FAST Balls (Balls to the Wall Book 4)

by Tara Lain

  “No, guapo, I want to dance.”

  Hard swallow. When they’d walked in, a few people had stared, but they could just have been buddies who came together. Start dancing and that was a statement. Still, he’d promised Andres a dance, and since he couldn’t seem to promise him anything else, this was it. “Okay.”

  The music switched to something Latin.

  Andres laughed. “Perfect.”

  They walked out onto the dance floor. God, he could feel eyes boring into his back. A couple from some other fire station glanced over at the newcomers, and the woman’s eyes widened.

  Jerry leaned into Andres. “Maybe this is too much of a thing.”

  “No way, guapo. We came to have fun. Let’s go.” Andres grabbed his hand and spun him out, then broke into a perfect fluid cha-cha. Jerry grinned. “You weren’t kidding about the Jennifer Lopez, but I think I can keep up with you.” He shook his head to clear it a little, stepped out on one foot, rocked back, and swiveled his hips on the cha-cha-cha. Man, he loved to dance.

  “You got good hips for a gringo, man.”

  People around them stared and then began to smile, and a few applauded.

  Okay, this is fun.

  The band got into the spirit and segued from the cha-cha into a merengue. Jerry didn’t know this one as well, but he mimicked Andres and pretty soon had the rhythm. Some people stood around watching them while others joined in and danced. Andres was so gorgeous and so great at dancing, he even spun a couple of the women around as he danced by them, and they squealed. What a charmer.

  The musicians worked up to a big finish. Andres pulled Jerry in close, then spun him out in a twirl. He circled twice, laughed, and… stopped dead.

  Holy crap. Standing on the edge of the dance floor, staring at the dancers with big green eyes, was the yummiest thing he’d ever seen—Mick Cassidy, tall, straight, and strong in a dress blue uniform, the light from the ballroom chandeliers shining off his pale gold hair.

  Jerry stared.

  Mick stared.

  Jerry glanced at the girl standing next to Mick. She was very pretty in a blue dress. But nothing, underline nothing, he’d seen in a long time was as pretty as that big, hunky homophobe. Mick might be mean as piss, as Hunter said, but he stood there proving that sometimes things that were bad for a guy were the ones he wanted most.

  A hand on his shoulder woke him up. “You okay, Jerry?”

  “Oh, sorry.” He turned and smiled at Andres, but man, it was hard tearing his eyes away. “I just saw someone I know.”

  He headed back to the table, and Andres stepped up beside him. “Was the person you know that golden dreamboat in blue, by any chance?”

  He wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t know who Andres meant. “Yeah, that’s the guy I was telling Rod and Hunter about. The one who was nice to me.”

  “Oh, guapo, he can be nice to me anytime.”

  Jerry laughed. “Yeah. Too bad he’s a raging queer hater.”

  “So why was he nice?”

  “I still haven’t figured that out.”

  TURNED TO stone…. Mick watched Jerry’s retreating back moving off the dance floor and saw him guiding a beautiful Mexican man with him. Who the hell was that? Jerry said his boyfriend had left him. He’d sure moved on fast.

  “You know that guy?”

  He glanced at Jezebel. Oh, right, she’s still here. “Yes, he works on my shift a lot of the time.”

  “Sure is a good dancer. He a fag? Must be, if he’s dancing with a guy, right?”

  Whoa. He used that word all the time, but it sounded bad when she said it about Jerry. “Yeah, he’s gay.”

  “Must be like your father says. You see a lot of gay guys in Laguna.”

  “Yes.” It felt weird to have his father’s ideas dragged into his work life.

  She looked out at the dancers. “I always figured what your father says is a load of crap. Gay people are born that way, so it has to be God’s will, and if it’s not, then God’s a load of crap.”

  Mick gasped and looked at her. Really looked. “I don’t believe you just said that.”

  She stared at him wide-eyed for a second, then crossed her arms. “I’m sorry, Michael, but I’m nineteen and wicked smart. Way too smart for the line of bull your father hands out. I think you are too. If I’ve offended you, I’m sorry, because I think you’re okay, but the rest of that bunch you can have for a nickel. And that pretty much includes my folks.”

  What could he say?

  She pointed toward Jerry’s table. “The great dancers have a couple of chairs available. How about we go sit with them?”

  Mick glanced around. Durry was over with the single guys’ lineup, and so was Straight. “Uh, you want to?”

  “Sure. Maybe some of the dancing will rub off on me. Besides, I don’t see any other chairs. C’mon.”

  She led the way and he followed. The closer they got to Jerry’s table, the drier his mouth got.

  She walked up to the two gays big as you please. “Hey, are these seats taken? Can we join you?”

  Jerry looked up at Mick. He felt like Jerry’s sea-blue eyes sucked him in. He heard the Mexican guy say, “Sure. Love to have you. Sit down, pretty.” She sat, and Mick sat beside her. Jerry looked like the cover of some magazine for heroes—slim, broad-shouldered, like he could take on all your problems, and gold hair like the summer sun.

  A hand appeared in front of his eyes. Brown skin. He looked up the arm to the handsome face of the guy who was clearly trying to get him to shake hands. “Oh, sorry. Uh, I’m Mick.” He shook the guy’s hand. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Andres Garcia.”

  “Hi.”

  Jezebel had apparently given them her name. She smiled. “You guys sure are good dancers. I’ve never seen two guys ballroom dance together before.” She glanced at Mick. “Of course, where we come from nobody dances, so maybe it happens all the time and I just don’t know it.” She laughed.

  Andres’s eyes widened. “Nobody dances? That’s a crime.”

  She grinned. “More like a sin. Want to teach me?”

  “Sure, linda. Come on.” He stuck out his hand.

  “My name’s Jezebel, not Linda.”

  “Linda means pretty in Spanish, pretty.”

  “Oh, thanks.” She looked at Mick. “Is it okay?”

  Crap, this is happening so fast. “You don’t have to ask me. Sure, it’s okay.”

  She hopped out of her seat. That dress she’d made was nice. It had one of those ties behind her neck and a full skirt like from an old movie, but nice. She walked out on the floor with the Mexican guy. Mick was alone with Jerry. He swallowed hard.

  Jerry smiled. “She’s pretty. Your girlfriend?”

  “Uh, no. No. Just a girl from my, uh, community. You think she’s pretty?”

  “Yeah, don’t you?”

  “Sure. I just kind of wondered if, uh, guys like you—”

  “Gay guys?”

  “Yeah. If gay guys notice women?”

  “Sure. Maybe more than a lot of straight guys do. I’m just not attracted to her.”

  “Oh. Me either.” Why in hell did he say that?

  Jerry’s eyes widened. “But she’s your date.”

  “Uh, yeah. I mean, she’s only nineteen. My father wanted me to date her. Don’t get me wrong—she’s great. Really feisty. You don’t see that a lot in my community.”

  “You mean, like, from your neighborhood?”

  “Oh, no. My father’s a preacher. He has a congregation out in Norco. Jezebel is from the congregation.” He looked out at the girl following along with Andres. She looked kind of nervous but was smiling like crazy. She kept tipping her head down like she wanted to look at her feet, and Andres would put his finger under her chin and push it back up so she couldn’t look down. “Is he your new boyfriend?”

  “No, just a date.”

  “Sure is good-looking.”

  “Yep.”

  “You like those sli
m, dark guys?” Hell, why was he asking?

  “Nope. I like big and blond.”

  Mick caught his breath and glanced up at Jerry. The guy was staring off at the dancers but had a funny expression on his face. Jerry made him sweat. It was so weird. The guy’s skin was tan all the time, but it still looked soft. His lips were full like a girl’s. No, he was way prettier than a girl.

  Someone collapsed into the chair next to him. Mick looked over at Jezebel, who was fanning herself and laughing. “That was so fun. Anybody who thinks that’s ungodly is cracked.”

  Andres laughed too. “You should be a Catholic, pretty. We can drink, smoke, and dance—but we need to feel super guilty.”

  She cocked her head. “So is it okay to be Catholic and gay?”

  “Oh no. We don’t even exist in my church. But if you’re Mexican, you’re Catholic. We don’t have blood, we have holy water. No escaping. The church is stuck with us.”

  The music changed to something kind of slow and sexy. The guy stuck out his hand to Jerry. “Come on, guapo. Let’s show ’em how it’s done.”

  Mick watched the two men walk onto the dance floor. Jerry was taller by a few inches, but the other guy put out his arms like he would lead. Sure enough, Jerry did the girl thing and put his left hand on Andres’s shoulder. A slender tan hand appeared around Jerry’s waist.

  Mick stared. What did that feel like? He’d seen Jerry naked—that slim, muscled waist, the six-pack, that hard-as-iron surfing butt. God.

  “They sure are handsome guys.” Jezebel was watching them too.

  “Yeah.”

  The music had a Latiny sound, but slow and sexy. Andres led real good, but he sure was holding Jerry tight as hell. It pressed them together. What if their dicks got hard? Oh God. His heart beat in his throat. That might feel good. Like rubbing together.

  “Michael, are you okay?”

  “What?” He glanced at her quick but couldn’t take his eyes off those swaying hips. Rubbing together. Did they dance when they were alone? Maybe naked? Oh sweet God. A picture filled his mind: Jerry’s gorgeous naked body and Andres with his slim hips and hard cock and black hair all around it rubbing their cocks together like fire sticks. Until they burst. Oh God.

  But Jerry said he didn’t like dark guys. He liked big blonds. Big blonds like Mick. It should be Mick with Jerry. He could rub his cock against Jerry’s big dick. It was big. He’d seen it. Not as big as Mick’s, but big. They could make a huge fire, and when they got hot, Jerry could shove his into Mick’s ass like Mick had done with his fingers, and, oh God, that would feel so good—

  “Michael, what’s going on? You’re panting. What’s wrong with you?” Jezebel gripped his arm.

  Oh God, his cock was so hard. How did that happen? He’d wreck his good uniform and he could only afford one, but, oh God, look at those hips. Jerry shouldn’t be with that fucking guy, he should be with—“Shit!”

  Mick shoved back his chair, jumped up, and ran for the door.

  “Michael! Mick!”

  Can’t stop. Gonna blow. Oh no. What if Jezebel ran after him?

  WHAT THE hell? Jerry saw Mick running for the door. People all round stared after him, but nobody followed. Jezebel stood by the table. She didn’t seem to know what to do. Jerry stopped dancing. “Hey, Andres, something seems to have happened to Mick. I better find out if he’s okay.”

  He pulled away and walked over to the table, where Jezebel was still staring after Mick. “What happened?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe he’s sick. He was acting strangely. I’m not sure if I should follow him. I don’t know him very well.”

  “I’ll check on him. You stay with Andres, okay?” He glanced over his shoulder at Andres and pointed toward Jezebel. Andres nodded, and Jerry took off toward the back entrance. He didn’t want to obviously follow Mick and embarrass him. The fag running off to hold his hand. He’d hate that.

  Jerry pushed out the back door of the ballroom and ran to the parking lot entrance. Outside, the moon was about three-quarters full and very bright. There were a lot of cars out there. He stood on the porch and looked over the roofs of the cars. Nobody. Must be in the side lot or gone.

  He bounded down the steps and ran to the side lot. Mick wouldn’t just run off on Jezebel. Even if she had upset him, he wouldn’t leave her—would he?

  He threaded through the cars in the smaller lot. The last row of parking was against a bunch of big eucalyptus trees. Nobody.

  He heard a noise like a snuffling. “Mick?”

  Quiet.

  “Mick?”

  “Go away.”

  Jerry stepped over the curb onto the dirt and walked into the trees. The eucs didn’t hide much, and he could see Mick’s big body pressed face-first against a tree trunk, his arms huddled in front of him.

  Jerry walked toward him. “Hey, big guy, what’s wrong? You sick?”

  He shook his head wildly, making a pale gold shimmer in the moonlight.

  Jerry got to him and put a hand on Mick’s shoulder, but Mick pulled away sharply, still facing the tree. “You should go away.”

  “Sorry. But Jezebel’s inside, and I don’t know what to do with her.” Might as well try to joke. “Can’t leave a pretty girl like that with two gay guys. Heck, we’re out of our league.”

  Mick’s shoulders shook, but it didn’t look like laughter.

  “Mick, c’mon. Talk to me.”

  Suddenly Mick turned, his eyes kind of wild and wide. His hands were crossed over his crotch like he was protecting something, and clearly what he was protecting was one gargantuan boner.

  Jerry grinned. “What you got there, big guy?” Maybe that was it. Mick had gotten excited by Jezebel, and he didn’t want her to know. Funny. He’d always thought Mick was such a monster, but he was actually kind of innocent. Preacher’s son. “Hey, don’t be embarrassed. Jezebel’s young, but I’m sure she knows enough to understand.”

  Mick shook his head again and stared at Jerry like he’d never seen him before. “Jerry?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do guys kiss?”

  Where did that come from? “You mean, like, gay guys? Sure, just like straight guys do.”

  “I’ve kissed a girl.”

  He almost laughed since it sounded like a song. No, Mick was deadly serious. “I’m sure you have.”

  All hell broke loose.

  Mick stepped forward and grabbed Jerry’s face in his big hands. Before Jerry could even catch a breath, Mick’s lips descended, and all of a sudden Jerry had warm mouth and hot tongue all over the place.

  What the hell? He froze. Should he pull back? No, he couldn’t insult Mick. That could hurt him. Umm. Besides, that tongue was suh-weet! He opened a crack, and weirdly Mick took full advantage, pressing into the recesses of Jerry’s mouth.

  Well, hell. Andres’s kiss hadn’t done it for him, but this? Everything about Mick, physically at least, suited Jerry down to the ground. He was bigger, stronger. Jerry could feel his biceps straining through the material of his uniform. His mouth tasted like heaven. He even smelled like Jerry’s idea of a good time—kind of clean and musky at once.

  How is this happening? No idea. Should he be doing this? No. Did he care? He should. Yes, he should. But then Mick moaned and pulled Jerry tight against his body. The last of the alcohol fumes from his little binge earlier drifted into his brain. Oh shit. Ruined. Jerry wrapped his arms around Mick’s neck and kissed him back like he wasn’t tongue-fucking the biggest homophobe on the planet.

  Oh God, can’t help it. His hips wouldn’t stay still. He humped against that big bulge Mick had been protecting. He wasn’t protecting it anymore. Hell, that lump was practically carving a new Grand Canyon in Jerry’s crotch.

  Just as suddenly as he’d grabbed Jerry, Mick pulled back. “Oh God, oh God!”

  Couldn’t get his breath. “Want to stop?”

  “No, no. More.”

  I’ve lost my mind. Don’t care. He stepped in, stood on tiptoe, and whispered
in Mick’s ear. “What do you want, big guy?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t know.”

  Jerry reached down and unzipped Mick’s fly. “Let’s start at the beginning, okay, man?” He reached in and found a massive cock. Way more than a handful, but that was so fine with him. He pulled it out. “Let’s give this thing some air.” He wrapped his fingers tight and pumped it. Mick’s head fell back, mouth open. “You don’t get enough of this, do you?” He pumped harder.

  “No, don’t get enough.” Mick could barely get out the words.

  “Now we’ve got some choices. I can suck you, you can fuck me, but it could take too much time, or I can jerk you off.”

  He shook his head. “Want to rub. Together.”

  What? He smiled. “Oh, you naughty boy. Did you come up with that idea all by yourself? Well, that sounds great to me.”

  Jerry opened his own pants and whipped out a very erect cock.

  Mick stared at it openmouthed.

  “Hey, buddy, you’ve seen this before.”

  “Yeah, but never—but never—”

  “Let’s measure, shall we?” Okay, he must still be drunk. “Scootch down.”

  Very seriously, like he was doing research or something, Mick bent his knees and brought his big monster next to Jerry’s cock.

  “See. You win. Look at that big thing, Mick. It’s gorgeous.”

  His eyes widened. “It is?”

  “Yeah.” Oh shit, that was no lie. He tried to grab the two cocks in one hand, but they wouldn’t fit. “Here, you do it.” He grabbed Mick’s big paw and wrapped it around their two penises, then closed both his hands around Mick’s. “Okay, baby. Here’s what you want.”

  Staring into Mick’s wide green eyes, he started to pump.

  The eyes widened farther.

  “Feel good?”

  Mick nodded fast.

  Man, was he right. “Feels good to me too. Nothing wrong with this, Mick. A lot of guys like to play with other guys sometimes. It feels good and it doesn’t hurt anybody.” That was kind of the truth.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “’Cause, God, Jerry, this feels so good.”

  Mick’s face filled with a sweet look. Sort of made Jerry feel like crying, except he felt like coming more. His cock was getting off on this like he was on a killer wave and flying in the curl. Pump, pump, pump. “Feel that?”