2017 Top Ten Gay Romance

by J. M. Snyder

  “Can I take off your shirt?” Fran asked, voice cautious. They both knew there were scars under there.

  Dez’s first instinct was to resist. Say he’d like to keep it on. He only needed to get his pants off for full access, after all. Fran wouldn’t say anything if he found the scars horrific—he was too kind for that. But he might pull away, either mentally or physically, unable to avoid the visceral repulsion. And Dez would see it in his eyes. But he had to show he trusted Fran.

  “Yes, but you might find you’d prefer I kept it on.”

  “Nonsense.” Fran slowly undid the buttons and pushed the shirt down Dez’s shoulders to slide off his arms. On instinct, Dez moved to put a hand over the scar, but Fran caught his wrist and held him. “That’s not so bad,” Fran said, looking at it carefully. “Honestly, you do make such a fuss. I thought it was going to look like a zombie bite or something. My granny has a better scar than that from the time she had her gall bladder out.”

  Dez boggled. “You’ve seen it?”

  “Come visit her and you’ll see it too, I guarantee. You could compete for who’s got the best one. It would be like that scene in Jaws.” He grinned.

  “OMG,” Dez said, in a gently teasing imitation of Fran’s voice, and started laughing, relaxing, tension unwinding.

  Fran came closer, kissed him again, laughing, too. Between the laughter and the feel of Fran’s body against his, the warmth of him, Dez didn’t even notice for a second that Fran had run a hand over the shoulder and the scar. The world didn’t end. The sky didn’t fall. He barely noticed it in part because the skin had lost a lot of feeling there. But he felt in elsewhere. In his heart. Deep inside. It was reassurance that Fran was still here, in his arms, not turning away from him because of an imperfection.

  If Fran didn’t mind that physical imperfection, then perhaps he could stand the mental type, too.

  Chapter 6

  Dez sat up on the bed, pushing back the covers. Naked, his flesh went rough with goosebumps. In the dim light from the streetlamps outside, he saw Fran move about, then look toward him.

  “Dez?” Fran leaned up on one elbow, his face creased from the pillows, and his usually neat hair rumpled.

  “I’m here.” Dez perched on the edge of the mattress and turned on the bedside lamp.

  “Are you going someplace? Or just the loo?”

  “I thought maybe I should leave.”

  “What for? You live upstairs anyway. You can stay. I’d like you to stay.” He moved forward, pressing himself against Dez’s back. He put his arms around Dez’s shoulders and leaned in to kiss him when Dez turned his head to meet him halfway. “I’d really like you to stay.”

  “I’m not sure I…I don’t think I deserve this. Any of this. I’m no hero. What you just gave me. I don’t—”

  “Oh, can it,” Fran said, sounding exasperated. “I swear, Riley makes more sense when he’s coughing up a furball.” He spoke more gently. “I didn’t give you anything. We shared. And as for deserving? This wasn’t some kind of reward and it certainly wasn’t pity sex. I don’t go to bed with guys as rewards or for pity. I’m not a prize, grand or consolation. I wanted to be with you. You wanted the same.”

  “I wish I could think as clearly as you.”

  “You can. Or you will again anyway.” He kissed Dez’s temple. “Let me in, Dez. Let me in and let me help. That’s all I’m asking.”

  Dez rested a hand over Fran’s where they crossed on his chest.

  “Will you stay?” Fran asked, nuzzling his ear, speaking into it, the breeze warm, gentle over the curves.

  Dez didn’t speak. Fran moved back to his side of the bed, pulling Dez with him until they were lying together, side by side. Fran tugged the duvet over them and snuggled against him.

  “God, I lost all my warmth. You’ll have to heat me up again.”

  Dez chuckled. “You actually are just a cat in human form, aren’t you?”

  “You’d better believe it.”

  They sank down into warmth, bliss, and sleep.

  * * * *

  “Dez, you awake?” Fran’s voice brought Dez out of the light sleep he’d been in for an unknown time. He opened his eyes to see Fran standing by the bed, dressed, just setting a mug on the bedside cabinet.

  He sat up, the duvet falling back to expose his naked chest. “What time is it?”

  “Coming up to nine. I’m on my way downstairs. You stay as long as you like.”

  Movement around the foot of the bed made him look to see Riley stretch then immediately settle into a new position, snuggled against Dez’s legs.

  “See, you can’t get up without disturbing him,” Fran said.

  Dez snorted. He reached for the mug, which gave off a delicious aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. Fran made damn good coffee. All that practice in the café.

  “Just pop Riley into the cat room when you leave,” Fran said. “And I’ll see you later.” He leaned down to kiss Dez, which let Dez see the man’s headband, adorned with a pair of ginger cat ears. Fran spotted the direction of Dez’s stare, and chuckled. “Well, you said I was a cat in disguise.”

  “The disguise is slipping. I bet you own several of those, don’t you?”

  “Half a dozen, and that’s just mine. We have a bunch downstairs for the staff, and also sell some as souvenirs. Tell you what, let me bring you a pair later.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “I think a nice silver tabby pair will suit your coloring.” He leaned in, kissed him again, and straightened up. “See you later.”

  “And you, cat boy.”

  Fran turned to leave, sending a cheeky grin over his shoulder and shimmying his hips. Dez leaned up, almost expecting to see a tail whipping around behind Fran. But no, he saw only Fran’s cute buns in jeans, with no sequins on the pockets this time.

  When he was gone, Dez lay down. After a moment, Riley came up to push his head beneath Dez’s hand for strokes. Dez smiled at him and obliged. Riley settled down and purred like a furry ginger dynamo. Dez drowsed, just like the cat.

  Words Fran had said to him last night drifted around his mind. Could Dez believe them? Was he enough for Fran, just as he was, hero or not? Damaged as he was? Fran could do better. Dez had seen him attract plenty of appreciative glances in the pub. Perhaps it couldn’t last between them. Fran could find someone better in the end.

  Dez opened his eyes. Or…no. Fran wouldn’t find someone better. He’d help Dez become better. That’s what Fran had meant, surely, when he talked about helping Dez. Helping him regain who he was. It wasn’t wishful thinking on Fran’s part, because he’d seen it happen with his brother. He knew there was a road back since he’d travelled it before with someone he loved. But Fran didn’t love Dez, he couldn’t. Not yet. But if there was a chance…

  Yet it was unfair to place that burden entirely on Fran’s shoulders. Fran was a friend, a lover now, but not a therapist. If Dez tried to make him his therapist, he’d probably destroy what they had. Fran could support him, but he couldn’t treat him.

  Dez found his phone on the bedside cabinet, plugged into a charger. He had no memory of doing that, and supposed Fran had. He pulled out the charger and checked in the contacts, though he could have looked at missed calls for the number he’d been ignoring.

  A couple of rings and the call went through. A receptionist answered and he asked to make an appointment with Dr. Wendell.

  He heard the tapping of her keyboard. “It’s been several weeks since your last appointment,” she said. “We did try to contact you.”

  “I know. I…guess that’s something I’ll have to talk to the doctor about.”

  “Of course. Would this Thursday at eleven suit you?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  “We’ll send you a text reminder the day before.”

  “Thank you.”

  He found another number he’d been avoiding, and in a few minutes, was talking to his Inspector, who apparently had a bone to pick with him.

&nbs
p; “You’ve been missing appointments with the psychiatrist,” she said. “You know you won’t progress if you don’t—”

  “I just set up an appointment with him. Ma’am, I’m looking to start the process of coming back to work. I know it will take a while, physically and mentally, to be ready. But I wanted to let you know, I’m back on the road.”

  “That’s good to hear,” she said, her voice gentler. “Take the time you need. But don’t drift. Drifting leads to nowhere.”

  “I see that.” That’s what he’d been doing for at least three months—drifting. Until the night the yowling cats woke him. “I’m ready to start considering a desk job.”

  He thought he heard a small sigh from her. Maybe him saying that himself took away the burden of her telling him he’d never be out on the beat again.

  “Good. I have a few projects I’d like to give you. I think you’d do well with them.” Her voice hushed and he got the sense of her leaning into the phone. “You did your share that day, Dez. You did enough for a lifetime. If you hadn’t led him away from the car, he’d have been across the channel before we could mobilize.”

  Simmons had admitted later that he’d gotten lost chasing Dez, and couldn’t find his car, so he’d ended up hitchhiking to Hull to catch a ferry. And of course, every single person who’d given him a lift came forward. They had a perfect trail for him, right to the ferry port, where they picked him up minutes from boarding. Maybe Dez didn’t feel like a hero for running, but he’d made the right choice in the end.

  “Let’s meet for a coffee,” she said. “Have a proper chat. You don’t have to come here, if you don’t feel like dealing with everyone. Name a place.”

  “Do you like cats?” he asked.

  “What? Well, yes. I’ve got a cat called Lestrade, as it happens. Why?”

  No, he couldn’t bring her here, to drink a latte, surrounded by cats, waited on by his boyfriend wearing cat ears. She’d have him dismissed on psychiatric grounds like a shot. He named another café not too far away and they set a date for Friday, after he’d seen the shrink again, so he could give her a progress report.

  Dez put down the phone. He looked at Riley, resting his chin on Dez’s hip, eyes closed, purring contentedly. Dez ruffled his furry head, making him sit up and yawn. Then he settled into just the same spot.

  Dez sighed. “Okay, ginger. I guess that means we have five more minutes…”

  So he lay there, wondering about these projects the inspector wanted to hand him. Crime prevention schemes, maybe? A liaison with community groups? Oh, he’d quite like the chance to be a liaison to the LGBTQ community. The force actually took this stuff seriously now. They put a rainbow on the cars that worked at the Pride parade. Hell, maybe this year he’d walk in his uniform in the local Pride. He’d never done so before and had fallen for the nonsense about acceptance coming easier if you didn’t make a big deal out of it.

  That wasn’t acceptance, it was avoidance. The same as he’d been practicing for the past few months. Avoiding the psychiatrist to avoid talking about the truth of that day. And that caused him to avoid going back to work, because he feared having to go back on different terms, letting people think he wasn’t the man he had been before.

  But he wasn’t, and once he accepted that, he could start the rest of his life. It wasn’t fair that Simmons had shot him and ended any chance of him ever being fit enough to return to patrol. But whining about it didn’t turn back time.

  * * * *

  Dez opened his door to Fran, who stared at him. “That’s a new look for you.”

  Dez smiled and took off the rubber gloves and the apron he’d been wearing over his bare torso. It was hot outside and he’d started to sweat buckets while cleaning.

  “Just giving the place a once-over.” Or more like a deep clean. Chasing out each mote of dust from every corner. It was cathartic. He felt like the layer of grime over his mind was falling away, too. He reached for a T-shirt lying over the back of a chair as Fran came in.

  “Don’t overdo it with your shoulder,” Fran cautioned.

  “I’ve been taking frequent rests.” He leaned in for a hello kiss. And stroked Riley, who Fran had with him. “You brought a chaperone?”

  “No, ah…how about a cuppa?”

  “Sounds good. I’m ready for one.” He messed about making tea while Fran watched him. Riley went to get comfy in the living room. After a while, Dez grew conscious of Fran’s close scrutiny.

  “What?” he asked of the thoughtful expression.

  “You seem very cheerful today.”

  “Really?” He grinned. “Well, don’t spread it around, but I got laid last night.”

  “Ha bloody ha. Is that all of it? Because I’m not used to having this much of an effect on a man.”

  “Oh, you had an effect for sure. I’ll tell you about it. Come on, let’s sit.”

  They took their teas to the living room, evicted Riley from the couch, and sat. Dez explained the calls he’d made that morning.

  “So when do you go back to work?” Fran asked.

  “That’s going to be a while yet. But my feet are back on the road. And it’s thanks to you.”

  “Nonsense. You’re strong, Dez. You’re hurt, but you’re strong and you’ll get past this.”

  “You offered to help me. Does that offer stand?”

  “Of course.”

  He took Fran’s hand. “Thank you.”

  “In fact, um, sort of on the subject of, well, us and helping each other…” He reached into the pocket of his jeans, stretching and leaning as he did, muttering about the impractical design, and brought out a couple of keys on a ring. “I wondered if you wanted to hold these for me. Spare ones for the door into my flat and into the cat room. I thought…well, suppose I was out somewhere and I got delayed, I could give you a ring and you could check on the cats.”

  Spare keys. His own were lying in a kitchen drawer, because since he moved here, there was nobody to whom he’d wanted to give them, either as a friend for an emergency, or as a lover to let themselves in as they pleased.

  “Thank you,” Dez said, taking them. “Do you want mine?”

  “Only if you want to give them to me.” He held up a hand. “And don’t jump in with ‘of course, I do,’ because I know you still have issues with feeling secure. You give me the keys when you’re sure you’re ready. I’ll be happy to take them then.”

  “Thank you,” Dez repeated. “Can I think about it?”

  “Of course. And, I have something else to give you.” He stood and retrieved Riley from another chair. He held out the cat to Dez. “I want you to have Riley.”

  “What?” Dez automatically took the cat. “You mean, to live here?”

  “Yes. I told you it was time to take him out of the café. And I thought you two got along so well, maybe having him hanging around here would be good for you. His purring is a great stress reliever.”

  “You said he was ill.”

  “Not ill, just old. Can’t keep up with the kittens anymore. Playing with the customers is too much work for him. His pet insurance is paid up for six months yet. After that, well, I’ll see what I can sort out for him.”

  “You sound like you’re selling me a car, not a cat.”

  “No selling,” Fran insisted. “Free to a good home, and I know this is a good home.”

  “Fran…I’d hug you if I didn’t have a lap full of ginger moggy.”

  “Save it for this evening. Will you take him?”

  “Yes, thank you. Thank you for the keys and the therapy cat.”

  “I don’t think he’s trained as a therapy cat. Perhaps he needs to go on a course. Study, maybe.”

  “Really get that purr on point?”

  “Right.” Fran sobered. “He’s a one-man cat at heart, is Riley, and I think you’re that man. He’s just been waiting for Mr. Right to come along.”

  “Haven’t we all?” Dez said. It was kind of an instinctive response. But he thought about it after he s
aid it and went on. “I mean that. I know part of me is on that quest too, and…Fran, I think you’re my Mr. Right. I think…I know, I’m falling hard for you.”

  “I hoped, I hoped so much, that you felt this way. If we have to take it slow, that’s good, let you get better, get stronger. Whatever that takes, Riley and me will be there for it.”

  “Cat boy and therapy cat. You’re going to be my team of feline heroes.”

  And heroism—yes, a little of that—in Fran’s choice. To want to go the distance with someone as damaged as Dez. A different kind of heroism. The quiet, “get up and try again tomorrow” kind. Who always tried again tomorrow, however badly it went today.

  “Do you think we could get another of those hero cakes?” Dez asked. He smiled at Fran. “I know someone who deserves to be called ‘my hero.’”

  THE END

  My Best Man by Linn Edwards

  To my sister, with love and good memories of adventure and romance novels.

  Chapter 1

  Ian woke up without opening his eyes, initially. He was hoping to spare himself the glare from the morning light—perhaps afternoon light, actually—and feeling the aches from being in the same position for a while. Trying to move his arm, Ian found it immobile. Briefly concerned, he opened one eye to find his arm immobile because it lay under the sleeping best man at his sister’s wedding.

  The wedding was a blur and he knew that he was in bed with his new brother-in-law’s best friend, a Marine—Special Services even—and a raging homophobe. He and his sister had yelled at each other over her dating Stephen, then their engagement and now their wedding. Ian had even thought to boycott the wedding but their parents had talked him into it and even being a groomsman. The new brother-in-law, Stephen, had said that while the thought of having gays in the military “creeped him out,” he wasn’t passing judgement, in general, on being gay. Stephen’s father wasn’t as “kind” and refused to shake hands even at the wedding.

  Opening both eyes, he confirmed his bedmate was indeed the geeky-looking best man. Andrew? Was that his name? The mass of bright red (orange really) hair sticking straight up and the stark whiteness of the guy’s skin and the undefined pectoral region had two copper circles on either side. Freckles scattered at random across the plain of Andrew’s—was his name Andrew?—chest was oddly causing a stir in his groin prompting him to try and remember last night. What was the first thing he remembered? He felt his face flush as the image of a HUGE purplish red cock bounced into his memory and the taste at the back of his throat confirmed there had been sexual activity. But Andrew? If indeed that was his name.