Dirty Laundry: A Tucker Springs Novel #3

thing.
    Adam still had butterflies when he got in line to enter the bar, but he’d evened out. He could do this. He could totally do this. He was independent now—no more Brad. He lived on his own, and he’d never thought he could do that. He’d done his own laundry, which had gone a bit south, but then decidedly north.
    This was about sex, pure and simple. He wasn’t trying to find a new Brad. He was angling for more hot sex. The new, independent Adam.
    Or something.

    Jason Davis, the owner of Lights Out, wasn’t exactly El Rozal, but he was still on the short list of people Denver would call should shit hit the fan. He liked to think that went in reverse and that this was why, when Jase had found himself shorthanded, he’d asked Denver to step up and take over the open shifts. Which, up until now, Denver hadn’t minded.
    Thing was, El was right. It was starting to eat at Denver, never having a night off. It’d be nice to have an open evening every now and again to do . . . stuff. So before his shift started at nine the night Adam was due to drop by, Denver ducked into Jase’s office to talk to him.
    “Denver. Hey.” Jase leaned back in his chair. He looked tired. “What can I do you for?”
    “Wanted to see if you’d hired me a buddy for the door yet.”
    “Sadly, no.” The corner of Jase’s mouth quirked up. “Your dominion over the twinks can continue unabated, at least for now.”
    Denver leaned on the doorway. “Actually, I was kind of wanting a day off. Not a big deal, just . . . you know. Shit to do.”
    Jase leaned backward and threaded his fingers over his chest, looking intrigued. “Or some one to do. Do go on, Mr. Rogers.”
    Denver glared. “Jesus. You and El got the same damn disease.”
    “You told me when you started you couldn’t work the door enough. What else would you do in the evening besides surf for tail? Might as well get paid for it. That’s what you told me. So something about that has changed.” Jase’s eyebrows waggled. “Denver’s got a boyfriend.”
    “Forget it,” Denver murmured, pushing away from the door.
    Jase didn’t follow him, but he hollered after Denver as he went back to the floor. “I’m heading home in a minute, but I’ll check the schedule tomorrow and see what I can work out. Tell loverboy to hold on tight, you’ll be ready for the picnic in the park soon.”
    Denver flipped him off without turning around and headed to his post at the door.

    Adam lost some of his courage during his time in line at the door of the bar. It wasn’t a long line, but it was enough to make him feel queasy, to make him doubt himself. Maybe Denver didn’t actually want to see him. Maybe he’d just been playing it nice. Or worse, maybe he figured they were done and he really was just going to buy Adam a drink, and Adam had done all this for nothing. What if he made an idiot of himself? What if everyone found out? What if—what if—
    “Hey, stranger!”
    The what-ifs died in their tracks as Denver Rogers’s meaty hand clapped on Adam’s shoulder. Just the sight of six-feet-whatever of muscle man was better than all the antianxiety medication in the world. Denver Rogers was wearing another wifebeater, though this shirt was gray and read Tiny’s Gym in faded blue ink. One of the straps stretched low enough to reveal one dusky nipple. Denver’s arm bulged, muscles rippling as the hand he’d placed on Adam lingered, kneading gently before sliding down, teasing Adam’s waist and then the curve of his ass.
    “H-hi.” Adam tried to push his glasses higher up his nose, only to remember he wasn’t wearing them. Say something. Say something. Say. Something. “I made it,” he blurted, then inwardly cringed.
    “That you did.” Denver winked at him as he reached for the ID of the guy behind Adam. “No glasses tonight?”
    “No. I—no.”
    Denver only nodded at that, accepting the fact. Adam stood there stupidly, unsure of what to do, but just as he was about to stumble back into the crowd and die of a cocktail of anxiety and mortification, Denver’s hand caught him, holding him in place.
    “Sorry.” Denver nodded to the throng. “When it rains it pours, I guess.” His thumb brushed against Adam’s elbow before letting him go. “So how are the pollinators?”
    For a minute Adam thought he was asking about Brad and the other Bug Boys. “What? Oh. Ha. Pollinators. They’re still . . . pollinating.”
    Denver laughed and kept checking IDs, and Adam