiled. “I loved them! So maybe we don’t need a secret bunker to be together? Because I can live with a scarf, if that’s what it takes.”

  Gray shifted lanes, then pulled into the gas station parking lot. “Maybe I’ll take you on a proper vacation, the kind of trip you deserve.” He pulled the car up to a spot, then killed the engine as he turned to Jameson. “There’s a big world out there, and neither of us have seen it. I’m sure we can find some parts where no one knows Justin Sweet.” He smiled, holding Jameson’s eye, then laughed to himself. “Maybe I can even pick up another security job through my uncle first and pay for a few things myself.”

  Jameson opened his mouth to object. He thought it went without saying, considering his short career had left him ridiculously wealthy. Like, rich in an embarrassing way, he thought. Gray didn’t have to get a job. He didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to, as far as Jameson was concerned.

  But he stopped himself from saying anything. The security company was important to Gray’s uncle, just like looking out for Raiden and Horatio was important to Gray. There were things that tied Gray down, and Jameson didn’t mind that at all. In fact, it was one of his favorite things about Gray, and the sense of family he felt around the bonfire was something he hadn’t known since he was a kid.

  And anyway, if they were really going to make this relationship work, Jameson knew they would have plenty of time to talk things over. Whatever life they were going to make, they’d figure it out together.

  “I’m going to run in and pay. You want anything?”

  “I’m good!” Jameson said brightly. He nodded toward the squeegee on the side of the pump. “I’ll get the car cleaned up and ready for our last ride.”

  Gray gave him a quick kiss. “Thanks! Be right back.”

  Jameson watched him run into the gas station, a goofy smile on his face. He fiddled with the mirror, then glanced at his sore ear. It was time to face reality, but maybe, Jameson thought, it didn’t have to be that bad.

  After all, he got to bring the dreamiest part of it all home with him.

  Gray

  Some cheesy pop song played over the speakers as Gray paid for the gas and another cup of black of coffee for himself. His eyes scanned over the tabloids just long enough to see Jameson’s face, plastered all over the place.

  Not Jameson’s face, he realized. Justin Sweet’s face. What used to look like strength now looked like a wall of steel in Jameson’s eyes, something cold and sturdy to keep the world away. Without his style, Jameson looked boxier, with a strong brow and a stronger jaw that were unsoftened by the contrasts of his makeup.

  It pissed Gray off all over again, that the world was so obsessed with that lie.

  But then he read the headline, and his blood turned to ice.

  “I said do you want your receipt?”

  Gray jerked his head up to the woman working behind the counter. “Um, no, thanks. But I could grab this?” He tossed the tabloid onto the counter.

  The woman chuckled, then nodded up to the television, playing on mute behind her. “Can you believe it? I just hope Justin gets back safe. I knew something was up. A guy like him would never do the things they were saying he did.”

  Gray looked up at the news show. Sure enough, they were talking about Jameson, who had apparently gone missing.r />
  And then the picture flipped, and Gray’s own face came on the screen. It was an old photograph from when he had tried to make an Instagram, a picture of him posing in a boat he and Raiden had built one summer, a rust bucket that never did make it off the shore. With his flannel shirt unbuttoned and a bottle of beer in his hand, it wasn’t exactly the most flattering picture, and thankfully, his face was all blurry.

  But still, it was Gray, right on the fucking television.

  The close captioning ran across the bottom of the screen: Wanted! Did this man kidnap Justin Sweet?

  Gray darted his eyes to the ground. “Thank you,” he said, sticking the tabloid under his arm as he hurried out. “Have a good day!”

  His heart pounding and blood ringing in his ears, Gray rushed across the parking lot. He was ready to puke. This was so, so much worse than he had expected. It was like when the men showed up at the bonfire. All the walls started falling down, and he was left exposed, vulnerable, and weak.

  Definitely in no position to take care of the thing that suddenly mattered most to him in the world. Because after everything he’d done the past few weeks, still, Gray had crashed the ship. He’d fucked everything over, in ways so much worse than Jameson ever could have done on his own.

  He wasn’t good enough for Jameson, Gray realized. And he’d been fooling himself to ever think otherwise.

  “I’ve got some bad news,” Gray said as he approached the car. Jameson was standing there with the trunk of the Subaru open, staring down with a confused look on his face.

  “You’re not the only one,” he said.

  “Oh!” Gray said, suddenly realizing what was different. “The trunk.”

  “I was cleaning the back window, and then I jiggled with the handle for a while, and I heard a click.” Jameson sounded panicked, and Gray hurried to his side, embracing him from behind as he peered down.

  “Oh, shit.” There could have been a lot of horrible things in the back of the trunk. Guns, for one, or drugs. But apparently, that wasn’t Balenciaga’s style. Or her ex-boyfriend’s, as Gray thought about it. “I’ve never seen that many dildos at one time before.” They were all shapes and sizes, scattered around the trunk.