The Name of the Game Page 6

  "Will those chairs fit him?" Seth blurted. A quick glance at him and he appeared to be dazed by Richard's sheer size. He'd taken on his 'cop' stance, arms loose and ready to swing.

  Richard gave Seth a curious look as he sat down in one of the chairs. The wood creaked a little, but seemed otherwise okay. "Who's your… er… friend?"

  "Bodyguard," Seth rapped out. "PD."

  "Seth!" Clay yelped.

  "Just here to make sure you're on the level."

  Richard's eyes widened a bit. He gave Clay another uncertain look. "Hey, I thought this place was up-and-up. Is your man there doing some kind of sting?"

  "No," Clay answered honestly, "he's just a pain in the ass. Let's get comfortable, Richard. Do you have a nickname?"

  "Just Richard." The big man was looking more and more uncomfortable. "Look, is my name going to go down on some kind of sheet for being gay?"

  "It's not a crime," Seth said flatly. "Okay, in some states it is. But that's not what I'm here for."

  "Why is he here?"

  "To be a pain in my ass?" Clay offered. "Richard, don't freak out, okay? Seth, why don't you step outside?"

  "Staying right here, thanks."

  Richard shook his head. "I'm starting to think this was a bad idea."

  No, no! Stay right here. You and all your muscles. A man like this was a tasty dish, the kind Clay had ached to taste for years. Someone like that in his life would do the trick of getting Seth right out of his mind and back into the status of platonic housemate, right where he belonged.

  "Everything's cool," Clay attempted to reassure Richard. "No worries. Hey, you want a drink?" He indicated a small mini-fridge by the side of the table. "I think they have cola, root beer, mineral water --"

  "I think I should go." Richard made as if to stand up.

  Nooo! Clay reached out with one hand. "Calm down, man."

  "Easy for you to say," Richard fired back. "Look, either I’m being played or this is some kind of undercover operation. I can't afford either of those. I'm gone."

  With the vision of muscles retreating into the distance, Clay finally blurted out the question: "But why?"

  Richard stood, sighed, ran a hand across the top of his head, and said in a low voice: "I'm not out yet. Not even to my wife."

  Clay's jaw dropped.

  Behind him, Seth burst into laughter.

  Oh, yeah. I can tell this speed dating thing is going to go just great.

  * * *

  From where he sat hunched over the bar, Clay couldn't see anything of what was going on around him. He'd already tossed back one shot and while that fermented in his belly, he waited listlessly for the bartender to take notice of the poor schmuck in need of a refill.

  A full glass of bourbon slid into viewing range. Clay reached out and snagged the thing, sitting up to chug it down. As he did so, he caught sight of Seth standing behind him, a matching glass in hand. "Cheers," he said with a huge grin.

  Clay put down his glass.

  "Aw, now come on. What kind of attitude is that? I bought you a drink." Seth slid into the empty bar stool at Clay's side. "I got rid of the Closeted Cheater. The way I figure it, you owe me a toast."

  "You want toast? Go to a diner. Leave me alone." Clay pushed the bourbon away and sank back down into his depressed slump. After a moment, Seth's still-full glass joined his.

  Silence fell between them like a thick blanket. Seth fidgeted with the bar top, tapping his fingers in a rhythm, then raising up in his seat to read the labels on the bottles in front of them. Clay stayed put, hands over his eyes.

  "Need a refill?"

  "Yes, please," Clay muttered. His empty disappeared.

  "Same again?"

  "God, yes."

  "You don't want the one your friend bought for you?"

  "Fuck, no."

  "Your loss. That's the good stuff." The bartender turned away, selected one bottle from the massed ranks, and poured a fresh shot. Handing over the new drink, he patted Clay on the shoulder. "Look, darling. I suggest you get it together toot sweet, understand me? Otherwise you're going to lose your friend there to the sharks."

  Clay parted his fingers to peer at the bartender, a thin, tall man with short brown hair. Pretty damn cute, he had to admit. "There are sharks out tonight?" he asked, surprised.

  "Circling. Mostly around your squeeze there, who is a prime cut of fresh new meat."

  "Seth," Clay said to the man, who, to his credit, hadn't butted in yet. "You're being cruised. Use extra caution."

  "Cruised?" Seth ran a finger around the rim of his shot glass. "What's crui -- oh, I remember. From one of your magazines." He fell silent for a beat. Clay heard the other shoe drop. "Oh, shit. They're cruising me?"

  Clay opened his eyes wide enough to take a look at the mirror behind the bar. Yup, just as reported. Men in sharp suits and men in track clothes were all finding an excuse to ever-so-casually walk past and ogle Seth in his workout gear. Soft T-shirt and short shorts that exposed way too much lean tanned muscle for Clay's own comfort.

  "Yup," he said. "They're cruising you." Good taste, those guys. Bad manners, though. They are treating him like a prime cut, not a person. And okay, I've been plenty guilty of that in the past, but he's not just any guy. He's Seth. A good man, a great cop, and nobody's boy-toy.

  At least I can be reasonably sure he's coming home with me.

  "Hey!" Seth jumped. "Someone just pinched my ass!"

  "Probably the brunet in the vest," Clay observed in a monotone. "I've seen him before. He likes to do that."

  "God, if I tried pinching a woman's ass at random like he just did, she'd knock me out." Seth stared at the retreating sneak-groper with amazement. "Does this go on all the time?"

  "Hmm." Clay lifted his glass and swirled the dark amber liquid inside. "How many guys have offered to buy you a beer?"

  "Maybe five or six -- hey, wait a second."

  "Now that, I'll drink to." Clay lifted the shot to his mouth and tipped it back. The cool smoothness and harsh bite hit him at once like pure nectar from the gods and a kick in the pants from Satan. "You, my friend, are being given the royal treatment."

  "You're kidding."

  "Not a bit." With the atmosphere between them relaxing a little, Clay sat up and tried to explain to Seth. "Look, here's how it works. You've read my magazines, fine. But you of all people should know that practice is a completely different thing from theory. Take for example, Mr. Business Suit coming in at ten o'clock."

  "It's that late already?"

  "No, you dope." Clay elbowed Seth. "Don't turn around to look at him. Just watch the mirror."

  Seth obeyed. Clay divided his attention between housemate and approaching sleazeball, nodding to himself when the man performed exactly as expected. A slow, steady approach, his eyes fixed on Seth's shapely back. Slowing down as he came closer, a longer look, and then the pause.

  "Now." Clay nodded. "Turn around and look at him. Just for a few seconds, but be careful to meet his eyes."

  Seth frowned, but apparently his trust in Clay extended far enough to venture into the unknown. He swiveled on his bar stool, pure sex in motion, and locked gazes with the Suit. After a moment Suit grinned, nodded in the direction of the bathrooms, and casually ambled on in that direction.

  Clay nodded and started chasing the last drops of his drink. "And that, my friend, is being cruised."

  Seth frowned. "All I did was stare him down. Where's the sexy part come in?"

  "Basically, you just agreed to have sex with him in the bathroom stalls." Clay caught Seth before he lunged up away from the bar. "Whoa, whoa, easy, tiger. Not good manners to start pummeling the innocent scum."

  "He actually thought I was going to -- that I was interested in --"

  "And then some. You held that look for a few seconds too long. In cruiser-speak, you invited him to board your decks and set sail on the sea of love." Clay slid his glass forward. "Refill?"

  The bartender obliged. Seth hunkered down
into Clay's previous position, gripping his forehead. "This isn't like a binding obligation, is it?" he whispered anxiously. "He's not going to come out here making a scene if I don't follow him?"

  "If you don't?"

  "Hell with that. When I don't." Seth shuddered. "So this is what it's all about. God, you hear so much about the nightlife at gay bars. I'd thought it'd be a lot more… I don't know… high class."

  Clay dissolved into giggles, helped somewhat by the smooth slide of alcohol. "Seth, get a grip. We're talking about guys, here. The same kind of guys you hang out with on the force. They might happen to prefer ass to pussy, but they're still men. M, e, n. They're just as much of a pig to one another as the straight guys. And in places like this?" He shrugged. "Everything's pretty much just all about the sex. A gay bar is not somewhere you go to find suave and debonair types just waiting to politely ask you for a cuppa and some civilized conversation."

  "Jesus." Seth slumped onto the bar. "Okay, lesson learned. I know about cruising now. No eye contact." He paused. "I can still look at you, right? That's allowed?"

  "Yeah." Clay grinned at their reflections in the mirror. He noticed Seth looking up to meet his own gaze. "Have a drink. Everything's better with a smooth one blazing its trail of fire down into your gut."

  "I hear that." Seth took a measured sip. "I guess I shouldn't have gone into this expecting some kind of bright new world, huh? All pretty and witty and --"

  "Finish that sentence and I will be forced to strangle you."

  "Whoa! Okay, I won't." Seth grinned and toyed with his glass. "It's just like the rest of the world, isn't it? I mean, you have a few surprises like Jeri -- and damn, it is true, men make the prettiest women -- but for the rest, it's all the same. Men being men, even men who are ladies."

  "We're all pigs."

  "Now there's a toast." Clay clinked glasses with Seth, who grinned and got down to the business of ordering himself a tall, cool draft from the bartender, who seemed more than amused to discover Seth was in fact straight. Listening to them talk, he let his own mind drift away.

  So Seth had discovered there wasn't anything earth-shattering about being gay. No matter what a person's sexual preference, they were all pretty much the same underneath the skin. Good guys, bad guys, sleazy lowlifes and nice types.

  "Hey, Seth," he said abruptly. "Does this change what you think about me?"

  Seth quirked an eyebrow. "No," he said simply. "Why would it? I'm a pretty bright bulb, Clay. I look at you and see the same guy I share a house with. The guy I've always known. Doesn't matter what you like in bed. I just know you're someone I get along with, like a lot, and enjoy spending my time with."

  Yeah. But I bet Jeri would have had a better chance at winning your heart, at least until the clothes came off. Clay glumly took another sip. He assessed his level of drunkenness, and judged himself to be just far enough off the scales to blurt out what he'd been thinking all night:

  "You're the best looking guy in here, Seth. You realize that? And I'm the one who gets to go home with you."

  Silence. Clay felt Seth turn to stare at him, but refused to buckle under the weight of the gaze. He waited it out. One… two… three… four…

  "No kidding?" Clay exhaled a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Seth's voice held honest surprise and gratitude. "That's big of you, man. Thanks."

  Then, Seth nudged their elbows. "You're not that bad yourself," he mumbled, before diving into his beer.

  Clay let himself grin broadly. He raised his glass. "To a beautiful friendship," he said proudly before doing the shot.

  Seth laughed. "You're tanked off your ass."

  "Oh, shut up."

  And kiss me.

  Yeah, right.

  Chapter Five

  "Okay, big guy. We're getting out of the car now." Seth leaned over to give Clay a light push. His friend gazed back at him through bleary eyes, nodded, smiled goofily, and slumped against the passenger door.

  "Out is good," Clay said, not making a single move to get there. "No more moving streets. Nuh-uh, the car was still. I felt it be still. The streets run. Run right past you." He waved with five fingers, tracking their movement. "Still waters run deep."

  "Pretty damn philosophical for a guy in your condition." Seth relaxed in his seat and grinned at Clay. He'd known the man couldn't hold his liquor, but then he'd gone and mixed it with beer straight from the tap. Good thing he'd given Seth lessons on gay bar etiquette before then, or they might have been in real trouble.

  It'd taken some finesse, for example, to convince everyone that he and Clay were better off being left alone. Damn, there had been a bunch of really horny guys in the smoky little dive they'd holed up at.

  Seth shook his head in wonder, remembering just how many offers he'd turned down. He suddenly understood women a whole lot better. Funny, really. He'd always thought he'd love to be the hot topic everyone wanted a piece of, but after a while he'd felt like -- meat. How did Clay cope with it every time he wanted a quiet drink?

  Maybe that'd be why Clay hadn't gone out much in the past few months.

  "You feel like heading inside?" Seth asked casually, catching Clay's wavering hand in his own and bringing it down to rest on Clay's knee. "Get into your nice cool bed, grab a glass or two of water, maybe some aspirin?"

  One baleful eye zeroed in. "I am not drunk," Clay enunciated. "I know what I'm doing."

  "Easy, easy. Just offering suggestions."

  Clay had gone stiff with injured pride. "I think I can handle it by myself," he said, far too distinctly and carefully for true sobriety. "Just tell me where the door handle is, and I'll…" His voice trailed off. "Do something. Don't know what yet, but I will. You just watch."

  "Bet you will," Seth soothed. "How about this? You let me give you a hand."

  Clay started giggling. "If only you would," he spluttered after a minute. "You really don't have any idea, do you?"

  Seth frowned, then filed that question away for later examination. "I'm offering one now," he said carefully. "Sit up straight, okay? I'm going to come around to your side and help you out."

  "All right. If you can't have cake, a cookie's good enough." Clay giggled some more, arranging himself in what he probably imagined to be a ramrod position. "Help me out, can't you help me," he sang. "Somebody help me."

  "On my way." Seth shook his head, amused, as he undid his own seatbelt and scooted out. Clay made one hell of a cute drunk. Rumpled and disheveled as he'd gotten, but still so good-natured, he made Seth think of a puppy again. A little spaniel who'd gotten into a dish of beer. Still ready to play, but weaving on its paws.

  He chuckled as he crossed the front of the car, taking peeks through the windshield to make sure Clay hadn't collapsed. Nope; he still sat upright, and even saluted once when he caught Seth sneaking a look. Seth could hear his muffled laughter, and couldn't hold back his own grin. That was his buddy, all right.

  One arm was ready to catch Clay in case he fell when Seth opened the passenger door. Clay cocked his head at the apparition, then, with solemn pomposity, shook Seth's hand.

  "You are so very tanked," Seth informed Clay, leaning over him to unclick the seatbelt. "You're lucky I stopped at two and we stayed there long enough for me to sober up. A bar that serves coffee -- not a bad idea. Have you and Anthony been there together?"

  "Toni?" Clay smiled beatifically. "My sweetie."

  "Is he, really?"

  "We've been there. To that place. Oh, yeah. They love Antonyeye. Call him their little boy and then laugh when he smacks 'em for it. He can drink me under the table any night of the week. Uh-huh." Decisive nod. "Then he calls a cab and the next day I have to figure out where the hell I left my car."

  "That's Anthony." Seth slid an arm around Clay's shoulders. He breathed in, smelling the faint scent of Clay's soap and the rich spice of the cologne he'd slapped on earlier in the evening, along with rich Kentucky bourbon and microbrew.

  Didn't make for a bad combination. Bette
r than some of Sophie's French perfumes, for sure. He hadn't known whether to murmur in appreciation or politely ask what had just died.

  "Hey." Clay focused on Seth. "You've got your arm around me." Up came the sunny smile. "That's nice. You look real good right there. You do. You look… good. So good."

  "I do what, buddy?" Seth asked before the words processed their way through to his brain. Startled, he turned to look down at Clay. Clay, who sat completely at his ease, snuggling into the crook of Seth's arm.