North on Drummond

by K. C. Burn

  When Scott returned, he had a sympathetic look on his face. “Dude, you look fucking beat. Why don’t you take off now? These guys are only going to be a couple more hours, and I got a full night’s sleep last night.”

  “You sure?” Cliff wanted to pull his weight, but even the minor adrenaline rush that resulted from heading off Brett’s altercation was going to send him crashing, and soon.

  “I’m sure. And if you don’t get enough sleep, call out sick. Promise me. We’ve still got time before the hordes descend. You’ll need to be on your toes for that.”

  Cliff nodded. “Thanks.”

  He checked Brett’s status. It would be much easier if he could slip away without Brett noticing. At the moment, it appeared that Brett had gone back into the bed-and-breakfast, so Cliff took advantage and strode quickly to his car.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cliff stretched, the insistence of his bladder bringing him awake. He hopped out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Once his bladder was no longer screaming, he took a moment to brush his teeth. He’d taken a shower when he’d gotten back to Drew’s after his shift. The tiny house was a much more reasonable temperature now, but he’d been covered in stale sweat from helping Wyatt install the A/C unit. Cliff hadn’t had the time for a shower after they’d finished, so by the end of his shift he’d been quite rank. But he’d been so tired, he’d forgotten to brush his teeth and had tumbled onto the futon as soon as he’d toweled off and pulled on another pair of briefs.

  He still had a few hours before his shift, so he crept back to the bedroom and onto the futon. It was surprisingly comfortable, better than some mattresses he’d slept on. Once he was comfortable, he turned on his side to look at Drew. It was how he’d fallen asleep last night, but that had happened far too soon. He wanted to look his fill.

  Instead he found Drew staring back at him, hair damp and bandage missing, exposing a line of angry-looking stitches surrounded by a painful-looking bruise.

  Cliff sat up in bed, prepared to leap across the small space between them. “What the hell? Are you okay?”

  Drew smiled, a genuine smile, free of pain and without the sloppiness of being stoned on prescription narcotics.

  “I’m fine. I feel a lot better today, actually. The shower helped.”

  “Shower? I was going to help you with it today.”

  It would have been temptation like throwing a monk into a pit of naked oil wrestlers, but he wouldn’t have wanted to risk Drew getting woozy and slipping in the tub.

  A faint flush colored Drew’s cheeks, and he wouldn’t quite meet Cliff’s gaze. “I woke up a while ago, and you were sleeping so soundly. I didn’t want to wake you, but I was just gross.”

  There wasn’t any point in berating him, since it was over and Drew had survived, but Cliff felt a little cheated. He must have some previously undiscovered masochistic tendencies, since he was put out that he hadn’t been able to torture himself helping Drew shower. What would that red hair look like, all slicked down and dark with water? All that smooth, wet skin. And was Drew ginger…all over?

  Cliff bunched the sheet in front of him, but he couldn’t stop imagining what he might have missed seeing during that shower. Hence the need for additional fabric barriers.

  “Yeah. Well, that window unit is doing a good job.”

  “I can’t believe I slept through you guys putting it in.”

  Cliff couldn’t either because it had involved more than one whispered swear word, and the window they’d attached it to was right between the futon and Drew’s bed. “You needed your rest.”

  Drew gave him a little smile. “Thanks for leaving me the sandwich.”

  “Oh, sure. No problem.” The only things in Drew’s place to eat were bread and peanut butter, but at least he’d been able to make a sandwich and leave it by Drew’s bedside without worrying it would go off in the heat. “But that reminds me. I’m going to grab some groceries today, if you don’t mind. Is there anything you want? Can’t eat?”

  “You don’t have to do that.” The hint of pink was back in Drew’s cheeks, and Cliff wondered again how Drew’s finances were.

  “You’re doing me a favor, letting me stay here. I want to feel like I’m contributing.” And he didn’t want to starve to death. He liked peanut butter as much as the next guy but didn’t consider a constant diet of it appealing.

  “Oh, well, I guess that would be okay. I’ll eat whatever.”

  Drew shifted, and his sheet slipped a bit, exposing an expanse of chest and a nipple, already peaked and beckoning for Cliff’s mouth. He did his best to keep his gaze on Drew’s bright blue eyes, but he kept flickering down to that smooth, pale chest. It was like Drew was taunting him, teasing him. His erection just got harder and more insistent.

  But he was a man in control of his cock. He could ignore its demands. He could. A lengthy glance at the stitches and bruise on Drew’s forehead worked as well as a cold shower. Well, maybe not quite that effective, but it helped. Drew was injured.

  Self-consciously, Drew patted his forehead. “It looks hideous, doesn’t it?”

  Cliff had seen worse, but the sight in the mirror this morning had to have been a bit of a shock.

  “It’s not pretty, but it will improve quickly. Don’t worry.” Telling Drew it didn’t change how sexy he was didn’t seem particularly appropriate for a man claiming to be in control of his cock, and might even be interpreted as a heavy-handed attempt to get a “favor” in return for the favor Drew was doing for Cliff.

  “I guess.” Drew let his hand drop.

  Right now it seemed like they were the only two people in the world, the white-noise hum of the A/C unit drowning out all but the katydids, singing in the heat and humidity outside.

  Their relaxed conversation was more enjoyable than just about anything Cliff had experienced since he’d come back to Sandy Bottom Bay—hell, since he’d discovered Brett fucking around on him. And although it seemed oddly intimate to be talking while they were both in bed in their underwear, he wasn’t ready to let the moment slip away. He wanted to know more about Drew.

  “So, I realized I never found out what you do for a living. I assume the front half of the house is for your business.” When Scott had mentioned Drew owned his own business, Cliff had almost asked what it was but realized that would make him appear just ridiculous. Hell, even he thought he was ridiculous for getting so hung up on a guy he knew next to nothing about.

  Drew’s smile disappeared, and he broke eye contact. Dread churned in Cliff’s belly. Was this where all his plans fell apart?

  “Oh. You never went around to the front of the house?”

  “No, never really had a chance, especially since it was more convenient to park in the back alley and come in through the kitchen.”

  “I’m a psychic tarot reader.”

  Cliff froze for a moment as he tested those words in his mind. No matter how many times he ran them together, all he could hear was that Drew was admitting to being a professional con man. He stared at Drew, expecting him to take back the words, to laugh and say he was joking. But the expectant, almost hesitant expression never left his face.

  “I’m sorry. Did you say psychic tarot reader?”

  “Yes. I’m, uh, called Malachi the Mystic, you know, when I’m doing readings.”

  “So you lie to people for money.” Cliff’s words were full of sharp edges he couldn’t contain. Yes, the profession was legitimate—barely—but that only meant Drew had managed to make the system support his scam. Cliff sat up straight, all arousal gone.

  Drew tensed. “I take it you don’t believe.”

  “Believe? Believe in what? Ghosts? Psychics? Messages from beyond the grave? You’re damn right I don’t, because it’s all fake. This whole industry is built to take advantage of gullible, stupid, or mentally ill people. You know what else I don’t believe? Is how a guy who seems pretty decent can justify taking money from people who haven’t the wits or capability to protect themselves.�
� His mother had been blowing time and money on people like Drew as long as Cliff could remember.

  “Protect themselves? From what?” Two spots of color formed high on Drew’s cheeks, and his voice left no doubt he was insulted. He struggled to sit up, and as much as Cliff wanted to assist, he was pretty certain Drew wouldn’t want that. After all, what idiot abused a host’s hospitality by belittling their profession? But he couldn’t help it. He’d been blindsided by this revelation. The path had been open and clear for him to ask Drew out, but how could he do it now? Had he been wrong about Drew? What if his so-called business was tied up with the other criminal activity Cliff had seen in the Drummond family’s police records?

  “You aren’t seriously trying to tell me you see the future, are you?” Cliff was digging himself deeper, but the bitterness over losing what he might have had with Drew leaked out into his words.

  “It’s not like I tell people when they’re going to die or tell them what stocks to invest in, for God’s sake. Most people find it fun. Entertainment, you know?”

  Which didn’t answer the question and solidified Drew’s complicity, in Cliff’s mind. If Drew truly believed, he would have said so instead of dancing around the topic. The mention of stocks raised a red flag, though. The scam could be deeper than simply pretending to be a psychic. A good con man could get all sorts of private information from an unwary client.

  “Is that what you do? Use the guise of Malarky—I mean, Malachi—to get insider tips on trading? Or maybe it’s an elaborate means for identity theft.”

  The sheet had fallen, forgotten, to Drew’s waist, exposing his lithe chest, and suddenly Cliff’s ire transformed into something else, something that made him breathless with want, bringing his cock back to full erection with almost painful swiftness. God help him, he wanted Drew to deny it all, because he just plain wanted Drew.

  A blotchy red flush stained Drew’s chest and neck before flooding up to meet his already pink cheeks. “I can’t believe you…think that of me.” Despite the affront in Drew’s voice, his gaze slid away, and Cliff’s hopes sank.

  Defeated and done, Drew let his anger drain away, and his eyes burned from the loss. If only the pervasive and driving desire for Drew would disappear as easily. The disappointment was drowning him.

  “It’s true, isn’t it?” Cliff asked without any heat. “You’re scamming people, aren’t you? Just haven’t gotten caught yet.”

  He didn’t expect Drew to admit it. Cliff was a cop, after all. But the guilt was as obvious as if there were a neon billboard flashing over Drew’s head.

  Just as quickly, Drew’s ire disappeared. He rubbed at his eyes and winced when the movement pulled at his stitches.

  “I don’t expect you to understand, but will you at least listen?”

  Cliff pressed his lips together and nodded. If he weren’t going to give Drew the benefit of the doubt, he’d have already been dressed, instead of lounging around in his briefs. Apparently his autonomic nervous system had decided in Drew’s favor, overriding his brain. Or maybe it was merely his cock taking charge. That hadn’t worked out so well with Brett, but he wasn’t quite willing to shut down the possibility of something happening with Drew.

  He sank back down onto the futon and waited. Drew dropped his gaze to Cliff’s chest and licked his lips.

  Fuck. Cliff just couldn’t give in. Not yet. Drew needed to toss him a life preserver—anything he could use to justify this incredibly bad judgment. Or something that would throw metaphorical cold water over him and lessen the throbbing, insistent pressure in his groin.

  DREW HAD NEVER really understood that saying about feeling your heart in your throat. Not until he was faced with the prospect of Cliff leaving, disappointed and angry, because he had the wrong idea about Drew’s business. Not even the day Cliff left Sandy Bottom Bay had Drew experienced the same level of loss and desolation. He hadn’t even had a chance to enjoy the fact that the worst of his pain seemed to have receded.

  He wanted to leap out of bed and tackle Cliff to keep him in bed, but both the faint echo of a headache and his lingering erection emphasized that would be a bad idea. Stupid cock. Hadn’t gotten the memo that just because there was only a thin bit of cotton wrapping Cliff’s hips didn’t mean Drew was going to get a chance at what was underneath, or even the rest of that smooth, tanned, and incredibly exposed caramel skin.

  He licked his lips. And again. He wasn’t even sure his explanation would placate Cliff any, but he didn’t want Cliff to look at him with that exasperated, disgusted look anymore. Besides that, he was proud of what he did.

  “Most people come to me for fun. Looking for entertainment. But those that don’t are often looking for a little bit of reassurance. A bit of harmless advice. A way to feel better about themselves. People leave here a little lighter, a little happier, more optimistic.”

  Cliff should market his skeptical look, because Drew had never seen a better one. Maybe it was something they taught at the police academy.

  “Sure, a number of the tourists come in for a joke. But that’s okay. I’m…uh…” Holy fuck, he probably shouldn’t admit this to a man who’d pretty much accused him of all kinds of crimes. “I’m pretty good at doing cold reads.”

  Cliff snorted. “I’m pretty sure Drummonds are taught those skills in the cradle.”

  Ouch. He hadn’t wanted such blatant, sneering confirmation that Cliff didn’t have any better opinion of him than the rest of the cops in this town. It shouldn’t be such a painful surprise, not with Cliff’s history with Rob and Wyatt, but it was nonetheless.

  “My grandmother left me this business. No matter what you think, this is perfectly legitimate. I respect my clients’ privacy, and I sure as shit am not trying to get insider trading tips or information to steal identities. I decided a long time ago I wasn’t like the rest of the family, and even though I’m sure you don’t believe it, my brothers were very supportive of that decision.”

  If his family was a little more tech savvy, he might have gotten some pressure to steal credit-card information, but his grandmother’s vehement insistence that the business stay clean had made it easy for Drew to maintain the status quo, especially with the backing of his brothers. Then again, having their father convicted for such a long sentence had shaken them all up, and his brothers had figured out pretty quickly it wouldn’t make sense for them to protect Drew all through school, only to leave him unprotected in prison if he got caught up in their schemes.

  “Sure, sure.” Cliff neither looked nor sounded convinced.

  “I admit, Drummonds do learn pretty early on how to exploit people’s vulnerabilities. But my grandmother never agreed with all the crime. She distanced herself from the family.”

  God, he couldn’t tell Cliff exactly what had happened. But maybe he could tell him some of it.

  “I did too. I got a business degree so I could properly manage the legacy my grandmother left me.” Sure, it was from a community college, but that didn’t negate its value. “I am a responsible business owner. I don’t ever cheat anyone, and if someone comes to me with stuff that should rightly be dealt with by the police, a psychiatrist, or a doctor, I don’t fucking string anyone along with advice from the great beyond, for fuck’s sake.”

  Cliff’s eyes widened at his sudden vehemence, but Drew couldn’t help it. He hated that Cliff or anyone thought he was nothing but a damn criminal. Cliff’s mouth opened as though he was going to say something, but Drew was on a roll and wasn’t interested in listening to Cliff denigrate him anymore.

  “Most times, I’m almost a confidant. I guide them to making their own decisions, which is generally what they know is the right path; they just need a little nudge. Cold reading their nonverbal body language and cues usually tells me what they want to hear, and I give that to them. Sometimes people just need someone who’ll listen to them while they talk themselves into doing what they know is right. A temporary sympathetic ear. Inexpensive comfort to people who need it. Or, as I
said before, a bit of fun.”

  Maybe he considered himself a counselor of sorts. Not that he’d say that to Cliff, because he wasn’t interested in arguing semantics. Not when this might be the most important debate of his life. Drew couldn’t tell if he’d convinced Cliff, but at the very least Cliff was no longer furious.

  “You’ve given me a lot to think about. And, well, I…” Cliff’s voice trailed off as he looked almost constipated. “I like you, and I want to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

  A sarcastic reply welled up in Drew’s throat, but that wasn’t going to smooth the way any, so he swallowed it back down. “I appreciate that. I like you too.” Kyle would be laughing his fucking ass off if he could hear Drew say like in such a laidback, nonchalant manner. Especially since his dick was feeling anything but nonchalant, even though Cliff had bad-mouthed his business.

  The sentiment hung in the air for a few moments, poised to either crash and burn or maybe develop into something a little like friendship. Or more, if Drew had his way.

  Then he saw it. An infinitesimal relaxation of Cliff’s muscles. A smoothing of the crinkles near the corners of his eyes. Cliff deciding to let go of his animosity, at least where Drew was concerned. With some difficulty, Drew held in a whoop of victory and let his own tension bleed away. The nonsexual tension, at any rate.

  CLIFF WASN’T SURE about Drew’s explanation, not at all. While Drew had made some good points, Cliff couldn’t help but feel the whole psychic business was on some shaky moral or ethical ground. But if Drew was telling the truth—and Cliff considered himself to be a fairly good lie detector—then Drew wasn’t engaged in anything illegal, despite his family legacy.

  Cliff was also quite proud of Drew for his good intentions and determination to be law-abiding, even if it wasn’t always the easiest path.

  Then again, his judgment might be influenced by all the naked skin and hint of ginger below the navel that was currently all he could focus on. He didn’t think Drew had dropped the sheet on purpose to distract him, but his mouth watered for a chance to lick Drew’s creamy skin from head to toe. The more Cliff’s dick thickened, the more he wanted to believe Drew’s words and the more he had to bunch the sheets over his groin to hide the fact that his briefs weren’t really up to the job of containing a fierce, Drew-induced erection.