The Name of the Game Read online

  "Too many drugs, and too much booze. Not a happy combination. Then you have circuit-walking cruisers who are stoned and drunk. Alas, my dear," he said with a melodramatic sigh, "I am doomed to walk this life alone, with only my Friend of Dorothy card in my hand for company."

  "Yeah, and your cock in the other one. Wanking yourself down the drain because you'd rather lie here and whine instead of doing something about it." Anthony shifted until he was lying on his tummy with his forearms supporting his weight. His perky ass jutted up in a way that would have been enticing if Clay hadn't thought of Anthony as the next closest thing to a younger brother.

  Alas, Clay thought again. Darn you, inherent nurturing qualities. Still. He couldn't change what he felt, not that he'd want to try, games aside.

  Did Toni have a point, though? Maybe. But no matter how much fun he made of the "meat" and greets he was apt to find in the gay lifestyle, he did want to find someone special. Unique. Tailor-made just for him.

  Trouble was, he'd been searching for a while, and he'd come up dry.

  When in doubt, turn to a smart woman. Failing that, a queen would do nicely. Clay had learned his lesson about that a long time ago. He smoothed his hand down Anthony's back. "Okay, then, O Wise One," he teased. "You have a better idea? I'm all ears."

  Anthony frowned for a moment. Then his eyes lit up like a string of lights on a Christmas tree. "Uh-oh." Clay shifted back. "I've seen that look before, and it never ends well."

  Anthony grinned like the Cheshire cat who'd just stolen a whole shelf full of cream bowls. He followed Clay, nuzzling his chin into Clay's ribs. "I have," he said, "A Plan."

  Clay could hear the capital letters, and they made him nervous. He moved uncomfortably on his quilt, suddenly too warm. The soft, cream-colored walls of his room, decorated with Spanish hangings and pictures of exotic beaches, plus, hey, a few cartoons, seemed to press in on him. He licked his lips. "Do you want to elaborate on this plan?"

  "Oh, I will. Anthony's here, he's queer, and he knows a thing or two about the ways of lo-o-o-ve."

  "Talking about yourself in the third person is a sign of insanity."

  "Dork." Anthony sat up and stretched, yawning -- all without losing his smile. "Come on. Feed me, and I'll fill you in on everything."

  "Are you blackmailing me?"

  Anthony arched a look back over his shoulder. "Don't think of it like that. Call it bribery. You make me a sandwich, and I lead you straight to the hottie of your dreams."

  Well, when the guy put it that way… Clay sat up and scooted off the bed. He still felt plenty nervous, as he'd been on the receiving end of Anthony's Plans once too often, but the gleam in his eyes piqued Clay's curiosity far too much to say "no".

  "All right," he said. "One sandwich. Then you tell me how I end this lonely existence and find a hot stud to wrap myself around like a hot, tight Slinky."

  "Deal."

  Well, Clay thought as he followed his best friend out of his bedroom, if nothing else, this should definitely be interesting…

  Chapter Two

  Clay entered the kitchen not entirely of his own free will. He had a small but determined locomotive force behind him, name of Anthony, pushing him along every step of the way.

  "I don't want to do this. Jeez, you're strong! Come on, Toni, have a heart."

  "I do -- a big one. That's why I've decided to give you a little help getting past your recent dating slump. I love you too much to let you be alone."

  "Could you love me a little less and let me schlep along without interference?"

  "Nope!" Anthony declared cheerfully. He maneuvered Clay into a sitting position at the kitchen table, which actually only pretended to its status.

  Clay admired the thing for a moment. True male innovation. He'd furnished his half of the home on the tenet of "the curb giveth, and the curb taketh away". People threw out the most amazing stuff. Sure, he could have afforded to go to a fancy chain store and gotten the latest in neo-modernism, but it was the principle of the thing.

  After all, he was a bachelor, albeit a gay bachelor, and he had certain standards to live down to. The kitchen table was actually an old desk with two mismatched chairs drawn up to it. A third, made of folding metal, leaned against one corner for when Anthony came over to eat, usually when he'd cooked -- which wasn't often. Clay lived on takeout when he could get it, and nuked the odd meal when he couldn't.

  Still grumbling as he allowed Anthony to push him down into place, Clay protested: "I have got to say, this clocks in as one of your worst ideas ever to date, full stop, exclamation point."

  "Your grammar and punctuation need a little help. Make a note." Anthony steered Clay into precise position just as if he were a painting that needed to hang a little straighter. So to speak. "It's not like this is a big deal, Clay. Lighten up. Plenty of people have tried online dating. I hear it actually works for a lot of them."

  "Obviously, you haven't tried the online chat rooms," Clay retorted. "If I went in there looking for love, I'd be faced with the derision of a third, obscene offers from another third, and the final third with nothing better to say than claiming they have nine-inch cocks."

  Anthony looked fascinated. "For real?"

  "Oh, ye innocent. These guys measure from the back crack of their asses to the tip of their tall tales. Show me a cock that long in nature and I'll show you a guy who's making a killing in porn films, or possibly a genetic mutant."

  Anthony sat down across from Clay, leaning his chin on one slim hand. "Tell me more. This is fascinating."

  "Well, they --" Clay stopped. "I know what you're doing. You're taking notes on what kind of man does and doesn't do it for me, so you can put down every detail and trivial pursuit factor in this online ad you're determined to make me create."

  Anthony shrugged without a trace of guilt. "And you have a problem with this?"

  Clay regarded his friend glumly, pouting. "I'm not going to win this argument, am I?"

  "Nope."

  "Okay. Fine." Clay gave in as gracefully as he could. "One condition, though. You can log on, you can find me a good-looking site, but then you have to read what's out there. Then you take a good hard second to think about whether or not you want to subject me to their tender mercies."

  "You make yourself sound like a piece of filet mignon someone's about to throw to a junkyard dog."

  "I' faith, you have come close to the truth. In fact, you've hit the target dead center." Clay tried to wiggle out of his chair once again. "Come on, this is really a bad idea. Let's go get some ice cream --"

  "At this time of day?"

  "Okay, coffee then. Big hot double espresso for you, something with mocha and cream for me, and --"

  "You're never going to get any cream unless you sit your ass down and start typing," Anthony stated sternly.

  Clay's cheeks heated. Geez. You'd think that as a man who'd been out and proud for over ten years, a little frankness from a twink wouldn't affect him.

  That was Anthony, though. Clay loved him like a brother. An annoying, bratty, pushy kid brother who always wanted to play. Still, though, there was the affection. And he didn't get enough of that to turn Anthony down, nor did he, he glumly admitted, have the intestinal fortitude to stand up for himself when Anthony had his heart set on something.

  "I'm typing, I'm typing," he grumbled as he dragged a small laptop from the far end of the desk. It'd been covered in newspapers since the last time he'd ventured online at home and found a bald eagle web cam. After watching the feed for over an hour, he'd realized he was in desperate danger of becoming a complete geek and switched the machine off.

  Now, at work, he was online all the time. Looking up facts, trivia, news of the weird, you name it. He knew his way around the Internet like no one else at the radio station. Good thing, too. All those tired afternoon workers depended on Clay, the hyperactive DJ, to keep them awake during the drag-time shift -- and he delivered.

  "I don't see those fingers moving."

/>   "I have to open the computer and boot it up first." Clay shot Anthony a playful glare. "Brat."

  Anthony nodded and began to hum, tapping his fingers as the laptop revved into action. When he heard the beep that signaled Clay tapping into an online connection, he squealed and dragged his chair around to Clay's side. "Let me at those keys!"

  Clay surrendered control gladly. As Anthony navigated, Clay leaned back to watch him. The man had a head for business, he had to say. As part-time manager at a spa that specialized in unique hours for unique clients, he had the savvy, the smarts, and the inner strength to make his life work like a dream.

  They made a point of meeting after their shifts ended, often going out for a meal or retiring to one or the other's apartment. It was rare that they came to Clay's, as Anthony swore up and down that the place brought out his inner Martha Stewart -- someone he tried to keep well squashed down. "Next thing you know I'll be decorating with macaroni and gilt leaf," he'd said once. "The earth would rotate backwards and we'd all be flung off into space. Clean up or shut up with the invites."

  But today, Anthony had been all for coming back to his place. Ah, if Clay had only known the man had a secret agenda on his mind…

  Beep. Beep. Click, click, click. Beep!

  "Found you one," Anthony announced proudly, surrendering the keyboard to Clay. "Check this out and see if it doesn't hit all your hot buttons."

  Resigned, Clay dragged his attention to the dating site Anthony had picked out. At first glance, he had to admit it wasn't bad. No flashing banner ads, no promises of "pearly pink pussy" or "rock hard cock" with interesting pictures to match the neon words. Nice and calm, discreetly and professionally done, and definitely a man's site with its dark shades of green, blue, and brown. "Okay, points for finding a needle in a haystack," he had to concede.

  Then, he read the logo at the top. "You have got to be kidding me."

  "What? It's perfect for you."

  "Welcome to Fairyland," Clay read out loud. "A place where gentlemen can be pretty, witty, and gay. Copyright pending." He gave his friend a dark look. "Anthony…"

  "Just give it a chance," Anthony insisted. "Go ahead, pull up a few profiles. See what's out there."

  "You really want to see? Fine." Clay clicked. "Okay, here's Gerald, age thirty-nine. Gerald, as you will notice, loves to work out, go on five-mile runs, and cook nouvelle cuisine."

  "And? What's the problem?"

  "Gerald, as you will also notice, is pictured as sitting behind a desk so we can't see the results of all that exercise or, quite possibly, the potbelly from eating at diners. The man has arms like a limp spaghetti noodle in a baggy shirt. Please interest yourself in the fact that Gerald is also bald except for a creative attempt at a comb-over, and if he's thirty-nine, I'll eat the hard drive on this thing."

  "You don't think?"

  "Anthony, come on. The way he's grinning, his dentures are about to fall out."

  "Okay!" Anthony raised his hands in temporary surrender. "So Gerald's a bust. Try someone else."

  "Somebody say bust?" The front door opened into Clay's small kitchen. His housemate, Seth, stepped through, popping a motorcycle helmet off his head, then wriggling out of a leather jacket. Clay glanced from Gerald to Seth, from Seth to Gerald, then back at Seth, and felt the familiar wobbliness in his gut that heralded: honey, he's home.

  Seth. All six feet two of him, well-packed into it with hard, lean muscles and an ass that wouldn't quit. Arms powerful enough to wrench off the most stubborn of pickle jar lids. A scent of smoke and the outdoors clung to his skin. As he headed for the fridge to pluck out a bottle of water, Clay watched and felt his own mouth go dry.

  Seth, he thought wistfully. The man he lusted after, and the one he'd have tried to grab up a long time ago except for one little problem: the man happened to be straight. Not just straight, but arrow-like. Ruler-like. Whereas Clay was straight as a Slinky. Seth wasn't homophobic, but Clay wasn't stupid. There could never be anything between them.

  If wishes were horses, though, he thought, returning to his computer screen with a glum sigh.

  "There had better not be anything in this house worth running a bust over." Seth pressed the cold bottle of water to his forehead. "I just spent the night doing an undercover prostitute sting. Let me tell you, I have seen more T & A than I would have watching the scrambled porn, and every last bit of it illegal." He grinned -- that heart-stopping smile that made Clay's heart stutter -- and dropped loosely into the spare seat. "So, what are we doing?"

  "Nothing," Clay said at the same time that Anthony helpfully chipped in, "Hunting online personals."

  Clay covered his face with one hand as Seth, predictably, cracked up. "You're joking."

  "Nope." Anthony gave Seth a cheery smile. "You know how long it's been since Clay was on a date. I'm giving him a helping hand. Never give up and all that. Seems to me that if he can't find someone on the street, okay, not on the street, Mister Cop, but in real life -- why not try the virtual world?"

  He patted Clay's laptop. "I found a great site, too. Except someone won't give it a chance." A sharp nudge to Clay's hip reminded him again as to who wasn't playing fair.

  "No kidding. Huh." Seth played the bottle across cheeks that had to be warm from the rising beachfront heat he'd ridden through when the sun came up, then opened the bottle and took a long sip. Watching the man's throat work, Clay thought, hosanna and hallelujah. "What's up with those sites, anyway? I thought they were all Spam wizards or something."

  "They are." Clay aimed at a random listing and clicked. "Now, here we have Frank."

  Seth angled his neck to look. "Frank isn't too bad -- from a straight standpoint."

  "I grant you that he seems to be a fine, upstanding sort of character," Clay allowed. "However, read his profile."

  Anthony leaned his cheek on Clay's shoulder. "Thirty-five, athletic, enjoys fine dining and long walks along the beach at sunset. Click here to send him an expression of interest." When Clay and Seth burst into laughter, he looked up, honestly confused. "What?"

  "For one thing," Seth pointed out, "Have you ever actually walked on a beach after it's dark? Hello, jellyfish heaven."

  "And don't forget shells."

  "Plus the fact that it's about the biggest dating ad cliché on the market." Seth raised out of his chair and clapped Anthony on the back. "I think you might have to figure out some other way to give Clay a hand." He stopped to waggle his eyebrows.

  Anthony, bless him, smacked Seth on the ass. He jumped forward. "Jesus, you're strong!"

  "So I keep telling him." Clay scanned a few more ads, then shook his head. "Anthony, no. I can't do this. We'll have to figure out another way."

  Anthony raised his hands. "Fine. White flag. Just pass over that computer so I can keep searching while you and Seth do that male bonding thing. You never know! I could find something really good, and wouldn't you be sorry if you'd missed out?"

  "How would I know?"

  Anthony gave Clay a narrow look. "Keep your logic out of this, and leave the computer wizardry to me."

  Clay and Seth exchanged glances of: Queens. What are you gonna do? before Seth grinned and emptied his bottle. The phone rang as he was tossing his bottle toward the recycling bin. It bounced off.

  "Would you grab that? This is probably for me," Seth said, reaching for the portable unit. He made a face. "Sophie, making sure I'm home in one piece."

  "She still have it in for your motorcycle?"

  "With a vengeance." Seth grimaced, then raised the phone to his ear and clicked it on. "Hello, Seth of Seth & Clay here -- hey, Sophie, good morning. Are you calling from work?"

  He winced. "Yes, I was careful on my way home. Sophie, come on, I'm with the P.D. You think I want to get pulled over? No, I could not get out of a ticket with some kind of buddy handshake. The law is the law." Seth restrained himself with a visible effort. "Look, let's not do this right now, okay? How's your morning been so far?"

  Anthony nudge
d Clay in the ribs. When he turned to the man with a questioning look, he made a devil's face with a sadistic grin and raised eyebrows. Clay elbowed him. "Cut that out," he whispered.

  "What?" he retorted. "That's Sophie, right? What better way to show my love for the torment -- I mean, true love -- of Seth's life?"

  Clay gave Anthony a light shove. "Back to your typing."

  Anthony shook his head and began navigating again. His long fingers neatly used the mouse pad to scroll through text and clicked on first this, shaking his head, then that. Clay admired his technique even as his mind strayed to Seth.