Dirty Laundry: A Tucker Springs Novel #3

rearview mirror at his truck bed, which was technically pretty clean for trucks, but he remembered how fussed Adam had gotten over pretty much everything he encountered unless Denver was fucking him. Which was what he had in mind for the truck bed, admittedly, but first he had to get him to lie down in it . . .
    “Give me half an hour,” Denver said, started his engine, and headed for the car wash.

Sherman Park sat about twenty minutes south of Tucker Springs. The park was one of the great examples of Colorado’s varied climates: it snowed plenty up in the mountainous parts of the park, but down by the reservoir in the summer, prickly pear bloomed. Plenty of people came from western Colorado to camp at Sherman, but because it was buried deep in the mountains and didn’t have any of the sexy things to attract tourists, overall it was almost a private place for those who truly loved it.
    Denver wasn’t exactly a nature nut, and he was a native of Arkansas, not Tucker Springs, but he loved the mountains, and he loved Colorado. He liked the home he’d made. He liked his patterns of where he shopped and worked and played. He liked that everything he wanted to go see could be discovered by GPS. As far as he was concerned, he’d stay in Tucker Springs for the rest of his life, and the fact that he was smack-dab in the middle of three state parks, three national forests, and a stone’s throw from Utah was just icing on the cake.
    He drove Adam the long way to the park, taking him on some back county roads with some beautiful vistas of the valley—he’d brought his Garmin, so all he had to do was follow the little blue monster truck as it turned right or left on the magenta-colored road—taking him into spots he thought were unique and worthy of someone who hadn’t ever truly been in the mountains. Adam seemed to enjoy it, leaning forward on the dash and pushing his glasses further up his nose as he tried to give himself a panoramic view. When they finally made a tour of the park itself, Adam looked like someone had given him Christmas.
    “It’s so beautiful,” Adam said. “I feel so small, like I’m nothing at all—but it’s not scary. I don’t know why. I should feel isolated and freaked out, but I don’t. I suppose it’s because you seem to know what you’re doing, where you’re going.”
    “I did a lot of driving around when I first came here, kind of like this, actually. Every now and again I like to drive up 550 into the mountains, past Baldy Peak and Brown Mountain, just to really feel them, you know?” It felt like he’d said too much, but when he glanced at Adam, he got caught by the naked longing on his lover’s face, a look made all the sexier by his glasses, Denver decided.
    He glanced at the time on his dashboard. “What time do you need to be back?”
    Adam blinked, like he’d forgotten he ever had to go home at all. “I don’t know. I have to teach at ten tomorrow morning, and I should check the lab before I go. Other than that, nothing I suppose.”
    All right then. Denver adjusted the Garmin with a few punches of his finger and settled into the seat. “We’ll stop at Ouray for a bite, and then you and me, baby, are going into the mountains.”
    Adam put his hand on Denver’s shoulder, his mouth agape. “Really?”
    “Really,” Denver assured him, and grinned. Reaching over, he tousled Adam’s hair. “Hope you like fresh fish, because I know this great little bar.”
    Adam did like fish, it turned out, especially rainbow trout. He snarfed up his first serving and looked so hungry Denver ordered him another, ignoring his protests that he didn’t need it, and Denver felt vindicated when he ate that down too. Adam was pretty relaxed in the bar, seeming really happy.
    Until he went to use the bathroom.
    He went in and came back out like someone had put a spring in the door. His face was so white Denver thought someone had tried to jump him or something, but when Adam was finally able to talk, all he said was, “Dirty.”
    Denver checked it out himself—it was pretty gross, yeah, but not the worst he’d seen by a mile. The sink was stained and slightly dirty, the floor was sticky, but other than that it was just old and poorly kept, as most men’s bathrooms were. It was apparently too much for Adam, though, who not only wouldn’t go back in but had retreated into himself, looking embarrassed and ashamed and miserable.
    “We can find another bathroom,” Denver assured