North on Drummond

by K. C. Burn

  Drew laughed, and Kyle pursed his lips, his expression suddenly assessing.

  “You could give him a try. I mean, it would be better than the nothing you’ve got going on now, right?”

  “Oh hell no.” Drew frowned at Kyle. “You just got shitty service and vicious glares. I might lose my business.”

  He shuddered. The thought was repellant in so many ways. First and foremost, his business truly would suffer. Eddie Price didn’t do the card readings a number of the town’s women seemed to like, but as a medium he could be an acceptable substitute, especially if they decided to punish Drew for taking Eddie out of circulation. Drew might not be as experienced as Kyle, but he certainly didn’t need more experience with bad sex. He could get himself off just fine without risking his business and an STD by taking the village bicycle for a ride. Sleeping with Eddie was a brand of notoriety he wasn’t interested in, assuming either of them were willing to set aside their professional rivalry.

  “No, thank you. A trip into Tampa sounds perfect to me.” A handjob or blowjob in the bathroom at a club would be a welcome respite from his own hand, although he wished Sandy Bottom Bay offered more in the way of boyfriend material. With a truly eligible man available, he might have a better chance of getting over his stupid adolescent crush on a man who was never coming back.

  “Uh-huh. And are you actually going to let someone touch your dick this time? Aren’t you tired of waiting for the perfect Cliff Garcia, Sandy Bottom Bay’s prodigal son, to return?”

  Flames licked at Drew’s cheeks as Kyle’s words mocked the very thought that had just flown through his mind. “Shut up.” It wasn’t like he chickened out of one-night stands every time they went to a club.

  Kyle rolled his eyes. “Like anyone cares you’ve got a crush on some dude no one even remembers. Odds are the guy is straight. And fat. Possibly married. He might even have kids by now.”

  The mock horror in Kyle’s tone didn’t fool Drew. Just as Kyle knew Drew’s deep, dark secret—his unshakable crush on Cliff—Drew knew Kyle’s. If Kyle could marry a sweet guy and adopt a village of kids from Africa, he’d do it in a hot second, and he wouldn’t give a damn if the guy was ripped or not. Nevertheless, Kyle’s secret didn’t cripple his sex life nearly as much as Drew’s did.

  Unfortunately, Drew was a terrible liar, and his cheeks got hotter. There was one big reason an ember of hope remained in his heart—and his cock, if he was being truthful.

  Kyle’s mouth dropped open as he stared, understanding slowly dawning.

  “No way. No fucking way. That’s why you never told me Helen Somerset was your client! She tells you stuff about him.” Kyle cuffed his arm, making him slop piña colada on the table.

  “Hey, watch it. No spilling the drink.” It was a splurge he could barely afford as it was.

  “Who cares? I’ll buy you another. What does she tell you?”

  Kyle’s voice rose loud enough that he was drawing more attention than Drew was comfortable with, especially since he truly did feel his clients deserved whatever privacy and discretion he was able to give.

  “Quiet down.”

  Kyle puffed up like a rooster getting ready to crow, and his whole demeanor made Drew panic.

  “Please, don’t do this.” Drew wasn’t above begging. Not only was this his livelihood, but he knew how stupid he was to hoard away whatever little tidbits Helen let slip about her son’s life, letting the information fuel his fantasies and feed the crush he’d had since he was fourteen.

  Somehow, his desperation got through to Kyle, and disappointed, he deflated. Leaning across the table, Kyle spoke quietly, his expression serious. “Is he gay?”

  “Yes.” Giddiness bubbled in Drew’s blood like fizzy soda at the thought of kissing Cliff Garcia.

  The answer didn’t bring any approval to Kyle’s eyes, as Drew had half expected.

  “And where does he live?”

  “Los Angeles.” Those words flattened out the fizzy in his veins as effectively as Kyle’s solemn nod.

  “Exactly. And after leaving for college he’s come home…not even once.” With anyone else, Kyle likely would have retained his customary sarcastic tone, but instead his voice and expression were filled with sympathy.

  Drew’s stomach twisted, and his eyes burned. Confronting the reality of the situation, out loud and in the face of Kyle’s simple logic, depressed the hell out of him.

  “Let me buy the next round.” Kyle patted his hand; there was no joy for either of them in the death of Drew’s hopes.

  After flagging down a waitress and placing an order, Kyle turned an intense look on Drew.

  Drew raised a brow. “Should I be scared?”

  “If Brett gives you even a fraction of an opening, you have to jump in there. I will selflessly leave the field open for you. Brett might not be gay, but might be gay, fucking hot, and in the same damned zip code makes your odds of getting laid shoot astronomically higher than your chances of getting naked with Cliff ‘Absentee’ Garcia.”

  Kyle’s description wrung a rueful laugh from Drew, and he nodded. He wasn’t about to admit he’d rather have a boyfriend than just get naked with another guy, even one as hot as Brett Cavanagh, but having to drive for miles to the nearest gay club wasn’t going to put him in prime geographical proximity for anything but getting his rocks off. Might as well see if it could happen with a television star. Assuming Kyle was actually able to leave the field open for him. Not that Kyle didn’t have the best intentions, but Kyle’s crush on Brett was almost as intense as Drew’s crush on Cliff.

  “Thought we’d find you here.” Drew’s brother Rob slid into an empty chair, sloshing beer on the table as he did so. Rob’s twin, Wyatt, sat in the fourth chair, across from Rob. Both of them were much bulkier than either Drew or Kyle, taller and all muscle. Drew wasn’t a thing like his brothers, not in looks, temperament, or build. Most of his family, including his brothers, resembled Vikings: big, blond, and broad. They all had golden skin that simply turned more golden when exposed to sunlight. Drew’s pale skin practically lit on fire like he was a vampire if he spent too long in the sun, with or without sunscreen. And the red hair…if it weren’t for his grandma’s reassurances that his grandfather—bald as an egg in every picture Drew had seen—was a ginger, he would have suspected he was the proverbial milkman’s kid.

  Kyle clammed up at their sudden appearance. Not that his friend would ever admit it, but Drew knew Kyle was also crushing on one of his brothers. Which one, he wasn’t sure, because Rob and Wyatt almost never did anything apart. Except commit crimes, and that was simple expedience. They’d beat more than one charge because so few people could tell them apart, and having one establish an alibi while the other was off doing…whatever…meant they almost never were charged. Arrested, sure. The local police didn’t have any better opinions about the Drummonds than did the rest of the town, but when witnesses couldn’t definitely identify a perpetrator, there wasn’t much the cops could do. If their crimes had been worse than petty theft and fighting, the cops might have tried harder, but Drew was glad they were merciful, because he didn’t want either of his brothers in jail.

  “And why exactly did you think you’d find us here?” Drew figured he needed to ask, since Kyle probably wasn’t going to say a word until they were alone again. At least this crush was recent and would hopefully pass as quickly as it had begun, because having Kyle act like a mannequin in his brothers’ presence was getting a little irritating.

  “Because that fairy ghost-hunter dude is supposed to be here.”

  Kyle gasped a little in outrage but still didn’t say anything. Drew might have done the same thing, but getting upset over his brothers’ lack of political correctness wouldn’t change their behavior any. They’d actually been incredibly supportive after Drew and then Kyle had come out, and had at least stopped using the word fag, which Drew supposed was the best he could get. And if anyone else called him or Kyle fag or fairy or any other derogatory word…well,
there weren’t too many in town stupid enough to incur the wrath of the Drummond clan. Not after the first few broken noses for the less tolerant.

  “You do realize we’re both fairies too, right?”

  It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but Wyatt answered anyway. “Yeah, but you’re our fairies. Makes a difference.”

  As one, the twins reached out and ruffled his and Kyle’s hair. A rosy blush swept up Kyle’s face and disappeared into his hairline.

  “You two be good and don’t make fools of yourselves over this famous fairy.” With that parting shot, Rob headed back to the bar, Wyatt following on his heels, leaving Drew and Kyle with scrambled bed-head hairstyles.

  Kyle sat there for a second, as though deciding whether to be excited by the attention or pissed that they’d ruined the effort of however many minutes it had taken him to get his hair just right. Drew never primped as much as Kyle and never used product, so his own hair would right itself with a quick shake of his head.

  “Which one?” The curiosity was killing him, and Kyle apparently wasn’t going to tell him, so he’d just have to ask.

  “Which one what?”

  Drew snorted. Others might believe Kyle’s innocent look but not Drew. “Which one of my brothers gets your motor running?” He didn’t much want to think about either of his brothers’ sex lives, but if he could talk Kyle out of his weird crush, maybe Kyle would move on. Not that Kyle had been able to do the same for him, no matter how hard he tried, but Drew’s crush on Cliff didn’t seem quite as hopeless as Kyle’s on Rob or Wyatt.

  Hell, his friend had a better chance with Brett Cavanagh. His brothers were relentlessly straight, and they were also kind of assholes. They’d done their best as brothers and had kept him from getting his head kicked in more than once, but he wouldn’t wish either of them—romantically—on his worst enemy.

  Strangely, Kyle’s blush became so dark Drew wondered for a fraction of a second if Kyle was having a stroke or something.

  “C’mon. You can tell me.”

  Kyle’s blush didn’t fade one bit, and he couldn’t meet Drew’s gaze. A sudden thought hit Drew, and he shuddered.

  “Not… No. Not both of them?”

  Kyle’s gaze flickered upward, and in the sheepish expression, Drew read the full truth.

  “Not just both of them, but both of them together? Kyle, you sick puppy! Those are my brothers.”

  Twincest. Maybe if he hadn’t grown up with twin brothers, Drew might have seen the appeal as a fantasy, but seriously… Ick.

  Kyle licked his lips and took a sip of his drink, shoulders hunched in, looking nearly as defeated as when he’d arrived home after his knee injury had destroyed his dreams of dancing professionally.

  “Kyle, I insist. If Brett gives you the slightest fraction of an opening, you take it. Anything, and I mean anything, to keep you from getting hung up on my brothers.” Drew did his level best not to cringe as he said those last words.

  “I’m sorry,” Kyle whispered, gaze still directed firmly at the table, and Drew’s inability to understand why anyone would fantasize about his brothers melted in the face of Kyle’s shame.

  “Hey, hey.” He reached over and grabbed Kyle’s hand. “Don’t feel bad. You’ve got nothing to apologize for. You can’t help who you like, but I don’t want you to get hurt. I know you only want the best for me when you try to take me out to get laid, try to get me over my own hopeless crush. Believe me when I say I want the same for you. You’re my best friend.”

  The unhealthy color in Kyle’s face receded, and he lifted his eyes, his expression no longer ashamed. “You’re right. Why is it we’re not boyfriends again?”

  Drew laughed. “You need to ask?”

  “Oh, right, gingers are so terribly unfashionable, and I haven’t a basement to hide you out in to make sure no one knows we’re sleeping together.”

  Drew pinched Kyle’s arm before he withdrew his hand. “Shut up. The royal family and Harry Potter made gingers all the rage, I’ll have you know. You just don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

  Back on familiar teasing ground, Drew relaxed. They just weren’t attracted to one another, which Drew did lament on occasion. Life would be a lot simpler if he and Kyle were an item, as most of the town assumed.

  The door to the Angry Parakeet opened, and like he’d done all evening, Kyle craned his head to look. This time, though, he gasped and smacked Drew’s arm just as Kyle was lifting his piña colada to his lips. Coconut-pineapple froth slopped out of the glass—again—and onto Drew’s shirt.

  “Kyle, what the fuck?”

  “It’s him,” Kyle whispered, staring intently at the person who came in.

  Drew only got an impression of a guy in a baseball cap before he tried mopping up the wet spot on his shirt. He was wearing black—maybe it wouldn’t be too obvious, although he smelled as fruity as his brothers sometimes called him.

  “It’s who?”

  “Brett.”

  Drew lifted his gaze. Sure enough, under the shadow of the ball cap’s bill were those famous features. Drew had expected the guy to be…not as attractive in person. He’d seen tabloids before, although they mostly focused on female celebrities without their makeup. But all actors wore makeup when they were working, and he’d expected real-life Brett to be a normal guy, maybe more fit than the average man, but not gorgeous.

  He was wrong. Brett Cavanagh was every bit as delicious in person as he was on screen. If Drew were going to have a one-night stand, this might be the guy he’d want, but Kyle was kidding himself if he thought a star like Brett was browsing in Sandy Bottom Bay for a boyfriend.

  Brett stood in the doorway for a moment, ostensibly looking for a table, but somehow, Drew knew he was making a deliberate entrance. No matter how incognito this visit was supposed to be, there was no doubt in Drew’s mind that Brett liked being the center of attention.

  A woman slipped through the door behind him and stood off to the side, as though allowing Brett his moment. Their body language didn’t speak of intimacy, so she wasn’t his girlfriend, but there was enough yearning in her expression to tell Drew that she wouldn’t mind the role. Presumably she had arrived with Brett, because she carried a briefcase and Drew had never seen her before.

  With a smile meant to be self-deprecating, Brett made his way to the bar like he was a prince or something. The more Drew watched, the more arrogance and self-absorption he saw. Still, one didn’t need to like a guy to have sex with him, and sex with Brett Cavanagh would be something for the spank bank.

  Conversation quieted among both the locals and some of the tourists who’d come into town early for the festival. There were a few tourists who probably wouldn’t recognize Brett Cavanagh if he bit them on the nose, but Drew was surprised they could remain oblivious when everyone else’s attention was centered on the man striding toward the bar, the dark-haired woman shadowing him like a lackey.

  Before he reached the bar, the woman tugged at his sleeve and spoke in a low voice. Brett nodded, and they abruptly changed direction to seat themselves at a booth within spitting distance of his and Kyle’s table. Brett slid into the seat that allowed him to view the entire restaurant…and allowed the entire restaurant to watch him. If Brett was truly trying to be inconspicuous, he was doing it very badly.

  A flustered waitress came to get their drink orders, and for the next few minutes, Brett did nothing but peruse the menu and converse with the dark-haired woman, who appeared to be making notes. Obviously she had something to do with the TV crew. Slowly, as Brett appeared to be doing nothing but trying to order dinner, the locals’ interest waned. A couple of tourists approached for autographs, which he graciously gave, but shortly thereafter, Drew and Kyle were likely the only ones paying attention.

  As though he could sense their regard, Brett’s gaze swept across them, and out of the corner of his eye, Drew saw Kyle give a little wave. After exchanging a few words with his companion, Brett got up and strode over to the
ir table, sitting down.

  “Well, hello there. How did I miss you two last time I was here?”

  “You’ve been here before?” Kyle managed to stutter out the question, but Brett’s large, warm hand clamped down on Drew’s thigh, and all he could manage was a strangled squeak.

  “Sure, sure. Scoping out the area. Research, you know.” Brett smiled at Kyle and stroked a finger along his jaw like a lover would, while the hand on Drew’s thigh crept ever higher.

  All the saliva in Drew’s mouth dried out. What the hell was going on here? Was Brett trying to pick them both up? Was he truly gay, or was he just trying to shock people? Despite the thrum of desire jerking his cock to awareness, Drew wasn’t sure he was comfortable with this scenario. Threesomes weren’t really his thing. Having sex with one other person seemed complicated enough without trying to add a third dick to the proceedings. Hell, he didn’t even think Kyle had ever had a threesome before, and given their lack of attraction to one another, he wasn’t sure having one with Kyle was the way he’d go about it…assuming either of them would even say yes.

  “And who are you?”

  Drew didn’t miss the fact that Brett assumed introducing himself was unnecessary, which slowed the blood rushing to his groin.

  “I’m Kyle, and this is Drew.” Kyle’s voice had taken on a breathy quality that Drew associated with flirting. Wasn’t Kyle as weirded-out as Drew?

  “So good to meet you. I hope I’ll see more of you while I’m here. Or maybe you’d like a little work as extras?” The words dripped with innuendo, and despite the weirdness, Drew couldn’t help but be mesmerized by Brett’s intense gaze and the novel sensation of someone in Sandy Bottom Bay displaying such open interest in him.