by Liv Rancourt
Russell took a final hit from the flask and put it away, trying not to notice the man’s fingers pressing random patterns into the wheel.
“What’s your favorite record?” Skip asked, directing his comment to the group.
Susie jumped in first. “‘Unchained Melody.’”
“I like Pat Boone,” Annette said, which prompted Ryker to blow a raspberry. “What?” she yelped. “He’s a wonderful singer.”
Ryker mimed a yawn, leaned against the car door, and pretended to sleep.
“I prefer Frank,” Russell said. Skip raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.
“He sings just like him,” Susie said, pointing to Russell.
Skip shot a glance over his shoulder. “You can sing?”
“He used to be in the Glee Club.”
Russell sighed from deep in his gut. “Shut up, Susie.”
“What do you mean? You’re a great singer.” She grabbed his hand and held it, as if by the warmth of her enthusiasm, she could force his secrets out. “He’s sung in bands before too, and in school musicals and everything.”
“Susie.” Russell wrenched his hand away, embarrassment ratcheting another twist to his bowels.
“Maybe we’ll see if you can sit in with the band tonight,” Ryker said, with just enough of a challenge to set Russell’s teeth on edge.
Russell waved him off. “I don’t think so.” He could carry a tune and find his way around the piano keyboard, but nothing close to what these guys were capable of.
“We’ve got a little combo,” Skip said, putting on the turn signal, his attention on the road. “You could come jam with us one night while you’re here.”
Both Annette and Susie got so excited about the idea of a jam session that Russell had to concede defeat. “Sure. Some night I’ll sing ‘Misty’ for you.”
“It’s a date.” Skip pulled the car into a parking spot next to a worn-out old building, on a street full of worn-out buildings. “Time to slide on in.”
The sly grin accompanying Skip’s invitation went straight to Russell’s balls. To cover, he made a production out of helping the girls from the car.
A single neon sign marked the doorway to the club, and from the stage, The Enchanters’ steady beat thrummed in Russell’s veins. The restaurant’s tables had all been shoved to the side to make space for dancing, and beer cans, highball glasses, and ashtrays littered every flat surface. Russell cracked his knuckles, fighting the tension that had already started to build. He hated dancing, and back home, he usually let Susie find another partner. In this crowd of strangers, though, he didn’t know who he could trust.
Ryker found them a table against the wall, and Annette looked happy enough to burst when a handsome guy in a University of Washington jersey came over and asked her to dance. She gave Skip a flirtatious wink and followed her new partner onto the dance floor.
Russell pulled a chair out for Susie, Skip and Ryker grabbing seats on the opposite side of the table. Susie wrapped her hand around Russell’s wrist with a giggle. “I want to dance.”
“Come on, Sus.” Disentangling himself from her grasp. Russell settled into the chair next to hers.
“No really.” She bounced on the balls of her feet. “This band is great.”
“I’ll...” Ryker braced himself on the table and half rose. “I could—”
Skip elbowed him.
“Knock it off.” Ryker shot his friend a mock glare, and he bowed to Susie. “I’ll dance with you.”
Her eyes got really round. “Is that okay, Russell?”
He took her hand, rubbing her small fingers with his thumb. If this guy did anything bad, he’d know where to find him. “Sure, Susie. Have fun.”
Somehow the sight of Ryker’s hand on Susie’s shoulder hit Russell like a solid tap to his chest. That sensation was quickly swallowed by the awkwardness of being alone at the table with Skip.
Russell broke a sweat, took his jacket off, draped it over the chair. All around him, couples clung together, groping, laughing, with the occasional press of lips to skin.
He and Skip made an island of silence in the crowd. Skip had on a white short-sleeved jersey and blue jeans, his curly pompadour flopping down over his brow. He smelled clean, unfussy, with enough spice to keep Russell interested. The scent carried over the smell of cigarettes and stale beer.
“Want something to drink?” Russell didn’t want to seem rude. Buying everyone a beer was as good a dodge as any.
“Sure.”
Skip suggested Rainier, a local brew Russell had never heard of. The trip to the bar didn’t take as long as he thought it would, and Susie was still on the dance floor when he returned. Annette stood off to the side with a couple of young men, and Skip seemed content to wait and watch.
“Bottoms up.” Russell raised his beer, using the awkward toast to cover his nerves. Nerves? Skip hadn’t done anything. Russell just didn’t trust his own response to the man.
Skip grinned and tapped Russell’s beer with his own. “So, you like to sing, and I guess you like to swim. What else do you like to do?”
Ryker swung Susie around, lifting her from the waist. The way she tipped her head and laughed twisted something in Russell’s gut.
“I mean, do you like—”
“Geez, I’m sorry.” Russell’s cheeks heated, embarrassed that he’d ignored Skip’s question. He didn’t dance. Susie did. He’d watched her before. “I go jogging and sometimes lift weights...generally try to keep fit.”
“I can see that.” Skip’s sideways glance gave him something else to blush over. He would have given anything for the song to end so Susie would come back. Skip’s boldness left Russell with very little doubt about where his inclinations lay, and no way was he going to make that mistake again.
“And now that I’m done with school, I like to read.” There. See? Nothing flirtatious about reading.
“Me too.” Skip’s smile broadened. “Who’s your favorite author?”
“Let me think.” Russell leaned over the table, propped on his elbows. With something safe to talk about, he unwound some. “Hemingway is good, or maybe Salinger.”
“Oh-ho. You like the heavy stuff.”
Skip’s chuckle heated Russell’s cheeks again. Damn. He shook himself and sat up straighter. “Not really. What do you like to read?”
“Those magazines, you know? The short ones, where you can get twenty Westerns for twenty-five cents, or maybe stories about space aliens or private eyes.” Skip rubbed his thumb up and down the beer can, a tiny gesture Russell found distracting.
“I’ve seen those at the barber shop.”
“Do you ever read them?”
“Sure.” The band stopped, and Russell looked hopefully in Susie’s direction. She and Ryker stayed out on the dance floor.
“You do?”
Russell took a long swallow of his beer and shot Skip a grin. “Nah, but next time I get a haircut, I will.” He polished off the rest of the beer. Susie was having way too much fun with Ryker, but short of causing a scene, he didn’t know what to do about it.
“I wouldn’t mind having another nip off that hard stuff in your flask. Wanna duck outside for a minute?” Skip’s expression was open, honest, not hinting at anything at all. Maybe Russell had just overreacted when they first sat down.
He crumpled his beer can and stood up. “Sure.”
Chapter 4
Their walk to the parking lot gave Skip the chance to admire how Russell’s threads molded to his butt and thighs. The bigger man had the body of a Greek god, but it was his shyness that got to Skip. Even though Russell kept a tight hold on that little brunette girl, Skip could tell he got under his skin.
He’d be happy to get under Russell’s blue jeans too.
Lou would smack his head for teasing Russell, but Skip couldn’t help himself. Lou offered Skip many things: friendship, a decent cover, and the occasional blow job. And reams of advice, good and otherwise.
When Skip had cros
sed the line into blatant flirting, Russell blushed like a girl. Skip liked the charge that came with pushing the pedal down, and—despite Lou’s opinions—he had enough self-preservation to know when to cut the gas.
Skip followed Russell to a shadowy area in the back of the parking lot, and once they were out of sight of anyone in the club, Russell brought out the flask and handed it over. Skip took a hit, the whiskey’s smoky burn warming his chest on the way down. “I got another question for you.”
Russell took the flask and raised an eyebrow.
“How come you don’t dance?” Skip was mainly curious, but the words carried more heat than he’d intended.
Russell snorted, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that made his biceps bulge. “I just don’t.”
“Maybe you need someone to teach you.” Lou would sure scold him for this one. “Maybe you just need the right person.”
Russell’s fists clenched, and for half a second, Skip thought he might haul off and punch him. Heck, he probably deserved it. Then Russell choked out a laugh. “The right person. Sure.”
“I mean...” Since he hadn’t been served a knuckle sandwich, Skip struck a pose, hip cocked, hands in the air like they were on a partner’s shoulders. “I can do the cha-cha.” He swung his hips, fighting a laugh at Russell’s perplexed expression. “Or the swing.” He mimed a four-step pattern, then swung his hips again for good measure. Russell appeared transfixed by the motion.
A shout of laughter distracted them. A group of people spilled out the nightclub’s door, a woman’s voice rising over the hubbub. “Where are we going again?”
Russell shifted in their direction, hands on his hips. “Annette?” he said softly.
“Wait. I want to go back in and hear the band.” To Skip’s ear, the woman wasn’t laughing nearly as hard as the bunch of guys she was with.
“Come on, sugar. It’s just out here,” one of the men said. Skip didn’t like the way he laughed.
“No.”
This time there was no mistaking the distress in her voice. Russell took off running, with Skip right behind. He detoured to the door of the club, where he ran into Ryker and Susie. They were laughing, his arm around her shoulder.
“Come on, you guys,” Skip said. “It sounds like your friend Annette’s in some trouble.”
By the time they got to the other end of the parking lot, Russell was chest to chest with a drunken college boy, the kind with pale skin, a buzz cut, and a mean attitude. Skip looked around for anything he could use as a weapon if it came to a fight. There were two other fellows backing the one in front of Russell, and Annette huddled against a car, tears streaking her cheeks.
“So you’re going to take on all three of us? All by your lonesome?” The boy stuck his finger in Russell’s chest. Russell grabbed his wrist and leaned into him. The college boy was taller, but Russell was broader and bulkier.
“If I have to.”
Under different circumstances, the rock-solid certainty in Russell’s tone would have given Skip a hard-on. Saving that thought for later, he grabbed a thick branch lying between the cars.
“One against three.” Another of the college boys snickered.
Skip stepped forward, holding the branch loosely. “Looks like three against three to me.” Ryker followed his lead.
One of the arrogant fools came right up to Ryker. “Two and a half against three, I’d say.”
With a click, Ryker opened a switchblade. “Funny how this extends my reach.”
Swinging the branch, Skip took a step forward. The college boys all shifted back, even the one facing off with Russell. Skip might be slender and a little light in his boots, but anyone who grew up in Pioneer Square knew how to fight. He and Ryker moved into position on either side of Russell, and the college boys backed off.
“We were just playing anyway.” One of them laughed like it was all a joke.
“Didn’t sound like that to me,” Russell said. “I think you should apologize to my cousin.”
“Your cousin’s a slut.”
Skip wasn’t sure which one said it, but before anyone could respond, Russell took three big steps forward and put his fist into the middle guy’s belly. The boy dropped to his knees, and Russell stood over him. “Anyone else?”
The other two beat feet, which didn’t surprise Skip. These candy-ass college boys were all show and no go. Susie ran up to Annette, with Russell right behind her. “I’m going to get the car,” Skip said to Ryker. “We gotta cut out.”
In a matter of minutes, they were packed into Skip’s Buick, Russell and Susie in the rear seat with Annette between them. Annette had shifted from crying to spitting mad, and Skip felt like he should apologize, though he wasn’t quite sure for what. Russell, Susie, and Annette were guests in his town, and he didn’t want them to be scared to come out with him and Ryker.
As they backed out of the parking spot, motion caught his eye. Russell, flexing and flaring his hand.
“You okay?” Skip asked. He’d landed a solid punch.
Russell didn’t answer, except for a slight shrug. Skip held his gaze for longer than was probably safe. Held his gaze, and wanted.
Who am I kidding? He just hoped Russell would agree to do something—anything—after tomorrow night’s show. Lou was going to kill him, but Skip couldn’t help his feelings. As long as he stayed clear of the law, he was willing to roll the dice.
***
“Did you see how long Blondie’s legs are?” Ryker asked. He took a lazy drag off his cigarette, stretching back against the big bench seat of Skip’s Buick. They were headed for a late-night rehearsal with their jazz combo. Two nights had passed since they’d gone to see The Enchanters, and Russell had been making himself scarce.
Skip flipped the turn signal and tapped the brake. The swimmers were splotches of color from the stage and the source of the water splashing on his back while he played. He regarded girls as a generally affable part of his reality, sometimes pretty, sometimes funny, sometimes smart. They were painted with big bright brushes, while the men he knew stood out, all detail, energy, and heat. “Which one?”
“The one that came with us the other night...Amanda? Alice? Something starting with an A.”
“Annette.” Skip kept his chin pointed at the front window, but inside, he was shaking his head. Ryker only really paid attention to the women he wanted to bed.
“Annette.” Ryker rolled down the car window. “She’s your type.”
Skip waited for oncoming traffic to clear before he turned left onto North 45th Street, doing his best not to snort out loud. “Really?”
“She’s the same as your friend Lulu, you know, leggy and loud.” Ryker spiked his cigarette butt at the street. “If you’d asked her to dance, we could have avoided a lot of trouble.”
These conversations didn’t happen very often, and when they did, Skip tried not to let it rattle his cage. “So it was all my fault.”
“I don’t mean it like that.” Ryker shrugged apologetically. “Now Lulu’s a fox, but since she’s not coming around anymore, you should find someone new.”
They made the left turn and wound their way through the Wallingford neighborhood, heading toward Northlake Street. Ryker’s father owned an old warehouse down on a stretch of Lake Union between shipbuilders and the Seattle Gas Light Company’s coal ossification plant.
The warehouse’s manager knew Skip and Ryker and allowed them to use the space for rehearsal, as long as they didn’t fool with the merchandise. Somewhere along the line, someone had brought in an upright piano. The cement floor made it hard to hear each other, and the damp air made it impossible to keep the piano in tune, but the space was free and there were no neighbors to complain about the noise.
“Why did you break up with Lulu anyway?” Ryker shifted in his seat, giving Skip his full attention. “Did she step out on you? Find another guy?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Skip stifled a smirk. Lou owned more pairs of stiletto heels than any
three women. Every so often, Ryker insisted on a double date, and when Lou set his hair and put on lipstick and a string of pearls, only someone looking for a queen would figure it out. Skip and Lou hadn’t been an official couple since high school, but even then they’d been held together by shared secrets more than anything else.
Skip’s taste ran toward more manly men. Men who wouldn’t back down from a fight. Men who were strong enough to blush.
“Well, if you don’t want what Annette’s cooking”—Ryker’s grin was begging for trouble—“you can eyeball some of the other girls.”
“What other girls?” Skip pressed a palm against his temple where frustration was pinging like Woody Woodpecker on a pole. “We’re having band practice, right? Just us and the guys, right?”
“I told you I found us dates.”
Crap. “Who else did you invite?”
“Susie’s going to ask Annette and a few of the others, and I expect her bodyguard will be there too.”
Russell. Skip flipped, excitement buzzing in his belly. “But Paddy and Todd expect to rehearse.” Those woodpecker pings turned into a headache. Skip had been looking forward to playing something low-key after a week pretending to be first chair in Glenn Miller’s band.
Ryker straightened the collar of his black leather jacket. “Told them to invite people too. Paddy’s bringing beer, and we can drag out the piano and the drum kit so if people want to jam, they can.”
Gripping the wheel at ten and two o’clock, Skip mulled over the party idea. He didn’t have to turn on the jets to figure out why Russell had been avoiding him. Though Skip couldn’t imagine flirting with Annette, or any other girl, maybe it was time for him to start playing it cool.
Chapter 5
A logical man would avoid danger, and Russell had always prided himself on his ability to take a rational approach to any situation. But every night at the lake, the sweet sound of Skip’s trumpet seared his soul, so when Susie insisted they drop in on the band’s jam session, he hadn’t resisted. Instead, he sat in the back of a ramshackle cab, his arm around Susie’s shoulders, letting himself be carried along by her excitement.
