Page 53 of Pieces of Me

Rylan nodded, sat at the desk, and queued up a random file, wincing at the first picture that popped up. Oh, fuck. He tried to click off, but it was too late; Scott had leaned over his shoulder and was already staring at it.

It was Heather, sitting on the steps of the dilapidated double-wide trailer, smoking. She was barefoot, dressed in a white wifebeater and loose black shorts, messy platinum-blonde hair piled on top of her head. Rylan had played with the filters so that the tattoos winding around her skinny biceps and shoulders stood out in subtle relief, a splash of color in the otherwise stark black-and-white medium he’d chosen to photograph in. Cigarette smoke curled around her head, and her eyes were narrowed against the setting sun she was facing.

It was a haunting picture, the picture of a hard-scrabble life, of a woman who had seen and done too much, and it had earned Rylan an “A” on his final exam.

Scott didn’t say a word, although a muscle was ticking in his jaw, and Rylan noticed that his hands were clenched into fists. As he watched, though, Scott made a concerted effort to relax, blowing out a long breath as if he’d been holding it.

“That’s really good, man,” he drawled, standing up straight and putting his hands on his hips. “You’re hella talented.”

Rylan was silent as Scott fished in his back pocket and pulled a business card out of his wallet, handing it to him. The card was a holographic design, a rainbow winking in and out as Rylan looked at it, moving it back and forth. Spectrum Nights, it proclaimed, Phoenix’s premier gay club. When he flipped the card over, there was a picture of Scott, shirtless in underwear, leaning against a wall, fingers linked behind his head to show off his incredible body. Scott Ashworth, your Fantasy Friday host, serving sex to the Valley of the Sun every weekend 10 p.m. to close.

Scott left the bedroom, Rylan trailing behind him. Scott scooped up his keys from the kitchen counter. “Come out to the club sometime with your camera, take a few PR shots for us…the club patrons, the go-go dancers, the drag queens. If they’re good enough, we can talk to the manager and see about getting you a job. I can’t promise it’ll be a whole lot of money, but it’ll be better than parading your ass up and down a fucking exhibition hall. And you can still work on your project, whatever it is.”

Rylan was stunned. “Scott, I―”

“Just come out to the club, Rylan,” Scott interrupted. “No promises.”

“I will. Holy shit. I’ll be there tonight.”

There came a sudden knock, and it made them both jump. With a terse wave of his hand, Scott flung open the door and edged by the man standing there clutching a set of rekeying tools. He ran lightly down the steps and disappeared around the corner like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

CHAPTER 12

Scott slung the sweaty hair out of his eyes with an irritated toss of his head, ignoring the couple of guys who were hovering by the weight rack, obviously hoping to talk to him. His white earbuds were in, and the most acid, most obnoxious death metal music he could find on his playlist screamed through them.

He left the weights on the floor next to the bench instead of dealing with the dudes by the rack and headed for a treadmill. Within a few minutes, he was pounding out a furious run, the pace faster than he normally set. His legs and lungs were burning, and all that should have existed was the need for his next breath. Even so, the memories tore through him, brought to the surface by that fucking picture of Rylan’s.

How many times had he seen his mother in that same pose, smoking, brooding, and drinking on the steps to her trailer, yelling at him to fucking leave her alone, get the fuck out of her face, any number of loving, motherly things? The look in her eyes that last night as she unrepentantly ripped all of his illusions and dreams to shreds…

Shit. He was already fucking sick of thinking about this, and Scott blanked his mind, pushing himself to run harder, faster, as if by doing so he could distance himself from all of it. Finally reaching the end of his physical endurance, he pushed the stop button on the treadmill, hanging on to one of the rails as he pulled one foot and then the other back into a quad stretch. The hopeful hoverers were gone, so Scott breathed a sigh of relief, reracked his weights, and trudged to the locker room.

Where his luck promptly ran out.

“Hey, Scott.” The voice that came from directly behind him was a little shaky with nervousness, and Scott pasted a pleasant expression on his face.

“Hey,” he murmured, turning around to assess the guy standing in front of him. In shape. Definitely cute. “How’s it going?”

“Good. It’s good,” the guy said eagerly. “I see you at Spectrum all the time. My name’s Byron.”

Scott gave him a slow smile, as if “Byron” was the most wonderful name he’d ever heard. “Nice to meet you.”

Byron thrust something at him, and Scott took a reflexive step back, noticing it was a drink from the shake bar. “I got you a protein shake,” he said with rather adorable shyness. “I hope you like vanilla blueberry.”

Byron’s generosity and his obvious hero worship were a sudden balm to Scott’s battered emotions. He let heat creep into his eyes as he accepted the shake and wrapped his lips around the straw, taking a sip and running his tongue over his lower lip.

“It’s delicious,” he said, repeating the motion and enjoying how Byron’s eyes fixated on his mouth. “Thank you.” Byron stood there awkwardly, a grin breaking out over his face when Scott continued. “Keep me company while I shower and change?”

“Sure!” That was the cue for Byron to start up a nervous chatter, which Scott didn’t really mind since it meant he didn’t have to do much more than nod and smile and mutter an assent every now and then. He kept his back to him, stripping his shorts and jock off, allowing Byron a glimpse of ass before he wrapped a gym towel around his hips.

“You’ll be at Spectrum tonight?” Scott asked as he picked up his shower tote and headed for the showers, the sound of his flip-flops echoing in the room. Byron trailed along behind him like an obedient puppy, taking up a position outside the curtain as Scott pulled it almost closed, leaving the tiniest gap for Byron to try to see through.

Scott was enjoying the tease, the salve to his ego that the eager, young man was providing him, and he deliberately amped everything up a notch, soaping himself while facing the gap in the curtain, biting his lip as he fondled his genitals.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” Byron’s voice was hoarse, and Scott smiled like that was the best news he’d heard all year.

“Good,” he said. “We’ll have some fun.” He could see from Byron’s face that he was more than willing to drop to his knees right there, but one of the unspoken gym rules was no sex on the premises. This particular facility catered to a mostly gay clientele, and Scott was paid to be a walking advertisement of sorts, so he didn’t dare flout that in the gym proper. Besides, he could hear chatter coming from other men as they flooded into the locker room, talking trash to each other after what was sounding like an extremely competitive basketball game.

“Why don’t you wait for me in the lobby? I’ll only be a few minutes,” he suggested, letting his eyes wander over Byron’s body, taking in the bulge in his jeans that he was trying to hide with his hand. “You can walk me out to my car if you want.”