Slow Dances Under an Orange Moon (Colors of Love Book 4)

by V. L. Locey

  “And you can’t find peace in a town with reliable cell service and Uber?”

  “Guess not. And we’d be happy for even unreliable cell service!”

  “Might as well be living in a motherfucking cave,” Arn muttered then with a deep grunt it sounded as if he dropped down to sit in something. “Okay, whatever. Live where you want. I’ve come to the conclusion that not one of you hockey players has the good sense God gave to a lint ball.”

  “Thanks, that’s so very kind. My feels are overflowing.”

  That pulled a titter from him. “Good luck with the sale. While I have you, there are some business things to pass along. First thirty second spot that we shot here where the smart folks live will be aired during the first preseason game for the Panthers. Pete is hoping to get another in the can for the All-Star break. When can you break free from the mad rush that is your life there in the backwoods to film this commercial?”

  “Oh hell, I don’t know. Soonish? We’re wrapping up the summer league, and the fall/winter league won’t start until school is in, so maybe after Labor Day. I should be able to wiggle in a shoot. Any idea where it’s going to be? Say somewhere with white Caribbean sands and guys in Speedos.”

  “Detroit.”

  I sat up. “Are you shitting me? That’s not even close to a white Caribbean beach, is it?”

  “It is not, but it is a huge rabid hockey town and the corporate offices for Peterson Farms Sparkling Cider is in Detroit.” He murmured something to someone on the side, his PA more than likely.

  “So there are no farms involved at all? I’m crushed.”

  “Well, get uncrushed. I’ll contact Pete and tell him we’ll be there next Monday.”

  “Okay yeah. What else?”

  “There’s a Panthers alumni cruise thing being set up for the week between Christmas and New Year’s. One of those deals where people pay stupid amounts of money to hang out with aging, creaky hockey players while you sail to sunny destinations. Interested?”

  “You’re really taking a piss on us hockey players today.”

  “That’s taking the piss. If you’re going to use British slang try to get it right, and yeah, I’m fond of busting your chops. So, you in?”

  I looked out over the pond. “Can I bring someone?”

  “Davy?”

  “Maybe. But yeah, sign me up. This is the fun retired player shit I was looking forward to. And there will be white beaches. Those are my favorites. Yellow sand is inferior.”

  He sniggered. “Ass. I’ll let them know you’re in with a plus one. This getting serious is it, this thing with Davy?

  “Mm, yeah, I think so. I hope so. I know I’m serious as a motherfucking heart attack, but he’s still a little skittish. I think he needs time to see I’m being genuine in my claims that I’m here to stay.”

  “Well, can’t blame the man for being edgy. Someone ditches my ass and comes rolling back into my life twenty years later asking to pick up where we left off, I’d be suspicious as hell over that bitch’s motivation.”

  Ouch. That hurt a little. Truth usually did. “I’m taking my time with him. The sex is off the charts though, so yay for progress!”

  “Dirty old goat. I have a client due in five. I’ll have my PA send you the flight and cruise info. Keep your nose clean. Later.”

  And that ended the call from the Big Apple. I finished my sketch of the new goose coop, carried my blueprints inside, and readied myself for another day on the ice. I loved my time with the kids, snotty noses and temper tantrums notwithstanding. After I unplugged my baby and wrapped the 220 cord back up so Dunny wouldn’t chop it into bits thinking it was a snake—been there done that—I was behind the wheel and jamming along to “Don’t Drink the Water” by my top band.

  When I pulled up to the rink, the place was packed. Cars everywhere. I ended up going around back and easing my baby back to the tree line, away from the minivans and kids who flung open doors with wild disregard for the car next to them.

  The greeting when I appeared by the ice was incredible. Twenty kids slipping and sliding over the boards to wave and shout my name. Moments like this I wished I’d taken a more serious look at coaching at the collegiate levels. Guess I still could. Not that college players would be telling me about their hamster named after a famous Russian forward, or how their little brother pooped his pants, although given how drunk college kids got…

  But I was happy here with the tykes. They were never boring that was for sure!

  “Okay, give me room to get my skates on,” I said as I slid my sneakers off and slipped my left foot into my skates. Big black Bauers, the same brand I’d worn on the ice.

  “Coach Kye, my grandpa said you kiss daddies instead of mommies?” Little Stewart Pinkman asked as I was lacing up my left skate. I sighed. I knew this would be a subject I’d have to address, I was just kind of hoping I’d be able to avoid it for a little longer. I snugged my laces, doubled the knot, and sat up to find twenty sets of eyes on me.

  “That’s right, Stewie. I date men instead of ladies. It’s called being gay.”

  “My great granny says she is gay every day,” Joan Bilkers informed us then wiped her nose on the sleeve of her jersey.

  “Good on your great granny. You all know that not only men and women can fall in love and get married, right?” My sock foot was getting cold, but I wanted to address this now. They all nodded. “And what do you think about men marrying men and women marrying women?”

  “I…I…I think love is loves and kissing is good for ever body!” Stewie shouted loudly enough to make my ears ring.

  “That it is.” I rubbed his helmet and that concluded the horrible ‘how can we explain gay relationships to kids’ discussion so many uptight a-holes stewed about. “Now, are we ready to go play hockey? Drew, stop pulling on Kira’s ponytail.”

  “Hockey!” they yelled and skated off in fourteen different directions. The game was a bit of a free-for-all as normal. Our side of the ice had one game, the other end another, and the big red portable dividers taking all kinds of abuse. Players sliding into them, players lifting them with their sticks, players going over into the other game. We had some kids who really seemed to grasp the game and others who were here for the sundaes. But that was all good. Some would stick with the game, and some wouldn’t, but we were making the game fun for everyone and hopefully creating some good memories along the way.

  Even though we lost our last game things were cool. We stopped for ice cream at the new shop by the feed store on Bear Toe Road. I was paying for the team’s bill when someone slid up beside me and took a lick from my cone. Davy winked at me as he swallowed.

  “You don’t have any idea of how close you came to being punched in the nose. I’ve cold-cocked men for less grievous offenses, buddy,” I growled playfully.

  “How did they do?” He motioned at the team taking up five tables, kids and their parents included.

  “We lost but ice cream mends all wounds. What are you doing here?” I tipped the harried girl behind the counter and waited while Davy bought a milkshake. “Where’s Officer Shiny Teeth?”

  “You need to stop calling him that. He’s in Augusta with Penny attending the annual water and forest land sustainability conference. It’s his first.”

  “Ah, a convention virgin,” I said as we waited for his shake to be made. “You want to join us? I bet they’d love to sit down with a handsome game warden and talk about animals.”

  “Much as I’d love that, I have a ton of things to haul to the fairgrounds and set up before the fair officially opens tomorrow.” He took his drink, paid and tipped, then walked with me to the door. “Would you like to go to the fair some night?”

  “To the fair? Sure. How about dinner tonight? My treat. I’ll pick you up at your place and we can drive out to the Lakeside Tavern and have that great fish dinner I keep hearing about. Then after we can park somewhere and neck.” I gave him a wink and a nudge.

  “Sounds…cramped but fun. I
’ll be ready by six.” He gave me a sexy half-smile then stepped out into the hot sun. I stood there watching him walk back to his SUV, enjoying the hell out of how his pants cradled that succulent ass of his and how he had this tiny bit of a swagger that made him look like a cowboy from behind. The gun on his hip was a huge part of the whole Billy the Kid thing and my dick started to get into the fantasy.

  “Nope, no boners in the Frosty Fun Palace,” I whispered to myself and focused on the fact that my team was now singing a rocking version of “Hakuna Matata,” and I was missing it. That I couldn’t stand so I jumped in, and we all finished out the chorus. Ah, hockey and kids. They went great together. Like grape jelly and beef bologna.

  When I rolled into Davy’s little driveway at five after six, he was just locking the front door. I liked his house. A small rental that had a nice little firepit out back and a view of the neighbor’s rather ratty back yard. The last time we’d sat outside we’d been treated to drunken adults leaping around on a questionably safe trampoline. The shirtless leaping was quite the show, given the missus had some enormous boobs that threatened to knock her senseless. She’d complain about the pain but was too soused to stop bouncing. Then they fell on the trampoline, her and the mister, and fucked like bunnies. When they were done Davy and I held up our bottles of beer in recognition of a job well done. I think they may have passed out after the bang and bounce. Davy said they’d still be there come morning. And I thought a grumpy old man, a mean goose, and a glaring Mrs. A were bad neighbors. Actually, they were good neighbors. The goose, on the other hand, was not. Sampson had to be sitting on a nest of what had to be goslings now. I’d have to go over and investigate tomorrow. Maybe Davy could help. He was a trained wildlife officer and knew how to handle irate beasts.

  “Hey,” I said as he slid into the passenger seat.

  I leaned in for a kiss. “Hey yourself, you look nice.”

  “Thanks. The Lakeside is incredibly fancy.” He ran a hand over his newly-pressed linen shirt and black jeans. “I see you dressed up as well.”

  “Oh, hell yeah.” Clean jeans and a polo top. We were fashion icons for sure. The laid back look was working for me now. I’d spent years in tuxes doing charity events and cultural shit, surrounded by the rich and elite, and never once did I feel as settled as I did now with this man at my side tucked deep into rural living.

  We had a leisurely drive to the lake, and our table was waiting for us out on the patio. It was a pretty setting, the lake below with the boats puttering around on the calm water. The table was one of ten out here, all with big yellow umbrellas that shaded the round table under it. We had a beer each and appetizers of breadsticks and deep-fried mushrooms. Talk was light. How hard he worked to get the game commission booth at the fair set up. The last call of the day which was someone complaining about a stray cat in their garage with mange. Turned out to be an opossum and the old gent had only seen its tail clearly.

  “Did he play dead?” I asked, sitting back to let the server place our fish dinners in front of us. He refilled our glasses with more tart lemonade and then hurried off to deliver salads to the couple a few tables over.

  “He did until I grabbed his tail. Scrappy bugger didn’t like that, but I got him into a cage easily enough, and he’s now roaming around in the woods outside of town. My God, look at the serving of macaroni and cheese!”

  The pile of cheesy pasta was enormous. The serving of fish was massive as well. We dove in with gusto. I enjoyed the sharp cheesy macaroni a lot. The fish was nice and subtle, the coating crispy. We demolished the mounds of food then finished the meal off with coffee and some rhubarb pie. The sun set. The running lights on the boats flickered on, and still we sat there, talking about everything and nothing. I was tempted to ask him about his ex-husband, but he seemed disinclined to discuss Roland, so I didn’t bring him up. Someday I’d ask.

  When the stars appeared, we decided we should leave and let someone else have the table. After the check was split and paid, along with a nice tip, we settled into the Tesla with contented sighs.

  “So, we have two places we can go to make out. One is on the other side of the lake by the spillway, and two is that kicker road about two miles from the Boogieman Swamp.”

  “The spillway parking area was closed five years ago. Too many kids were using it as a party spot.”

  I frowned. We’d had some fun times up there at the spillway back in the day. That was where I’d tasted whiskey for the first time and had my first toke. All with Davy at my side, although Officer Aguirre would probably deny ever doing such disreputable things. I knew better though. We’d kicked up our heels all over this county. Man, we’d been idiots a few times, more than a few times if I were being honest, but we’d been young and invincible.

  “Kicker road by the swamp it is then,” I said, backing out of the parking slot and easing my car over a deep dip where parking area met road.

  “Would you be offended if I declined?”

  I gave him a quick glance. “I thought we were having a good time tonight?”

  “We did but I’m feeling a little…pressured.”

  I pulled off the road and twisted a bit in my seat to stare at him. “Pressured? By me?”

  He ran his hands through his hair. “Maybe pressured wasn’t the right word choice. I just feel like I’m letting the sex override my promise to myself to take this slow. We’re so great in bed, and I love that aspect of us, but we need to be great in other aspects of this budding relationship or rekindling or whatever you want to call it.”

  “Reconciliation works for me. We’re working toward an understanding and then, hopefully, a reunion.”

  “Yes, exactly. So, are you mad?”

  “No, not at all. Davy, I want you to be honest with me, no matter what. I tend to be a little aggressive at times, pushy some may say, and I apologize for making you feel pressured. Anytime I suggest sex and you’re not feeling it, just tell me to take a cold shower, okay?”

  I patted his thigh and watched him melt into the seat in relief. “Thank you. I’m just falling too fast, I think maybe. Slow is good, right?”

  “Sure, yeah, slow is great!” I lied, praying it was a convincing lie. I was ready for full-on romance with us being twenty-four and seven, but he was still tentative. Didn’t blame him one bit, so I’d just ease off a little and let him make the next move when it came to bed play.

  His smile was warm. We talked about odds and ends all the way back to his place where I got a tender goodbye kiss at the door. To my credit, I did not ask for a roll in the hay or even a farewell BJ. I was a good boy and drove off, smiling and waving to the beat of the band. The night was young and I was a little edgy, so I took a shortcut home, eager to get into my tiny house to jerkoff then read.

  The ride was uneventful until I rounded the corner where the feed mill sat. Place had gone belly up back in the sixties, but the shells of the buildings and silos where the corn had been stored to grind up into feed still stood tall. As I passed I caught sight of a man lifting a large white cooler into the back of his truck. The sides of the cooler looked to be smeared with red paint…or maybe blood.

  “Oh shit,” I whispered, hurried to turn down Dave Matthews, and slowed down. The truck pulled out of the lot behind me. Talk about suspicious. Was that the same make of truck that Davy had described being part of that poaching ring? I thought it might be. “Turn around, don’t follow too closely,” I whispered to myself as I pulled into the mill parking lot, cranking the wheel tightly, and zipped back onto the road going the way I’d come.

  “Just creep up a little closer so I can check if there’s a—no, no tag. Same coloring. Fall back and just follow him just to see where he goes,” I muttered, pulling out my phone to call this twist into Davy. Or I would have if there had been any service out here in the boondocks.

  Son of a bitch. Okay, guess we’re on our own here. If he takes off try not to lose him.

  “Please brain. This is a motherfucking Tesla, an
d that loser is driving an ‘89 Ford F-150 with a rusted out bumper. This car beats a Lambo off the mark.”

  Good, then she’s fast. Just hang back and try not to alert him to our presence. This car does kind of stand out.

  “At least he won’t think it’s a cop or game warden on his ass,” I pointed out as Freddy Ford made a left onto a tar-and-chip road called Hooper Hollow. “I haven’t been out this way in years,” I said, leaning up as far as my chest belt allowed to squint at the darkness enveloping us. There were no streetlights out in the hollow. Just the headlights cutting through the gloom. I eased back from the Ford, knowing there was only a spattering of homes out this way, but several hunting camps. I thought the county line ended up here at the school bus turnaround.

  I remembered the Markson’s used to live out here. Fucking Kyle Markson was one of the biggest assholes I’d ever encountered. How many times did he get suspended? Twenty? Thirty? In our junior year alone. Fucking drunken punk like the rest of the Markson’s. Every single one has been a blight on this county. Drinking, fighting, domestic violence calls, animal welfare cases, stolen cars, drugs. I thought the last of them left the state a few years ago though. Marianne I think it was. She married some guy in South Carolina and got the hell away from her father. He had died last year. But maybe they’d just spread out after Martin had kicked the can.

  Martin. “What a bastard. I always thought he was abusing all those kids of his, the boys and the girls,” I grumbled, easing around a sharp corner that led us down into the hollow.

  I’d not been out here for thirty years probably and back then only once. To drive Colleen Markson home after a dance where she’d been my date. Actually, my mother had driven Colleen back home because I’d been too young to drive. Those were awkward times. Feeling all those sexual tingles but unable to find time alone to even masturbate properly let alone steal a kiss or grab a boob. Titty fondling was tricky when your mother was in the front seat singing along to the new Barry Manilow release. That dance must have been my first year of high school, maybe I was thirteen. Just starting to feel those tingles of attraction for the boys on the ice hockey team but unable to understand or talk about them.