WHEN HE PLAYS
A Brief Knights story - Book 2
“I painted with love until she died. I never expected to
meet him.”
Weston Tucker overhears a young man
lament finding adequate living space or having to return to his father’s home. Perfectly
manicured fingers pulled out a credit card few can name on sight alone. Young,
far too handsome, Wes thinks to knock the spoiled brat, whose family name he
recognizes, down a peg or two. With paint stained fingers, he proffers his card
offering a room in return for having the inside of his home painted.
“He’s crotchety, mean, disdainful. He
smells damn good, he’s delicate, gentle, and oh so very nasty!”
Hunter Gold’s job as an escort for Brief Knights has to end or his father
threatens to cut him off. At the same time, his roommate leaves Hunt in a fix
for housing. A few more escort assignments are booked but he takes on a job
painting for a recluse to have a place to live and a small salary until he can
straighten things out. Hunt never dreamed of becoming enamored of the enigmatic
loner he worked for.
A young escort, a painter with a secret,
and sex in the pantry. Paint gets everywhere!
A standalone MM/May-December Romance, with an
HEA, and no cliffhanger. Includes lingerie fetish, angry sex, and explicit
sexual language with cursing!
Conversation:
His father and Ruth. Before his mom died.
Words spoken now would be all wrong and he’d
be unable to take them back. Hunt jumped up and flew from the room. He didn’t
want to hear this. Couldn’t bare it especially after imagining the worse of
Weston when all along it had been his father and Ruth, the woman he thought
treated him kindly. Now he understood her motive. His father’s bellows of stop
did nothing to deter him. Thank goodness keys were still in his pocket or he’d
have to return to his room and face them. Heinous words would be shouted and
Hunt felt relief at not having to face that prospect.
Damn! His dad and Ruth.
Hunt rode around for hours before he ended at
Banyon’s.
“Man, I’m sorry, I couldn’t go back there.”
“I get that. Are you hungry? You should eat, Hunt.
I made my famous lasagna.”
“I can’t eat anything, Ban.” He followed into
the dining room where Stanton sat in front of an empty plate.
“Hunt’s going to join us.”
“I see.”
“What do you see, babe?”
“A situation perhaps neither of us…”
“Ooh, I dare you to say it after closeting
yourself in your office with the…the guilty
party Sunday afternoon.”
Stanton wiped his mouth, picked up his wine
and said, “I’ll stay out of it while you two pick his bones.”
“Turns out he’s not guilty of what I surmised
but he is mean, aggressive, Christ, he’s unreasonable.”
“Crotchety and disdainful.”
“If you’re going to be flippant, forget it.”
“Banyon hid a smile and nodded at Stanton who
rose and quietly exited. “Aggressive you love, unreasonable is a perception.
Are you positive regarding mean? When he began my portrait earlier today, I
found him rather charming.”
“What?” Hunt glared at Ban. “He hasn’t
painted portraits for, hell, six or seven years.” Memory of pictures he did see
flashed through his mind. “His nature pieces are out of this world magnificent.”
“That good, huh? Can’t believe you two never
crossed paths.”
“My mom went to his studio and, shit, I never
paid attention to what she did in that room. A high school student, a new
boyfriend, I avoided parents at every turn.”
“All this information is from where?”
“I googled him.” Cheeks flamed. “I looked
through a couple stacks of paintings the day I found the one of my mother.”
“Ahh, you checked him out on line and
ransacked his personal space?”
“Sounds terrible put into words but, yeah.”
Ban refilled their glasses. “Did you talk to
him about anything before you let him bang your ass, Hunter?”
“Banyon!”
“My turn to say, with shock and awe, what! I know you. Another thing I know.
Weston Tucker is perfect for you.” Ban sipped merlot. “You love slender, older,
hairy creatures who are domineering and possessive with an obvious feminine
bent.” Banyon snickered behind his hand. “Does he have fancy panties?”
“Fuck you, Ban.”
“Nope, nope. Remember saying ‘if you
exhibited more pushiness’ you’d want me. Recall those words?” He bent closer. “I’m
not the least aggressive and Stanton loves me as I am. You, on the other hand,
may never find another person so fucking spot-on for you.”
“Oh my God, your mouth!”
“Nasty, huh?” Ban sighed. “All those sparks
between you two amounts to something. He became reclusive for a reason. Find
out why, Hunt. Dig him out of that mausoleum for goodness sakes.”
“A partial nude of my mom, his hiding it, I
accused him of sleeping with her.”
“Sweet peter!”
“He caught Herm with Ruth having a private moment
and he never told my mother who it turns out he knew in Philly where they both
attended some art school and became friends. Said she was like a sister to him.
Jeez, Ban, I’m an ass.”
“Weston told you this?”
“No. Ruth did.
Ban clasped his hands. “You have to tell him,
Hunt.”
“He doesn’t want anything to do with me. Can’t
say I blame him. Yeah, we had sex. It was hot and wonderful and fucking angry both times.”
“Lord, you need to at least clear air so you
can put it behind you. You know how I feel about sloshing through years weighed
down by baggage you don’t need. I’ve been there.”
“I, uhh, I haven’t told him about Brief Knights.” Hunt rose and paced. “He
pumped Scott but didn’t get any info.”
“Fudge nuts, that’s not so bad. Look at me
and Stanton.”
“Moot point as Stanton hired your ass.” Hunt
stopped and, hands in pocket, he stared out a window. “How can I hold anything
against him, accuse him even, when I don’t have courage to tell him I’m an
escort. Someone who spends time with men for money.”
“You make it sound dirty and we both know that
is not the case.”
“It’s how he’ll see it.”
“Aren’t you being unfair?”
“I told him Scott’s not goth.”
Ban pursed his lips. “An accusation, an
omission, and a lie. I know someone who could use your expertise in building a
wall.” Ban snickered.
“None of this is funny.”
“I’m sorry making light of it. Do you want to
fix it?”
“How? I didn’t realize at the time how much
I… Goddamn it. The way he is, how he dresses in pretty little see through
outfits, he turns me on like a motherfucker. Is there more? Hell, I don’t know,
Ban.”
Death is overrated as punishment. – J. Hali Steele (from The Disciple’s
Descendants)
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