Building Us: A Gay Romantic Comedy and Adventure (Marketing Beef Gay Romance Book 2)

by Rick Bettencourt

  “Ah, I have the address.” He paged through a text message.

  “Is that Adam?” I wished there had been rum in my drink.

  “Can I go with you guys?” Mikey asked. “My mother’s at work and won’t be home for a while. I’ll text her and let her know. I want to make sure Deet’s all right.”

  Dill and I exchanged a glance. I shrugged.

  “I guess.” Dillon’s slid his stool back.

  Mikey jumped down. “Great!” He took one last slurp of the remnants of his Coke.

  “They told me where they’re at.” Dillon tugged the car keys out from his perfect-fitting jeans. “He’s playing star. I’ll meet you guys out front.”

  While Mikey used the restroom, I settled up the tab and admired Dillon’s buttocks as he crossed the street.

  “On the house,” the waitress said.

  “That’s kind of you.” Still, I removed a five from my wallet and left it on the bar as she emptied our glasses into a sink by her waist.

  Across the way, a plume of exhaust hung in the cold air behind our rental as Dillon backed out of the parking spot.

  Buy VeriPay, the fintech stock’s name spoke clearly like a ghost communicating across realms. My hands tingled and the hair on my arms rose. I scratched my head. The premonition’s strong voice spoke again to buy the stock.

  “You all right?” the waitress asked, wiping the counter.

  Even my dimples itched as I smiled. “I’m fine.” The last time I’d had a financial hunch like this, I became an almost-millionaire for jumping on Oogle’s IPO. “Everything’s good.” I yanked my phone out from my jacket and swiped through, looking for the brokerage app I hadn’t used in months.

  “I’m ready.” Mikey wiped wet hands on the legs of his pants. “My mom texted me back and said it was fine to go with you.”

  Chapter 18

  Dillon

  During my phone conversation with Adam, he’d mentioned the New England Film Office—NEFO, pronounced “NEE-fo”—had a bid out for marketing services. This, in between him talking on the phone and hunting down Deet’s whereabouts on a walkie-talkie, had come up when someone from NEFO interrupted our conversation.

  Back on the highway, I followed the GPS to the northern coordinates Adam had given me. “They want to lure more Hollywood films to shoot in New England,” I said to Evan, who fiddled with his iPhone.

  “Why is there no reception when I need it?”

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “I did,” Mikey hollered from the back. “You guys are definitely married. You act like the Drapers from Mad Men, bickering back and forth.”

  Evan and I exchanged glances. “Mad Men?” I said to him. Evan smirked and nosed back into his phone. My phone buzzed in my jeans. “Shit.” I lifted my butt off the seat to access my front pocket.

  “You guys are a pair,” Mikey chuckled.

  The number of the woman from NEFO displayed, in a text, from Adam. “Guys, quiet. I have to make a call.”

  “You have reception?” Evan asked.

  The bars on my phone showed one. “A tad.”

  Evan sighed and threw his phone onto the console.

  “What are you in a huff about?” I dialed the number. “Who do you need to call?”

  “No one.”

  After two rings, voice mail commenced. “Hi, Patty. This is Dillon Deiss. Adam”—I couldn’t recall his last name—“from Cantor Productions gave me your number in regard to NEFO’s need for marketing assistance.” I cleared my throat. “I run a firm in Massachusetts, and we’ve got plenty of experience bringing companies into New England.” I ratted on about our background, our former clients, left my number, and hung up.

  “You guys are rich.” Mikey’s feet pressed into my back as he kicked my seat. “You have your own company?”

  Evan scratched his hands. “I got a hunch.” He glanced over his shoulder as if not sure whether to say what he was about to in front of the boy. “You remember when I bought Oogle?”

  “Well, technically no, I didn’t know you then.”

  “But I told you about it.” He retrieved his phone. “I need to place an order for VeriPay on the Nikkei.”

  While I hadn’t known Evan when he invested in Oogle’s IPO, I knew of the small fortune he’d made, which I, too, profited from when we married. “And you feel the same way about this Verify?”

  “VeriPay. Yes.”

  “This isn’t going to be another disaster like—”

  “No. That was different.”

  I hardly wanted a repeat of Evan’s drug-induced stock pick that sent us to the poor farm. “Well, when we get to the inn—”

  “I need to do it now.” Evan fidgeted in his seat, like I do when nature calls and there’s no bathroom in sight. “The Shanghai Exchange opens soon.”

  “Use my phone.” I offered it to him.

  “No.” He swiped through his. “I’ve got all my account info in here. I just need to update my brokerage’s app, and it keeps timing out because there’s no connection.”

  “You want mine?” Mikey offered up his iPhone as if knowing Evan’s aversion to my Android.

  Evan smiled. “I just need better reception.”

  “How about using McDonald’s Wi-Fi?” Mikey asked.

  At the fast-food joint off 95, I met Mikey’s mother, who, coincidentally, worked behind the counter. A rough-around-the-edges girl who looked older than the twenty-eight Mikey’d told me.

  “I didn’t know your mom worked here,” I said to Mikey, by my side in line.

  Oddly, Dina said little. Track marks dotted her arm. She had a blotchy face and wisp-thin hair. I’d seen heroin addicts who looked similar at the clinic I did pro bono for.

  Evan sat at a booth, wrestling with his phone and the ScotchTrade app, while Dina made my coffee and gave Mikey a soda.

  “Why didn’t you tell me she worked here?” We headed to Evan’s table.

  Mikey shrugged. “Does it matter?”

  I clicked open the plastic lid on the coffee. “I guess not.” The steam dissipated as I blew inside the cup. “Mikey’s mom works here,” I said to Evan as we approached him.

  Evan, nose down into his phone, managed a harrumph.

  Mikey slid in and removed his phone while I remained standing. I’d been sitting too much. I needed exercise. “While you two figure that out, I’m going to take a walk. I need to stretch my legs.”

  “Okay.” Evan still didn’t bother to look up.

  Mikey clicked away on his phone too.

  Outside, the cold air made me second-guess my decision to walk. I held the coffee cup to warm my hands, having left my gloves in the car.

  I sauntered behind the building. At the back of the property, a trail with footprints dotted mashed-down snow and cut through a cluster of tall pines. I figured what the hell. I might as well check it out. Evan would take forever hemming and hawing over his trade. He’d sell something else to buy this new thing. As long as it makes money.

  Witnessing Evan back on his game made me smile. The wooded area, shaded from the bright sun, was a lot colder. I sipped more coffee and avoided clumps of ice chunks frozen in the path. I wanted to jog, to pick up my heart rate, but with a hot drink, jeans, and boots, it wasn’t going to happen.

  I hiked a little farther, detected brighter sky ahead, and heard laughter. As I got closer to the area, cattails hugged the rim of a frozen pond where several children skated. “Cool.” I wished for my ice skates back at home.

  For a time, I watched the children glide about the ice. Falling snow reminded me of A Charlie Brown Christmas and I played the song in my head.

  “Can I help you?” asked a female voice behind me.

  I turned to find a beautiful woman with long blonde hair underneath a knit cap. “Oh, I’m…just…watching.” Her blue eyes complimented her parka and matched her hat.

  “A man watching young children raises my suspicions.” She took out a badge. “I’m an off-duty police officer.”
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  “I’m sorry. I’m just at McDonald’s.” I pointed with a finger still clutching my cup. “Honestly.”

  She winked. “Just checking you out.”

  I settled some. “I wanted a bit of exercise. It’s been a long day.”

  She put her badge away. “This is Settlement’s entertainment in the winter. There’s not much to do around here.”

  “Looks fun. I wish I had my skates.”

  “Hey, Tony!” Her voice was strong for a petite woman and startled me. “Come here!”

  A tall, lanky teenager skated over and skidded with a spray of ice when he came to the pond’s edge.

  “You a ten and a half?” she asked.

  “Hmm?” I put my cup to my chest. “Me?”

  “I ain’t asking my son. I know his shoe size.”

  Tony walked gingerly in his skates along the snow-crusted embankment.

  “Tony, this is…I’m sorry”—she looked over—“I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Dillon…Dillon Deiss.”

  “Dillon, this is my son, Tony.”

  His hands were hot, albeit from exercise.

  “I have a good eye for shoe size,” she added. “It comes with the trade. Tony, let Mr. Deiss borrow your skates.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to trouble….”

  Tony lifted a foot to unlace.

  “No problem. Tony needs to hit the books, anyway. Right, Tony?”

  “Yeah.” He held his mom’s shoulder, removed a skate, and handed it over. A towel with boots lay nearby. He sat on a tree stump and removed the other skate.

  His mother handed them to me. “Love to see you spin.”

  It’d been a while since I’d skated. I played defense for the University of Puget Sound’s ice hockey team back in college. “No pirouettes from me.” I sat on the stump her son had vacated.

  “Damn, was hoping you’d be a Johnny Weir or Kurt Browning.”

  “More like a defenseman for the Thunderbirds than an Olympic figure skater.”

  Her eyebrow rose as she took my coffee. “Oh, a hockey man.”

  I laced. “Do I look like a Johnny Weir?” I didn’t know how that came across, but felt my masculinity was at stake.

  “You Hollywood type.” She sniffed my coffee. “Just checking for alcohol. Cop’s intuition.”

  I shook my head and finished lacing. “I’m not from Hollywood.”

  “Most out-of-towners in Settlement are these days.”

  “I’m from Conant, Massachusetts.”

  “And you’re a fan of the Seattle Thunderbirds? I don’t buy it.”

  I rose, and she helped me up. “I’m a little rusty.” I teetered. “I’m from the Seattle area but live north of Boston now.”

  “And you’re in Settlement because of…the beautiful weather?”

  “My dog’s in the movie.”

  She nodded. “Well, Mr. Deiss. Let’s see your talent.”

  Chapter 19

  Evan

  Ten thousand shares of VeriPay, in exchange for the Ford stock I bought during the Great Recession, flashed in a review pane on my screen. “Perfect…” I clicked the button. “…and perfect.” I hit the app’s confirmation.

  Across the table, Mikey gawked. “How’d you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Make all that money?”

  I grimaced. For a moment I thought he’d read my mind on Ford: bought at $1.86 a share and now sold at $14.50 apiece. “I haven’t made any yet.” I opted not to disclose all the details. “I just bought shares.”

  “But I…wow. I want to buy some.” He tossed his phone aside. Freckles pocked his reddened cheeks.

  That fatherly affect washed over me again. “Well, if you work hard, save a little money, and invest it, it’ll grow.”

  He sighed. “We have no money to invest.”

  “You will one day.” I figured instilling positivity might help. “C’mon, let’s go find Dillon.”

  “All right. Let me tell my mom.”

  “Sure.” I leaned back, expecting him to text or call her. Instead, he led me to the front of the restaurant where I meet Dina, a frumpy woman at the register.

  Mikey introduced us. I vaguely recalled Dillon saying something about her before his departure.

  “Nice to meet you.” I considered extending a hand, but her defensive posture—arms wrapped at her chest and retreating stare—suggested I not.

  While I left to check for signs of Dillon from the window, Mikey talked to her.

  Outside, Dillon was nowhere in sight, and after several rings, his phone voice mail kicked in. “Figures.” I looked at my watch. “We need to get on the set soon.”

  “He could be walking the trails.” Beyond the car, Mikey pointed to a wooded area behind a dumpster.

  I followed him. “This looks like somewhere Dillon would go.”

  Sure enough, not too far into the forest, we came upon an opening and a frozen pond. Dillon limped toward us holding on to the shoulders of a lady in blue and a lanky teenager with a flap of hair slung over his face.

  “What the…?” I rushed forward. Dillon hadn’t seen us.

  “Is he okay?” Mikey asked behind me.

  “It doesn’t look it.”

  “Dillon!” I yelled and he looked up, pain racked his face. “What now?” I muttered. Dog missing. A Hollywood guy after my husband. Car stolen. Now this. My anxiety pivoted into overdrive, curbing any sympathy.

  “He must’ve sprained it,” the blonde said on my approach.

  “I didn’t. I’m fine!” Dillon’s face twisted in pain as he limped along.

  “Oh shit.” I took over for the woman.

  “I was skating,” Dillon admitted.

  “Where did you get ice skates?”

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said. “We let him borrow Tony’s.”

  The lanky teenager shrugged, skates dangling from his hands.

  “It’s not their fault,” Dillon said. “I tripped.”

  I shook my head. “You haven’t been on ice skates in years. Why did—” Arguing would not help.

  “Let’s get ice on it.” Dillon hopped. He wore one shoe. The woman in blue held the other.

  When we got to the lot, I left Dillon in the backseat with his leg raised while I ran inside to get ice. “Where’s Mikey?” I asked, more to myself, seeing as I walked alone into McDonald’s.

  Inside, his mother stood with her chin lowered to her chest and pushing buttons on the register. On my approach, her vacant eyes met mine. “Welcome to McDonald’s. Can I take your order, please?” Her tone remained flat.

  “Dina, I need a bunch of ice and a plastic bag.”

  Her eyebrow hitched, and she stared at the computer screen with her mouth agape.

  I hinged a hand on the back of my neck. “I know. It’s not on the menu.”

  “Uh-huh,” she muttered and punched something into the computer.

  “My…” I wasn’t sure whether or not calling Dillon my husband would set off the wrong trigger. “There’s been an accident. My friend sprained his ankle.”

  “Ankle? Mikey?” Her mouth dropped, eyes black.

  “No, no.” What the hell. “My husband,” I rushed. “He’s resting in the car. We need some ice.”

  She retrieved a large empty cup and offered it. “Where’s Mikey?”

  I don’t care right now. “I don’t know.” I reviewed the golden arches on the side of the empty cup. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  Dina pointed to a soda machine behind me. “That’ll be $1.49.”

  I rolled my eyes, reached for my wallet, and fear filled me. “It’s gone. My wallet’s gone.”

  “I don’t know nothing about that.” She retreated backward, hands up.

  Panic swelled. “My wallet! Where did I—” I breathed deeply, trying to calm myself. “Did I leave it in the car?” I foraged through my coat pockets, paced, and searched my pants again. “Shit.”

  A man with a tie came out from behind the works
tation, noting my rising hysteria. He comped the ice, gave me a plastic bag to put it in, and walked me to the door.

  At the car, I tossed Dillon the cup of ice and bag. “My wallet! Have you seen my wallet?”

  “Is it in the front? You were fiddling with your iPhone.”

  I ransacked the passenger area, looked under the seats and in the glove box—even though we’d never opened it. Where did I have it last? I rummaged through the driver’s side and patted down the pockets to my pants and coat for the fifteenth time. “I had it at the restaurant.”

  “Shit!” Dillon said. “Fuck!”

  “What!” The last thing I needed was him screaming and yelling, coopting my panic attack about his ankle.

  Dillon’s head popped into the front seat. “My wallet’s missing too.”

  Our screaming and yelling created a small audience—two panicking gay men activating the Settlement alert system. Soon, the lady in the blue parka and matching hat approached us.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Our wallets are missing,” I said.

  Minutes passed but felt like hours.

  I learned the lady in blue, really was a lady in blue. Officer Elayn Christmas called in patrol, and for the second time in two days, we filed another police report.

  Elayn pinched the bridge of her nose. “Mikey Westmore. At it again.”

  “But I-I-he was….” I leaned against the hood of the flashing cop car.

  Dillon’s phone rang. He remained in the back of the 4Runner with the door open. “Hi, Adam. You’re not going to believe this, but….”

  One of the officers mentioned something about Dina and strolled over to the McDonald’s while Dillon informed Adam about the situation. Apparently Mikey wasn’t such a good kid after all.

  “Detritus!” I yelled. Another panic attack approached, and a tsunami of anxiety swept in. We’d left the dog with a known felon. “Oh my God.” I poked my head into the back of the rental to get Dillon’s attention while he gabbed to Adam. “Is he sure they have Detritus?”

  Dillon nodded, attempting to get a word in on the phone. “Hey…how’s our dog?” He blocked his ear with his free hand. “What do you mean? I thought you said….” Dillon’s head flinched back. “You don’t know?”