by T. L. Hayes
Table of Contents
Synopsis
By the Author
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
About the Author
Books Available from Bold Strokes Books
Sweet Boy and Wild One
Graduate student Rachel Cole is feeling the weekend blues and heads to her favorite lesbian hangout, looking for Ms. Right Now. She is immediately attracted to a brown-haired, brown-eyed, flannel-wearing soulful singer named Bobby Layton. But when Bobby introduces himself to Rachel, Rachel questions things about herself—things like her own sexuality and her very identity. Could she be falling for this sweet boy?
Bobby Layton lost a lot when he came out as trans. And he’s sworn off dating lesbians because dealing with hate from the straight world is hard enough. Who needs the drama? But something about wild girl Rachel Cole keeps him coming back.
Love may be enough to take them to unexpected places beyond their expectations.
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Sweet Boy and Wild One
© 2017 By T. L. Hayes. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-964-8
This Electronic Original is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, NY 12185
First Edition: August 2017
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Ruth Sternglantz
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design By Jeanine Henning
By the Author
A Class Act
Sweet Boy and Wild One
Acknowledgments
Even though the bulk of writing is done alone, either in offices, coffee shops, lovely parks, or public transportation, no book ever hits the shelf without a team of dedicated book people behind it. I just do the story writing bit, but the team at Bold Strokes Books has to do all the book making bits. Hats off to all the people working behind the scenes who literally put this book together and a special shout out to the folks in cover design who put together a beautiful cover. Also, thanks to my intrepid editor, Ruth Sternglantz. She makes me look as if I know what I’m doing.
As always, I didn’t write this book on purely my own efforts. Occasionally, I had to get a little help from people who are way smarter than me and experts in their fields.
There are some medical elements to this novel that went way beyond my knowledge. Since the scenes in question required more than knowing about Band-Aids, I sought the advice of Jennifer Gusme, an x-ray and CT technician at a free-standing emergency room in San Antonio, and a US Army veteran. She was patient with all my questions (and I asked A LOT of questions) and guided me along the way to make sure my character’s injuries were real. I asked her way more questions than the text indicates, I’m sure some of them tedious, but what I gained from her made for a richer section of the story. Any and all accuracies in that regard are because of her diligence and patience; any failings are entirely my own. Thanks, Goose, and thank you for your service.
Fellow writer and my unofficial life coach (unofficial because I don’t pay her), April Dawn Duncan deserves much thanks for a multitude of things, only some of which have to do with this book. In that regard, I sought her advice for all things Kung Fu. Again, all the things I got right in regard to that beautiful discipline is because of her knowledge and expertise, anything I got wrong was probably due to me being a Shǎguā.
For Bobby’s beautiful song, “It’s About Me,” a tremendous thanks goes to Abigail Zierling-Lewis and her band, Luna Lacuna. Even while planning a wedding and a million other things, she was able to create something beautiful for this book. When I asked, she didn’t hesitate. Thank you so much for composing this and letting me use it. If you would like to hear the song, go here: www.lunalacuna.co.uk/Abigail
Though I did not use them for this project, I want to give a special shout out to my beta readers, the ones who read all the other things I write before I send them out. Short stories don’t usually give one the opportunity to say thank you, so I will do it here: thanks to Sarah Kelley, Kristen Van Horn, Marissa Backues, Lara LaDage, Genny Maguire, Wendy Malone, and April Dawn Duncan. They always give me great feedback, even when it hurts. I thank them for being a part of my team and they are a big reason I am able to do what I do.
Many thanks to Genny Maguire for giving me a room of my own in which to write.
Dedication
For Sterling Debussy, a fine young man, and one of the sweetest boys I know.
May you find your wild one.
Chapter One
Rachel Cole surveyed herself in the full-length mirror on the back of her dorm room door. She was in faded hip-hugger jeans, her favorite brown leather boots, and a light blue T-shirt, and over that, a blue and white flannel with the sleeves rolled up and the bottom tied taut at her waist. She thought the look was perfect for open mic night at her favorite café, which was owned by a fabulous hippie lesbian couple—Tiff and Al—who hosted something every weekend. The crowd was almost always populated with other twentysomething lesbians like herself, as well as old-school lesbians, some in granny skirts and some in leathers, there to enjoy the show or to perform. It was a great place to cruise, and it was currently Rachel’s favorite weekend distraction. She hadn’t had anyone to warm her bed all semester and the semester was already a month old, but she was hopeful. Sometimes she thought that since this was her last year in the grad program at Prairieland State, she should just concentrate on her studies and forget about dating. Some things were more important than sex, after all, such as getting out of Illinois and moving as far away from her parents as possible. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail, applied just a little lip gloss and her favorite scent, took one last look at herself, and let out a breath. Then she grabbed her keys and left.
Half an hour later, Rachel sat alone at a table for two, nursing a latte and wishing the café had a liquor license. It was always much easier to ask a girl out when she had a little liquid encouragement. She took a look around the room at the crowd—mostly regulars. The few new faces she saw all seemed to be coupled up except one—a hot little butch off to her left, also alone at a table for two, with earbuds in and her eyes closed and her hand keeping the beat on the table. She must be performing tonight, Rachel thought, preparing for the show.
Rachel wondered just what kind of voice that sexy creature would have. If her voice matched the rest of her, somet
hing sensual and smoky.
After listening to three performers, two of whom were angst-ridden poets Rachel hadn’t cared for and one singer who had been decent, the sexy butch across the room took the stage and Rachel paid close attention. The girl grabbed a stool and adjusted the mic to her sitting position, then pushed her hat back, a blue and white check similar to Rachel’s flannel, that looked as if she was wearing it askew on purpose.
Normally Rachel hated such purposeful affectation, but this girl made it work. Her jeans were ripped at the knee and she had a tank top on under her unbuttoned denim shirt, which revealed that she was flat chested. Rachel didn’t mind. Boobs could be fun to play with, but it was the nipple that brought the most excitement anyway, so big boobs had never been a priority for her. This girl was hot and Rachel promised herself that she wasn’t leaving the café until she had this girl’s name, number, and arm around her waist.
“Evening everyone. I’m Bobby Layton. I’m going to do a little Bonnie Raitt for you tonight. It’s a song called ‘I Will Not Be Broken.’” Then she paused, looked down, and gave a slight nod to her right to the house band, and the music started and she began to sing. Her voice was deep and soulful, full of sorrow, yet determined.
Rachel could tell that Bobby felt every word and that she must have gone through hell but had come out of it all still fighting and still sporting a cocky grin, which Rachel was sure she often wore when she wasn’t singing the blues. When the song ended, the room erupted in applause and cheers, Rachel’s among them. She let out a loud whistle of appreciation. Bobby looked in her direction and smiled and nodded. Rachel inclined her head slightly indicating the empty seat at her table. Bobby’s smile got bigger, and she walked through the café, stopping at Rachel’s table. The applause died down as the next performer took the stage.
“You were amazing! I felt every word.”
“Thank you. I’m glad. What’s your name?” As Bobby asked, they both took a seat.
“Oh, sorry. My name’s Rachel. And you’re Bobby Layton. Why does that sound familiar?”
Flashing what Rachel was sure was a flirtatious grin, Bobby said, “Well, maybe we’ve met before.”
“I don’t think so—I would have remembered. No, something about the name itself is familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.” Rachel cocked her head to the right with a curious smile.
Bobby leaned closer and spoke softly, forcing Rachel to lean in to hear. “I’ll tell you a secret. Layton isn’t the name I was born with—I changed it.” Bobby leaned back again.
“Really? Why?”
“I just wanted to distance myself from my family. So I chose the name of someone I admire.”
“And who would that be? So who was the original Bobby Layton?”
“Not was, is. He was popular before I was born. Awesome blues singer. He hasn’t recorded in years though. I just identify with him.” Bobby shrugged.
“So, I’m unfamiliar with his music. Sing me one of his songs.”
“Sing you one?”
“Yeah. Do your namesake proud.”
“I don’t know if I could do it justice.”
“Oh my God, are you blushing?”
“Nah. Okay, I’ll tell you what, I have something more appropriate in mind. Not one of Bobby Layton’s songs, but someone else’s. Something just for you.” Bobby winked and grinned, then started to sing an older song called “Wild One.”
When it was over, Rachel leaned back in her chair with one arm draped over the back of it and looked at Bobby with a cocky grin of her own. “I don’t know the song, but that seems an interesting choice for someone your age. Sounds kinda dated, don’t you think? Besides, you think you can tame me, huh?”
“Not sure I would want to or should.”
“Then why’d you sing that to me?” Rachel asked, in full flirting mode now.
Before Bobby could come up with a response, however, one of the owners, Al, came up and put her arm around Bobby’s shoulders.
“Hey, sorry to interrupt, but Bobby, my man, I need a favor.”
Bobby looked up at Al and smiled but not, Rachel noticed, the flirty grin she’d been enjoying.
“What can I do for you, Al?”
“Well, the ladies are all asking me if you’re going to perform again tonight. They really want you to. Can you do this for me?”
Bobby shot Rachel a questioning look.
Rachel cocked an eyebrow. “Go ahead—I’m not going anywhere.”
Al patted Bobby on the back. “See, she’s not leaving. What’s one more song?”
“I only prepared the one song.”
“Sing a Bobby Layton song,” Rachel said, somewhat mischievously.
“Oh, I like that,” Al agreed. “I’m sure we have women in here tonight who would love it. Come on.”
Bobby sighed and looked apologetically at Rachel. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be here.”
Bobby smiled at her before taking the stage amidst more applause and whistles. Bobby didn’t grab a stool this time, just took the mic off the stand, turned around and whispered to the band, and then turned back around to speak to the audience. “All right, I’m going to do something a little different than I did last time. Some of you are cool enough to know the original Bobby Layton and so I’m gonna do one of his songs now.”
Bobby definitely had Rachel’s attention and she couldn’t take her eyes off her as she moved across the stage with ease. Every so often Bobby’s gaze would find Rachel and Rachel would catch a wink she was sure was meant only for her. She felt like a total fangirl and told herself to calm down.
When the song ended, Bobby bowed and said, “Thank you ladies,” then threw a kiss out into the audience.
As Bobby left the stage and made his way back to Rachel, Al took the stage and said, “Bobby Layton, ladies and gentlemen—give him a hand.”
The audience obliged, except for Rachel, who stopped clapping, confused. Did Al just refer to Bobby as him? Or did she just mishear amidst the applause?
When Bobby came back to their table she took a closer look to see if she could see anything different than she did before, though she wasn’t sure what that would be.
Bobby made no move to sit. “So…”
“You’re a guy?”
“Yeah.” He said cautiously, as he stood there with his hands in his pants pockets, casually waiting for her response.
Rachel nodded. “My bad, I thought you were a girl. I think my gaydar’s broken or something.” Then she laughed somewhat nervously.
“It’s okay, happens all the time. I’m trans.” His expression showed nothing and she wasn’t sure how he felt about her mistaking his gender.
“I see. So that’s why you changed your name.”
“Partly. I also really did want to distance myself from my family. My parents aren’t exactly cool with all this.”
“Uh-huh.” Rachel leaned back in her seat, almost in a daze, not sure what to say.
Bobby sat finally, a look of concern marring his features. “Are you okay?”
Shaking her head, Rachel said, “Yeah, sorry. Didn’t mean to freak out.” She tried to smile as she sat up straighter and no longer leaned away from him.
“It’s okay, I’m getting used to it. You’re not the first person to react this way and I’m sure you won’t be the last.”
“Sorry. But this doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.” Rachel attempted a smile.
Bobby chuckled derisively. “Friends?” He suddenly sounded bitter and angry. “Yeah, cause that’s totally why you invited me to your table, to be friends. And this is why I don’t date lesbians.” Abruptly, Bobby stood up from the table, knocking his chair back in the process as he stormed out the front door.
Under her breath, Rachel said, “Wow, what an ass.” As she said it however, she wasn’t sure if she was referring to him or herself.
* * *
Rachel left the café shortly thereafter, still uncertain about everything.
She had really liked Bobby, thought he was hot when she thought he was a dyke. So why was it different now, she wondered? Because I’m not into dudes, it’s just that simple, she thought. Rachel knew eventually he would lose the roundness in his face and his body would square off and lose its softness—all the things she found attractive. Should she feel guilty for only being attracted to women? It was something she had known and accepted about herself since high school.
So why do I feel guilty? She had just never been attracted to men, period. Butch lesbians, sure, but that was different. Underneath the boy clothes and the short hair was still the softness and curves of a woman. There was just nothing about the male body that appealed to her. She couldn’t explain the laws of attraction any better than anyone else could; she just knew what she liked, not why.
Coupled with that was his overreaction to her comment about being friends. It was totally uncalled for and showed him to be a jerk. He sounded bitter and angry about something that really had nothing to do with her, and though she didn’t know what he had gone through with other lesbians to warrant that kind of attitude, she didn’t deserve to take the heat for whoever might have treated him badly in the past. She just didn’t need that kind of bullshit in her life.
Focusing on his negative attitude helped some to relieve the guilt she felt.
As she turned into the parking lot next to her dorm, she scanned the lot looking for an open spot as close to the door of the building as she could get. Finding a spot three rows away from the front door, she parked and got out. It was too bad, really. Bobby had been really hot. Too bad he’s an asshole, she thought.
As she made her way up to her room, she worked on putting her game face back on. By the time the elevator opened on her floor, her smile was in place and she walked with a self-assurance she did not feel. She and Rory, her best friend who’d moved to Minnesota over the summer after falling in love with one of their professors and causing a minor campus scandal, used to refer to walking down the hallway after a night out as walking the gauntlet, since there were bound to be other people milling about, looking on in judgment.
