Tough Love

by Heidi Cullinan

  “You were an investment banker or something.”

  “Broker. That’s not what I’m talking about, though.” Ethan’s gaze became distant, and it was clear he wasn’t seeing the city anymore, but his past. “I was a mess, is what. I came here after quitting my job, selling everything I had, and breaking up with my long-term, married boyfriend. He’d taken money meant for the two of us and used it to rescue his wife and kids. It upset me, so I decided I’d gamble my money away, then blow my head off in the front seat of my car.”

  Chenco couldn’t breathe.

  Ethan smiled a sad, weary smile. “I lost my last twenty on roulette at Herod’s, and Randy saw me. I’d already decided I didn’t actually want to kill myself, but I truly had washed myself out to absolutely nothing but the clothes I stood in, a ring from Nick, my car, and the gun. I was just starting to wrap my head around the fact when Randy came up and started annoying me. That is what led to Crabtree wheedling things so I ended up with his old lover’s casino, what led me to Randy, or Randy to me, depending on how you want to look at it.”

  It took everything in Chenco not to call bullshit. “I don’t understand. You’re so…I don’t know what the word is. Put together. Smooth. Amazing.” The rest of it fell into place in his head, and he couldn’t censor himself now. “You’re like Steve, I mean. Dominant and strong.”

  “Sometimes I am. Sometimes, though, I’m faking it so no one realizes I’m still the man from American Fork, Utah, who was fool enough to love the wrong man and bet all his money on black like it owed him.” Ethan turned his head toward Chenco with a wry smile. “Randy says I’m fine until I slow down. That’s still true—if I stop and think about how much responsibility I have, how much can go wrong, how little I can truly control it, I start to panic. Crabtree sits on my shoulder, always second-guessing me, always ready to swoop in and tell me where I’ve screwed things up. Sometimes I do make mistakes, big ones, and I’m glad he’s there. Sometimes he stifles me and I have to push on him to let me make my own way. It’s not unlike having a parent who wishes he could fuck my husband.”

  Chenco blinked, full of a vision he really didn’t want. “He wants Randy?”

  “They used to date. He actually helped set us up, but…well, it’s a complicated story.” He threaded his fingers together over the edge of the rail and resumed staring at the city. “Steve is my age, almost exactly. He’s a good man, and he’s successful in his field, in his own way. He is strong, and loyal, and devoted to you. He’s much better, I suspect, at hiding emotions he doesn’t want people to see. Sometimes, though, especially now that he’s here in Las Vegas, I look at him and I see the man I was when I arrived. I see the uncertainty, those demons. I don’t care how dominant someone is in life or in bed, how toppy or bossy a man is—he’s still a man, and he’s going to have cracks in his surface. The issue isn’t that he has flaws. The issue is how does he manage them. How in tune with them is he. Nobody comes out of the womb with a whip in their hand. Half of mastering another man in the bedroom is knowing how to master yourself first.”

  Chenco digested this. “So what is it you’re saying about Steve? I’m not allowing for him to have flaws?”

  “I’m not saying anything about Steve, except I think he’s going through something similar to what I did. I doubt he has a gun buried in his truck, and if he does, it’s not to shoot himself with. There’s something going on there, though, and that you’ve picked up on it tells me he has work to do. What I’m saying to you is if I’m right, he needs you as much as you need him.”

  “But I thought that was the point of this whole D/s thing.” It was getting hard to keep the whine out of his voice, and Chenco forced himself to calm down. “I thought he was supposed to take care of me, to—” He cut himself off, sensing thin ice.

  “Randy and I play differently than the two of you. We switch, to start.”

  “So you think I need to switch with Steve?”

  “Maybe. That’s part of a relationship, finding the pattern that works for the both of you. Switching is the pattern that works for Randy and I. Mitch and Sam have their own style, and it’s not necessarily always what you’re thinking. You’ll find your balance between the two of you eventually. Remember, though, this will take time, and yes, terrifying as it may be, you’ll have to find a way to get him to talk to you about it.” Chenco’s belly knotted, but before the fear could take root, Ethan reached over and put a light hand on Chenco’s shoulder. “You’re not alone, Chenco. No matter what happens with Steve, or doesn’t happen, you’re never alone. Mitch, Sam, Randy, and I are here for you, always.”

  Chenco felt sweaty and sick, and it had nothing to do with the way the tower swayed in the wind. “Everything keeps changing. Every time I think I have something settled, it changes. Why are you different? If Steve can fail me, why—?”

  “Who said anything about Steve failing you? The man didn’t move up to Las Vegas to live in my spare room. He’s here for you. Even if you don’t work out as lovers, he loves you.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.” If you don’t work out as lovers. The thought hadn’t occurred to him until now. His chest felt tight. This had been such a bad idea.

  The door behind them opened, and before Chenco could turn, a familiar voice called out, “Slick, what the fuck are you doing coming here without me? Didn’t text me, just let me find out when Stalker App said you were—Oh.”

  Chenco gripped the rail and shut his eyes. God, not Randy. He didn’t need Randy right now, he really didn’t.

  “Sweetheart,” Ethan said, sounding weary, and Chenco missed the rest of it, hearing only soft mumbles as they conversed in the corner. Then Randy came up beside Chenco.

  “Please go away.” Chenco would not cry.

  “Not a chance. I’m not leaving, and you’re wearing the wrong shoes to stab me.” His hand rested on Chenco’s arm, and when Chenco tried to pull it away, Randy took firmer hold. “Hey. It’s okay.”

  “It’s not.” Chenco shut his eyes. “It’s not okay.”

  Randy laughed, but it was a softer sound than Chenco had ever heard from him. He had a mental image of armor falling away. Maybe in Randy’s example, it was a cake of mud.

  “I think,” he said at last, “it’s time you let me give you a tour of Vegas.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  “Who said anything about talking? Slick covered that, and from the looks of it you have more than enough to chew on. You need some air.”

  Chenco nodded out at the thousands of feet of open air around him then turned to Randy with a quelling look.

  This time it was the usual Randy laugh, right from his belly and full of mirth. “Okay, let me rephrase. You need shopping, good food, and poker. What do you say, Slick? Are you in?”

  “I didn’t say I’m in,” Chenco complained.

  Ethan shook his head. “No, I think he needs some Randy one-on-one. I have to go over some reports with Sarah at three anyway, and something tells me this will be an epic Jansen event.”

  “Hello, I’m right here,” Chenco said, “and I haven’t said yes.”

  “I know where you are, Princess, and you bet your ass you’re saying yes.” Randy tweaked his nose, grinning when Chenco swatted it away. “See? You’re better already. You looked ready to go over the edge when I got up here, and now you’re spitting mad. Excellent progress.”

  “I’m not Ethan. I don’t find your annoying personality endearing.”

  “He didn’t either, not at first. I’m definitely an acquired taste.” He held out his arm and waggled his eyebrows. “Come on. You can insult me all the way to the door. But I bet you twenty dollars I have you laughing before we leave the lobby to get on my bike.”

  “I’m not betting you,” Chenco replied.

  “I’ll take that one,” Ethan said, buttoning up his coat. “You won’t have him laughing until you take him shopping.”

  Randy’s eyes glinted. “Fifty says you lose within an hou
r.”

  “Fifty plus a lap dance in my office says you’ve misread this.” Ethan winked at Chenco. “Good luck. Text if you need me.”

  Randy stared at the door after Ethan, an odd expression on his face. Then he shook his head and turned to Chenco. “Sorry, distracted there for a second.” He lifted his arm. “Come on. Let’s go get lunch, and you can tell Uncle Randy all about it.”

  Chenco looked at the arm, trying to tell himself he wanted to refuse it. The truth was he was tired, overwhelmed, and lonely. Randy was right. It’d be fun to hate him for a while instead of feeling panicked and crazy.

  “I’m not telling you anything.” Chenco tucked his hand into Randy’s elbow. “And there’s no way in hell you’re winning that bet.”

  Randy said nothing, just laughed as he led Chenco to the elevator.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ONCE RANDY FOUND out Chenco hadn’t eaten, he headed straight for his bike.

  “Does this mean you lost the bet, since we’re leaving the Stratosphere? Or was it a time limit now?” Chenco was confused as to why Randy would do this on purpose.

  “It was a time limit, but yes, I’ll lose. Nittaya’s Secret Kitchen is way over in Summerlin, and unless riding through stupid traffic cracks you up, I’m toast.”

  “It doesn’t bother you that you won’t win?”

  “I lose almost all my bets to Slick. He’s the only one it happens with, by the way, so don’t get any ideas.” He flashed Chenco a wicked grin. “Besides, I don’t lose when I play against Ethan, no matter how the cards fall.”

  Chenco thought to what Ethan had confessed on the top of the tower. “Did he really try to kill himself the night you met him?”

  The way the light fell from Randy’s face answered the question. “He says he wasn’t going to by the time I met him, but yeah, I got rid of a gun from under his front seat.” He ran a hand over his wild dark hair. “Ethan’s always been a moody thing, though he hides it from everybody else for the most part. Crabtree figured out before I did that he does best when he has something to chew on, something legit to worry about.”

  “Like running a casino?”

  “Like running a two-bit casino next to a line of mega-corporate enterprises. Me, all I want is a decent poker table and somebody to warm my bed.”

  “And a top-of-the-line kitchen.”

  “And a top-of-the-line kitchen.” He nudged Chenco’s arm as they went the last few feet to his bike. “So, fussy-food boy. I’m taking you to this kick-ass Asian fusion place, and then I’m taking you to Town Square. Your alter ego’s had plenty of shopping, but there’s a boy in there who needs dressing too.”

  “I don’t have any money with me.”

  Randy tossed a withering glance over his shoulder before straddling the bike. “Whatever. Get on. Let’s fill your belly with wholesome goodness.”

  The restaurant was very nice—amazing food, light and tasty, excellent atmosphere—but what Chenco enjoyed most was the way Randy didn’t pester him, just let him eat and relax. They didn’t talk any more about Ethan or Steve or Caramela. In fact, mostly Randy told stories about his own past, which started when Chenco asked him how long he’d lived in Vegas.

  Randy twirled his food on his fork, frowning at it as he thought. “Well, depends on your perspective. I first came here in about 1997, but Mitch and I didn’t buy a house until 2005. That lasted about a year before we pissed each other off and he left with the truck. I’ve been a permanent resident since then. We were kind of in and out of the city before that, even when we bought the house, but I always knew I’d live here.”

  “You and Mitch dated?”

  “Mitch and I fucked each other in the head, is what we did. I don’t think it really counts as dating.” Randy reached for his water. “We were in the RGV a lot too. That’s how I met Steve and your batshit father. I still can’t believe you lived with him. I got the hell away from my dad the second I could.”

  “And that’s in Michigan?”

  “Yes. Detroit. All my family’s still there, lamenting how the homosexuals are hastening Armageddon.”

  “I didn’t think people were as prejudiced in the north.”

  “Depends on the north. I’ll admit there might be extra concentration of asshole in my gene pool.” Forking the last bite of his entree into his mouth, Randy patted his belly. “Damn. I’d been meaning to try this place, and now I’m coming back. You feeling dessert, or are you ready to shop?”

  “I’m good. Very full.” Chenco glanced at a clock on the wall and raised his eyebrows at Randy.

  Randy followed his gaze, grinned and pulled out his phone. “Time to tell hubby he’s getting a lap dance tonight.” He made a low noise of pleasure in the back of his throat as he texted, then slipped his phone into his pocket and put bills on the table. “Okay. Shopping it is.”

  Chenco didn’t argue. He planned to simply not let Randy buy anything for him. It was a good thing he hadn’t said this out loud. Randy probably would have made a bet, and Chenco would have lost. It turned out Randy was good at shopping, and he had read the secret fashion desires Chenco hadn’t realized he’d written on his heart.

  Town Square was near the Strip, an open-air shopping center with plenty of parking, palm trees, and ostentation. Randy knew the place like the back of his hand, and he took Chenco from one store to another, a man on a mission.

  “You’re all about the plain tees and jeans, which suits you, but you’re not dodging bullies in Donna anymore. You’re in Vegas now, and you’re young and cute. Play it up. I know you’re wanting to.” He held up a weathered shirt with black designs along the hem curling up toward one armpit like a kind of fabric tattoo. Randy looked between the shirt and Chenco then replaced it on the rack. “No, it’s too much. You need something understated. Probably best to stick with plain on top. We’ll do quality basics for shirts, jacket, and jeans, and save the party for your feet.”

  “My feet?”

  “Oh hell yeah, honey. You wait until I show you what you’re wearing out tonight.”

  Chenco started to protest—and then Randy showed him the boots.

  For several seconds he could only hold them in his hand, hypnotized. Usually it was Caramela falling for shoes—he had no experience looking at men’s footwear and feeling the yearning pull in the base of his gut. These were brown half boots with a long, sassy curve, rustic aerated leather and a buckle whispering steampunk but mostly said oh, honey, you gotta buy me.

  Then he saw the price tag, and he almost cried, because these shoes weren’t happening.

  Randy turned the tag over and reached for the mate. “Come on. You’re obviously getting them.”

  “I can’t.” Chenco couldn’t stop looking at them. “You can’t spend this much on me—I won’t let you—and I can’t afford it.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but I already dropped four hundred on you in the last store. These are special, and you’re right. You should make the purchase, a kind of symbol to yourself you’re listening to all your needs, not just your drag persona’s. Pay me back when we get to the house. Don’t give me that look. Why can’t you buy them? What have you been spending money on?”

  “I have to save for—” Chenco cut himself off, not sure what he was saving for, actually. “I need to find my own place eventually. Plus I shouldn’t let Ethan buy all Caramela’s clothes. She needs—”

  “You need clothes, bitch.” Randy put the second boot in Chenco’s hand and glared at him. “You’ve been throwing all your energy at Caramela and precious little at the boy who lets her run that stage. All except for the lovely afternoon you stripped the skin off my back.”

  Chenco went hot with the memory Randy conjured, and he couldn’t say anything.

  Randy moved in close, pressing the boots between them. “Yeah, baby, I know you’ve been thinking about that, about asking to do it again. You haven’t, though. You’ve been working and worrying about why Steve’s being weird.”

  “Why is he
being weird?” Chenco’s voice was almost a whisper, and he hated how it wavered.

  “I don’t know. But you need to find out, and to do that, you have to confront him. And believe it or not, to find the courage, you have to do things like buy yourself fabulous shoes. You, not Caramela. Teach yourself to wear Caramela whether or not you have a wig on.”

  Chenco clutched them to his belly. “Why? Why are you buying me clothes and lunch and making me buy shoes? Why do you all do this?”

  “Princess, take a look around. We’re the fucking lonely hearts club. You’re Mitch’s little brother. You’re goo-eyed over one of our longest-standing, loneliest friends. You need a family, we like adopting people. That’s it.” When Chenco sputtered, Randy put a hand on his shoulder. “Right, I know—it’s more than taking in a stray. We’re helping you with your dream. I’ll try another angle. Why do you do Caramela? Not the shit you say. Not because you want to prove yourself or whatever. What made you put on the wig? What called you to the stage?”

  Chenco didn’t have to think about his answer. “When I go out there, when I put her on, I feel alive all the way to my toes. It’s not about being a girl or saying fuck you to gender politics. It’s about being. Living. Breathing. Existing in a way I can’t by any other means. It’s better than anything in the world. Better than money. Better than sex. Better than love.”

  Randy nodded, not quite smiling, but there was a light on his face, an understanding. “That’s how I feel when I play a particularly good run of poker. That’s how Ethan feels when he makes the casino work. We took one look at you on your stage in McAllen and all we wanted to do was make the light you give off shine brighter. It’s fun to watch you succeed. Other people helped us find our happiness, and it’s time we returned the favor.”

  The floor that had felt so absent began to flood back beneath Chenco’s feet. Feet which were itching to put on these damn shoes. What was Steve’s dream, he wondered? What was it he dreamed to have? What was his Caramela? He thought maybe Randy knew, but he didn’t want to ask. He wanted to discover it for himself.