by Myra Scott
I picked a red velvet brownie recipe that I had been working on for a few months off and on. I decided today was the day to finally master it and turn it into something worth moving to the “tried-and-true” section of my cookbook. I turned on some classic rock and put on my decidedly un-manly apron, then started taking out the ingredients I needed. To my relief, I already had everything on hand in my kitchen, and I got to work.
As I measured out flour, sugar, and several other ingredients, I felt my brain shut off a little bit. The noise died down and I was able to focus. Pleased with myself, I decided that when I was done baking these—provided that they did, in fact, turn out well—I would drive down to the fire station and drop them off for my coworkers. Surely Chief couldn’t fault me for showing up to work if I was just there to bring baked goods, right? It was a loophole he had not specifically mentioned, so I figured I was in the clear on that one.
Besides, I still had several hours to kill until the appointment I was dreading this afternoon—my appointment with the therapist, Dr. Waltham, who I had been seeing. She and I were working on breaking down my anxieties and trauma regarding the day that I rushed into a burning bungalow to rescue a tiny little girl. The day that had resulted in a week’s stay in the hospital and left me with this damn scar. Most days, the memories of that event only existed in the back of my mind, like a low hum of background noise. But sometimes, when I was especially keyed up or frustrated, it would resurface at the front of my thoughts, reminding me of how traumatic that situation had been. I needed to learn to get beyond it. I had to learn to let the past go.
For a while I had assumed that time would be enough to heal me, but finally I had learned that I needed more help than I was getting. It had been very difficult for me to admit that, but if I was going to continue my work as a fireman, I needed to heal. And I needed Dr. Waltham to help me do that, because my career meant everything to me. I was not going to abandon my job, but I had to take care of myself, too, even if it made me feel like I was weak for seeing a therapist.
I took my time with the brownies, making sure they were utterly perfect. When they were done I packed them up in a Tupperware container and headed out the door. I wasn’t going to warn Chief Reyes that I was coming by, just in case he tried to stop me. It was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission in this case.
I got into my car and as I drove, I couldn’t stop thinking about Luke for some reason. He was occupying my mind completely, and I felt like a fool, once again, for running out on him. He probably thought I was a complete weirdo for ditching him merely minutes after having the best sex of my life. Perhaps I had been stupid to think I could get by totally on my own, putting myself in quarantine for no good reason. I was still uptight about my scar, but my night with Luke had reminded me how awesome it was touching another man, feeling that intense pleasure.
When I got to the fire station, I sat in my car for a few minutes, thinking it over. A dumb idea had occurred to me, and I was trying to figure out whether it was worth indulging.
I could download one of those stupid dating apps everyone kept telling me to try. Maybe it would lead nowhere. Or maybe, just maybe, it would lead somewhere interesting. To someone interesting. If I decided I hated it, I could always just delete the app. No harm, no foul. So right there, in my car, I downloaded a dating app and made a profile. I uploaded a couple pictures showing the right side of my face, hiding my scarred left cheek, and forced myself to put the phone away while I went into the station to bring my crewmembers some damn brownies.
CHAPTER TEN - LUKE
When I was a boy, I was growing up in a middle-class household that felt so middle-of-the-road that it was almost funny. To say we didn’t stand out would have been an understatement. So, at that tender young age, I never expected to do exciting, ambitious things in life like meeting rock stars and celebrities.
If you had told me I would be leading a meeting with them, I would have called you insane.
“This is the route you’d be taking up to the concert hall,” I explained. “We’re modifying the utility access to make it more appropriate for moving your equipment, and it’s handily more discreet than using the same access points the guests would be using.”
“Fancy,” said the drummer for the Devils’ Tongues, who was leaning back in her chair at the conference table and had her feet up. “What, not helicoptering us in with complimentary champagne?”
The rest of the band and I laughed, but the Sentry attorneys and the band’s agent were stone-faced as they always were. Hardasses couldn’t take a joke. Mick was present, as our head of operations, and at least he cracked a smile, which was about as close to a full-blown laugh as he usually got in a business setting.
“We’ll be reviewing the paperwork on these utility access routes’ safety inspections, of course,” the band’s agent said in a monotone, thumbing through some papers in a folder in front of him.
“Actually,” I chimed in, motioning to one of our attorneys, who slid a larger folder of papers over to the agent, “I’ve taken the liberty of having that prepared ahead of time. The packet Dennis is handing you includes all of the Sentry’s most up-to-date safety inspections, projected foot traffic for the concert based on past charity events we’ve hosted, and a thorough overview of the security detail the Sentry would provide, courtesy of our head of security.”
The agent raised his eyebrows, trying and failing to hide his surprise, but the singer for the Devils’ Tongues laughed out loud. “Damn, this guy’s on top of things. That’s probably the first time we haven’t had to wrangle all that info like pulling teeth.”
“This is thorough,” the agent said curtly before giving me a sharp nod. “I appreciate your diligence, it’s a refreshing experience compared to some of our past meetings with casinos.”
I gave a confident smile. “The Sentry offers nothing short of the best.”
Ordinarily, we didn’t have to put on this whole song and dance for someone we were courting for a charity show. Charities were always good for the performers, because at the very worst, they still amounted to one big fat tax write-off for the performer. The only issue was whether the agent decided the venue was good publicity for the band, and that we didn’t cut any corners.
Both of those were thoroughly covered by now. I had dealt with worse agents in the past, and while this guy was being a hardass, it was mostly for show. More importantly, the band wanted this gig. They were local and big in the city’s LGBT scene, so the casino was going to be making a sizeable donation to them, but the casino scene would be something new to them.
Technically, this deal wasn’t sealed yet—which was why we were here this afternoon.
“That folder also includes details on the charity we would be donating the proceeds to, along with a list of our past charity events and the founders of our charity of choice over the past decade,” I added.
“Okay, so you’ve done your homework,” the singer said, leaning forward. He was a tall man with a strong gaze and a heavy beard. “Let me cut the crap—I want this gig. This shit sounds good; I like the vibe; and we’re putting it to a good cause. I’m fine on all that. I got a question that’s been a deal breaker in the past, though.”
“Hit me,” I said at once, stepping forward and crossing my arms.
“Pyrotechnics,” the singer said simply yet forcefully with a wicked smile on his face. I raised my eyebrows.
“Ok, yeah, I can see why that’s a deal breaker for some,” I said with a grin.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” he said, returning my grin and leaning back to hold out a hand as if envisioning it. “It’s just a few tricks we do to hype the crowd at some of our outdoor venues. Flames no higher than ten feet, maybe a little more. I can send you clips from some of the past shows to give you an idea, and I can have your people check out the equipment for it.”
“Of course, of course,” I
said, mentally going over the logistics in my head. “I don’t see why that would be a problem, so we’ll review it and add it to the pile,” I said.
“Rad,” the singer said, glancing to the rest of the band. “Anything else?”
“All good to me,” said the drummer, and the other band members nodded in agreement.
“Excellent,” the agent said, standing up and putting on a forced smile. “In that case, I think we can confidently say this is a done deal. We’ll be more than happy to sign the final paperwork and get it back to you promptly.”
He extended his hand, and I shook it firmly as we all stood, exchanging smiles.
It was in the bag.
Within a few minutes of swapping business pleasantries, the room had cleared out, leaving just me and Mick alone together to finish packing up.
“That was very well handled, Luke,” he said. “It’s rare that people can strike a balance between talking to the suits and the more laid-back people we have to deal with and walk away with both parties happy.”
“Well, I have some experience there,” I said modestly, though the thought just brought me back to the thing that had been nagging at my mind ever since that night—Casey.
Casey was decidedly in that “more laid-back” category, but there was something else about him. Something that transcended the usual categories I mentally put people into. I wasn’t sure what to call it, but I admired it, even though I’d only been exposed to him for a single night. It was something that went beyond his words, too. It was in his body language, the way he handled himself in sex, and the way our lips touched.
He had been haunting me ever since he left.
The fact that I hadn’t gotten any info from him was killing me. I never wanted to meet up with someone again, but Casey just left me feeling like I wanted more of him. That was a new thing for me.
“In any case, sounds like we have the green light on all ends,” Mick said. “Now, we just have to get all our ducks in a row, and we’ve got ourselves a charity concert. If you have anyone you want to invite to impress, now’s the time,” he added with a lighthearted smile.
Mick really had become a different person since meeting and marrying Eric. I knew him before they met, and it was like night and day. His stress went down; he became happier, more confident, more... everything.
I got an idea.
“I might have one in mind, actually,” I said as I closed up the last folder I needed, and I hesitated a moment, opening and closing my mouth. “Mick, do you mind if I ask you something personal.”
“We’ve known each other for over five years, Luke, you know I don’t by now,” he said with a smile.
“Some people are private, and you’re usually one of them,” I shot back with a smug smile.
“You got me there,” he chuckled. “Anyway, shoot.”
“I know you’ve said Eric used to be a sex worker,” I said. “But how did the two of you meet, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“A BDSM dungeon,” he said without missing a beat, looking me right in the eye.
I was silent for a few moments, trying to figure out if he was joking, and when I laughed and Mick didn’t, I realized he wasn’t joking.
“No, really,” he went on with a bright smile that told me he got immense satisfaction from dropping that bombshell on people. “He was my Dom, and it’s a long story, but we just fell in together after helping each other out.”
I raised my eyebrows, genuinely surprised. “Wow. I mean, there’s obviously nothing wrong with that, I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“From me? Yeah, most people don’t,” Mick said. “I’m the quiet numbers guy. People don’t expect me to have ever dipped into that life. But hey, life’s full of surprises for people who are willing to go there.” He looked me up and down, raising an eyebrow. “And considering I’ve known you five years and never seen another guy around here with you, I’m guessing that question comes with some baggage?”
We started walking out of the room as I tilted my head side to side, frowning. “Not quite. Maybe a little. I knew the way you met Eric wasn’t conventional, and I’ve got a similar situation. Sort of.”
“Do tell,” Mick said, looking intrigued as we walked down the sleek, luxurious hallways of the Sentry to the elevators.
“Just someone I met at a club and haven’t been able to track down since,” I said. It was nice to be able to talk openly with someone about this, because not everyone was open minded about the club scene. “I get the feeling he’s jumpy, if that makes sense, but I want to find out if he’s looking in the same way I’m looking. Is this a weird conversation to have with my coworker?” I added, raising an eyebrow, and Mick laughed.
“Luke, if you knew half the things that had happened in our meeting lounge…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “Anyway, what, you think he’s closeted and afraid to work things out?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I’m not sure yet. Just making contact again is the first priority.”
We stepped into the glass elevator and turned to watch the city skyline as we went down. Mick stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“Quick meetup, then? No judgment,” he added, “as if I could if I wanted to. People are meeting up on dating apps nowadays more than ever, so it’s nice to see that kind of thing becoming more normal.”
That gave me a thought.
“Dating apps,” I musing out loud. “There’s an idea.”
“Stalking your hookup online?” he said, teasing. “Sounds like a great idea.”
I elbowed him as we chuckled. “If that’s what it takes to check in with this guy, sure.”
“This guy sounds interesting,” Mick said. “It takes a lot to impress you. I’d like to meet the man who can leave that much of an impression on you and not even get your number.”
“So, would I,” I chuckled. “All I know about him is that he likes to keep to the shadows, but he’s built like a brick house, and there’s something more to him.” I trailed off, then realized I sounded a little dreamy and gave my head a shake. “TMI, I guess.”
“No, no, this is a new side to the Luke I’ve always known, I like it,” Mick said with an encouraging smile. “Just don’t stifle yourself like I did. That screwed me over big time.”
“I’ll get to that when I come to it,” I said, nodding. “But first things first. I’ll see if I can’t track him down online and see if he wants to give this another shot. If not…” I shrugged my shoulders. “God knows I’ll have my hands full with this concert anyway.”
“Keep me posted,” Mick said as we reached the floor of his office, and he nodded to me. “And again—good job out there, Luke. I’ll look forward to seeing how this develops.”
I gave Mick a nod before the doors slid closed, and I was alone.
Whipping out my phone, I glanced at the app store and hovered over a few dating apps thoughtfully. I didn’t see my actions as desperate. If this didn’t work out, I’d have no trouble picking up more links in my chain of one-night stands at the clubs throughout Vegas.
But Casey deserved another shot.
It wasn’t an offer I made often. Hell, it wasn’t one I’d ever made before. And if he turned it down, that would be that.
I picked the most popular dating app for LGBT people and hit Download.
CHAPTER ELEVEN - CASEY
“So, tell me honestly, have you been doing those breathing exercises I suggested for you the last time we met up?” asked Dr. Waltham calmly.
She was watching me over the top of her clipboard, peering at me through cute half-moon glasses. She had to be the very last person on earth still rocking those retro-style specs, but she wore them well. Or at least, I thought so, with my complete lack of knowledge in regard to fashion. Dr. Waltham was hardly older than me, probably in her mid-thirties, with sleek black hair that fell perfectly straight a
nd glossy to her shoulders. Her almond-shaped eyes were slightly magnified by her glasses, and she had a habit of squinting whenever she was thinking deeply about something. I noticed all of this because I was slightly anxious about being psychoanalyzed, so I tended to stare at her, trying to gauge her reactions to what I told her in session.
Basically, I was trying to psychoanalyze my psychoanalyst. But only subconsciously, of course. Which, to be honest, probably just made it worse.
“Well, I did try it out,” I answered gruffly. I averted my eyes and realized too late that it was an obvious tell—now she would definitely know I was lying.
“Really? Did you? How did it go?” she pressed on. She set her clipboard down flat on her lap and leaned forward a little, watching me intently. I swallowed hard.
“It, uh…” I trailed off.
I could feel my face burning, my body growing tense. I hated being scrutinized like this, especially in the bright lights of her therapy office. The room was pretty small, but it felt spacious because of the high ceiling and the massive bay window overlooking the city outside. Sunlight streamed in cheerfully through the window, but it couldn’t really puncture the thick cloud of tension surrounding me.
“You can be honest, Casey. If you hated it, you can say so. I’m your therapist. You don’t have to be cautious with my feelings,” she assured me with a smile.
I leaned back in the cushy armchair and folded my arms over my chest. “Okay, in that case, then yeah. It didn’t go very well. I gave it a try, I really did. I got tense about something at work and I went into a bunk room by myself. I sat down on the bunk and started doing the whole deep breathing thing you taught me. In and out, counting to eight slowly. But I’ve got to be honest with you, it didn’t seem to help much at all,” I concluded, shaking my head.
“See, was that so hard?” Dr. Waltham chuckled good-naturedly. “I don’t require much from my patients, but I do need the truth. And believe it or not, you aren’t the first patient to tell me the meditation exercises didn’t work. It doesn’t mean you’re broken or wrong, it just means that sometimes these things take time.”
