Bad Attitude

by K.A. Mitchell

  “Why do I hardly ever see you at the restaurant anymore?” Trey asked. “Too much family?”

  Vince shook his head. “No such thing. I just…” He paused, trying to think of how to phrase it. “Well, this sounds nuts, but sometimes being in the middle of all that family can be very lonely.”

  Trey frowned. “I never thought about it. There’s just me and Gram and my mom. I can’t even imagine what it must be like to have cousins and stuff.”

  “I have plenty of those. Let me know when you want to borrow them.”

  They walked in silence for awhile. A group of young guys laughing and looking inebriated took up too much of the sidewalk, and even after Vince moved far to the left, practically hugging the side of a building, they were set to run Trey right over. Without thinking, Vince put his arm around Trey and shifted their positions, huddling around him and putting his back to the drunks. As they buffeted Vince’s back, he glanced down at Trey, who was gazing up at him, eyes sparkling.

  Vince smiled.

  Trey smiled back, the light in his eyes spreading to the rest of his face.

  When the drunks were past, Vince went back to the center of the sidewalk, but he found his arm lingered against Trey’s back, and he left it there as long as he could until it seemed awkward. As he let it fall, though, Trey took hold of his biceps.

  It felt good.

  Being with Trey felt good. Going out with him—on a date, yeah. So what? So he was dating a guy. So he was…gay, or whatever. What the fuck did it matter? He was having a good time. He was happy. He’d played skee-ball and watched a play and now was going to go dancing. They’d laughed and ate pizza and talked and talked, more than Vince thought he had on a date, ever.

  There was nothing here to freak out over, just like Rachel said. And he wanted to do this again. The thought made his insides jump all over the place, like a skee-ball was rattling around inside him hitting nothing but 100s.

  The jazz bar was a lot busier than it had been the other night they’d come, but it was still ten times more pleasant than that awful gay bar where he’d met up with Trey the last time. A live band played “In a Sentimental Mood” almost as good as Ellington and Coltrane. The dance floor was full, as was the bar, and all the tables. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror and saw that Rach was right, he looked damn fine. Trey too, and the two of them looked good together.

  Vince grinned. All he needed was a scotch and a cigar and the moment would be damn near perfect.

  He nodded to the bar. “Want anything to drink?”

  “Water, please.”

  “Sure thing.” Vince pulled out his wallet and elbowed into a free space to order. He got a bottle of water for Trey and a scotch neat for himself.

  Trey took the water and smiled, but Vince couldn’t help but notice his date’s gaze drift down to his scotch, and that his expression went a little flat at the sight of the drink. If he hadn’t indulged in a single malt call, he might have put it aside and forgotten about it.

  Instead he sipped even more casually than normal and kept watching Trey for clues as to why his ordering a scotch was such a bad thing. They stood there for a few minutes, until the song ended. When a new one started, Vince eased back happily against the wall behind him.

  “Somebody in this band likes Coltrane.” He took a sip of his scotch and basked in the sultry saxophone. “I like this band.”

  “Do you listen to a lot of jazz?”

  “Oh yeah. But Coltrane is my favorite. Nobody has been able to make a sax sing like he could. These guys don’t do too badly.”

  Trey leaned against the wall too, but he sagged a bit against Vince’s side. “It’s so…I don’t know. Not soft, but relaxing. Easy. I feel like I could float away.”

  “That’s the idea. Jazz seduces you.” Seeing that Trey had drained his water bottle, Vince took one more sip of scotch, leaned over to put the unfinished glass on the bar and held out his hand. “Ready to dance?”

  Beaming, Trey took his hand.

  They found a bit of open floor space up front by the band. Vince herded them off to the side, in part because he was still a little self-conscious about dancing with a man, in part because it was dark there, and he liked the idea of dancing in the dark with Trey.

  Still, when Trey settled into his arms, fitting their bodies close together, Vince watched the other couples to see who was watching him. A few were, though most didn’t seem to care, too wrapped up in each other. Maybe some of those who noticed looked like they didn’t care for two guys dancing. Maybe he read into it.

  They weren’t the only same-sex couple on the floor, either. Two other male couples and a female pair were scattered amongst the heterosexuals. Realizing he’d just lumped himself in with the not-heterosexual crowd, the skee-ball went berserk inside Vince again, this time finding every gutter.

  He shut his eyes and tried to shut off his stupid head, tried instead to focus on Trey.

  It was a good distraction. God, but Trey just fit in his arms. A lot of women had, yeah, but not like this. It felt completely different to hold a man. Trey’s body was harder, more filled out, and in more than that hard ridge pressing against the front of Vince’s trousers. He smelled different too. Like a man. And it was so…right.

  The band was playing Sinatra now, a smooth-voiced tenor singing “Like Someone in Love”. Vince pulled Trey closer, fitting their bodies so tight together they were nearly fused. He didn’t hide his erection, and when Trey shifted against him, subtly increasing the friction in time to the beat, Vince didn’t let it do anything but fuel the pleasure of the moment.

  Trey nuzzled Vince’s neck, his nose, then his lips brushing Vince’s collar, his skin. “Vinnie?”

  “Mmm?” Vince nuzzled back.

  Trey’s lips moved along Vince’s jaw, tickled his ear. “This is a date.”

  Vince grinned and rubbed the scruff of his cheek alongside Trey’s. “Yeah.”

  Those tickling lips brushed his lobe, and a tongue darted out, making Vince shiver. “I want another one.”

  The tongue had made Vince shiver, but those words shimmied right down to the bottom of his belly. “Sure.”

  Slim hands gripped his hips, fingers curling into his backside. “I want a kiss.”

  The heat slid lower, setting all of Vince into a slow, steady burn. He didn’t say anything, just pulled his head back far enough to meet Trey’s gaze, angle his head and close in on his mouth.

  It started almost sweet, but they were both hard, both kneading hands into each other, and fuck if Trey didn’t taste more exotic than anything in the world. He worried for a second that Trey would dislike the scotch on his breath, but then Trey pushed him deeper into the shadows, into an alcove behind the speaker, and Vince didn’t worry about anything at all.

  There was something incredibly freeing about being this turned on and being somewhat secluded. They were hidden but at the same time couldn’t go too far because they were still, technically, on a dance floor in a respectable establishment. Much as he wanted to undo Trey’s pants and take his cock in hand, as ready as he suddenly was for that kind of thing, he couldn’t, and it was a little bit of a relief.

  Instead he ground against Trey’s pelvis like he was trying to screw him to the wall, and the soft, gasping noises Trey made only inspired Vince to dig his fingers deeper into Trey’s backside. The kiss was deep and crazy, mouths mating, tongues tangling, Trey’s hands pulling Vince in closer and closer until they almost couldn’t breathe. Vince’s nipples pebbled beneath his shirt, so stiff they jutted like rocks, super-sensitized points that made him moan against Trey’s lips.

  Eventually the delicious tease turned over though, and common sense warned Vince he needed to slow the fuck down or he was going to come all over the inside of his pants. Trey seemed to be in a similar place, because when Vince pulled back, easing out of the kiss slowly, Trey didn’t draw him back, just held on tight, breathing hard.

  When he was able, Vince said, “Will that do?�
��

  Trey smiled like the sun itself, and even in the dark Vince could see the sparkle in those eyes. “Yeah.”

  Lights, lovers…action!

  Came Upon a Midnight Clear

  © 2012 Katie Porter

  Born to old Virginia money, film producer Kyle Wakefield’s conservative upbringing kept him in the closet. Only once did he venture outside: for a tempestuous teenage affair with Nathan Carnes. When Nathan’s self-destructive streak landed him in prison, Kyle slammed the door on youthful hopes. Despite Hollywood successes, he still hides his true self.

  He thought he’d moved on, until his production company hires Nathan and his Second Chances stunt crew to work on the London set of a big-budget action flick. Watching Nathan risk life and limb with fellow ex-cons looking for a fresh start makes it tough for Kyle to keep his desires hidden.

  Thirteen years have passed since Nathan’s teenage self-doubt led him to sabotage any chance of a future with Kyle. He’s come a long way since then, but despite their explosive sexual chemistry, Kyle treats their attraction like a deep dark secret.

  Their matched Hollywood ambitions and a pain-in-the-ass director make cooperation essential. As the London holiday season casts its spell, the two men find themselves on the verge of falling in love again—even as old secrets and pain keep them shackled. The only hope of unlocking their hearts is a Christmas miracle.

  Warning: This book features a snowy London Christmas, sex on a pool table, a hot-and-dirty gay nightclub, and naughty references to candy canes.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Came Upon a Midnight Clear:

  Kyle had wanted to let loose. That tight, pained place in his soul had needed it. Seeing Nate again… Remembering how free he’d once felt in the arms of the young man he’d loved…

  Kyle was strangling on the precepts that kept his life ordered and successful.

  Don’t let it show.

  Don’t let anyone know.

  And don’t get caught.

  That last one was imperative. He hadn’t been a monk for the last ten years, but that meant stray hook-ups in the recesses of various cities. A guy had to protect his sanity. He’d stayed safe, got off, went home. Not exactly a stable emotional basis for accepting his homosexuality. Too much of it was cloaked in shadow and shame.

  There, however, in a thumping underground club in the heart of SoHo, he could let it show, and everyone sure as hell knew he was queer.

  As for getting caught, that rule didn’t seem to apply when he looked passionately into Nate’s eyes. The Christmas lights, disco balls and strobes didn’t dispel the power of his intent gaze.

  “You heard me,” Nate said, so quietly but so near to Kyle’s mouth that the words registered as breath more than sound. “Do it.”

  Kyle levered up and hitched his ass on the table, then spread his knees. Tim and his partner—was it Mick?—laughed and watched the show. Kyle. The opening act. The center of attention in a gay nightclub. His heart hammered with excitement and anticipation. He felt a very different sort of release when he and Nate locked eyes.

  Kyle was right where he’d always longed to be. Being with Nate made him honest and real. Maybe he wanted to be that kind of person more often.

  With a knowing, naughty smile, Nate grabbed one of the Jell-O shots. “You know where this goes, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then show me.”

  Hands steady despite his gut-clenching arousal, Kyle stripped his purple V-neck T-shirt—some impulse purchase he’d made, along with the collar, on a drunken, giddy night out with Steph when they’d first gotten to London.

  He leaned back on one elbow and hooked a thumb under the waistband of his jeans.

  “It goes right here,” he said.

  The air thickened between them, all teasing gone.

  Nate’s expression was as intense as when he prepared for a big stunt sequence, all focus and calculation. His mouth was serious, but he never compressed his lips. They rested together with a unique, stern beauty, rimmed above and below with a shade of evening stubble. Blunt nose, rough-hewn cheekbones and a brow twisted in concentration. But his eyes… They were large and soulful, searching for something Kyle couldn’t name, couldn’t understand.

  Kyle expected derisive words. A smirk. Hell, he half-expected Nate to walk out at any moment, if only to prove a point: that Kyle was gay, closeted and a goddamn hypocrite.

  Instead, Nate leaned forward and licked the notch at the juncture of Kyle’s collarbones. “That’s right, college boy. Can you handle it?”

  “I’m here waiting.”

  That serious expression didn’t abate. “You have no idea what it is to wait.”

  Cold skittered over Kyle’s bare chest, despite the hot, grinding sweat of the club. That unease needed to go. He didn’t have the stamina to contemplate dark roads. This was the time for raunchiness, for forgetting old pains and lingering doubts. He shoved Nate’s wrist down his body.

  From there, Nate took over. Good. Sometimes the man was a goddamn mule.

  Nate slid the conical plastic shot glass down along Kyle’s tensing stomach until it nestled between skin and denim. For a moment he seemed to savor his prize, eyeing Kyle from head to crotch. The attention made Kyle feel worshipped. Stripping half naked, wearing his outrageous collar—the decisions that had made his gut churn in the hotel room were so perfect right now.

  Nate glanced at the two men avidly soaking up the show. “Watch and learn, boys.”

  With that, he slid his tongue and teeth down Kyle’s chest, past his abs, until Nate’s mouth hovered above the shot glass. Nate dug his blunt fingertips into Kyle’s hips. Holding him. Immobilizing him.

  Kyle groaned.

  Lowering farther still, Nate sucked on the shot glass. The sight of his sandy-blond hair, tinted with every color of the rainbow, was more than Kyle needed. Fantasies and memories and reality merged into a heady cocktail of want. He gripped the hair at Nate’s crown and twisted. Lifted. Nate straightened, his mouth pursed around a mouthful of Jell-O and shaped into a smile of pure sin.

  He swallowed.

  So did Kyle.

  Ah, fuck.

  “Damn that was hot,” Tim said almost reverently. His hulking bear of a partner was busy sliding rough hands up and down the smaller man’s heaving chest.

  Fingers still tangled in Nate’s hair, Kyle yanked him close for a swift kiss of vodka and strawberry and man. “Again,” he rasped.

  Nate was quicker this time. His fingers shook slightly as he reached for another shot. To see how much Kyle visibly affected a man who’d spent three years in prison was almost too much. He was upending the hardest badass he’d ever known. Kyle’s cock was swollen. He wanted to fuck. He wanted this torture to go on forever.

  No matter how unsteady, Nate managed to unfasten the top button of Kyle’s jeans and tug down the zipper.

  “Turning you on, college boy?”

  “Turned on. It’s a done deal.”

  That made Nate grin, cocky and boyishly lopsided. Kyle’s heart turned over. But then he couldn’t breathe—flat out couldn’t—when Nate tucked the next shot inside the waistband of Kyle’s boxer briefs. The cool, conical plastic nestled right where the head of his cock was contained by that elastic band. Not that it was concealed. The bulge of his erection was unmistakable where it strained against his fly.

  To his left, Kyle heard a moan. The bigger guy, Mick, had found his partner’s crotch and was giving it firm, pulsing squeezes. Nate watched them too. All around, the thunder of music created a trance of here and now.

  Kyle’s head jerked backward. So dazed, it was only afterward that he realized Nate had yanked on the collar.

  “Like that,” Nate rasped against Kyle’s throat. “They’re getting off watching us. You splayed out like some gay pin-up, chest arched, shoulders brawny. And that monster cock—they can see it, just like I can. Fucking fantastic.” He licked along Kyle’s jaw and bit his earlobe, giving the collar another jer
k. “But you know what?”

  Kyle was spinning. “What, sir?”

  “Shit,” Nate hissed. “You always knew what I liked. And I like your long, fat prick. They can look all they want, but it’s mine. Tell me.”

  “Yours, sir.” Kyle regained some semblance of power when he turned and kissed Nate. Quick. Rough. Teeth and tongue and biting force. “Now get down there and suck.”

  Nate chuckled, their game made playful with a single sentence. He released the collar and found purchase along Kyle’s tense thighs. Head down, Nate’s mouth so fucking close to what Kyle wanted. The sight was incredible enough. The feel of Nate’s tongue dipping beneath the waistband—that was mind-blowing. The wet tip slid against Kyle’s throbbing head, darted, teased. Every movement was concealed by Nate’s face and the hunched power of his shoulders and burly upper arms.

  Then slurp, lift, swallow. The shot was gone.

  Tim and his partner were kissing with potent intent, oblivious now, caught up in each other as Vertigo Dreams took to the stage. Their music had been the soundtrack behind every step in the tentative, then torrid young relationship between Kyle and Nate. For a moment, they both stilled. Fingers interlaced. Gazes fixed. Sure, the band had aged. Glam was a little less shiny, a little more weary. Kyle didn’t care, and it didn’t seem like Nate did either. Simultaneously, they squeezed each other’s hands as the first song began.

  Something more unfathomable than desire punched Kyle in the chest. Old years. Old hurts and desires and hopes.

  Maybe Nate felt it too because he grabbed Kyle’s collar and pulled. It was either stumble or follow, so Kyle found his feet and yanked his jeans back into place. He hooked his discarded shirt and two more shots, slurping both for himself.

  It was obvious Nate didn’t know where they were going. He simply led. Searching. Hunting for something. Kyle grinned, knowing exactly what his lover sought. He could only imagine how hard Nate was, how ready he was to satisfy this aching want, ready to indulge the best of what they’d been.