by K. C. Wells
“Saying what?” Owen asked with a smirk. “Sorry I missed you, please call again?”
Randy cleared his throat. “The NYPD sent you this message because you responded to an online ad for prostitution. Offering to pay or paying someone for sexual conduct is a crime and punishable by incarceration up to seven years.” He shook his head. “I’ve sent so many of ’em, I could type it with my eyes closed.” He shook his head. “I’m seeing a helluva lot of hotel rooms on a weekly basis, ’cause there’s a sting at least once a week, including ones run by female officers. But to be fair, the ads are aimed at people trying it for the first time, hoping to scare ’em off, or legit guys with jobs or families who don’t want to get arrested.”
“Then I still don’t get what the problem is, because this all sounds like good sense to me.”
Randy nodded slowly. “So we crack down on the guys buying sex. Good deal. But when you move away from that and start to look at the people who are selling on the street? That’s when the lines start to blur.” He shook his head. “The world isn’t black and white anymore, just… shades of gray. Suddenly you got people whose livelihood is being altered by what we do.”
Owen blinked. “You’re feeling sorry… for the hookers?”
“You forget, I got to know a lot of those hookers. I know what forced them to sell themselves in the first place. Don’t be thinking Richards strong-armed them into working in that place. They wanted to be there because it put food on the table, clothes on their backs…. And they didn’t put Richards away for eighty years just for running a brothel. They put him away for pushing drugs and moving people across the States, and a whole lot more besides. But yeah, it’s the ones making money on their backs I feel sorry for. Because their lives just got a damn sight harder.”
Owen finished folding, came over to him, and laid a gentle hand on Randy’s shoulder. “Are you okay? I’ve never heard you sound this low before.”
Randy sighed. “When I first became a cop, I felt like I was doing some good, ya know? Making a difference. But now? The job has changed, and I’m not so sure I like what it’s become.” He expelled a long breath. “Ignore me. I went to bed way too late last night, and I’m feeling really tired.”
Owen nodded, squeezing Randy’s shoulder. “Tell you what. Why don’t you come over to my place when you’re done down here, and we’ll have a drink and watch some TV. Just for some company and to take your mind off things.” He held up his hands. “One drink, I swear. I wouldn’t let you have more than that, not if you’re so tired. You won’t sleep tonight either. But I don’t like the thought of you being alone this evening. Seems to me like you could use a friend.”
Randy smiled. “That is exactly what I need. Sure. Let me put the clothes in the dryer, and I’ll be up there.”
“Great. I’ll see if there’s anything worth watching. I’m thinking a comedy or something else equally light on the brain.” Owen picked up his basket. “Just knock when you’re done.”
“Thanks, Owen.” Randy waited until he’d gone before taking his phone from his jeans pocket. He went into Contacts and pulled up Jesse’s number, staring at it for a few minutes. He wasn’t sure why Jesse had come to mind. Randy supposed it was because he was still worried about him. Something about finding him at that spot near Isham Park the other day had bothered him. Randy knew why he’d been there—it was a favorite haunt for hookers picking up trade—but seeing Jesse there had given him a moment’s unease.
Please, tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing.
Randy didn’t want to be scoping Jesse out.
In the end he put his phone away. What reason would I give for calling him? “Hey, Jesse. Just thought I’d give you a call and check you weren’t soliciting. How’s tricks?”
Yeah, that would go down really well.
The best thing he could do would be to keep an eye out for Jesse. And hope to God he wasn’t hiding something.
Randy didn’t listen to that small voice in his head, telling him he already knew exactly what Jesse was up to.
Chapter Seven
JESSE COULDN’T believe he was considering asking Randy to go with him to a concert, of all things. When he’d first seen the details, Randy had leaped to mind immediately. It was only after Jesse’d thought about it for a while that he saw the downside to this plan.
Spending time with Randy was… risky.
Randy wasn’t stupid. He was more than capable of putting two and two together and coming up with Jesse hooking, especially if he had a suspicious nature.
Excuse me? Cop, remember? Isn’t that a prerequisite?
And the more Jesse considered the idea, the more convinced he became that Randy would never go for it. Never mind that they’d discussed this—asking Randy to come along felt too much like inviting him on a date, and why would he say yes to that?
For fuck’s sake, just ask him. He can only say yes or no, right?
Jesse summoned up his courage, pulled out his phone, then paused when he saw the time. It was late. Like, really late to be calling. He found Randy’s card and composed a quick text instead. Hey. You around?
Jesse laughed when Randy’s reply flashed up. Around what?
Okay 2 call U?
Seconds later a text pinged in. Sure.
His heart hammering, Jesse dialed.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Randy said in a stern tone. “And yeah, that was a joke. Just in case my delivery was crap.”
Jesse snickered. “Don’t give up the day job.”
“So you called me just to sass me? I’m hanging up now.”
“Wanna go to a concert?” Jesse blurted out. When the line went quiet, he pressed ahead. “Remember we talked about the open-air concerts this summer? Well, there’s one next week in Central Park. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of Lucy Wainwright Roche, but—”
“Are you kidding? I love her stuff. One of my favorite New Yorkers. I loved her cover version of James Taylor’s ‘America the Beautiful.’”
“Seriously? Me too.” And just like that, Jesse’s nerves took a back seat. “Does that mean you wanna go?”
“What night are we talking?”
“Saturday, six till nine. It’s not just her playing the whole time, of course. There’s also the Indigo Girls.” He had no idea if Randy was into folk rock, but learning they were playing, too, had been the icing on the cake for Jesse.
Silence, and then Randy spoke softly. “I love their songs. ‘Power of Two’ is one of my all-time favorites. It’s got one of the best lines ever. ‘I’m stronger than the monster beneath your bed.’”
Wow. Randy was just full of surprises. Jesse loved their music, but apart from that, he followed them because they were LGBT activists, both of them lesbians, both in committed relationships. He doubted that was why Randy liked them, however.
“Then it’s a yes?”
Randy chuckled. “No—it’s a hell yes. Are we talking Rumsey Playfield?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then we’d better get there early, because that place will be packed. How about I meet you by the Bethesda Fountain at five o’clock? Maybe even a little earlier, if you want to get close to the stage.”
“That sounds great.” Jesse’s head was still spinning. He said yes.
Randy yawned. “Oops, sorry. Been a long day. But you know what? I’m really looking forward to this.”
“Yeah, me too. See you then.” Jesse disconnected the call and let out an undignified squeal that thankfully no one else got to hear. Thank God Steve was out.
Then it hit him.
Hey. I should be out. Somewhere in Midtown was a john expecting him for a late-night booty call. So get Randy out of your head and get your ass in gear.
Literally. Because the last thing he wanted was a pissed trick.
Pissed equaled unpredictable. Not good.
BY THE time Jesse got back to the apartment, it was almost 1:00 a.m., and Steve wasn’t around. Jesse grabbed a quick sho
wer, then wrapped a towel around himself, poured a glass of juice, and sat on the couch, checking his phone for messages. When he opened his emails, Jesse noticed one from one of the sites he used.
It wasn’t good.
“What the fuck?” Jesse read it through again, his stomach churning. He was still reading when Steve walked through the door. Jesse gazed at him, shaking his head. “Looks like you were right.”
“About what?”
Jesse held up his phone. “One of the sites I’m on is closing down. Seems some of their ads were placed by cops, and people got arrested when they showed up. The site owners don’t want to continue, not if they have no idea which ads are real and which are put there by the cops.”
Steve scowled. “I don’t blame ’em. And it’s getting worse. The next thing you know, we’ll be getting calls from guys, only when we show up, it’ll be a cop. I tell ya, we’re never gonna know who’s a john and who’s a cop. It’s enough to make you stick with the guys you’ve serviced before.”
“Yeah, but if I do that, I’m not gonna survive.” Jesse felt sick. “I rely on those sites to bring me new guys. Sure, I’ve got my regulars, but they’re not enough.” He growled at the back of his throat. “Fucking NYPD. Don’t the cops have anything better to do—y’know, like solve murders and shit like that? What harm are we doing? The johns wanna fuck, and we want them to fuck us. I call that win-win.”
There was a time when he’d loved this, but that was when he’d worked at the Black Lounge a couple of nights a week, more during vacation time, to have a bit more money in his pocket. It was an enjoyable way to make a buck.
But times had changed. This was different. This was tougher.
This was survival.
“Maybe it’s time to think about a change of career,” he joked halfheartedly. Except he knew deep down it wasn’t a joke. At this rate he’d be going under in a matter of months.
Steve snorted. “What—and work in a restaurant for minimum wage? You can earn more on your back in one day than you can earn in a week waiting tables. You just gotta be careful. That’s all.” He yawned. “I’m gonna hit the sack. Gotta look my best for my public, right?” Steve grinned. “Not all of us have your looks.”
Jesse snickered. “Was that a compliment? Gee, thanks.”
Once Steve had gone into his bedroom, Jesse pulled out the couch, his sheets still in place, and got ready for bed. Outside, the traffic continued with its dull drone, despite the hour. Jesse lay there, his mind going over their conversation.
A change of career. Yeah right. Jesse didn’t want to think it had come to that. Not yet, at any rate. The way he looked at it, guys were paying him to do something he loved. Because Randy had nailed it for sure. Jesse loved sex, loved everything about the act. Most of the time he bottomed, but that was fine by him. It made those rare occasions when a john wanted to get fucked all the sweeter.
Except….
In the stillness of the apartment, Jesse took a long, hard look at himself. Everything was different. Sure, he’d enjoyed the sex in the Black Lounge. What was there not to like about it? He got to have fun, plus added income, with a steady stream of guys wanting him. Now? Sex had become his lifeline. And yes, there were days when he didn’t feel like getting on his knees, or all fours, or his back. These days it was getting riskier by the minute.
And what about my goals? Back then he’d had a clear picture of what he wanted, where he was going. He’d left Michigan to study for his bachelor’s in New York. When he’d completed that and spent what seemed like forever trying to get a job, he’d told his parents he wanted to do an MBA, and they’d been totally behind him. Pity they forgot all that when they learned how I’d been supplementing what they gave me to live on. He sighed. Maybe I should’ve stuck with waiting tables after all. They’d have been okay with that. Because right then he was achieving nothing. Real life had been put on hold, and the chances of earning enough to both keep himself going and save up to fund his education were looking remote.
Maybe waiting tables as well as hooking was the way to go. Another string to his bow.
Jesse recalled one of his first conversations with Nikko, who’d expressed surprise that Jesse was a student. I told him selling myself wasn’t what I wanted to do in life, and yet here I am. Then he smiled to himself. That had been the day Jesse had noticed how often Randy smiled at Nikko. Jesse had been a little pissed at that. Oh, he really liked Nikko, who was obviously a sweet guy, but dammit, he’d wanted Randy to smile at him.
Jesse closed his eyes, picturing Randy’s face, that sexy smile, those blue eyes that could be so warm sometimes. He pictured Randy as he’d been in the restaurant that day, those strong arms, those large hands…. Jesse shivered, imagining Randy’s hand on his belly, his chest… and lower. Oh fuck. Jesse threw back the sheet and palmed his cock, his mind veering off into some blissful fantasy where Randy was touching him, caressing him… kissing him. Wrapping that big hand around Jesse’s dick. Holding it around the root while he moved in to—
Jesse came with a shudder, all over his belly.
He lay there, his breathing returning to normal, his come cooling on his skin as the pleasure slowly ebbed away. Talk about hot. He wiped himself with the towel he’d left beside the bed, then closed his eyes once more.
Even if I can’t have him, I can dream about him at least.
It was a poor consolation.
And jerking off to thoughts of Randy amounted to avoidance of the real problem.
RANDY MADE his way toward the fountain, asking himself for the umpteenth time why he’d agreed to this. Sure, he loved live music, and this particular artist was worth seeing any day, not to mention the Indigo Girls, so why was he regretting his decision?
There was only one answer. The prospect of spending an evening with Jesse.
Randy had really enjoyed their coffee the other week. He liked Jesse’s company. But being around him was… tricky. Ever since Randy had taken those damn stupid tests, he’d become more aware of how often he thought about Jesse—and the way he thought about him. Because all that did was highlight the conflict within him.
I like women. I don’t like guys.
Except Jesse was a guy, right?
There were times when he wondered why he was fighting this. What would be so wrong about liking guys too? What bothered him was how it was so out of the fucking blue. You don’t just wake up one morning and say, “Hey, I think I might be bisexual.” That’s not how it works.
Except Randy had no clue how it worked.
Then he faced the facts. This was not out of the blue. This was only a continuation of what had started back in the Black Lounge—that slow dawning of interest, the realization that Randy’s sexuality was not a done deal.
He had a fair idea what lay at the heart of his battle. His father.
Don Michaels was a “man’s man.” Macho. Tough. The kind of man who would never understand how guys could be attracted to guys, because “hey, you got everything you need right there between a woman’s legs.” The kind of man who joked with his work buddies in the meatpacking district, mouthing off about “the fags,” and “the fuckin’ queers takin’ over the place.” The kind of man who’d brought up his only son to believe that men were strong, unemotional, macho….
And yet there was Owen. Strong, intelligent, masculine, in touch with his emotions—and gay. And the guys in the Black Lounge. Some would have fitted right in there with his dad’s description, but not all. Jordan, for instance. Baz was another. Randy had spent the last few years questioning the stereotypical images he’d accepted as a youth, because he’d finally come to realize there wasn’t a mold out there somewhere for a gay man.
Or a straight man, for that matter.
And where do I fit in? Bi-curious? Bisexual?
He knew one thing for sure. “Randy” was a work in progress.
As Randy neared the fountain, he caught sight of Jesse, with shades covering his eyes, wearing white sneakers, a pair o
f denim cutoffs that revealed long, slim, tanned legs, and a white top emblazoned with the word Love in rainbow lettering, complete with glitter. Randy smiled to himself. Nothing subtle about you, baby. Then his heart skipped a beat as Jesse stretched, his top riding up. Randy couldn’t take his eyes off Jesse’s lean torso, barely an inch of fat on him. Something sparkled at his navel, and Randy realized it was a piercing. That’s new. Some part of his mind went off in another direction, wondering if anything else was pierced too. Randy’s pulse quickened at the thought.
Jesse’s gaze swiveled in his direction, and he broke into a smile that made Randy’s pulse quicken even more. Lord, he could light up a room with that smile. Jesse strolled toward him, his pace languid, moving easily, his arms at his sides. By the time he was close enough that Randy could see the outline of his phone in his front pocket, Randy had gotten himself under control.
“Have you been here long?”
Jesse shook his head. “Only about ten minutes. I was walking through the park, enjoying the sun.” He tilted his head up, the light glinting off his sunglasses. “Isn’t it a beautiful evening?”
It is now. Randy coughed. “We should get going if we’re gonna get a good spot.”
“Sure.”
They walked side by side, following the gradually swelling noise of voices that led them to the concert area. They climbed the shallow steps that led to the main gate, and then they were out into the open air, a green artificial surface with a stage set up at one end and a large circular canopy above it. People had already started to gather close to the stage, sitting on the ground, where they talked and enjoyed the evening sunshine.
Randy led Jesse to the front, where they sat down. One of the concertgoers had brought along his guitar and was playing softly. He turned out to be really good, and before long, people were calling out requests. It proved to be a pleasant hour, sitting there in the evening light, listening to beautiful music.
