by Hank Edwards
“Ah, a man who reads the fine print.” Jazz waggled his eyebrows. “I like that.”
Michael blushed again and looked back at the samples. “How about the detective novel?”
Jazz frowned at the cover with a Dick Tracy–esque man and a woman with a gun, and the first thing that popped into his head was Brock Hammer and fucking Russell.
But before Jazz could think of a way to say “no” and not bring up his unfortunate spousal arrangement on a first date, Michael shook his head.
“Actually, let’s do one that doesn’t remind us of everything heinous in the last twenty-four hours.” Michael pointed to a cover with two cowboys on horseback. “How about that one?”
Thrilled once more to be on the same wavelength as his date, Jazz grinned at him. “A little bit of a cowboy fetish there, Mr. Fleishman?”
Michael shrugged. “I don’t know. I think it just looks cool.”
“I’m teasing you.” Jazz bumped his shoulder against Michael’s. “Let’s do it.”
They stepped up to the register, and Jazz told the bored-looking girl what cover they wanted.
“Great,” she said with absolutely no inflection in her voice. “Step into the tent and choose the cowboy outfits. Once you’ve got them on, come back out and Doreen will take your picture.”
“Okay, thanks.” Jazz barely made it inside the tent before he busted out into a laugh that he was very glad to hear Michael join in on.
“What was up with that girl?” Michael whispered, touching Jazz’s upper arm briefly before he turned to the costumes.
“I think she’s a robot.”
They pulled the loose-fitting costumes on over their clothes, and Jazz picked out a black hat for Michael, setting it on his head and taking a step back to look him over.
“Oh, my. Seriously sexy.”
“No, stop it.” Michael passed a white cowboy hat to him. “You’re definitely a white hat kind of cowboy.”
“Virginal?” Jazz said, batting his eyes. He did his best to look offended when Michael laughed. “You don’t think I’m a virgin?”
“You’re married, remember?” Michael touched the brim of his hat and nodded. “Shall we mosey on out to the corral, pardner?”
“I’m liking this cowboy persona you just adopted,” Jazz said as he followed Michael out of the costume tent. “You might want to invest in a hat. And maybe a leather vest. And some leather chaps.”
“Hello! Welcome to Book Cover Magic!”
The exuberant greeting was such a contrast to the girl at the register, Jazz jumped and saw Michael take two steps back. A black woman stood by a camera attached to a computer, her smile so big her cheeks nearly covered her eyes.
“I’m Doreen, and I’m going to be taking your picture today. From your costumes I can tell you selected the science fiction cover, right?”
Jazz exchanged a confused look with Michael, then said, “Um, no. We wanted the Old West book cover.”
Doreen winked and laughed. “Got you! Okay, let’s get the horses moved into frame and we’ll get started.”
“Horses?” Michael’s eyes were wide and his smile childlike. But when he saw that the “horses” were actually saddles on green padded sawhorses, his disappointment was evident. “Oh. They’re not real.”
“Oh, honey, I wish to all that’s holy and magical that I could afford to haul real horses around to all the small-town festivals I’m signed up for. But unfortunately it’s just me and Little Miss Sunshine at the register. I hire a kid at each town to help with the register and act as customer service. I guess you get what you pay for, am I right? Come on now, hop on your saddles. Go out there and rope those doggies! Woo-hoo! Ride ’em, cowboy!”
Doreen had them laughing and acting crazy as she took several photos. When she was finished, they gathered at the computer and looked through the options, laughing at their expressions. In the last picture, Doreen had captured them looking at each other and laughing, Michael with his black hat in hand and waving overhead, and Jazz holding up both of his plastic six-shooters.
“That’s the one,” Jazz and Michael said at the same time, then looked at each other and grinned. Their smiles faded a little as their gaze lingered. Jazz was overwhelmed with the sudden desire to gently take Michael’s glasses off so he could get lost in those chocolaty brown eyes.
Michael licked his lips and was the first to look away, still smiling.
Doreen smiled as she looked between them, and then she leaned in and asked in a quiet voice, “First date?”
“What?” Michael’s blush returned, redder than ever, which made Jazz want to kiss him right there in front of Doreen, her teenage assistant, and God and everyone.
“Oh, you don’t have to be scared of me, honey,” Doreen said as she clicked the mouse and typed a few things on her computer keyboard. “Love is love, that’s the only way. Now, what would you like the title of your book to be?”
“How about, Our First Date?” Jazz suggested.
Michael grinned and nodded. “I like it.”
“Me too,” Doreen said and her fingers tapped across the keyboard. “Okay, and who are the authors?”
“By Jazz and Michael,” Michael said.
“Oh, Jazz and Michael. I like that. And I’ll put a fancy ampersand in there to make it even better. Take a look at the monitor right there and tell me what you think.”
Jazz stood shoulder to shoulder with Michael as they looked at the large monitor. The picture was perfect: the two of them on horseback, with a stagecoach in the background, all done in a tintype style. The title and their names were in an Old West font that perfectly captured the feeling of it all.
“I love it,” Michael said and smiled at Jazz. “What do you think?”
“It’s perfect.”
“I’ll print out two copies, and you can pick them up at the register. Enjoy the rest of the festival, you two.”
They thanked Doreen and ducked back into the tent to remove their costumes. Jazz had trouble getting his arms out of the shirtsleeves, and he turned suddenly to find himself face-to-face with Michael. His breath caught in his chest, and from the expression on Michael’s face, he was just as shocked. Jazz could feel Michael’s body heat and smell the tangy sweetness of his cologne. As he stared into Michael’s eyes, he wondered how it would go over if he leaned in and kissed him, long and slow.
But then the spell was broken when a teenage girl and boy busted into the tent, pulling up short at the sight of them.
“Sorry,” the girl said.
“No problem,” Jazz managed to say, and took a step back from Michael as he finally worked his arms free of the costume.
He followed Michael out of the costume tent and up to the register, where the girl was slouched on her stool and staring at her phone. Michael insisted on paying since Jazz’s popularity had covered the evening’s tab so far, and he handed over his credit card.
While the girl ran his card with zero enthusiasm, checking her phone when it pinged before handing Michael his receipt to sign, Jazz scanned the festival grounds. They needed to find another wine vendor to use up the drink tickets. The wine had loosened Michael up, and with any luck, another glass or two might give Jazz the courage to ask if he could loosen Michael’s belt up too.
Jazz didn’t know why Michael made him more nervous than usual, but he didn’t want to mess this up.
While he wasn’t interested in a mere hookup, Jazz was definitely picking up a “this is right” vibe from Michael, unlike the “danger, Will Robinson” vibe Jazz always got from Kevin. Yeah, Jazz was confident he and Michael would make sweet, sweet love if they came together.
Let it be tonight! Jerking off was getting old lately, and Jazz was hungry for the touch of a man in his bed. And he was really crushing on the dark-haired, glasses-wearing shy cowboy beside him.
But Jazz’s pleasant thoughts were dashed when he saw a familiar lanky figure lurking nearby.
Norbert.
The man stood motio
nless beside a big oak tree like some pedophile stalking a playground or maybe a flasher waiting to wiggle his willie at unsuspecting old ladies in that stupid duster coat.
As if he felt Jazz’s gaze upon him, Norbert turned and their eyes met.
Jazz jerked his head in recognition, then flipped Norbert the bird before putting his back to him.
Annoying creep was always popping up at the most inconvenient times.
“Here ya go,” Michael said, smiling as he handed over Jazz’s picture.
Any annoyance at seeing Norbert vanished when Jazz looked at Michael. Smiling, he took the picture. “Wine?”
“Why, Mr. Dilworth, are you trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?”
Jazz laughed out loud, liking this playful Michael. “Am I that obvious?”
Michael leaned in, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses. “Only a little.”
“On that note, let’s get you more wine.”
Chapter Ten
WITH THEIR pictures secure in envelopes with cardboard inserts to keep them from bending, they headed to the nearest wine vendor and ordered two chablis from a local winery. Sipping their wine, they waded back into the crowd. Laughter and music along with the aroma of deep-fried sugary treats wafted in the air. It was a pleasantly cool spring night, perfect for a festival and a leisurely stroll with a new beau. Jazz noticed that even though Michael was quiet and thoughtful, he seemed to be keeping closer to Jazz as they walked.
Jazz didn’t think it was because of the crowd.
Though they’d joked about possibly fooling around tonight, Jazz was actually having more fun hanging out and talking with Michael. He wouldn’t say no if Michael suggested anything, but he certainly wouldn’t be disappointed if the night ended with a chaste kiss on the cheek either.
As they made good use of their free drink tickets, they shared an elephant ear, laughing as they brushed errant powdered sugar off each other. And they played a few more rounds of truth, Michael insisting no more dares for the night. Jazz was delighted to discover the more they talked, the more they had in common. And not only loving men, white wine, and Brock Hammer novels… well, the earlier ones at least. Hands down, their favorite season was autumn. Both would rather read than watch TV, and neither of them cared for sushi, preferring their fish “the way God intended,” as Michael eloquently put it—deep fried with a side of malt vinegar drenched french fries and hush puppies. They also considered themselves deeply blessed to be able to live so close to Lake Michigan, though neither of them were fishermen or avid swimmers.
When Michael admitted to not being inside the Lacetown Light since he was a preteen, Jazz suggested, “Maybe we’ll have to correct that this summer.”
Michael gave him a sideways smile and sipped his wine. “Perhaps we shall.”
Though Jazz didn’t want the date to end, when the wild zydeco band wrapped up their final set, the festival began to shut down for the night. Jazz almost suggested a stroll down the boardwalk to the beach, but seeing as Michael had just picked up a dead body there this afternoon, he decided perhaps they should call it a night.
And there was that matter of a good-night kiss.
Keepsake photos in hand, they strolled back toward Michael’s house, taking the less crowded Cardinal Lane to avoid the crowds on Main. The streets were all on an upward slant the farther they got away from downtown Lacetown and Lake Michigan, which was why so many people like Michael had upstairs decks to enjoy the view.
“So are you busy tomorrow?” Jazz wanted to know.
“No, did you have something in mind?”
“Maybe lunch?” Suggesting breakfast in bed might be premature with his shy funeral director. He’d let Michael make the first overture of intimacy.
Michael grinned. “I’d love that.”
“How about Joe’s Fishery? They have the best Sunday lunch specials.”
“Perfect. How about noon?”
“I should be up and at ’em by then.”
“Late sleeper?”
“Night owl,” Jazz answered. “Comes with the profession.”
“I have no set schedule, so I sleep when I can.” Michael gestured for them to turn on the next street, and Jazz was disappointed to see the funeral parlor sign glowing on the corner ahead of them.
The Fleishman Funeral Home sat on the corner of Cardinal Lane and Perch Avenue. Michael’s house was directly next door, separated by a parking lot. They crossed the parking lot and stepped up onto Michael’s amazing flagstone patio that ran the full length of the back of the house. Jazz could imagine what awesome parties he had back here with the soft lounging chairs and the built-in brick grill. Wide sliding glass doors that opened directly into his kitchen were perfect for entertaining.
“I had a lovely evening, Jazz,” Michael said.
With the twinkling white lights above them and the soft breeze, Jazz felt like they were in a rom-com. “I had a great time too.”
Facing Jazz, Michael fidgeted with the keys in his hand. “Tomorrow, then?”
“Tomorrow for sure.”
Jazz started to lean in for a good-night kiss but stopped in midpucker with his eyes half-closed when Michael let out a quiet and nervous-sounding, “Hey.”
“Oh, sorry.” Jazz pulled back as a blush burned in his cheeks. “I thought—”
“No, not you.” Michael’s voice was a whisper as he glanced at Jazz, but quickly squinted through his flowering trellis wall toward the funeral home. “I thought I saw a light flash behind the parlor. Looked like a flashlight.”
Michael stepped off the patio to get a better look, and Jazz followed.
Sure enough, a quick beam of light moved across the dark parking lot.
They both gasped.
“That is a flashlight,” Jazz said, heart skipping. “Do you think someone is trying to break in?”
“Over my dead body. Mr. Pickles is in there.” Michael started toward the funeral home, hands in fists.
Jazz admired how Michael looked for a quick moment—and couldn’t help envying Mr. Pickles—then hurried after and grabbed him by the arm.
“Maybe we should call the cops,” Jazz suggested.
Michael shook his head. “You know what Musgrave is like.”
“Yeah, but it’s his job to protect the people of this town. We both live here in town, therefore, he needs to protect us.”
“You call.” Michael pulled his arm free. “I’m going to stop someone from breaking into my business.”
Just as Michael turned away, they heard the crash of breaking glass.
“They’re breaking in through the service entrance,” Michael whispered. “Come on.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jazz chanted before he jogged after Michael.
Michael pressed his back against the wall and slowly approached the back corner of the building. Jazz followed suit, and they leaned out around the corner. Jazz had a moment to realize if they were seen, they would probably look like a couple of cartoon characters.
A large shape shifted by the door.
Michael started to step out.
“No, wait!” Jazz grabbed him by the arm and ended up stumbling into view along with Michael.
“Who’s there?” Michael called. “What are you doing?”
The shape turned and raised its hand.
Jazz’s survival instincts kicked in, and he hauled Michael out of sight just before the crack of a gunshot.
Their feet tangled together, and they fell to the mulch landscaping in a heap, Michael on top of him. Jazz’s breath went out in a whoosh, his mind barely registering his head missed the hard asphalt by mere inches. If it were under any other circumstance, being pinned underneath Michael would be called sexy, but Jazz’s pulse pounded in his ears, and he scrambled to get out from beneath Michael.
A car door slammed and tires squealed as their assailant sped away.
“He’s gone,” Michael said and put a hand on Jazz’s chest to calm him. “It’s okay. He
’s gone.”
At that reassuring touch and Michael’s soft tone, Jazz stopped struggling. With a rushing exhale, he let his head thump against the mulch. Michael’s face hung above him, half illuminated by the light in the parking lot. With his pulse evening out and his breath coming back, Jazz noticed how the lighting made Michael look even more handsome. He could feel the strength in his chest and legs, and the slowly hardening line of his cock pressed against his thigh.
“I’m sorry. You must be uncomfortable.” Michael pushed up and off him, and Jazz very nearly reached out to pull him back down.
Now was definitely not the time.
“I’m sorry about nearly getting us killed.” Michael adjusted his glasses and then got to his feet and extended a hand to pull Jazz up.
“Yeah, well, let’s keep this in mind in case it happens again. Call the po-po, no matter how we feel about them.”
“Yes, you’re right.”
Jazz looked down at the ground and saw that they had both dropped their keepsake photos. He picked them up and gave a relieved sigh. “Well, at least we didn’t ruin our pictures.”
It was then Jazz realized his hands were shaking.
“Are you okay?” Michael asked, his voice wobbly too.
Jazz let out an uncomfortable chuckle, pulse thumping so much faster than it had been a moment before. Now that his brain had processed what could have just happened, his hands trembled uncontrollably and his skin flushed.
Even in the moonlight, Jazz could see Michael had gone ghostly pale. Their eyes caught. “That was….” Jazz let his voice trail off.
“Yeah.” Michael gave him a faint smile, and then his phone rang in his pocket. He answered. “Yes, this is Mr. Fleishman, and no it isn’t a false alarm.”
Michael must have a silent alarm that was set off by the broken window, Jazz surmised.
As he talked to the operator, Michael walked back to the corner of the building and carefully stuck his head around it.
“Do you not remember us being shot at a few minutes ago?” Jazz brushed off bits of mulch from his clothing in an attempt to stay his shaking hands.
