Dreamspinner Press Year Three Greatest Hits

by Jenna Hilary Sinclair

  “Have you found a new job?”

  Miller shook his head. “Not yet. But I have an interview next week with a firm that handles private investigations. The investigators are primarily ex-FBI agents; they take all kinds of cases, from the little domestic stuff to overflow from big court cases, both prosecution and defense. Colin recommended me for the job.”

  “Is that something you want to do?”

  “The smaller cases don’t sound like my type of thing. But some of the bigger ones, they could be interesting.”

  Danny kissed the hard knob of Miller’s shoulder bone. “I hate to see you settle for something.”

  “Who gets everything they want, Danny, exactly how they want it? You have to decide the most important thing and go from there.”

  “Where is this job?” Danny asked, his stomach cramping in anticipation. He knew in his heart that sacrifices would have to be made if he and Miller wanted to be together, but he didn’t know if he was ready to pull up stakes again; everything felt too new and raw for him to start over.

  “Here,” Miller said, meeting his eyes. “In Chicago.”

  “Do you… do you even like this city? Do you want to live here?”

  Miller shrugged. “I like Chicago fine. I’ve only been here a couple of times before. But you’re settled here, so I think this is where we should be, at least for now. You have a good job, right? Why mess with that?”

  Danny smiled. “Well, depends on your definition of good. If by good you mean nice people, interesting work, then yeah, it’s good. If you mean a paycheck big enough to cover the rent, then no.”

  “I meant a job you like, one you’re happy with.” Miller’s voice was serious. “And you must be doing well, or they wouldn’t want you to apply for the paralegal position.”

  “Jill, the attorney I do most of my work for, seems happy with me. She thinks I’d be good at the paralegal job. And it’s more money, more responsibility.”

  They watched each other in the quiet, Danny lulled by the sound of Miller’s even breaths.

  “So, are you going to apply for the job or not?” Miller asked eventually.

  “Christ, you can take the man out of the FBI….”

  “Shut up, dumbass,” Miller laughed. “Answer the question.”

  “I don’t know. I’ll probably apply.”

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “It just… it feels like I’m tempting fate, you know?”

  Miller cocked his head, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

  “I worry about setting myself up to fail, about letting people down. If I don’t try for a better life, then I don’t have to worry about disappointing anybody.”

  Miller’s rubbed a soft circle on Danny’s thigh. “You’d be disappointing yourself, though, wouldn’t you, by not taking the chance?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Danny sighed. He knew his fear of failure, of not living up to expectations, was something he would have to conquer alone. But with Miller by his side, he thought he might be strong enough to start believing, to begin asking for more than life had given him so far. “But I’m not so sure about this job. A male paralegal? Isn’t that kind of like a male nurse?” He was only half-joking. “It just seems kind of weird.”

  “Oh, Jesus.” Miller rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m in love with such a fucking idiot.”

  Danny moved swiftly, pinning Miller to the bed with his full weight, groaning helplessly when their naked bodies came together. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, forcing his hips to stop their slow glide against Miller’s.

  “Danny?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What you said earlier, about being the same mess you’ve always been. Do you really believe that?”

  Danny raised his eyes to Miller’s. “I don’t know. It depends on the day.” He sighed, worrying a corner of the sheet between his fingers. “Sometimes it depends on the hour.” He looked down at Miller’s smooth chest, studying the few freckles sprinkled there. He hadn’t realized until this moment how much he’d missed them.

  Miller touched his face, stroking a lazy line down his cheek. “Do you remember in the apartment how you were always on me about seeing everything in black and white? You kept telling me people are more complicated than that.”

  “Yeah.”

  “It applies to you, too, you know. You’ve got to start cutting yourself the same slack you offer everyone else.”

  “I just… I didn’t want you to have to give up everything,” Danny said quietly.

  “Oh, Danny,” Miller breathed, holding Danny’s face with gentle hands. “Look at what I got in its place.”

  Danny’s first instinct was to protest, but there was no denying the happiness he saw in Miller’s eyes, the hard planes of his face smoothed out with contentment as they stared at each other. He remembered the easy way Miller’s body had moved just now when they’d made love, no holding back. And he could still hear the sparkle in Miller’s laugh, picture the loose curves of his smile. Maybe Danny Butler, with all his faults and failings, had something worth giving after all.

  “Do you see?” Miller asked, his eyes never leaving Danny’s, one hand stroking his arm in a whisper-light caress.

  “Yes,” Danny’s voice was low, his tears so close now. “I see.” He attempted a wobbly smile, rubbing the tips of his fingers against the stubble on Miller’s jaw. “I’m glad you came here,” he said. “I’m glad you came to find me.”

  Miller’s eyes clouded over a little. “I wasn’t sure. You didn’t seem happy at first.”

  Danny rested his forehead on Miller’s collarbone. “It’s always going to be hard for me, Miller. To believe in myself, to believe I can really change. But I’m trying; I’ll keep trying.” He paused. “I’ve hurt everyone who’s ever cared about me. Ruined them. It’s hard not to think about that.”

  “You didn’t ruin me, Danny,” Miller whispered against his temple. “I’m fine and I’m right here.”

  Danny drew in a shuddering breath, a lone tear spilling over onto Miller’s skin.

  “How do you feel about me?” Miller murmured against his hair.

  Danny inhaled, rough and deep. “I love you.”

  “Is it strong?” As he spoke, Miller ran a warm hand down Danny’s back.

  “God, yes.” Danny felt that strength, that bond, that love for Miller in all parts of himself—heart, mind, body, and soul.

  “Look at me,” Miller said, and Danny did, tilting his face until his chin rested on Miller’s shoulder. “That’s how I feel about you, Danny. Just as strong, just as real, and it’s not going to go away.”

  “So we’re in this together.” Danny’s voice shook but he didn’t look away.

  Miller smiled, his eyes calm and steady and sure. “Yeah, Danny Butler, we’re in this together.”

  “OKAY, SERIOUSLY, you guys, shut up! I’m trying to give a toast!” Jill’s voice carried beyond their oversized corner booth, causing the bartender across the room to glance in her direction with an indulgent smile.

  “I think that bartender likes you,” Danny noted, pointing with his beer bottle.

  Jill glanced over her shoulder. “Shit, Danny, he has a mullet! I’m not that desperate.”

  Danny laughed mid-swallow, threatening to snort beer out of his nose.

  “Attractive,” Jill said dryly. She shot Miller a sympathetic look. “I don’t know how you put up with him.”

  Miller smiled, pushing Danny’s foot with his own. Jill tapped hard against her wineglass with a fork. “Okay, everybody raise your glasses. Come on, come on,” she urged. “To Danny, our newest paralegal.”

  “Hear, hear!” Ellis called, clinking his glass against Danny’s.

  “Way to go!” Taylor hooted from across the table. “You’re going to do great, Danny.”

  The ring of faces around the table were all smiling, cheeks flushed from one too many beers, the rising laughter drowning out the warbling jukebox. It felt good to be sitting her
e among the people he thought of as his friends. Danny felt a finger brush against his hand, underneath the table. He glanced down and then up, catching Miller’s eye.

  “Congratulations, Danny,” Miller said solemnly, but his eyes were smiling. “You are now the legal equivalent of a male nurse.”

  “Shut up, asshole,” Danny laughed, threading his fingers through Miller’s where no one could see. No one at the table would care, but Miller was still skittish in public. He usually didn’t touch Danny unless they were alone. But tonight he held Danny’s hand and moved it onto his thigh, his warm leg heating Danny’s fingers.

  Jill smiled at Danny from across the table as she looked from him to Miller and back again, raising her wineglass in a tiny, private toast. “Hey, Ellis,” she said. “Tell Miller the story about that dickhead FBI agent we worked with on the Compton case, remember that guy?”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Miller protested, leaning forward to rest his free elbow on the table. “Haven’t you already told me that one, Jill? I’m pretty sure—”

  “Ellis tells it better,” Jill grinned.

  Miller sighed good-naturedly, giving Danny a sideways smile. Danny was struck with a jolt of déjà vu when he saw Miller’s face happy and peaceful, like it had been that very first time they’d made love in the snow-shrouded apartment, like it had been on so many days since they’d come together again.

  You’re doing that, Danny. You’re making him happy.

  That look on Miller’s face was something Danny could believe in, more than words or promises. He could believe in the joy he saw in Miller when they were together. And he could feel it inside himself, too, the tiny spark growing stronger with each day he spent next to Miller Sutton.

  Danny knew he still carried his darkness and it would never go quietly, always waiting for its moment, whispering of other choices in the cold hours of night, beckoning Danny with a traitor’s fingers. He thought the same was true of Miller, who was too quiet some days, avoiding Danny’s eyes; Danny suspected he was mourning the life that was no longer his, struggling to accept his choices. But so far their love had proved deeper than their doubts, their faith in each other more unshakeable than the fear.

  And for today they were happy. Danny didn’t know about tomorrow. But he could live with the uncertainty, because what they had right now was pretty goddamn good.

  “Hey,” Jill called. “Earth to Danny! You’ve got to hear this story.”

  Danny leaned forward with a smile, resting his shoulder against Miller’s, and listened.

  BROOKE MCKINLEY has always been practical. So after college she continued on to law school instead of pursuing her lifelong dream of writing novels. She hurried paragraphs during late-night coffee breaks. After ten interesting and didn’t stop writing but confined it to scribbles on the edges of yellow legal pads and challenging years as a criminal defense attorney, Brooke left the practice of law to try something new. She now divides her time between corralling her children and giving voice to the endless characters in her head. And she has decided that practicality is vastly overrated.

  E-mail: brookemckinley@earthlink.net

  I dedicate Admit One to my husband Ralph. He’s not only loved me and encouraged me in my writing for years, but he listened to me read this novel to him (yes, the whole thing!) and provided invaluable editorial commentary. I will always remember him settling into our big green chair and saying, “What did you write today?” Sweetheart, thank you so much for all your help. I love you.

  Many thanks also to Dusky, Beth, and Elke for their friendship and excellent editing. Dusky is a “prose pro” at ferreting out even the tiniest writing mistakes; Beth often provided super-fast, comprehensive edits when I needed them most; and Elke pinpointed a subtle plot problem just in time for me to fix it. I wouldn’t dream of writing without their steadfast support and expertise. Thank you, friends!

  Any remaining errors or miscues are mine. I hope you enjoy reading Admit One.

  Chapter 1

  Good Reason

  THE FIRST time Kevin and I had sex, he followed me in his Camry to the Holiday Inn Express where I was staying. I watched his headlights in the rearview mirror, checking to see…. I don’t know what I was checking. What did I think he was going to do—stop, jump out, and shout, Look at us, we’re fags? But his car remained steadfastly, securely behind me.

  Usually I would have gone to one of the rooms in the back of the bar with him; it was so much safer. But I’d gone without for months. It was late, I’d been drinking and dancing since I’d walked into Good Times hours before, and I was desperate for a warm, male body to stand in for my own hand. I needed more than a stand-up quickie, and I was willing to take risks I shouldn’t have. My judgment evaporated with my need.

  I’d told him my room number, and he came up to the third floor five minutes after I’d let myself in. We didn’t talk. I didn’t want to talk. I barely knew his name. When he’d given me the eye and the last dance of the night, he’d passed the test. He looked healthy and clean, if unexpectedly good-looking for someone who would be willing to go with me; he talked like a sensible on-the-make gay man and not an ax-murderer on the prowl for unsuspecting homos; and he was shorter and lighter than I was by three inches and thirty pounds. I thought I could at least hold my own against him if things turned nasty.

  I got down on my knees right there in front of the door, pulled out his cock, and got to it. He was hard even before I slipped him into my mouth, and it didn’t take long to suck him off. When he gripped my shoulders and erupted against my working tongue, I moaned. He was real. Whoever he was, he was real and he tasted like a man, and half of what I’d come to Houston for slotted into place.

  We stayed like that for a span of seconds, each of us fighting for breath, and then he hauled me up and kissed me. I hadn’t expected that, didn’t want it, didn’t often get it from my pickups, but in my surprise, I didn’t fight it. His arms went around me too, strong for all he was slender, as if he knew me and cared, and I clutched at him mainly to keep from falling full against him. I thought he might have liked tasting himself in my mouth, that he got off on it. His tongue in my mouth was sweet, like he’d been drinking bourbon and Coke.

  Kevin pushed me backward until I sprawled on the bed, and in a sex-drenched, raspy voice, he growled, “Get undressed.” A shiver of unease swept through me at being told what to do; I don’t go in for that sort of thing. I’m an ordinary man with ordinary tastes. But, God, I wanted him on my cock, and so I did it, got my clothes off while he took off his. And though I hadn’t expected this either and wouldn’t have asked him to get naked just for a suck-off in an anonymous hotel room, it was great to see his whole body revealed along with the sturdy-looking cock that had been in my mouth.

  He wasn’t buff; with his long legs, he looked more like a greyhound who could run sprints. A black-haired sprinter with a generous sprinkling of chest hair. He was very masculine in a controlled, clearly defined sort of way, just the way I liked my men. When he got on the bed and moved forward to taste me, my eyelids fluttered at all that man-skin bent in service to my needs.

  It was a good orgasm, what he gave me. What I took from him.

  Afterward, without asking, he flopped down onto the bed next to me and closed his eyes. I thought about asking him to leave, but I didn’t have the energy. We fell asleep next to each other.

  Around four o’clock, I got up to take a piss, and on my way back to the bed I put out the light. We had sex again in the dark, where I couldn’t see him and he couldn’t see me, just right, humping against each other until his hand fumbled down between us and held us together. He smelled of the smoke from the club. When he rubbed against me with his thumb, I jetted within a few seconds, not giving it up loudly, only sighing, and he followed me not long after that.

  The clock showed eight-thirty when I woke up. Kevin was coming out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his hips. He looked good to my eyes, though maybe a little pale, as if he didn’t see t
he sun often. I eased my left arm under the sheet where it couldn’t be seen.

  He picked up his briefs from the floor and pulled them on, then sat down on the bed and started working his socks on.

  “Good morning,” he said in his hoarse voice.

  “Sure.”

  He finished with the socks and twisted around to look at where I was still flat on my back. “What do you say we go get some—”

  “I have to leave soon,” I said.

  His eyebrows rose. “Leave?”

  “Deadline to meet. Sorry.”

  He got the message: I wasn’t interested in anything else. His name was Kevin and he gave good head, period. If I’d given him a false message because we’d gone to a real hotel room and not some rent-by-the-hour dive or the backseat of a car, well, I was sorry. My life was punctuated by infrequent one-night stands, driven by my free choice and forced through hard experience, and that was just the way it was.

  I watched him dress the rest of the way and put his wallet in his back pocket. He paused and looked down at where I lay with his spunk crusted dry on my belly. Then he came closer and leaned over me, and I tensed. I was surprised when he kissed me, a closed-mouth kiss with nothing much behind it, merely a brief pressing of lips. He had more to give than I did, that was for sure.

  “So long, Tom,” he said. And then he left.

  I took my time after that and started the hours-long drive home at noon.

  There wasn’t supposed to be a second time when Kevin and I had sex. When I went back to Houston five months later, he wasn’t on my mind. Getting my rocks off, yeah, that was on my mind, and the only reason I ever went to Houston. Work had been stressful, I hadn’t been sleeping well, and the walls of my small house were starting to close in on me. So I’d taken off for the weekend when normally I would have been able to hold off for another month or two. As always, I went carefully, alert to those around me as I walked toward the bar, and I would always, always be careful of how I left it.