Excerpt from: Watch Me

Zeke Straus stared up at the neon Clean Slate sign and shook his head. It was a typical gay bar in a typical college town. Unfortunately, he was out of money, again. He glanced at the newspaper in his hand. Finding a job as a bartender had never been a problem for him, thank God. His looks and attitude had always landed him the primo Friday and Saturday night shifts even if the bar already had a regular bartender. Needless to say, he was used to a hostile work environment between him and the rest of the staff.

Zeke never gave a shit if people liked him. The important thing was making as much money in tips as possible so he could move on. He stepped inside the bar and called out. "Hello?"

While he waited for an answer, he studied the place. He took back what he’d thought earlier. The interior of Clean Slate was nothing like the dives he’d worked in previously. Classy was the word that came to mind. "Hello?"

"Just a minute," a deep voice called from the back.

Several minutes later, a gorgeous young blond appeared. He was closely followed by an older, muscular guy, dressed in an old pair of jeans and a white Clean Slate T-shirt. The smile on the blond’s face made Zeke wonder if sex was a condition of employment. Not that he minded. He was used to giving the boss man a taste of what he had to offer. He got a good look at the older man and decided he wouldn’t mind taking him for a ride at all. Fuck, the man was built. He could do without the short grey and black spikey hair that stuck up at odd angles, but everyone needed at least one flaw. Zeke had one testicle that hung a little lower than the other or else he’d be perfect. God didn’t like total perfection, so he always had to give something for people to obsess over.

"I’ll see you tomorrow night," the little blond said, holding several new white T-shirts.

Zeke waited for the blond to leave before approaching the sexy boss. "I’m here about the bartender position," he announced.

The man looked Zeke up and down. "I’m Reid Jackson, co-owner of Clean Slate."

Zeke shook Reid’s hand. Zeke couldn’t get over the size of Reid’s paw as it swallowed his hand. "Zeke Straus, just a man looking for a job."

Reid grinned. "Well then, let’s see what you’ve got."

Zeke inwardly groaned as he reached for the fly on the best pair of jeans he owned. His zipper was halfway down before Reid held up a hand to stop him. "I’m flattered, but I meant make me a drink," Reid clarified.

With no embarrassment whatsoever, Zeke zipped up. "Okay." He headed around the bar. "What’ll you have?"

"Make me a margarita, a cosmo, a dirty Martini and a Long Island iced tea," Reid instructed.

With practised ease, Zeke set about making the drinks in the order they had been given. "So, I take it from looking around that you aren’t open yet."

Reid sipped the margarita before nodding his head. "It’s good, maybe one of the best I’ve had." He took another sip before answering Zeke’s question. "You’re not from around here, are you?"

Zeke set the cosmopolitan on the bar. "Just rode into town yesterday. Why? Does that matter?"

"This place used to be called Fallon’s on Fifth until the owner fucked up and tried to kill a college kid. It sat dormant for months until after Fallon’s trial. My old college roommate, Alec Demakis, called me up and suggested I come to town and check it out. That was two months ago, and, to finally answer your question, yes, we open tomorrow night." Reid tasted the cosmo. "You’re good."

"Yep," Zeke agreed. While he finished the last drink on the list, he caught Reid staring at him with a furrowed brow. "Is there a problem?"

"You’re small." Reid dragged a hand through his short dark hair. "We’re hoping, with the new name, we won’t have trouble with the locals, but you never know."

Zeke wanted to point out that five-eight wasn’t exactly small, but, comparing himself to the man on the other side of the bar, he guessed he could see why Reid thought it was. "I can hold my own in a fight if that’s what you’re worried about." Hell, he’d fought off drunk bastards for years.

"I’ve already hired two security guys, and I hope to add a few more to the payroll. But, yeah, I guess I’m worried about someone giving you trouble."

Zeke leaned against the bar. "Like I said, I can take care of myself."

Reid nodded. "Okay, you’re hired."

* * * *

Reid was finishing up some paperwork when Alec and Max walked into the office. "Hey," he greeted his old college roommate.

Alec took a seat in the white leather wingback chair and pulled Max into his lap. "Are we ready for tomorrow?"

"I’ve got a few more positions to fill, but we’re good for now." Reid reached across the desk and handed Alec several files. "Those are our newest employees."

Alec started flipping through them one by one.

"Good," Max said, pointing to the file belonging to the blond server Reid had hired. "Jeremy’s in one of my classes. I told him to come down and apply, but I wasn’t sure he would."

"He doesn’t have much experience, but I figured with a face and body like his, most customers will be forgiving until he gets the hang of things." Reid leant back in his chair. "The only one I’m sceptical about is Zeke Straus. He mixes drinks like he was born to it, but I’m afraid he might be a little too sexy for his own good."

"Straus?" Alec questioned. "Any relation to Kade Straus?"

Reid shrugged. "I have no idea. He said he just rode into town last night."

"I’ll have to find out," Alec said. "Kade’s a friend who used to live in town. He and his partner moved to Wyoming several years back."

"If he looks anything like Kade, I can only imagine how sexy he is," Max spoke up. He received a sharp slap to his ass and a scowl from Alec. "Not nearly as sexy as you are," Max added.

Excerpt from: Coming Clean

Chase Hughes stared at the large flat-screen television in the BK House rec room without seeing a damn thing. The phone in his hand dropped to the sofa cushion beside him. He needed to get off the couch and jump into the shower before work, but he couldn’t get the conversation with Benny, his boyfriend of two years, off his mind.

It wasn’t that the phone call had been bad. He never had a problem talking to Benny because they knew each other so well they never ran out of things to say. Nope, it was the way Benny ended their daily calls with an ‘I love you’ that made him feel like shit.

Benny Allenbrand was one of the nicest guys Chase had ever known, and there had been a time when the two were inseparable, but that had been before Chase had gone off to college. Being two and a half years younger, Benny wouldn’t graduate high school until May.

Chase glanced at the phone. Benny had accepted a scholarship to play football for North Central Idaho University. The same football team Chase played on. It had always been their plan for Benny to graduate and join Chase, so what the fuck was wrong with him now that their dream was going to come true?

Wyatt came into the room, twirling a set of keys on his finger. “Do you still need a ride to work?”

Chase glanced at the clock. Fuck. So much for getting a shower in. He got to his feet and stretched his arms over his head. “Do I have time to change?”

“Sure. I thought I’d grab something to eat from the kitchen before I left anyway. Meet you back here in fifteen?”

“Great.” Chase picked up his phone. He should have enough time for a quick shower. It was his first night back to work since he’d returned from winter break and he couldn’t wait to get some money in his pocket again. He’d only worked at Clean Slate since he’d turned twenty-one in November and couldn’t believe the bar’s owner, Reid, had given him time off to go home for Christmas.

It only took Chase a moment to race to his room and grab a towel and his shower bucket. He stripped out of his clothes and stepped under the hot spray of water. When he’d first taken the job at Clean Slate, he’d made piss poor tips until Wyatt and Zeke had clued him in on what to wear and how to flirt. He still wasn’t as good as Wyatt and Zeke at the flirting, but he’d spent his entire first week’s pay on clothes that he wouldn’t be caught dead in back home in Cattle Valley.

After a quick scrub, Chase spent a couple of minutes getting his blond hair styled. He preferred the just out of bed look and obviously, so did the bar patrons, because the less time he spent on it, the higher the tips.

Chase pulled on his low-rise jeans and tight white T-shirt with the bar’s logo. Wyatt had told Chase he’d make even more money in tips if he got his nipples pierced, but he wasn’t willing to go that far. He was the smallest quarterback in the college’s history and was already pushing his luck with the football team. Showing up for spring training with pierced nipples would likely get him jumped in the showers.

Fully dressed, Chase stopped by his room to toss the towel toward his bed and retrieve his wallet. “I’m going to work,” he told his roommate.

Rusty glanced up from the book he was reading. His parents had died in an accident less than six months earlier, so Rusty had stayed at BK for the holidays. Chase couldn’t imagine how shitty that would be.

“Okay,” Rusty replied before going back to his book.

As Chase jogged down the steps, he prayed he wasn’t the only student who’d come back from break early. A packed bar was a lucrative shift.

* * * *

“This place is dead,” Skeet Drews declared, entering the garage through the tiny showroom.

Mac glanced up from the custom bike he was working on. “Not many people are out looking for Harleys when there’s a foot of snow on the ground.”

“So why’re you even open? Knock off early and let’s grab a drink.” Skeet plopped down on one of the small metal stools Mac had sprinkled around the three bay garage.

Mac didn’t dare tell his best friend that being alone at the shop was a hell of a lot easier than being alone at home. He’d made the mistake of letting Skeet talk him into going to Clean Slate a few months earlier, and Skeet hadn’t shut up about going back since. “That place is too loud.”

“Fuck, when did you become an old man?” Skeet tapped a booted foot against Mac’s workbench.

“When I became responsible for a wife and son at the age of eighteen, asshole.” Mac returned his attention to the gas tank he’d been grinding on.

“Who said anything about getting drunk? I figured we’d have a couple beers, a big plate of chili cheese fries and maybe get lucky.”