Page 13 of A Handsome Devil

What was Truman trying to tell me? “So you . . . “ I said lamely, casting about for clues.

Sighing, he sipped from his empty mug. “I faked it for a while, with other women before Ashley. But slowly I had to face facts. I wasn’t straight.” He shook his head, not daring to look at me but at something on the floor. “I hope that didn’t contribute to her depression.”

“Nah, don’t worry,” I said softly. “Women know deep down. They have gaydar. They can tell. It’s like they’re more into us for the friendship.” That was the first time I’d said “us” in that regard, and it made my heart flip-flop with anxiety. Us. We were on the same side.

I stood—why, I don’t know—and Truman looked dolefully at me. “You couldn’t believe how horny I was last night with you in bed. I know it’s wrong—you’re a client—but it was unavoidable. You’re a smoking hot, magnetic man.”

Why did he look so morose when he said this? Wasn’t it fun, erotic, and well, smoking hot for us to be enticed by each other? I sort of stammered when I next spoke. “Well, I, ah . . . I wanted you in bed with me too, Truman. But I got to admit. I can’t afford to lust after anyone right now. I got too many things to do. Get my life back in order.”

He nodded briskly while I said this, though a curtain of disappointment shaded his eyes.

I continued. “Matter of fact, where’d you say my backpack was? I got to make a couple phone calls. Now listen. I don’t want you involved in any of this either. I understand if you don’t want me coming back.”

That finally livened him up. “Not at all! You’re not really a client since you’re not connected to the Establishment Club.” He stood too, his hands open in an earnest prayer, preaching to his choir of one. Fuck, his smile was adorable. “You stay here. Do what you need to do. There’s another room downstairs with workout stuff in it. Gunning and Erin like you. They won’t mind at all.”

I guess I was overcome with the magnificence of his generosity. You don’t encounter that often in my world. At least, my world of the past five years, hanging with fellow addicts.

There was no thought in my head. No exact words forming a command, telling me what to do. I must’ve been overtaken by sheer emotion. I grasped Truman’s biceps and walked him back to the kitchen counter. He looked a little shocked, understandably, but he put up no resistance. I walked him ‘til one of his palms slapped against the granite, his shapely ass perched on the edge.

“You’re in for a big surprise,” I growled, and kissed him.

I had no idea what I fucking meant by that. But opening my mouth over his lush lips was all I had room in my skull for. Smacking and licking, I attempted to assert my dominance over him, but he pushed back too. His free hand snaked up my neck to grasp my chin as he parted his thighs, allowing me to dry hump him against the counter. And fuck me dry, my erect dick cushioned against his hard-on was the most thrilling thing I’d ever felt. Rush after rush of pure, wholesome lust raced up my spine, probably knocking at my brain, if I had the power to recognize it.

And he kissed me back. Fiercely. I reveled in his manly, musky scent as he nibbled at my mouth, stroking the side of my face. Snorting puffs of hot air against each other, I humped him so hard I practically shoved him back onto the counter. When my balls filled with jizz, a couple drops of precum spurting from the tip, I had to wrench myself away, panting.

I must’ve looked like a complete and utter dirtbag standing there, wiping my lower lip with my knuckles. We both snorted like horndogs separated by force. Staring wide-eyed at each other as if wondering what the fuck just happened.

I was the first to get a grip. “Les,” I muttered, then got a better grip. Standing tall, I enunciated. “Tom Maidenform. Road dog of mine. Got to go see him, figure a few things out. Get some wheels, if you know what I mean.”

Fuck, he had the longest, thickest prick. I imagined I could see it throbbing under his tight, worn jeans. “I know what you mean.”

I had no choice but to tear myself away. I’d be hitting the road soon and I could not fall in love with this guy.

What am I thinking? Falling in love? It had never happened before. Why now, after twenty-eight years? This is fucking impossible.

Finding my pack on top of the clothes dryer, I whipped my phone out. Ignoring the three hundred thirty-four messages from various cons, thugs, and musicians, I texted Maidenform.

I’m finally free. Staying with a friend in Bernal Heights. Where can we meet? I have a plan for Denmark. Need your help. Need some wheels.

Oh, and some money. Maidenform owed me big time, so I hoped he hadn’t just vanished off the face of the planet.

When I turned back to Truman, he was racing around the kitchen, plating now-cold food, swishing his spatula under corned beef hash, nuking eggs sitting in turquoise egg cups.

How could I not fall for this guy? Sculpted, kind, loving.

In other words, a combination I’d never known before.

CHAPTER FIVE

Truman

A musician died at The Establishment Club.

Gunning knew the guy from hanging out at various nightclubs south of Market. Kermit Staggers probably didn’t want a mainstream hospital noting his “accidental overdose” of fentanyl, oxy, and citalopram. He quickly went into cardiopulmonary arrest, and Dr. Hawk and I leapt into action resuscitating him, but the load of drugs in his system was way too dense, and soon he was dead as leaves on a painted canvas.

Gunning had to leave the room. He’d seen too much of that shit, but usually only with strangers. “He had a fractured hip, emphysema, knee problems,” he muttered.

We knew the unbearable pain behind these deadly traumas. Holier-than-thous looked at these addicts like someone who had their legs cut off in a car crash. “I would never have my legs amputated.” Well no, because they hadn’t been in a car crash. Most of those addicts had been in pileups of the soul.