Part 34


"So where is it that I need to send the massive bouquet of roses to say thanksadamnmillion for keeping this lunch hour blissfully Robson-free and majorly tolerable today?" Lance dead-panned, letting his eyes go for a quick stroll around the crowded steakhouse where they'd chosen to dine Wednesday. "Maybe I could, say, buy 'em off to take care of him every time we go out."

Seated across from him, Joe didn't bother glancing up from the gigantic buffalo burger clamped between his two chunky fists, ready for direct torpedo launch to his waiting mouth. "Dude, that's cold, don'tcha think? Wade? He's not so bad. Once you spend lots of time with him and get used to his crap, yo."

"Cold? Fatone, give me a break, man." Lance twisted one side of his mouth into a semi-scowl. "You don't have a damn choice about spending lots of time with him and putting up with his shit. You have to. But you don't have to put up with him trying to grope and dry-hump you all the damn time, yo. You don't have to watch him molest you with his beady, seedy little eyes. How 'bout getting used to that? Hmm?"

"Bass, whatever. I thought you liked boys groping and humping you, man." Joe raised his laughing eyes to give his coworker a wink over the table just before he closed a big bite down on his big burger.

"One boy. I like one boy. And it definitely ain't Robson." Lance smirked and broke his potato fritter in half with his fork. "So where the hell is he today with that winning fucking personality and all that suck-you-right-in charm?"

"Aww. He didn't clear it with you first, sweetheart? You're in the dark about Wade? Poor darling Lance. So crikey when he gets dissed." Justin stuck out half his tongue for a second, snickered, and winked at Lance.

"Crawl up my juicy arse, Timberlake." Lance rolled his eyes.

"Bollocks no, man."

Joe swallowed his Shrek-sized jaw-full of food and laughed, watching both of them playfully. "You two blokes been dealing with one of the U.K.-based clients again or what?"

"Yeah, the goobersmacks in London. All morning. And they were not too bloody hell jolly about their invoice. So bugger off, Joe, eh?" Lance picked up his grouper sandwich and squinted at it.

"And so Johnny comes in and saves the day. Fixes it for them just like that," Justin added with an eye roll of his own and a snap of his fingers. "They always complain about costs. He always caves and adjusts the numbers. Why do we even bother busting our asses for them?"

Joe shrugged, not releasing his hold on the half-consumed burger. "Man, I'm glad that accounts payable crap's not MY job to handle. Hey, little buddy. You gonna eat that pickle?……….And I don't really know where Robson is, to tell you the truth. I think he's gallivanting off somewhere at some gym or something. Maybe playing tennis. I dunno. You know him and his working out obsessions. He's gotta keep up that stud-muffin image," he laughed.

"Loser," Lance hissed as he lifted his platter to deliver the pickle spear to Joe.

"And c'mon, Joe. I'm eating here. That's way gross," Justin chuckled, re-peppering his grilled beef tenderloin salad. "But really. Who cares? Not I."

And he didn't. Honestly. He was having another awesome day. So to hell with Wade Robson and wherever he was at the moment. The phone chat with JC the night before - the marathon one that had lasted 'til about 2:45 this morning - had been the most mellow and yet the most exhilarating conversation he'd ever had. And the most completely free-flowing and easy one he'd ever had too. It was as if the electric chemistry between them was as strong and thick over the phone lines as it was face to face. Or body to body. He couldn't have hoped for a better few hours clinging to his cell phone in the dark of his bedroom.

Lance kicked his shin under the table, making him flinch out of the savory memory. When he shot his gaze up and over at his friend, Lance bunched his eyebrows together above his nose and nodded swiftly toward Joe. Who was pleasantly engrossed in his overflowing sandwich and fries.

"Go on, man. The timing is fabulous. Tell him," Lance's darting eyes urged silently.

While he thought it over one more time, Justin chewed, swallowed, and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. Then, projecting calmly, he cleared his throat. "So Joe. Are you gracing us with the lovely Mrs. tomorrow night at Bowling Hell?"

Joe looked up, carefree, a dot of mustard on the left side of his chin. "Kel? I dunno. Maybe she'll come. If we can track down a brat-sitter. Why, J? Are you bringing a date?" He snickered, as if to add, "THAT'll be the day," and sank his teeth into another bite.

"Well, the thing is……….yes……….I am."

"You're shitting me."

"I'm not."

"He's not," Lance echoed.

"You're seeing somebody, J? Really?"

"No, Joe. It's a dude from Rent-A-Fuck. In the Yellow Pages," Lance chuckled.

Joe laughed, rolling his eyes from one of them to the other. Justin shot Lance a bird and then turned back to Joe.

"Really. I am. I haven't known him for very long, but I like him. And he's coming tomorrow night……….with me." Justin stopped, relishing the sensation of finally being able to say those words out loud again. "I wanted to let you know, like, in advance."

Joe gulped and dropped what was left of the burger. His face broke into a few hundred billowing grins. "All right, Timberlake! Mighty fine! I knew you could break out of your slump and snag you somebody again! So that's why you're looking a little drag-ass today. You got yourself a new something-something keeping you UP at night? Haha! I'm glad to hear that, man! Ain't that something?"

"You'll like him. Justin does," Lance said matter-of-factly, picking at his fish sandwich again.

"So he's cool? Like for a gay guy?"

"He's cooler than cool. Especially for a gay guy." Lance swallowed and blinked at Joe. "Not that you'd know the difference, man."

Joe smirked at Lance. "Hey, as long as he's Jussy's main hookup, he's good in my book. You can count on that, little buddy."

"Thanks, Joe. He's a really nice guy. And friendly too. You'll all like him." Justin smiled, wondering how none of those thousands of condiments on Joe's burger ever ended up on his shirt.

"You like him, man?"

"A lot."

"Can't wait to meet the dude then." Content with the news, Joe went back to this multi-colored meal.

"Yeah. I can't wait to meet him too," Lance quipped and shot Justin a wily wink. Then he looked around again nonchalantly. "Where's the little homos' room? I've got to tinkle."

Justin rolled his eyes. And smiled. Content as well.

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

"Yo, JC. You ever like to go out and hit the dance clubs sometimes, man?"

"Sorry. Come again?" JC swiped his small white towel down the side of his damp neck and turned to his client on racquetball court number four. Their fast-action session had just ended, and they were both still sweating and winded.

JC squinted at the guy over the net a little curiously. It was his second booked appointment this week, and today was only Wednesday. He'd even skipped his lunch hour from work for this one. Sure, the dude was serious about it. And dedicated too. He went at the game like smoking gangbusters, fierce and intense and no holds barred - sort of like he was trying to prove something. Maybe to JC. Maybe to himself.

He seemed intelligent enough, and he certainly knew how to handle the racquet and the court. But JC still wasn't sure where he'd blown in from so suddenly or how he'd gotten his number.

And he couldn't quite get a clear read on the ol' gaydar feeler either. He'd seen the dude flirting with Jennifer out at the front desk, and he figured they'd probably even been doing more than flirting since Jennifer gazed at the guy with those annoying, ridiculous worshipping-puppy huge eyes of hers. But then he'd also caught this guy checking out his ass and rubbing all up against him every chance he could and staring at him with something sly and almost predatory in those dark cloudy pupils. And now here he was asking about more personal shit like dancing.

"Um, yeah, man. I put on my boogey shoes once in a while," JC laughed it off and started for the bench where he'd left his gym bag.

"Oh, yeah? Where do you like to hang out and chill, man? 'Cause me? I like to hit 'em all. I could burn up the dance floor for hours if the DJ is juicing the right mixes. Know what I mean?" He winked at JC and spun himself around on the slick, squeaky floor, still gripping his racquet and bending his knees, thrusting his pelvis out quickly and rolling his hips in a slow circle. "Some white boys know how to work the rhythm, man," he laughed, full of hot air. "I'm just saying."

JC cut his eyes over at him and snickered again. He couldn't help himself. "Wade, dude. What kind of move was that? 'Living Color' fly-girl smooth? Are you a choreographer or something?"

The guy shrugged and half-smiled. "Eh. I've thought about it. Maybe doing it on the side or whatever. Choreographers get more fine-ass tail than they can handle, I'm talking," he gruffed out and winked at JC again, his top lip furling upward menacingly.

JC wrinkled his nose, stalling for an appropriate response. "Okay. If you say so."

"So where do you go to throw down and party, JC?"

JC sat down and wrapped the towel around his neck. Reaching for his bag, he let out a long, deep breath. Dude was a persistent little bastard, wasn't he? And why in the hell did he want to know anyway?

"Ah, I dunno. I like several spots. Variety, you know. Keeps places from going stale on you. Let's see………. Dragonfly, Rage, Club Icon, and Versuvius are kick-ass most of the time. And The Saint. The Saint is jamming."

Wade grinned lecherously. What JC didn't know was that Jennifer whateverthehellherlastnamewas had gasped out that last tidbit of info the night before, naked, on her hands and knees in bed, while Wade slammed into her from behind with such rough force that she'd sobbed and sobbed afterward.

"Ride that ass back on this monster cock, you wet bitch, and tell me where that faggot friend of yours JC goes to shake his groove thang. You KNOW you've heard him mention it before. Tell me. Now!"

Wade figured the dumb broad probably had no damn clue that The Saint was the newest and hottest on L.A.'s gay dance club scene. She still thought her precious JC was into chicks, for chrissakes. Stupid fuck hole with legs. Thank goodness he got this info confirmed. He wouldn't be needing her brainless twat anymore.

"Yeah, I hear that place rocks the house. I need to check it out, man."

"You should. It's a trip," JC answered casually, fully prepared to back the guy off with the news that he was seeing someone if the guy even hinted that they could "check out" the new club together. Yeah, um, no thanks.

But Wade didn't pursue it any further. Instead, he gawked with large, widened eyes at what JC had dug out of his bag. Then he threw his head back and laughed, a dull grating sound that ricocheted starkly off the walls of the court room.

"Well, I'll be fucked. Jesus Q. Christ on a broke-down Vespa."

"What?" JC looked up at him, confused, as he unscrewed the cap on his bottle of water.

"Fucking Deer Park."

"Yeah? It's my favorite brand." JC smiled with a sweet secret inside. "Well, it is now. You want one? I've got more."

Wade shook his head and glowered at the bottle as if it might spring from JC's hand and attack him. Then he glanced up to meet JC's eyes, absently swinging his racquet at his side.

"Nah, man. Thanks. I'm just a little wigged out by the shitload of damn irony."

"What irony?" JC asked, not really caring what irony. His stomach rumbled. He was ready to be out of here so he could get some lunch. And maybe a phone call from Justin. Yes, surely a phone call from Justin.

Wade wrinkled his nose and rolled his eyes. "Nothing, dude. It's not even worth the trouble. Doesn't matter. Know what I'm saying?"

"Cool. Whatever you say." JC shrugged and dismissed the whole thing in his head. He tilted the bottle for a long, elegant swig of more water.

"Ima hit the shower, man. Can you put me on the schedule for, like, eight Friday night?"

JC swallowed. "Um, can we make it 6:30 or 7:00? I may have something on the book for later that night," he said, envisioning Justin's handsome face lighting up as he got himself a nice, sugary little afternoon surprise.

At that, a dark, ominous shadow passed over Wade's sharp features and narrowed his eyes. His smile slithered off his face. "Whatever, man. That'll be cool. See ya then."

"Sure. Later, Wade. Good game today."

Without answering, Wade turned, grabbed his towel off the bench, and sauntered across the court and out the door. A cold, sudden downdraft in the room sent a shiver through JC as he pulled his phone from the pocket on the bag and switched it off vibrate-only mode so that he could hear it if it rang. And he was ohsopositive it would. Any time now.

He smiled and checked the wall clock. 12:54 p.m. Yep. Any time now.



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