Bad Attitude (7 page)

Montgomery wasn’t the pathetic one. Jamie was, moping in Quinn’s yard, again. Social life squeezed down to bowling league, sponging meals off friends and dreaming about a lover who’d been dead for almost twenty years. Jamie couldn’t blame all that on Dad’s death or quitting smoking. Or losing another bar-hopping buddy when Bobby and Terry decided to go the been-friends-so-long-we-might-as-well-be-lovers route.

None of that could explain jerking awake to the sound of Colton’s neck snapping, the squashed melon sound of his skull on the rocks. Why couldn’t he get that other dream, the one where Colton leered and said, “Whatcha gonna give me for saving your ass on that jump, Donny?”

The dreams couldn’t be because of that rescue. Montgomery and his party buddy sure as hell weren’t the first lives Jamie had saved. Fishing two wasted rich boys out of the bay wasn’t anything like Colton risking his neck to free Jamie’s fucked-up chute so he could get to his reserve—then breaking his own damn neck screwing around on some jungle ruin a few weeks later. That had nothing to do with his dad or smoking or his friends running to jump into monogamy as if they couldn’t wait to have their balls cut off.

Jamie took the unlit cigarette and stared at it.
Not gonna live forever anyway,
Colton’s voice echoed in his head.

“Don’t want to go out like Dad, though.” Jamie’s fingers shifted to snap it, crush it, let the sweet little leaves drift around Quinn’s yard, but instead he tucked it back into his boot and went inside to do KP.

As he lifted up the heavy baking dish to slide it into the sink, he found a note. Not in Quinn’s tight cursive, but in uneven block letters.
Call him back. Getting laid would help you relax better than a cigarette.

Jamie wasn’t about to start taking orders from Quinn’s brat, but the orders coming from Jamie’s aching balls were a little harder to ignore. The note had him wondering for an instant. What would Gavin Prescott Montgomery be like out of his expensive clothes and riding on Jamie’s cock? He bet the guy loved getting pounded with his ankles as earrings. That way, Jamie could dive back into that sweet sexy mouth, that kiss so hungry it was as if Jamie was feeding him air.

On the drive home, he put his phone on speaker and tapped the button to dial Montgomery back.

“I’m glad you called.” Over the rumble of the truck it was hard to hear the nuances to tell him which version of the man Jamie was getting.

“Yeah. Well. You were getting a little pathetic.” Jamie waited for a click to tell him he’d finally gone too far.

“Where are you? I can barely hear you.”

“In my truck.”

“It’s loud.”

“It’s— What did you want?” Jamie asked.

“I wanted to apologize. And invite you to a party. A fun party. Nothing like what you suffered through before.”

“Did I look like I was suffering?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck you, Montgomery, you’re the one I left hanging.”

“Gavin.” The way he spoke his name cut through the background noise and tinny echo, though it wasn’t loud. More intense.

“Whatever.”

“And don’t tell me I was the only one interested because there was plenty of evidence on your side.”

“Plenty’s right.”

“So.” Gavin took a deep breath. “What time should I pick you up Friday?”

“For what?” As far as Jamie could remember, the only thing they’d agreed on was the size of Jamie’s dick.

“The party.”

“What kind of party?”

“The fun kind. The clothes-optional kind. The kind where you get lucky.”

“With you?” That would work for Jamie.

“Maybe. If you’re not such an asshole.”

“What if I already have plans?”

“Washing your hair? Organizing your sock drawer?”

“Excuse me?” Jamie didn’t need to invent an excuse, and no one had ever accused him of not being direct.

“You like to talk big, but you’re afraid.”

“Of what?”

“You tell me.”

“Listen, Gavin…” Jamie weighted the name, drawing the syllables out into separate words, “…just because I don’t want to get roped into another round of you playing bad boy—”

“I never said you had to play with me. It’s not a one-on-one kind of party.”

There’d been a few semipublic adventures in his life, but while rules were usually something he ignored as much as possible, the one about avoiding arrest on public indecency had seemed like one to keep in mind. But at a private party… Jamie pictured a room filled with guys, no risk of raids, free from lame pick-up lines or wondering how to extricate himself in the morning.

“So what are you afraid of?” Under Gavin’s challenge, Jamie heard Colton’s
Not gonna live forever anyway.

“The only thing that scares me around you is the potential for a drive-by manscaping.”

“I assure you, Jamie, that’s not the kind of contact you’ll be getting at this party. I’ll pick you up at eleven tomorrow night.”

“Did I say I was going?”

Jamie could almost hear a shrug in Gavin’s answer. “Thought you had balls enough for it. Never mind.”

After all that talk of engines and rides,
balls
was the most obscene thing Jamie had heard Gavin say. It sounded odd in his voice, the snooty accent far removed from the usual sounds of Baltimore and the Eastern Shore. An image flashed in Jamie’s head, Gavin panting, throat raw from Jamie’s cock and so desperate for more that the only thing his cultured voice could manage was an endless chant of
fuck me
. Heat boiled out of Jamie’s gut and into the very sac Gavin was dismissing. Against Jamie’s will, his sudden intake of breath could be heard over the rumble of the Ford.

“Did I hit a nerve?” Gavin’s voice was smug.

“Not that kind of nerve.”

“Oh?” Gavin’s tone was instantly full of flirtation.

“So here’s how it goes. I’m in. But in case there was any doubt at all, I’m driving.”

Chapter Six

Gavin Montgomery managed to step up into Jamie’s truck with irritating ease and a loose grace that pissed Jamie off almost as much as it turned him on.

Gavin’s jeans and button down under a leather jacket made Jamie think he wouldn’t look out of place wearing the same, assuming Gavin hadn’t exaggerated how clothing-optional the party was. As Jamie eyed the creases in the jacket, he was willing to bet Gavin had paid for that distressed look in cash, rather than the wear and tear Jamie’s had earned over six years. But it looked hot on him, especially contrasted with the unmarked dark blue denim hugging his legs. There could be a party right here. Well, maybe not in the half-a-mile-long driveway to this mansion out on Holly Neck. But there were parks. Hell, his apartment was a fifteen-minute drive.

Which might have happened if Gavin’s stilted accent hadn’t started in with, “You don’t even have handles on the inside? How do I shut the door?”

Jamie reached under the dash and pressed the door motor. He’d rather work on the engine than electrical crap like that, but once the power doors were in, he thought it was pretty cool.

The door pulled shut and the overhead light went out. The darkness erased everything but the fact that Jamie was horny, Gavin was hot, and he smelled really good. Jamie was about to suggest ditching the party when Gavin tipped his head to stare down at the door. “Wow. Now that is control freak on a level I cannot conceive.”

In the best interests of the semi Jamie had been sporting since agreeing to the whole clothes-optional party, he put a hand on his inseam to free up some room instead of popping the door release again. “What’s the address?”

“Do all policemen sound like that?”

“Like what?”

“As if every question is an accusation of murder.”

“Maybe you have a guilty conscience. But if you don’t give me an address, you might as well get back out so I can make other plans. My dick’s not going to suck itself.”

“How original.” Gavin reached over his shoulder for his seat belt. “It’s in Edgemere.”

“Edgemere.” They’d be headed back toward Jamie’s house in Dundalk. Though Edgemere was farther away from the industrial harbor and the wastewater plant, it was still all middle-class bungalows. Not exactly the place you’d find a mansion like the one he was putting in his rear view mirror. Thirty miles in the truck for what was a straight shot across Hawk Cove on the water. “Should’ve gone by boat,” he muttered.

Gavin’s laugh was something Jamie couldn’t remember having heard before. “But then I wouldn’t have gotten my ride in your truck. It’s beautiful. You’ve obviously put a lot into it.”

Jamie wasn’t sure whether an insult was hiding in there so he grunted. “Your house is nice.”

He’d seen the back of it on patrol before, mostly the boathouse. The house was set far from the bay, safe from storm damage.

“Thanks. But it’s not really mine. None of them are.”

Them. Houses. Right. “What do you do exactly?”

“Besides stand around at parties like that one you were forced into? For which I do apologize by the way.”

“I didn’t figure that party was your plan. But yeah, what do you do?” Jamie had never given it much thought before. Just rich people were rich and that was it.

“Not much. I’m on a few charity foundation boards.”

“Save the Dwarf Wedge Mussel?”

“I see you’ve heard of us.” Gavin shifted back to that dry and distant mocking tone.

Jamie still wondered how the being-rich trip actually worked, and hell, there were twenty more miles to kill. “But for living expenses…”

“My brother the surgeon is the black sheep because he works for a paycheck. Montgomerys simply are. Public service is acceptable, marginally.”

“So you live off your family.” It was hard to tell from looking at Gavin’s face, but Jamie had done the paperwork. Gavin Montgomery was thirty-three years old.

“I live off my own trust fund. But if it’s any consolation, I believe we make a small army of dedicated accountants and tax lawyers very comfortable.”

“I’d go nuts.” Jamie shook his head.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gavin’s jaw tighten as he turned to stare out into the black night. If they didn’t take the exit for Edgemere, the Patapsco Freeway would take them right to the Key Bridge. What if that trip off the bridge hadn’t been an accident? Jamie snuck a quick look, but Gavin’s reflection in the window revealed nothing.

Neither of them spoke again until Jamie approached the exit.

“We want North Point Road,” Gavin said suddenly. “I don’t know the address exactly, but it’s on the bay, north of the park.”

“You don’t know the address.”

“Remember how you said it would be faster by boat? That’s the only way I’ve arrived at the house before.”

“Great.”

“I did get directions.” For the first time, Gavin sounded exasperated. “Turn there. Now.”

“It’s the state park.”

“I know, but that’s the way.”

“I thought you said you’d only come by boat.”

“Liquor store run,” Gavin explained.

“The way” ended at a T, paved left, gravel and dirt to the right.

“Turn right,” Gavin said.

Not only was the road going to pit up the paint job, turning right looked like they were going to drive straight into a wind-twisted pine tree.

But when the truck sent the gravel skittering as they rounded the tree, Jamie could see they were in the right place. A Jag, a Viper, a classic ’Vette and plenty of Beamers and Audis were scattered around the uneven outlines of a house rising over the stubby trees. His hands tightened on the wheel as he pulled off into a sandy patch, fixing the pines with a glare to warn them off dripping sap on his hood.

Fuck, he was so very far out of his league. He’d felt more in control up on the jump platform of a C-160, HALO drop, Guatemalan jungle four miles down. He remembered Colton slapping his shoulder as they hit the line.
Not gonna live forever anyway.

Gavin tapped him again. “You coming? Can’t open the doors on my own, remember?”

He looked up at the house made up of sloped wooden boxes piled on stilts. Behind a wall of glass on the middle floor, a figure who had gone clothing optional paused to put something up to his nose. Jamie’s eyes flicked back to the almost seamless glove box where he’d stowed his badge and gun before picking up Gavin. Jamie wasn’t a grunt to only follow orders anymore. He wanted a sitrep.

“What kind of party is this?”

Gavin leaned over, one hand gliding over Jamie’s seat belt before pulling the buckle free. “You want to be a cop, or you want your dick sucked?”

Jamie punched the door release and hit the drop zone.

A low thump of techno vibrated the wood of the stairs. Nothing that would disturb a neighbor, assuming there were any within a hundred yards. Inside, the music was at a comfortable volume rather than something to scream over.

The door at the top of the steps led into an open space. In a kitchen to the right, a shirtless blond stood behind a counter pouring out drinks from a pitcher. “Gavin. Glad you made it.”

As Jamie’s eyes took in the man’s face, he knew he’d met him before, but that made his being here wrong.

“Lee.” Gavin nodded back.

As soon as Gavin said the name it clicked. “Isn’t that…?” Jamie let his murmur trail off.

“My sister’s husband, yes.”

Yeah, that closeted shit happened a lot. Had happened with Jamie’s buddy Quinn being the one to suffer for it. Somehow Gavin’s shrug about what was going on in his sister’s life made it really fucked up.

“Soren, thanks for the invite.” Gavin hugged another tall blond who approached from the left.

“Gavin. Drinks in the kitchen, poppers in the fridge. Action all around. Flipper’s here.” The last was added with an emphasis that suggested an in-joke.

Based on Gavin’s grunted answer, Jamie guessed Gavin didn’t find it all that funny.

“This is Jamie.”

“Hi, Jamie.” Soren wore a tight pair of gray boxer briefs, Armani figuring prominently on the waistband. But he didn’t seem to have much else to offer unless he’d just gotten out of an ice bath. Of course, the pipe in his hand might have something to do with the disinterest.

“Flipper?” Jamie asked in a low voice.