Brandon looked around, glad to see he hadn’t had an audience during the time he’d spent standing on the sidewalk staring into space, and continued to his apartment.
He changed into khakis and a button-down shirt that wasn’t blue, and resisted the urge to pull a sweater on over it. The idea wasn’t to be warm, it was to be hot enough to find someone to warm him up. Brandon didn’t think he looked especially good in red, but leaving laundry as a once a month chore forced him to take whatever was left during the last few days.
Brandon tried not to let the idea that he looked as desperate as he felt take hold as he eased his car out of the carport. He had a standing invitation to all Thursday-night kickoff parties at Buchanan House, and he meant to make it in time to enjoy this one. In fact, Brandon had a standing invitation to any and all parties at the camp, but he hadn’t taken advantage of any yet. Eric, Tim’s husband and co-owner of the camp, had tried to get him to attend many times, and frequently invited him to lunch and specific events.
Brandon had cashed in a couple of favors at Tim’s request the year before, and he suspected that had something to do with Eric’s friendliness toward him. Eric’s brother had called in a phony tip that a missing girl had been seen at Buchanan House, in the hope of disrupting the camp’s opening weekend. First, Brandon had had a friend with the Portland police swing by and talk to the brother, tell him that calling in a fake tip was a good way to learn what jail was like. If said friend had also mentioned to Eric’s brother that Brandon wanted to put him behind bars and start the rumor that he was a child molester, nobody else had to know. Especially not Eric. Brandon had massaged the report to keep the investigation from going any further, to keep the brother from getting in any trouble. Why Eric cared so much was beyond Brandon’s ability to comprehend—the man had wasted valuable time and diverted attention from a girl who’d needed help. If she hadn’t been found the next day unharmed, Brandon would have dragged the asshole in front of a judge himself and made a case for jail time.
Nothing makes me angrier than someone who intentionally wastes my time, unless it’s someone who puts another life in danger.
Brandon shook his head as he thought those criteria should mean he saved most of his anger for himself. He might’ve gone on to ponder that concept if he hadn’t pulled into Buchanan House’s parking lot. The feeling he’d just dodged a bullet slid through his mind.
Not giving himself one moment to change his mind, Brandon parked and jumped out of his car. He strode through the parking lot and across the front porch before realizing he must look like he was on his way to arrest someone. And he felt a little like that too, even if the “big bad cop” impression didn’t quite suit his vision of himself. He hadn’t even thought about becoming a police officer until Mr. Williams had put the idea in his head. Before that he’d wanted to be a teacher, to teach hopeful little children how to read and do math. But then he’d lost his father and his security, and the idea of keeping those little children safe had become more attractive.
By then he was in the lobby of Buchanan House, a lively dance mix inviting him to start that whole “letting off steam” plan. The music led him into the main room, which Eric and Nathan called the art room. He scanned the crowd—not a large crowd, maybe two dozen men dancing or mingling with drinks in their hands. His gaze hesitated on the lovely Japanese man standing off by himself before continuing around the room. Kyle Shimoda.
Brandon couldn’t have—wouldn’t have—said why he didn’t allow himself to look any longer, or to go over and say hello. Not right away. By the time he realized he’d checked out every man in the room and only one had made his heart race and his cock start to fill, Kyle wasn’t by himself any longer. Derek Patton might have been happily married and a newlywed to boot, but it was obvious to Brandon from across the room that he and Kyle had chemistry. Kyle had never looked so handsome, so relaxed and sexy, as he did when talking with Derek. Brandon didn’t realize he’d been staring (and that he was jealous of how relaxed and easy their relationship was) until Nathan stepped in front of him, a naughty grin on his face.
“Officer Brandon Smith. I just lost a bet, darling.” Nathan hugged him, and Brandon fought to keep a little distance between them. He’d had it bad for Nathan—he loved tall, ripped men in general and was a sucker for a pretty face—but Nathan was also firmly in the “happily married” column. Not to mention that he’d always been way out of Brandon’s league. Maybe even further out of it than Tim.
Sucker for a pretty face might be an understatement—stop ogling your friends, Smith.
“You lost a bet?”
Nathan kissed his cheek and moved back a step to stand just outside his personal space. “That you wouldn’t come to a kickoff party without being called in an official capacity.”
Brandon couldn’t help laughing. “What did you bet?”
“I don’t kiss and tell, sweetheart.” Nathan winked and was about to sashay away when he moved closer instead, fixing Brandon with his beautiful brown eyes. “And neither does Kyle.” After an air-kiss in the vicinity of Brandon’s cheek, Nathan told him to grab a drink and then floated away to mingle with his guests.
With a slightly cherry-scented glass of courage in hand, Brandon decided to take the hint and go talk to Kyle. He felt a little off-kilter from his attraction to the guy, especially since he’d heard Kyle wasn’t into the whole bar scene. Or maybe that he was too busy? Something had given Brandon the idea Kyle was looking for Mr. Right, and since Brandon was done with all that now and only cared about Mr. Tonight, he’d do better to try elsewhere.
But no sooner had he turned away from the drinks and hors d’oeuvres than a man Brandon knew was leading Kyle out the back door. And he was using the term man loosely in this case. Brandon had nothing against guys like him per se, guys who just wanted to get their dicks sucked and then leave you standing in the men’s room at the gym with only your hard-on for company—okay, Joey was an asshole, and Brandon would have been happy to arrest him for something just to see the cocky grin slide off his face. Once would be enough.
If Kyle was leaving with him, maybe he didn’t care as much about finding a serious relationship as his friends thought. It wouldn’t be the first time a man told his friends—his happily married friends—that he wanted what they had, when in reality he only wanted to get off. The way Joey was smiling at him, Kyle had a shot at that.
Brandon watched them go and then reminded himself he wasn’t in Kyle’s league any more than he’d been in Nathan’s. Kyle Shimoda wasn’t pretty, but he was damned handsome. I’m a sucker for a tall man with dark eyes who’s not a chatterbox. That sounded pretty horrible even inside Brandon’s head, so he moved closer to the group of dancing men. On the way, he promised himself to pursue Kyle that weekend after all. Paulie had made a point to mention that Kyle would be in town all weekend, and if he wanted to hook up, Brandon would be happy to stand in line. Or elbow his way to the front.
It had been a while since Brandon had ventured out dancing, but the rules hadn’t changed. As soon as he got close enough, a partner would appear. Brandon’s mind was always busy, finding exits and possible safety hazards in every room and sizing up all the people in it. He couldn’t help himself—he’d been trained to do that and then been paid for it for close to thirty years. Even though lately he’d been counting the days until he could stop doing it, he realized it might always be a part of him. Which meant he knew as soon as he reached the other end of the room that half the men hadn’t been partnered up to begin with, and one of them was underage.
Jason Morris was dancing on the far side of the grouping, with an adult who should have at least questioned whether he was old enough to be there. It was all Brandon could do not to charge through the dancers, grab Jason, and drag him out. He’d taken a step in that direction before thinking far enough ahead to discard the idea. If he wanted to chase Jason away from the baseball team and lose any influence he’d ever had on the boy, that would be the way to do i
t. The man Jason was dancing with wasn’t taking advantage, so Brandon decided to work his way over and handle the situation with a little subtlety.
Novel approach. It just might work.
Keeping an eye on Jason, Brandon danced. He let himself enjoy it a little, but not as much as he would have if he’d still been planning to go upstairs instead of dragging a delinquent townie home by the ear. Brandon finished his drink and left the glass on one of the tables lining the walls. He’d reached the end of his patience and decided it was time to make his move—
No. Not make my move. Time to get the kid out of here before he gets himself or anyone else into any trouble.
On his way around the group of dancing—handsome, sexy—men, a strong hand gripped his arm and turned him. Before Brandon reacted with a Tae Kwon Do move and embarrassed himself, he was able to focus on the man’s face. The man’s smile seemed fuzzy around the edges, his pupils blown even for the dimness of the room. And just that fast, instead of a party, Brandon felt like he was standing in a creepy carnival funhouse, a house of horrors. His skin crawled, and if he’d had actual hackles, they would have been raised.
The grabby dancing man released Brandon’s arm and stepped back, eyes and mouth wide. A moment later, when the man raised his hands in surrender, Brandon realized he was still glaring and tried on a reassuring smile. It worked well enough, but only for as long as it took to plaster it on his face. Jason and his dance partner had moved closer together, and the man’s hand was resting on Jason’s hip. Brandon patted the dancer on the back as he brushed past him.
Jason startled when Brandon’s hand closed on his shoulder. He had already taken a step backward before focusing on who had touched him.
Encouraging. Evasive and nonconfrontational.
Jason’s gaze had been trained on his dance partner’s… belt buckle. It swung onto Brandon at that level and slowly traveled up to his face.
“Coach?” Jason stopped dancing and turned a little green.
“Come on, Jason. It’s time to go.”
The three of them stood unmoving for what felt like a long time. Jason’s dance partner looked confused but too far past sober to put any pieces together quickly on his own. Brandon turned to him, but not until he’d grabbed Jason’s arm to keep him from bolting for the door.
“You didn’t think he looked a little young?”
“Coach….” Jason looked between the two men, his ragged breathing audible over the music.
“Next time, pay closer attention to who you’re dancing with.” Brandon shook his head and walked toward the door, not looking at Jason, or anyone else for that matter. Jason wasn’t fighting him, but Brandon was glad he had a firm grip on the boy’s hand. Best-case scenario, Jason was stunned at being caught—or who caught him—and not trying to work himself free. It wouldn’t last.
Neither said a word as they made their way to the far end of the parking lot. Their feet crunching on the gravel sounded far too loud in the quiet of the early morning. Brandon opened the passenger door of his sensible little Focus and sat Jason inside. He made good time around the front and dropped into the driver’s seat, his keys still safely in his pocket. And then he wasn’t sure how to play it. Should he scold Jason, or school him on the safe way to find—
“Please don’t tell. Coach? Nobody knows… not for sure, anyway….”
Brandon turned, prepared to act the authority figure whether he wanted to or not, but he just couldn’t. Jason sat there shaking so hard the car vibrated, and the smell of his nervous sweat had already started to fill the compartment.
“Hey, take it easy. Have you been drinking?”
“N-no. I don’t drink. I just wanted to….”
Yeah. I have an idea what you just wanted to do, kid.
“I’m not going to tell your parents. Try to relax. I just want to talk to you, and then I’ll give you a ride home.”
“Um… my car is here.”
“Okay. We’ll talk awhile, and then I’ll follow you home.”
“Okay. You’re really not going to tell?”
“Really.”
“Don’t you have to, or something?”
Brandon couldn’t help the smile that rose to the surface just then, bitterness and all. “No. I would if someone had been abusing you, but it didn’t look like that’s what was happening.”
“Oh. Good.” Jason relaxed and took a couple of deep breaths. “So it’s true? You’re really gay?”
“Um, yeah. What were you doing at that party? You’re only sixteen—”
“Seventeen.”
“All right. Seventeen. Answer the question, please.”
“Because I heard a rumor, but I never really believed it.”
“Why not?” Brandon couldn’t have said why, but he suddenly felt defensive. Jason had been a little boy when he and Tim were together. Even if he’d seen them together, which was unlikely at best, he wouldn’t remember. It didn’t make sense to feel hurt that the town hadn’t been preoccupied with his orientation after all that time.
“Because you’re… well, you’re a cop. And, you know….”
“No, Jace, I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
The car was too dark to see, but by the way he shifted in his seat, Brandon thought Jason might be blushing. He’d blushed a lot during baseball season the year before, and that was starting to make more sense than it had then.
“I mean, nobody will be surprised if I ever—when I go to college and come out. But you’re not, you know, you don’t act very gay.”
Brandon sighed. Straight acting. Those two words used to make him angry, as though he were breaking the rules or failing to live up to some kind of standard that, if he had managed to attain it, would open all the magical rainbow doors and give him the superpower of getting all the men. Just then, those two seemingly innocuous words made him tired. “Not even while I was dancing with a man? Because I’m pretty sure that’s a gay thing to do.”
“Oh. Sorry. I just mean…. Never mind.”
“Why were you at that party, Jason?”
“Aren’t you going to make me go home?”
“I had a drink. I can’t drive for another….” Brandon checked his watch. “Forty-three minutes.”
“Oh. Well… the usual reason.”
“Jace, you can’t let adults pick you up. It’s not safe for you, and it’s against the law. Do you want Mr. Tate and Mr. Lucas to get into trouble because you wanted to—?”
I can’t even think it out loud, let alone say it.
“No. No, of course not. I wasn’t going to do that. Just dance. Hang out with some guys who can talk about more than sports and girls for a while.”
“Those aren’t guys, they’re men. You’re an attractive young man, and they weren’t thinking about dancing all night and then shaking hands to say good night.”
Jason crossed his arms over his chest and slid a few inches lower in his seat.
“Do you feel uncomfortable now?”
“A little.” By the way Jason’s voice shook, maybe more than a little.
“And all I want to do is make sure you get home safely. Imagine how you would feel if I expected sex from you right now. If I demanded it, felt entitled to it? Nobody could hear if you yelled, nobody would step in to stop it.”
Okay, that’s enough.
“I don’t want to scare you—”
“Yes, you do. You so do, Coach.” Jason took a deep breath, and when he let it out, it shook. “Mission accomplished. I’m not an idiot, you know.”
“I know. You’re frustrated, and you feel like nobody understands what you’re going through. Next time you need to hang out with someone who gets it, call me, okay?”
Jason nodded, but his expression said no thanks.
“Have you been dancing here before?”
Jason shook his head.
“How did you know to come tonight?” Brandon told himself to wait, to be patient, but it wasn’t easy. Seeing Joey was bad enough, but th
e both of them in the same night sent up a red flag. Or at least made Brandon uncomfortable. Why he’d expected to be anonymous, to walk into a room of strangers he’d never have to see again and blow off some steam, he had no clue. The more he thought about it, the more idiotic it sounded. He’d lived in Lincoln City his whole life and should know better.
“I didn’t. Well, I wasn’t sure if they were still doing it or what time the party would be. I read about this place at Pride, and sometimes they have stuff on the events website for Lincoln City, so I thought it would be okay. It’s closer than… well, anywhere else.”
“Smart choice, sticking close to home. Since it’s a school night.”
Jason groaned and flopped his head back against the headrest. “How many minutes until this humiliating night can be over?”
“Has anyone had the ‘safer sex’ conversation with you?”
“Coach…,” Jason answered with a groan.
“Because you will find someone who makes you forget your plans to dance and talk and then go home. It’s only a matter of—”
“Yes. Okay, yes.”
“The version you need to hear, I mean. Not the straight version they teach in school.”
“Yes. I have friends who know about condoms and how not to be exposed to anything and still have a good time. They just don’t live out here.”
“Where do they live?”
“Portland. Seattle. San Francisco.”
“Okay. If you have any questions, you can always come to me. Buchanan House, however, is off-limits until you’re twenty-one.”
Safe House Page 3
