Scott Turner was the suburban Kinney-equivalent. Part owner of Turner Construction, he had a classy ranch house inside 110 acres of woods, and a playroom “loft” in his basement. Hot by rougher standards, he was no clubber, but his interest in his Armani-Prada counterpart’s reputation had once lured him to a night at Babylon.

After the initial attraction and unspoken challenge, their shack-up had turned into fierce contact sport. But the top advantage went to the most seductive asshole. Brian was always proud of that.

Had that first evening not been cut short by an emergency call to Scott’s cell, he was sure he would’ve gotten to know another side of Brian. It took him a while to get the hazel-eyed devil out of his thoughts. But he was smart enough to realize that they would be a marriage made in a hell where even two devils couldn’t live for long. If Brian could be persuaded to break his one-nighter rule.

Now they were suddenly together again. This time on Scott’s turf.

Scott had a nagging sensation that Brian wasn’t totally with him, but shoved the thought to the back of his mind while waving a hand toward his latest toy.

Brian cocked his head as he studied the contraption, slowly paced around it and stopped.

“It’s a mechanical bull,” Scott answered.

“Don’t tell me. Neiman Marcus was having a clearance sale.”

“Ever try it?”

“Fucking while bucking?”

“Just staying on, Kinney. Though you make an interesting point.” Scott moved close to Brian’s back, took advantage of their similar height to brush his crotch across Brian’s ass. “Ever see the movie Saturday Night Fever?”

“The two of us on that thing would be more like Saturday Night Live,” Brian raised a brow and shifted his body sideways, posturing for a different connection.

Realizing that Scott was halfway into the first move, Brian swiftly rifled Scott’s belt loose and away. Scott countered by yanking up Brian’s shirt and trying to trap his arms upward. Brian loosed his two top buttons, ducked and pulled back quickly, leaving Scott holding an empty shirt.

The game was on.

Justin hesitated before walking past the Liberty Diner window. Silly feeling, considering he still worked there, even if it was only one night a week. But he wasn’t on duty tonight, and that’s when Brian was most likely to show up. Not that Justin was hoping to see him. He was out hunting for a light bulb. That was all.

Hunching his shoulders to blur his profile, he walked by, slowed for a brief look in. He could see Emmett and Ted on one side of their usual booth, Michael alone on the other. Justin didn’t realize he’d stopped until Michael glanced right at him. He picked up pace, disappointed that Brian wasn’t there, but more upset with himself for caring about it.

Inside the diner, Emmett’s eyes followed Michael’s gaze.

“Is he hot and available?”

“I thought I saw Justin,” Michael turned back.

“There’s probably no one less available than Justin. Unless you count Brian,” Ted added as he snatched a fry off the plate they were sharing.

“Have you talked to him lately?” Emmett leaned on crossed arms and looked at Michael.

“He’s been pretty busy.” Michael reached for a fry, stopped. “Why do I feel like we’re the kids in a nasty divorce?”

Emmett picked a fry off the plate and nibbled at it rather than be expected to answer. Ever a peace-lover, he found it hard being friends with two people who were so obviously avoiding each other. Was it ever comfortable to be with one without feeling like a rat to the other?

Emmett’s sympathies favored Justin. And Michael was definitely on Brian’s side. For once, Ted was relieved that his limited importance to anyone afforded him the best position – comfortable neutrality so he could care without committing.

Then there was Debbie. Sweeping in like a storm cloud.

“What’s with all the cheery faces? You should be so happy there’s a diner in town that would let a bunch like you hog a booth all night with one order of fries.”

“I’m pretty sure Justin just walked by,” Michael answered.

“Oh,” Deb’s face drooped a moment while she scanned the empty window before recovering some metal. “If you ask me, they ‘re both a couple idiots for being too stupid to realize they’d rather be together.” She huffed around and headed to the next table.

“Mom likes to simplify things,” Michael shook his head.

“Me, too,” Ted tried some levity. “Now that we’ve ingested enough grease to keep from getting too drunk, ready for Woody’s?”

Emmett nodded. Michael slid out and headed for the door.

“I’d call that a yes,” Ted followed the others.

“If you see Brian-” Debbie passed Michael.

“I know. Kick his ass for you.”

“Tell him not to be a stranger,” she quietly corrected, poked Michael’s shoulder with a finger.

Michael nodded and smiled an acknowledgement before they both moved on. Being Brian’s best friend was hard, thankless work, with hidden rewards for anyone who cared enough to discover them. Brian sure the hell didn’t make it easy, though.

Braced against the bull, sweaty face intense in climax, Scott grunted as Brian leaned against his back clenching his hips and pumping with hard, shallow rhythm. Scott gave a breathy shout, reached back, grabbed onto Brian’s ass and sent three shots splattering down the standing rib roast.

Brian groaned, dropped his head onto Scott’s shoulder and had to really ram his last thrusts past Scott’s constricting muscles. Voltage surged through his groin, radiated out then back to a point of implosion. His mind flashed with white fire. The sensation of spurting liquid heat. Was that his yell? Seconds in high flight, then spinning down.

Eyes closed, Brian licked his dry lips, one thought, one need as he pulled out.

Scott twisted in Brian’s embrace. “Got me again, city fucker.”

Brian’s eyes snapped open and he aborted a near kiss, his moment of white fire wiped out by a jolt of longing.

“Anybody I know?” Scott responded to the silent stare.

Caught in the headlights, Brian turned away, focused on stripping off the used condom and flicking it into a wastebasket. He turned back to Scott in time to catch a flying towel.

“You’re a perfect fucking host,” Brian wiped across his face, chest and arms.

Toweling off with one hand, Scott opened a small fridge and grabbed two beer bottles in the other hand. He motioned to the couch, let Brian grab one of the brews. Scott dropped into a recliner beside the couch, stretched his legs, watched Brian uncap his drink and guzzle a long one.

“You didn’t answer me,” Scott twisted the cap off his beer, tossed the cap at Brian, who batted it away before it hit his chest.

“A trick who wouldn’t leave. That ever happen to you?”

“Stalker, hunh?” Scott swigged his drink. “Yeah. Younger guy. Can’t let them get to you,” Scott looked away and Brian could feel the bitterness. “Fuckers like us – we weren’t meant to settle, Kinney,” Scott regained eye contact, raised his bottle in a mock toast. Brian didn’t match the move. “I finally had to boot the possessive little sonuvabich out. He was starting to make my life a miserable hell.”

“Is there any other kind,” Brian downed the last of his beer.

“Hells that are miserable? Or twinks that make it that way?”

Brian side-eyed with a smile, set his empty bottle on the floor and reached for the jeans he’d draped on the couch back. This was getting too heavy for a carefree fling.

“You can’t leave now,” Scott kept a sultry tone, watched Brian finish dressing. “That’s not why you came here.”

Brian sat, pulled on a sock. “I think we already covered that.” He donned the other sock, then his shoes, stood and stared at Scott. “I hate to be an ungrateful guest – “

“You wanted me to fuck the hell out of you. But you can’t deny your nature, can you?” Scott grinned.

“Aye, Sir. Over and in and out,” Brian’s hand flipped a casual military salute before he turned and headed to the door. Scott followed.

“You don’t watch it, you’ll turn into a virgin again.”

Brian gripped the doorknob, grinned over his shoulder. “I never said I didn’t keep myself in shape.”

“Ah, but then you lose the excitement of surprise.”

Scott body-checked Brian against the door, expertly had his fly open and pants down. “My turn to drive.”

Brian remembered why he’d chosen Scott. Because Scott was damn good at getting him up. A decent start in his return to fucking without caring. He smiled down at Scott’s hand reaching into his pants pocket for a condom.

Looking down to pocket his change, Justin stepped from the Drug Store and almost ran over Emmett.

“Justin. Sweetie!”

It was too late for Justin to be mistaken for someone else. Emmett had already circled an arm around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. All movement stopped as eyes darted across faces.

Ted smiled a pleasant, “Justin. Nice seeing you.”

Michael hung back as if leprosy could really jump that great a distance. His delayed “Justin,” nod was more sandpaper than silk.

“Michael,” Justin touche’d.

Emmett gripped Justin tighter and gushed a cheery, “Honey, we’re going over to Woody’s. Wanna come along?” followed by a toothy grin that dared the others to object.

“Thanks, but I was just on my way home,” Justin saved.

Michael cut in, “If you stop by the diner, I left a story outline in your mailbox. Call me if you have any questions. You still have a phone, don’t you?”

Justin’s eyes narrowed.

“Course he does,” Ted grinned nervously, grabbed Michael’s arm and herded him away. “You coming, Em?”

“In a minute.”

Watching Ted and Michael move on, Emmett could feel Justin still seething. He leaned close to Justin’s ear.

“Once the blood dries, the healing’ll start. Don’t let it seem worse than it is, okay Sweetie?”

“Like it can get worse?”

“Uh, yea-eah. If you stop acting like a normal, functioning part of everyday life.”

“I’m not sure what normal is anymore.”

Emmett took a moment to observe Justin’s down-turned face.

“Is…everything okay? I mean with…”

“Ethan.”

“Yeah. Ethan.”

“I guess things will work out,” Justin said with less conviction than he’d hoped.

Emmett picked it up but glazed over it with another kiss. “Just remember. Your friends don’t give up on you. Namely me!” He raised his arms to punctuate, did a showy spin and chirped, “Take care, Baby, and if you need me, just call.” He turned and jaunted after his distant pals.

Justin watched the trio join up and couldn’t help smiling. Emmett had a way of doing that for people. When Justin had considered post-Brian fallout, he dreaded thoughts of losing friendships he’d come to respect and treasure. He told himself he was young and would soon develop his own circle of friends.

But they wouldn’t be like those guys. His family. EvenMichael – who at present he preferred to consider an asshole, twat, jerk, groaner, scuzz – what Justin would give to have somebody as loyal as Michael standing by his side. Brian was luckier than he realized.

Maybe Brian was already at Woody’s. Maybe that’s why Emmett invited him. Ending the icy separation was the only way back to normalcy.

Justin suddenly realized that his motionless stance was drawing suspicious side-glances from passers-by. He looked up Liberty, his chest heaving lightly. Then he glanced at the bag in his hand, expelled a decisive breath and turned back.

He stalled at the Diner doorway.

In the Diner, Debbie was just dumping some spent coffee grounds when she saw Justin’s approach.

“Sunshine! Did you forget what day it is?”

“Michael left a note in my mailbox,” he swooped past her, ducked into the kitchen area.

Justin opened a large envelope, pulled its contents. After reading only two lines, he muttered, “Shit,” crammed the papers back into the envelope and double-timed his way to the door, right past Debbie waiting on a table.

“See ya, Deb.”

She started to answer, but saw only the closing door.

Brian pulled his jeep door shut, sat in the dark and leaned his head back, face somber, eyes staring. The Scott-high lasted about as long as it took for Brian to key his ignition. He drew a long breath, let it out sharply and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to bring back some of the night’s highlights. He fucked and got off. Got fucked and got off. That was about it.

He opened his eyes, glanced at the empty seat beside him and knew what was missing.

Determined to beat the gloom, he reached into his glove compartment, retrieved a tape, shoved it into the deck. He turned the volume to blasting and roared the Jeep down Scott’s long driveway.

Reaching a main road lit only by a bright moon, Brian turned right, sped up.

A BMW sat hidden by trees just off the road on the other side of Scott’s drive. Inside, a young man’s clenched fist struck the steering wheel before starting the car and shifting into gear. The dash lit, the headlights blasted and the BMW moved onto the road. Through the front windshield, Brian’s fading taillights stayed visible.

The Jeep and trailing white BMW flow in light traffic along the Fort Pitt Bridge heading into the city of Pittsburgh.

Song: “7 AM” by Dirty Vegas

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