by Witt, L. A.
“Anytime,” I said. “Give me a heads-up when you want to come in, but yeah, anytime.”
She smiled. “Thanks. There’s a program at my school. They’ll let us come in and shadow someone for credit.” Her eyebrows rose slightly.
“Yeah, I’m familiar with it. I’ve actually hired a couple of students straight out of the voc-tech program at the community college, and some of them went through that shadowing program in high school.”
“Oh. Cool. So . . . if I bring you the forms . . .”
I nodded.
“Cool. Thanks.” She started back toward the yard but paused. “Oh, and by the way . . .”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Hmm?”
A shy but genuine smile spread across her face. “I’m really glad my dad met you.”
Holy shit. So that was what it felt like to have my heart freaking melt. “Yeah.” I smiled back. “Me too.”
She held my gaze for another couple of seconds, then went out into the backyard to join Jack and her brother.
“Seems like you two are getting along.”
Shane’s voice turned me around.
And yeah, I was wrong. No adrenaline rush? Yeah, right. One look at him, knowing we were going to do this—kids and the long term and all the boring shit that came with it—gave me the same kind of oh shit/hell yeah rush that always had come right before I jumped, gear and all, into the path of a wildfire.
Shane put a hand on the small of my back. “Well, looks like all the kids get along.”
“Yeah, I’d say so.” I kissed his cheek. “So, how do you think it went?”
He slipped his hand into mine. “If it’s not obvious, I think they like you.”
“Thank God for that. I was, uh, a bit worried.”
“Well, you did kind of hit the trifecta. A mechanic who’s also a firefighter and has pets.” Shane laughed. “Just the type of man they would’ve custom-ordered for me if they could’ve.” His smile settled all my remaining nerves in an instant. “I think they adore you. And you’re never going to get my kids away from yours.”
“That’s okay. They obviously like each other.”
“So that means I passed, right?” His brow creased. “If your pets like me and my kids?”
I blinked. He was joking, but there was a note of genuine concern in his voice.
“Relax.” I hooked a finger in his belt loop and gently pulled him closer. “I can’t imagine you raising a kid who’d be mean to an animal, and my animals like everyone. Well, except for Tiger.”
For a moment, we watched Michael and Desiree in the backyard. Jack was absolutely beside himself with them.
“They’re going to wear him out,” Shane said.
“Good. Use up some of that energy.” I glanced around. “Where’d Christian go?” A split second later, I found him. I did a double take, and my jaw dropped.
Shane touched my arm. “What?”
I nodded toward the scene that had caught my attention.
Christian crouched in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, one arm around his shins and the other hand outstretched. He didn’t make a sound. Didn’t move.
And I’d be damned if Tiger wasn’t inching closer to him, stretching her neck out to sniff his fingers. She drew back a little, then forward, then back again, and he patiently waited, hand still hovering in the air between them.
Tiger hesitated but finally took another step toward him. When she bumped her head against his hand, she damn near knocked me over.
Gaze glued on the two of them, I quietly said, “She doesn’t even get that close to me.” I laughed. “Ungrateful little shit.”
Shane put an arm around my shoulders. “Well, he is kind of the cat whisperer. He can get squirrels to come up to him, for God’s sake.”
“Wow. I’m not complaining, though. I’m glad to see her being friendly with somebody.” I watched Christian, who was still visiting with my shy orange cat. “Like I said, that was unexpected.”
Shane laughed. “Maybe for you. I’m honestly shocked he doesn’t have wild animals following him everywhere when we go hiking.”
“Give him time.”
The fact that her first ever human friend was one of Shane’s kids—that was mind-blowing. And a relief. Almost like it was a sign that we were on the right track.
“Hey.” Shane elbowed me gently. “I was just thinking—you did promise to teach me how to cook a turkey.” When I faced him, he smoothed my hair. “Easter isn’t that far off. And my kids don’t care for ham, so we usually do a turkey.” His eyebrows rose.
“You want me to cook a turkey for your family for Easter?”
“No.” He grinned. “I want you to teach me how. And if I fail—which I will—you can sit with me and the family while we eat it.”
I laughed. “Okay, but if you get it right, you’re cooking for Thanksgiving.”
“Okay. Deal.” He considered it for a moment before he nodded. “Unless Leo cooks again this year. Hell, between you and him, I might not have to cook anything this year.”
“No, no.” I wagged a finger at him. “You’re cooking this turkey. I’m just supervising.”
“Great. Well, I’ll have a doctor and a firefighter in the kitchen with me. That should keep anything from going wrong, right?”
I chuckled as I pulled him closer. “I’m not promising any miracles, but I’ll do the best I can.”
“Fair enough.” He pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “So you’ll be there?”
“Yes. I will absolutely be there.”
The End
New Hand
About New Hand
Months after his husband’s death, Garrett Blaine desperately needs a fresh start. He sells his house in Seattle, leaves his accounting job, and starts bartending in Bluewater Bay. There he meets a man who wakes up his nearly forgotten libido.
Jesse Connelly’s friend with benefits bolted after Jesse disclosed his HIV status. Stood up and stinging, Jesse tries to drown his sorrows . . . and finds an unexpected connection with a lonely bartender.
Jesse and Garrett quickly bond over a shared love of comics and card games, and they can’t get enough of each other between the sheets. Not even a bumpy start and a fifteen-year age gap can derail them as they go from strangers to lovers, then friends, then much more.
But as Garrett’s feelings for Jesse deepen, so does his grief for the man he lost—especially as he sees hints of his late husband in his new boyfriend. Now Garrett has to figure out if Jesse is his second chance at true love, or if Jesse’s just filling in for the man he’s never fully grieved. And he needs to figure it out soon, because Jesse’s starting to wonder the same thing.
This book was previously published.
Chapter 1
Jesse
Something came up. Not gonna make it. Sorry. :(
“My ass.” I rolled my eyes and slammed the phone facedown on the bar next to my nearly finished Coke.
A few chairs down, a bearded dude in a flannel shirt gave me a look. It was a look I knew well. The kind that telegraphed in no uncertain terms that he wanted to enjoy his beer and his baseball game without being afraid I might shower him with glitter or something. Most nights, I’d give a sassy hair toss, cross my legs, and shoot him a flirty grin. I mean seriously—Bluewater Bay was knee-deep in queers thanks to Wolf’s Landing, and even dive bars like the Olympic Sports & Alehouse weren’t safe from the likes of me. If he couldn’t cope with a queen at his bar, he was in the wrong town.
But I wasn’t in the mood to fuck with him. Not after Charlie’s text message. I twisted on the barstool, angling myself away from Beardy McHomophobe, and stabbed an ice cube with my straw. I glared at my phone. Even though I couldn’t see the screen, Charlie’s text was seared into my brain.
Something came up. Not gonna make it. Sorry. :(
I sighed, shoulders drooping along with my mood. The routine of Jesse meets boy, boy likes Jesse, boy finds out Jesse is HIV-positive, boy loses interest in Jesse
was one I’d been familiar with for a long time. It didn’t always happen—I’d had plenty of hookups, friends with benefits, and boyfriends who were well aware of my status—but it happened enough to still make me dread the inevitable “Before we take this further . . .” conversation. I just hadn’t expected Charlie to be like this.
“Refill?” The seriously sexy voice pulled me out of my thoughts, and I looked up to see a bartender watching me. And . . . I had to stare. I’d been coming to this bar sporadically for ages, but I hadn’t seen him before, and that was a face I would have remembered. A face, a pair of dark eyes, a set of shoulders—
I cleared my throat and nudged my glass toward him. “Sure. Thanks.”
“What’re you drinking?” God. That voice. Low and rumbly and hot.
“Um.” What was I drinking? Crap. “Just a . . .” Alcohol? Nah. That would only make me more depressed because oh, right, I was in the process of being stood the fuck up by someone who thought I was a leper. “Coke.”
He nodded and took my glass. As he put some ice in a fresh one, I stole the opportunity to take him in. He was easily in his forties, if not a little older. There were some lines on his face that even the bar’s low lights didn’t smooth over. The gray hair seemed oddly out of place. He wasn’t young, but he seemed grayer than he should’ve been. No, not gray—white. He still had plenty of his natural dark hair, but he had streaks and sparkles of snow white, especially at the temples and along his part.
It didn’t look bad on him, though. Quite the opposite. Striking was the word that came to mind.
So that’s why people dig silver foxes. Holy shit.
Right then, his eyes flicked up to meet mine, and he handed me the Coke.
“Thanks.” I took the glass, mildly disappointed he let it go before I could “accidentally” let our fingers brush.
He didn’t walk away. The place wasn’t exactly crowded. The bearded dude was still glowering nearby, and there were a few guys watching a baseball game down at the other end of the long bar with another bartender keeping an eye on their drinks. Most of the tables and booths were empty. Not surprising—it was the middle of the week and it was still early yet. So the bartender probably didn’t have a lot to do except hang out and wait for me to need another refill. Fine by me, as long as he didn’t mind me checking him out.
I took a drink and tried not to notice the way he was trying not to watch me suck on the straw. Our eyes locked. He colored a bit in the dim light and turned his head, clearing his throat but not exactly hurrying away from me.
“Just you tonight?” He winced, like he’d been trying to say something to break the ice and now felt like an idiot for blurting out the question. Not that it was a terrible question, but he seemed to regret throwing it out there.
And that . . . actually put me at ease. In fact, his subtle awkwardness was kind of endearing. Maybe because I thought a fortysomething bartender who looked so smooth would be that smooth, and the fact that he wasn’t . . . I decided I liked it.
I played with the straw in my Coke. “I’m being stood up, actually.”
His eyebrows climbed. “Seriously?” I might’ve been imagining it, but I could’ve sworn he gave me a not-so-subtle down-up. When our eyes locked again, he blushed—nope, hadn’t imagined it. Clearing his throat, he focused intently on wiping a phantom smudge off the bar between us. “I, uh . . . I’m sorry to hear it. Can’t imagine why someone would . . .” The blush deepened, and damn—shy looked almost as good on him as gray hair and lines.
Charlie who?
And with that, my evening was suddenly looking up again. I’d been expecting—or at least hoping—to get laid tonight. The fact that there happened to be an incredibly hot man right there behind the bar—and one who wasn’t necessarily straight—was just damn good luck.
I took another sip and ran my tongue around the tip of the straw for good measure. He swallowed but didn’t look away. Instead, he looked me right in the eye, and when I grinned, he shivered. Oh yeah. Dude was queer. Fuck yes.
Absently chasing an ice cube with the straw, I said, “You just start here? I come here all the time, but I’ve never seen you.”
He nodded. “A week ago.” He glanced around, a self-conscious smirk drawing my attention to his full lips. “Still learning the ropes.”
I shrugged. “You had me fooled.”
Chuckling, he met my gaze again. “Fortunately, a Coke on the rocks is pretty simple to make.”
“‘Coke on the rocks.’” I laughed. “I like it.”
He just smiled.
I took a sip. “You new to town? Or just the bar?”
“Town.” He didn’t offer anything further. “What about you?”
“Well, ask any of your coworkers—I’m not new to this bar.”
He laughed.
“And not to town either,” I said. “Been here . . . almost six years now.”
“Yeah? Where’d you move from?”
“Seattle.”
His eyes lit up. “Really? Me too. What part?”
“Grew up in Mountlake Terrace, and I was living in Ballard, but it was too expensive to stay.”
The bartender’s lips quirked. “Yeah, that area’s not cheap. I was in Madison Park. Just outside Capitol Hill.”
“Ah, my favorite neighborhood.” I grinned.
He chuckled. “Yeah. Mine too. So, is that what made you leave Seattle? Cost of living?”
“That, and my uncle lived here and was having some problems getting around and taking care of his place after he fucked up his hip. He got it replaced and does just fine now, and he ended up moving to the Tri-Cities, but I liked Bluewater Bay. So, I stayed.” Pausing, I drummed my fingers on the counter and realized just how long my answer had been. “Sorry. You probably didn’t need the whole autobiography.”
“Nah, it’s okay.” The bartender’s smile came back to life, and I decided I liked that too. A lot.
“Well, since you’re new, you might as well get used to seeing me in here.” I offered my hand across the bar. “Jesse Connelly.”
He took my hand, shaking it firmly. “Garrett Blaine.” As he released me, he said, “So you’re a regular.” There was a sparkle in his eyes that suggested he wasn’t at all unhappy about that.
Warmth flooded my face. “Yeah. I probably come in here once or twice a week. When I’m too lazy to open my own beers.”
Garrett laughed. He started to say something, but then glanced toward the other end of the bar and frowned. “Shit. Duty calls. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be right here.”
He smiled, then went to help the other customers, giving me one hell of a view of that jean-clad ass. Oh fuck yeah. I could absolutely get on board with finding out how that silver fox looked in nothing but tangled sheets.
Shivering, I pulled my attention away before I gave myself a hard-on. My own jeans were a little too tight for that.
Without thinking about it, I picked up my phone to look at the time. And of course, I had another message from Charlie. More than one, actually.
Look, I’m sorry. I know it sounds awful. The timing and all. After what we talked about. But that’s not it at all!
Come on, Jesse. Let’s talk. Please?
You there?
I hated the sick feeling that coiled in my gut. Even more, I hated that it was as familiar as Charlie’s postrejection backpedaling. Sure, it wasn’t because of what we’d talked about. And he totally hadn’t kissed me on the cheek this afternoon instead of on the mouth when we’d said goodbye after lunch.
I glanced at the bartender’s back, and my heart sank into my queasy stomach. Flirting was fun, but . . . ugh. I didn’t have it in me to hook up with anyone tonight. Charlie had left me feeling gross and raw. Like the least-desirable thing on the planet. Usually, I could steel myself for the possible rejection and just be matter-of-fact about it. I was upfront, possibly to a fault: “Full disclosure—I’m HIV positive.” Then they’d either be cool with it or
they wouldn’t be, and the night would go from there. There was no reason to believe Garrett would follow Charlie’s example.
But on the heels of a rejection from someone who was supposed to be a friend, I wasn’t ready to chance a second dose. Not tonight.
Sighing, I stared into my drink. The way I felt right now was exactly why I didn’t usually date friends. Not unless they knew my status before we started any kind of flirtation. I much preferred meeting someone for sex, telling them upfront I was positive, and letting the chips fall where they would. Rejection wasn’t fun, but there was no point in waiting a few dates to tell someone. I’d learned the hard way—repeatedly— that getting to know a guy first would only make his rejection more disastrous. He’d be pissed that I’d waited so long, and I’d be hurt because I’d be invested in him. I’d actually care what he thought of me.
So when I met guys online and on hookup apps, they knew I was positive before they knew my name. It was in my profiles, for God’s sake. Probably kept a lot of guys from responding to me, but that was fine. Better to nip it in the bud than deal with someone I actually liked trying to tactfully step into the friend-zone.
Charlie . . . he’d been different. My status had never come up because we’d just been buddies. We’d met at a Magic: The Gathering tournament two years ago, and we’d geeked out together over comics and gaming. I hadn’t even realized he was gay until recently. Then he’d moved from Portland to Bluewater Bay for an assistant job on the Wolf’s Landing set, and suddenly we were living near each other. And then last night’s drunken Call of Duty had happened, one thing had led to another, and we’d made out on my couch until I’d finally made some weak excuse about needing to be up early for work.
And all damn morning, we’d melted each other’s phones with racy texts and promises. I’d felt guilty for not saying, Dude, before we continue . . . but it hadn’t seemed like something I should tell him over the phone. So while we’d had lunch today, I’d told him. Over the next few hours, the texts had cooled considerably, and our plans to meet at my place had changed to meeting here for a drink so we could talk, and now . . . this.
