On the Streets of New Orleans (11 page)

It was a fine ass. Damn fine. Charlie’s cock stiffened at the thought of plowing into it, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen, even if the guy was gay.

Just once, Charlie wished he could touch someone without being reminded he didn’t deserve anyone. Even for a nameless fuck. He’d never allowed himself the pleasure, not in six long years.

Charlie’s cell phone beeped, letting him know time was up.

“Ten o’clock, guys!” He clapped his hands together. “Closing time. Everybody in!” Charlie stood aside as the men, bundled against the cold, muttering, and sucking down the last of their cigarettes’ nicotine kick, climbed the stairs and headed inside.

When the street was empty, save cars passing by, Charlie waited a few more minutes for stragglers, then closed the door and locked it for the night.

He headed to the infirmary to check on Billy. During the day Father Peder, the head of the shelter, had gotten an antibiotic pack for Billy, and he’d been responding well. The kid’s fever had broken; he was looking much better and breathing easier.

Where the drugs had come from, Charlie didn’t know and didn’t ask. The priests had people all over the city who helped them when needed, even doctors. In a city like New Orleans, where the dioceses held as much power as city hall, it was nearly impossible to separate the two.

And since Katrina, that bond had been forged even tighter as the wounded city struggled to heal itself.

So Charlie didn’t ask. He just thanked the elderly priest and gave Billy the meds.

Now, as he settled Billy in for the night, he gave the next dose with a glass of water.

“Feeling better?”

Billy nodded. “The meds really helped.”

Charlie sat on the chair. “Someone dropped by tonight to check on you.”

Billy frowned. “Really? Who?”

“The man who brought you here.”

“Oh. Him.” Billy yawned. “What did you tell him?”

“That you were improving.” Charlie still wondered at the connection.

“He was nice to me.” The young man shrugged as if his words explained everything.

“Was he?”

“Yeah. He could’ve killed me.” Billy’s eyes slid closed, then he blinked them open, as if fighting the inevitable sleep pulling him down.

“Killed you?” Charlie whispered. A cold chill ran down his spine.

“For being on his territory,” he mumbled.

“Territory?” Charlie leaned closer. He wanted to shake Billy awake.

“Selling coke. But I got sick. His men caught me.” Billy coughed, then rolled over.

Oh shit.
The guy in black was a fucking drug dealer.

Cocaine.

Charlie sat back and closed his eyes, remembering the last time he’d felt that rush, the euphoria snorting coke had given him. Although he’d been clean for the last six years, there were times when he still craved blow.

Like when someone talked about it. Like now.

He scrubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes to blot out the memory of that final time, that final crash. The scream of the tires on the blacktop, the crunch of metal as he wrapped the car around a telephone post, and then the shattering of glass.

The sight of his kid brother, Lloyd, flying through the windshield.

Killed on impact.

Charlie gasped, opened his eyes, and looked around, expecting to see his brother’s face, blue eyes staring, blood leaking from the place in his crushed skull where he’d hit the light pole.

Instead, Charlie sat next to a sleeping kid in the sick bay of the shelter he worked at now.

Trying to pay back all the debt he owed the world for taking Lloyd from it and leaving, instead of a young man full of promise, a drug addict with nothing to offer but the ability to destroy everything he touched.

He got to his feet and left. The kid was sleeping soundly. In a day or two, once the antibiotics had kicked in, he’d be released, either to stay at the shelter or leave. Maybe go home, if he had one.

Charlie undressed and stepped into his pajama bottoms, then slid into his bed. He folded his arms under his head and stared up at the ceiling. He’d memorized the cracks the first week he’d come here from the business district shelter where he’d worked before this one.

Meeting a drug dealer for dinner wasn’t in his best interests. He could hear his old parole officer’s voice, or had it been the voice of his addiction counselor?
Have you lost your ever-lovin’ mind?

No longer on probation
, he told their imagined voices, but no matter how many times he told himself that, he knew his debt would
never
be paid. Never.

He’d served two years in jail, where he got clean, and then did his probation working at shelters for another two before Katrina hit. Now, two years later, Charlie answered to no one.

Except Lloyd’s ghost.

Lloyd reminded him, nearly every time Charlie closed his eyes to sleep, that he had killed his baby brother, the child his parents had all their hopes and dreams pinned on. Charlie had lost his mom and dads’ love and respect years before as he’d sunk farther into his life as an addict. Only Lloyd had kept on believing in him.

“Let me go,” Charlie whispered, knowing it was a waste of breath to even ask.

Lloyd’s memory would never let him go.

CHARLIE SAT
at the table in the back of the small bar and restaurant on Tulane Avenue and watched the door. He really didn’t expect the guy to show up. He shouldn’t allow himself to hope or to dream. If Lloyd couldn’t, why should he?

But inside, Charlie longed for a life, for a love. He’d kept his needs and wants stuffed far down, out of sight, out of mind, until times like these. Times when he met someone, like that young kid Scott from the other shelter, and he felt a connection, then had the object of his desire taken from him. He deserved no less. He expected no less.

Karma had a way of circling around to bite you in the ass, if he were going to be all philosophical about it. If he were going to be religious, like the priests, he’d say he’d done very bad things in his life, and now he was paying for them.

Some days, like today, he wondered if the debt would ever be paid. Or should it? He had no right to ask for anything. Stealing Lloyd’s life saw to that, for sure. Charlie was right where he belonged, and he’d dedicated his life to helping others like himself.

The door opened, and the guy walked in. Still dressed in black, and still looking so fine it made Charlie’s mouth go dry as cotton and his dick go hard as a rock. Thank God, he was sitting down and the tablecloth hid his erection.

The man strolled over to him, gave him a nod, and stood across from Charlie. He had his hand on the back of the chair, and for a moment Charlie thought he’d turn and bolt.

“Mind if I sit with my back to the wall?”

Charlie shrugged. “Sure. Help yourself.” He didn’t care where he sat; he was just so blown away the guy showed up. He stood, gave the man his seat, then sat across from him, moving his iced tea and silverware in front of his chair.

“Thanks. Bad habit.”

“Yeah.” Charlie tapped the table. “Look, I can’t just keep calling you ‘that guy’ in my head. What’s your name?”

“Devon.”

“Hello, Devon.” He stuck out his hand. “Charlie MacAfee.”

They shook. Devon held onto Charlie’s hand a little longer than necessary, and Charlie felt the connection from the tip of his cock to deep inside his balls.

Devon let him go and picked up the menu. “What’s good?”

“Can’t go wrong with the daily special.”

“White beans and ham on rice.” Devon nodded. “Sounds good.” He put his menu down.

The waitress came by, took their orders—two daily specials and a beer for Devon—and then disappeared.

“How’s Billy?” Devon looked at him. He had dark brown eyes, black lashes, and thick black hair.

“He’s doing great. Be out of the infirmary in a day or so.”

“Good.” Devon nodded. “So, how long have you worked at the shelter?”

“Well, I started at the shelter near the business district. Ran it for about two years. Then Katrina hit.” He shook his head. “That was a hell. Got it back up and running again when they bused the men back from Baton Rouge once it was safe. There for the last two years, and I just moved over here about three months ago. They needed someone with experience to help set it up.” Charlie took another sip of his iced tea. “What do you do?”

“It’s better if you don’t know.” Devon shrugged, and his gaze slipped to the door of the restaurant.

Charlie sat back. “Okay.” He leaned forward and folded his hands on the tabletop. “Look, this bad boy attitude of yours is sexy as hell, but if you’re doing something illegal, it’s best if we just have dinner and call it quits.” He couldn’t afford to be mixed up with a drug dealer. He’d worked too hard to get clean and stay clean. A man with a ready supply of coke would be too much temptation for Charlie. He might not be strong enough to keep from doing blow, but he was just strong enough to walk away from Devon.

Which was the bigger threat?

“I can’t talk about it, but you don’t have to worry about that, okay? Can you trust me on it?” That dark gaze bored into Charlie, seeking agreement and understanding.

“Sure. As much as I can trust someone I just met and who wouldn’t even give me his first name, let alone his last name. Or tell me what he does for a living.” Charlie chuckled.

“About that.” Devon lifted a shoulder. “Had to check it out first, man. I can’t take chances, you know.”

“No, I don’t know, but that’s cool.” Charlie knew it was time to lay it on the line. “Look, why are you here? Why’d you come tonight?”

Devon stared at him, then dropped his gaze. “I liked what I saw the first night, the night I brought Billy to you. Only I thought you were a priest. Off limits.” His gaze flicked up to Charlie’s face.

“And now?”

“No reason not to have dinner, is there?” Devon looked around the bar, checking out the crowd. Charlie wanted to turn around to see what he was looking at, but he tamped it down.

“You need to know something about me.” Charlie cleared his throat. Here it was, ready or not, the big reveal. He made designs in the moisture on the outside of his glass with his finger.

“You’re not gay?” Devon’s eyebrow shot up.

“No, I’m gay. I’m a former addict. Cocaine. I did some time, some probation, and now I’m clean and clear. I don’t want any complications, you know?” He looked up, eyeing Devon. “And you look like one hell of a complication.”

Devon sat back and exhaled. “Damn. Maybe this
was
a mistake.”

The waitress brought their food, along with a large chunk of French bread and pats of butter.

“Can the mistake wait until after dinner? I’m starved.” Charlie picked up his fork and dug into the creamy white beans. Large pieces of ham floated among them. He broke off about three inches of bread, laid on the butter, and took a bite. “Damn, that’s good.”

“Sure.” Devon laughed. “I can let a man eat.” He broke bread and buttered it.

They ate. Devon’s gaze wandered around the bar, to the door when someone came in, and back to Charlie.

“Expecting someone?” Charlie wiped his mouth with the paper napkin and pushed his empty plate away.

“No. Sorry. Force of habit.” Devon gave him a sheepish grin.

Damn, the man had a fucking dimple. Charlie’s heart dropped into his belly. “Habit? Sounds like either military or cop.” He couldn’t help but guess at Devon’s background. Devon’s hair was too long for a cop or active military, and he didn’t have that same reserve. In fact, all his body language screamed
guilty
.

Devon frowned. “Change the subject.” His order was clear as a bell, and it irritated Charlie. Okay, maybe military?

“Yes, sir.” He sat back, ignoring the urge to salute. “As I was saying, I’m clean, and I’m staying that way. I’m gay, but I’ve been celibate for about six years, if you don’t count jerking off. And I don’t want to fuck you enough to risk losing my sobriety.” There, he’d laid it out there on the table.

Devon stared at him, then nodded. “I hear you. You’ve been straight with me, so I’ll be as straight with you as I can be right now.” He leaned closer, so there was only a small distance between them. “I’ll never ask you to do drugs, I can tell you that much. I haven’t been celibate. I’m a hound dog, always looking for a good fuck. I always use protection and I never stay the night. I don’t bottom, but I can suck your brains out through your dick.” He sat back. “So do you want to hook up?”

Charlie went speechless, and his throat tightened. Devon was offering something and Charlie didn’t know if he liked what it was, but damn it, he didn’t deserve anything better. A booty call buddy was all Devon wanted.

“Badass, for sure.” Charlie stalled as his brain battled over his dick for an answer. “Well, see, there’s a problem. I live at the shelter. I have my own room, but I’m not supposed to have anyone sharing it, you know. No girlfriends, and
especially
no boyfriends. The priests would be a bit put out about that, and I’m not willing to risk my job. I bottom, but I like to fuck too, although I guess I could settle for a blowjob. Anything more and I’d insist on protection. That about cover it?” Charlie felt like he’d just closed a deal on a used car. All that was left was the price.

Devon looked him up and down. “I might make an exception for you.”

“Exception?” Charlie frowned.

“Let you top.” Devon’s gaze danced away.

Charlie didn’t know if he believed the man or not, but he couldn’t deny the attraction or how those words turned him on.

Charlie didn’t know what he thought about Devon, but he did think he’d gotten in over his head. Devon was up to something, and it didn’t smell good. A man like Devon, one with secrets, could get a man like Charlie… killed, if not worse.

For Charlie, dead wouldn’t be so bad, but falling for a man like Devon? That would be worse than death. Devon was trouble, and Charlie had avoided trouble for a very long time.

But he still craved it, just like he still craved a little blow, late at night, when he’d wake up from a bad dream about Lloyd. Just a little, to take the edge off, to calm him down. Forget the blood.