Love Is Always Write Volume 4

that blow job after all.
    "You care not for the Bard of Avon, good sir?" Jay put his hands on his hips, managing to appear haughty even while covered head-to-toe in mud.
    Then he lifted his head and stared at something over the heads of the crowd, so intent on whatever it was that Simon looked, too. A wall of black clouds filled the sky over the trees, stretching up to block the sun. The light shifted, shadow flowing over the crowd, and Simon caught a whiff of ozone as the breeze shifted.
    Jay nodded and blew out a sharp breath, projecting his voice over the buzz of the crowd.
    "Good gentlefolk, attend. It appears that Mother Nature, being fickle as any woman, has withdrawn her favor from us. Unless you wish a thorough dousing, hie your good selves off and take shelter until she deigns to smile upon us once again." He waved an arm toward the refreshment tents, and on cue, thunder muttered and the day went darker.
    "That was so cool," a teenage voice exclaimed. Simon sighed, rubbing his thumbs over his fingers to get off more dirt. Put Jay in front of a crowd, even one with hecklers, and he had them eating out of his hand in minutes. It sucked. Simon blanked if he had to wing it; Jay spouted shit that sounded like knock-off Shakespeare. On the other hand, away from a crowd, Jay was about as talkative as a rock.
    The crowd eddied and drifted in the general direction of the tents, reminding Simon of a flock of sheep without the guidance of a shepherd or his dog.
    Jay made a face at his muddy hands and stepped over the rope barrier. He didn't check to see if Simon followed him, didn't say anything; he just started walking. Grinding his teeth, Simon pulled his boots free of the mud and went after him.
    The first few fat raindrops splatted against Simon's head, warm as they reached his scalp through his short curls. The drops multiplied, rattling the leaves on the trees and sending up puffs of dust on the crushed stone paths. Jay tipped his face back, and the rain made tracks though the dirt on his neck. Simon watched as the last few people ran for cover, vendors hurrying to throw tarps over their goods. He and Jay weren't alone, but he could drop the act for a second; nobody was paying attention to them.
    Simon lengthened his strides and pulled up next to Jay. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier. I thought I had plenty of time."
    "Whatever." Jay didn't look at him.
    Simon grabbed his arm. "What is your fucking problem?"
    Jay stopped, jaw working, and stared at Simon's hand. "Nothing." He twitched his arm free and started walking.
    Maybe he should knock him down again. Simon growled under his breath and followed him. He didn't get this. At all. He wasn't a bad guy, and really, this was his first week doing this. Couldn't Jay cut him some slack? Yes, he'd fucked up, losing track of time. If he didn't know better, he'd think Jay took his casual hookup with the twink personally.
    Simon had tried flirting with Jay, when they met, and got the cold shoulder. To be sure, he'd fished around, hinting to Alan that he didn't want to poach, and Alan made it clear he and Jay weren't involved. They'd been friends since high school, and to hear Alan tell it, the two of them had fucked around back then for a while and then moved on.
    Frankly, he couldn't picture Jay and Alan together at all. Alan was Simon's height, five eleven or so, blond and blue-eyed, a little on the lean side. He and Simon had a one-night thing, back in college, and Simon could not, for the life of him, imagine the adamantly toppy Alan in bed with Jay. And Simon had a vivid imagination. It didn't add up.
    Jay took a shortcut behind the Queen's Pavilion, heading for the wall of fabric and pennants that hid the stable area and living quarters from the guests. One perk of this venue was the four cabins, each one split into two units. It meant that sixteen of the guys working the show got to stay here, on the grounds, not at a motel miles away. He and Jay got to stay here because of the horses, the other fourteen based on how early they were expected to start work.
    Jay's truck and trailer were parked behind the cabins. The enormous four-horse gooseneck trailer had a dressing room and living quarters, and Jay slept there instead of sharing a room with Simon. They'd driven here together from Alan's farm, two interminable days together in the truck. Simon had no problem with silence, and Jay's taste in music didn't suck; he did mind being pointedly ignored. They'd spent a night