by K. C. Burn
He looked up, finally paying attention to his surroundings in order to head over to the Dairy Devil, and found himself outside the police station. Had his new psychic subconscious brought him here, or was it merely another coincidence in a long line of increasingly unlikely coincidences?
Stopping on the sidewalk, he stared at the door. Cliff’s shift didn’t start for a couple of hours, and he was probably still shopping for groceries. Drew didn’t want to face Cliff, but neither did he want to avoid Cliff until his shift started, where he’d be hanging out with Brett for hours. A sneer curled Drew’s lip at the thought of Cliff’s ex. What a complete asshole. That didn’t stop the insidious worry that Cliff might want to return to the glamour of a celebrity boyfriend. The hustle of a big city. Cliff had been adamant about feeling at home with Drew, happy where he was, but it was hard for Drew to believe this wasn’t some figment of his imagination that was going to be snatched away from him.
“Hey, Drew.”
The unexpected voice made Drew jump, and he turned to see Scott smiling at him.
“Oh. Hey, Scott.”
“You looking for Cliff? I haven’t seen him today, but he’s due out at the film site at two.”
Drew hesitated for a moment, then made a split-second decision. “Can I ask you something?”
Scott shrugged. “Sure. What?”
“Is there any chance Andy Wilson’s death wasn’t an accident?”
A frown erased Scott’s bright smile as he stared at Drew. Drew fidgeted while Scott mentally assessed his question, and they were interrupted as a couple of officers walked by and clapped Scott on the shoulder.
“Good going, Hunter. Makes it easy if the Drummonds just show up at the station to get arrested.” The two cops laughed, and Drew didn’t have any difficulty recognizing them as guys who would have given him a beat-down or three in school if it hadn’t been for the protective nature of his brothers.
Drew’s face heated, and while Scott deflected the attention of his colleagues, Drew slipped away. The Dairy Devil was a necessity more than ever. He’d never been arrested, not once, and yet there were an unfortunate number of townspeople who expected him to turn to criminal ways any second.
There were a number of park benches and tables scattered around the Dairy Devil, but Drew couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else watching him, judging him.
Instead he took his milkshake and made his stealthy way to an out-of-the-way corner at Ochopee Park, conveniently located behind the Dairy Devil’s parking lot. He and Kyle had devoured probably hundreds of milkshakes and sundaes in this very place over the years, hidden from staring eyes.
A headache pulsed, the focal point situated below the healing wound on his forehead. If only he had some way to hide it from view, since it felt like a neon sign proclaiming him a troublemaker. Dejected, he sucked in the sweet, thick milkshake. Mint chocolate chip had long been a favorite of his, but it wasn’t doing much to elevate his mood this time. Worse than the mean-spirited mocking was the realization that Cliff had no idea what he was getting into. Not everyone hated Drew for being a Drummond and thought he was one bad day away from knocking over a liquor store, but even a few people was enough. There was no way Cliff was going to want to be with him once he realized Drew would always be a pariah in the eyes of some of the townspeople, especially the police force.
Then again, if Drew’s visions were proof of psychic ability or merely the manifestation of insanity, Cliff wasn’t going to be sticking around anyway.
No matter how sweet and caring Cliff had been, Drew had to face facts. The milk in his fridge would probably last longer than the relationship he’d dreamed of for years.
Sniffling, he tilted his head back, hoping to defeat gravity and keep the tears in his eyes.
Chapter Seventeen
Burdened by several grocery bags, Cliff strode to the kitchen door a few hours after he’d left Drew warm and sated in bed. Almost like he’d been waiting, Drew opened the door, which meant Cliff didn’t have to juggle the groceries to get in the house. Living with Drew was both comfortable and exciting in a way he’d never expected. Every time he saw the door, he knew he was coming home, and he really hoped Drew wasn’t just counting the days until Cliff found his own place. Maybe it wasn’t smart to feel like this so soon, but he didn’t want to leave. He wanted to be with Drew, wanted to live with Drew, despite Drew’s family and occupation and supertiny home.
Cliff placed the bags on the floor and turned back to Drew. “Hey there.”
“Hey, yourself.”
Drew’s response wasn’t quite as robust as Cliff might have liked, and he hoped it wasn’t another headache. Nevertheless, he leaned in and gave Drew a kiss, to which Drew responded with more than ample enthusiasm. “How are you feeling?”
Drew grinned and winked. “Better, if you’re staying.”
A glance at his watch confirmed that Cliff couldn’t stay, not long enough to have sex and still be in uniform and out at Brett’s film site. They were going to be on his mother’s property again.
“Can’t. Not today.”
Drew’s happy expression faded, and what remained appeared to be worry or anxiety, which caused a clench of panic in Cliff’s gut. Had he worn out his welcome already? After all, Drew didn’t really need him here any longer. They’d agreed he could stay until at least the end of Haunt Fest, when things calmed down and it would be easier for him to find an apartment, but maybe it was all too much for Drew. Especially if he’d sensed how badly Cliff wanted to stay. Perhaps Drew was feeling trapped.
Or maybe it was because circumstances had made them jump into living together without having a proper date first. They’d spent the past week ensconced in Drew’s tiny house, getting to know each other and becoming so close, almost like a minihoneymoon. Drew had confided about how his boyhood crush—on Cliff, amazingly enough—had helped keep him on the straight and narrow. Cliff had admitted how rudderless and on edge he’d felt in Los Angeles, especially after Pete died. Cliff should have been terrified by how fast his feelings for Drew were growing, but he wasn’t. Not a bit.
Cliff stepped close and pulled Drew into his arms, trying not to let Drew’s fading bruises make him tighten in anger.
“After Haunt Fest, can I take you out to dinner? Somewhere romantic?”
“Like…a date?”
He’d come this far; he might as well jump and hope Drew would catch him. “Exactly. A date. With my boyfriend.”
The whole town would see them, and Cliff wanted them to. Early on, they’d discussed being out and open, but somehow, in the intervening time, they’d really only spent time together inside Drew’s house.
A sunny smile lit up Drew’s face. “Oh yes. Please.”
The faint terror faded away, and Cliff kissed Drew. “The Angry Parakeet, or maybe the Vineyards at the hotel?” Cliff would be happy with either.
Drew thought about it for a minute. “The Angry Parakeet. I mean…if you don’t mind people knowing about us.”
Joy surged in Cliff, erasing all his previous hesitation. “Drew, I want them to know about us. Boyfriends, remember.” Just the thought of parading a boyfriend in front of coworkers would have terrified him back in Los Angeles, but here, he wanted people to know he’d staked a claim, however archaic the sentiment.
“Why don’t I take you to the Angry Parakeet for lunch today?” Because he wanted to show Drew off now, not wait.
“Sure. That would be great.”
“We can decide on a place for our date later. Maybe drive up the coast a bit.” Farther south, the swampland merged into the Everglades, but heading north along the coast toward Tampa were a number of towns whose claim to fame was a romantic seaside. Somewhere had to be a romantic restaurant he could take a date.
Smiling, he kissed Drew, the rightness of their connection almost unbelievable. He deepened the kiss, but once his cock hardened and his hips began responding to Drew’s thrusts, he pulled himself back. “Now, now, no tempting me int
o delinquency.”
“You sure?” Drew rubbed against him, eyes dark with lust.
Cliff groaned. “Fiend.”
“Sex fiend. Yep. I can make it quick, North.”
North. An unexpected shiver raced down Cliff’s spine at hearing Drew’s special name for him. A name that promised sex and sweetness, fun and comfort. Maybe even love. The throb in Cliff’s cock practically begged him to throw caution to the wind. He took another desperate glance at the time. He could flick on the lights in the squad car and speed through town, just this once. Especially if he didn’t get messy enough to require another shower. The last thing he wanted to do was turn down what Drew offered.
Somehow perfectly attuned, Drew could tell when Cliff acquiesced, because the moment Cliff had decided maybe they had time for a quickie, Drew dropped to his knees and fished out Cliff’s cock, right there in the kitchen, followed immediately by Drew’s cock making an appearance.
“Drew, you’re killing me.”
His boyfriend didn’t bother to respond but sucked Cliff’s hard dick into the warm wetness that could convince him to sell his soul, if it didn’t already belong to Drew.
Drew stroked himself while his tongue and lips worked Cliff over, and within seconds, Cliff was shuddering, almost ready to blow. Somehow Drew got better and better, and if Cliff had to die by blowjob…well, there were worse ways to go. He slid his fingers into Drew’s hair and tightened, somehow managing to resist the temptation to take over the rhythm and fuck Drew’s mouth to a speedy orgasm.
Holding off was utterly impossible when Drew moaned around his dick and Cliff got a whiff of the earthy musk of Drew’s spunk. He shuddered, and his cock jerked, spilling down Drew’s throat.
Drew pulled off, giving the tip of Cliff’s dick a little lick before he sat back on his heels, debauched and angelic-looking all at once. Cliff leaned over and kissed those talented lips, savoring the taste of himself there, before he grabbed something for Drew to clean up with.
* * * *
Cliff couldn’t keep the grin off his face, and his happiness was only partially due to the outstanding blowjob he’d recently received. Walking into a public place with the boyfriend he was quickly falling for, both of them out and proud, was an indescribable feeling, and he never wanted to lose it.
With a possessive hand in the small of Drew’s back, Cliff ushered him into the Angry Parakeet but stopped in the entrance. The Angry Parakeet was a find your own seat kind of place, rather than a please wait to be seated place, but sudden trepidation halted his forward momentum. This was the first time he’d been back inside the Angry Parakeet while Drew was there. The table Drew had bashed his head against was clean and sitting innocuously between two tourists. Cliff didn’t know what he was expecting to happen, since he didn’t believe in any of the woo-woo shit, and Drew was, thankfully, standing beside him, strong and on the mend. Maybe it was the memory of Drew’s close call that gave Cliff the chills, that sensation of someone walking over his grave—although they’d have to torture him before he’d utter those words aloud.
“C’mon. Let’s sit over here.” As far the fuck away as he could get from the place where he’d seen Drew covered in blood like he’d been the victim of a horror-film slasher. Blood was an unfortunately regular sight for a cop, but it made him squeamish when it was on people he lov—cared about.
They sat down, Cliff ensuring that not only did Drew have his back to the scene of his accident but also that Cliff had an unimpeded view of the room, with the wall at his back.
“It’s okay, you know. I don’t remember it at all.” Drew gave him a little smile as he touched his bruised forehead.
Cliff stroked the side of Drew’s face before he sat back. “But I remember, and not only does the thought of you getting hurt freak me out, but I want to beat the shit out of your brother.”
“Again?” Drew teased, making Cliff laugh.
“Just because I punched the mirror image of Rob doesn’t mean I don’t want to give Rob a matching broken nose. Especially when I think about how easily you could have died.” Cliff’s eyes burned. He could have lost Drew before he’d even gotten to know him, and Cliff’s life would be immeasurably darker for the loss.
“Hey.” Drew grabbed his hand, and with the simple touch, public and claiming, a warm fluttering in Cliff’s gut chased away the chill of fear. “We can’t live in fear of what-ifs. I’m here, you’re here, and we’re together.”
Cliff squeezed Drew’s hand. Together and alive were the most important parts of the equation. “You’re right. I will try to get over it.”
With one last caress of Cliff’s hand, Drew let go to peruse the menu. Unlike at chain places, the Angry Parakeet’s chef regularly refreshed the menu, both for lunch and dinner. Still, the options weren’t endless and certainly didn’t require the intense concentration Drew seemed to be giving the menu.
It took no time at all for Cliff to make a decision, but when he set the menu down, Drew was still frowning at his own menu, the expression looking even more intense accompanied by the slowly healing bruises.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Drew started and lifted his gaze up. “What? Oh. Yes, I’m fine.”
The waitress came by and took their orders, but that didn’t entirely remove Drew’s air of preoccupation. Nevertheless, he appeared to shake it off, and they managed to converse about a number of things in a comfortable manner, exactly as Cliff had believed a couple should.
He couldn’t shake the idea that something was bothering Drew, and he hoped Drew would talk about it sooner rather than later. Perhaps it was too early in their relationship to push—he didn’t know how Drew would react to that sort of pressure.
When their burgers had been reduced to scraps, Drew stared down at his plate and pushed around a couple of fries.
Without being obvious, Cliff glanced at his watch. He didn’t want to be late for his shift—well, he sort of hated babysitting Brett and the rest of the Phantoms crew, but he was committed to being a good cop in Sandy Bottom Bay. On the other hand, if Drew was going to spit out whatever was worrying him, Cliff didn’t want to take off and leave him hanging.
“Drew, seriously. I can tell something’s bothering you. Is it something I did? Is it Brett? I can tell him to fuck off when I see him.”
Drew gave him a little half smile without quite meeting his eyes. “No, it’s nothing you or Brett did.”
They sat there for a few more silent minutes before Drew heaved out a sigh. “Is there any chance Andy Wilson’s death wasn’t an accident?”
The question was so unexpected, Cliff had to blink a couple of times to parse its meaning. “Andy Wilson? The handyman who died out at my mom’s place?”
“Yes. I mean, I know it was classified as an accident, but is it possible people were…wrong?”
“I doubt it.” Cliff thought for a moment, wondering if he’d get in trouble for sharing what he knew. Probably not, since it wasn’t an open investigation, and quite frankly, he was sort of surprised the whole town didn’t know the story from front to back anyway. “His blood alcohol was high enough that there’s no way he should have been up on a ladder.”
Drew nodded slowly, but he didn’t appear convinced, and Cliff had no idea why it would even matter. Unless… “Did your brother say something?”
“What? No. Why?”
Cliff raised an eyebrow. “If he did, you need to tell me.”
Wyatt Drummond had discovered Andy’s body, and if it had been up to Cliff, Wyatt would have been down at the station right after, answering a few questions. Cliff’s relationship with Drew had softened him up—a bit—with regard to the evil twins, and despite the police records of others in the Drummond clan, he didn’t think the twins were capable of murder. But accidental manslaughter…yeah, he didn’t have any difficulty believing that could happen. The real surprise was that it hadn’t happened yet, considering how free Rob and Wyatt were with their fists.
A flicker of som
ething passed across Drew’s expression, like he knew what Cliff thought and wanted to be pissed off but was also afraid that it could have gone down like that. “I promise you, he didn’t say anything.”
Cliff had no doubt that Drew could lie if it came down to it. After all, he’d been surrounded by champion liars from birth. But he also believed Drew was the oddball in the Drummond clan and that lying, cheating, and stealing weren’t Drew’s default. Cliff didn’t think Drew was lying. But something wasn’t right.
“Then what makes you think Andy’s death was anything other than a tragic accident?”
Stunned, Cliff listened to Drew spin out some fucked-up tale about…cursed tarot cards? Anger built up in his chest as Drew claimed to have foreseen the pileup on the highway as well as the fire at Mysteriously Good. Followed quickly by a vision—in Cliff’s mother’s presence, no less—of Andy being murdered. Not that Drew could even identify the murderer. No, he only saw a hand with a watch.
The muscles in Cliff’s jaw, which had just started to unlock after moving home and finding Brett prancing around, tightened up so hard a dull throb started in his temples. He clenched his fists together under the table, trying to control himself, hoping against hope that Drew was going to end this ridiculous, laughable, un-fucking-believable tale by telling him it was all a big joke. One in extremely poor taste.
Drew licked his lips, which was normally sexy as hell, but that couldn’t distract Cliff. Not from this. Drew’s expression was expectant and wary at the same time. And unfortunately, there was no hint that he wasn’t serious. Even worse, there was every indication that he wanted Cliff to take this seriously.
