Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 1

Ted.
    Then again that was the story of his life. Falling for some guy who was way out of his league, plus an asshole to boot.
    The door was partly open and as Ted passed it, he began to shout, "Anson, you better hope that I don't get out of these handcuffs! I know it was you who told and I'm going to kill you for it."
    "Make sure to add threatening a witness to his list of charges," an all-too-familiar voice said.
    Anson let out a groan. Damn, and here he thought his day couldn't have possibly gotten any worse.
    That would teach him to think.
    Even without looking, he knew who the speaker was— Kip Dennison.
    A blond-haired god, with deep brown eyes and a body that was just made for licking, Kip had been the center of Anson's sexual fantasies, ever since… Well, ever since Anson realized he was gay.
    Since Anson was best friends with Brian, Kip's younger brother, they'd practically grown up together. Or perhaps a better way to put it would be: he'd grown up, while Kip had grown more annoyed with Anson.
    While they hadn't seen each other in over a year, the way Kip rolled his eyes as he walked into the break room showed that his feelings for Anson hadn't changed a bit.
    "Aren't you supposed to be in a suit," Anson blurted.
    As soon as Kip cocked a brow at him, Anson knew the question displayed just how ignorant he was about anything that went on outside of Anson's numbers and figures.
    Kip gestured down to his dark jeans and solid black T-shirt. "This is as dressed up as I get. You've been watching too much Law and Order."
    How was it that even so many years later all it took was one glance and Anson found himself drawn to the other man? It wasn't just his looks, either. Sure, Kip was hot in the whole Ryan Reynolds kind of way. He even had his hair styled the same way the actor did. But, there was something else about Kip that made him extra special. A warm understanding lurked in his brown-eyed gaze, underneath all the aggravation he made clear that Anson wasn't alone in the world and that Kip would never judge him.
    Or at least he never used to. Anson stared down at that handcuff and wondered what Kip thought of him now.
    Kip ushered everybody out of the room then shut the door. Anson let out a sigh of relief as the noises became muffled.
    "Does Brian know about all this?" Anson asked, still keeping his gaze directed on the handcuffs. It was so much easier than having to face Kip's judgment.
    "Why? Are you hoping he'll bail you out?"
    Just the thought of going to jail made a cold sweat break out over Anson's body. "I don't know. Will I need somebody to spring me?"
    Kip let out sigh of his own as he pulled out the chair opposite of Anson and took a seat.
    "Like I told you over the phone, so long as you continue to cooperate you'll have full immunity. Given that you were the one who blew the whistle in the first place, you won't have anything to worry about."
    "Hmmm… I never got that term."
    "What term?"
    "Whistle-blower. Does this mean that they're going to make a movie about me now?" Anson finally glanced up at Kip.
    "I doubt that even the movie industry could make this interesting."
    "I don't know, a politician who used campaign funds to hide the fact that he has a mistress. That sounds like Oscar-worthy material to me."
    The corners of Kip's lips twitched a bit. "I think we're pretty safe to assume that this is one story Hollywood won't be interested in."
    "I guess it's just as well. They probably would have had Julia Roberts play me." Anson jiggled the handcuffs. "So, if I'm not under arrest are you going to take these off me?"
    "Not until we get to the car."
    Anson's lips parted in outrage. "Why?"
    Kip leaned forward. His face devoid of all good humor. "You need to realize how serious this is. Ted had a lot of connections with the mob and he's already pissed and suspects you turned on him. When he finds out for certain, he's going to be after your blood."
    The room seemed to close in on Anson. Mob? Hit? Him? Those were three words he had never thought would be used together. He was just a boy from a small Michigan town. Hell, the only time he'd ever held a gun had been during the one ill-fated deer hunting trip when he'd been fifteen. Even then the only time he'd shot at anything had been when a squirrel had jumped out of a tree and startled him. The saddest thing about that, aside from the squirrel-a-cide, was that there had been nothing left but some yuck and tufts of fur. There was no way that Anson could