Head 01 Hot Head (23 page)

And just like that, he knew with a terrible certainty: he couldn’t hide forever.

Even if it wrecked him, nothing was scarier than losing the chance to tel the man he loved the truth.

GRIFF was bouncing at the Stone Bone almost a week later when he saw Tommy again, looking like a patient this time.

Griff had come straight to the bar from the hospital, where he’d helped Dante check out. Dante had spent three days under observation with a concussion

and stitches; he’d woken up that first night, but they were stil holding him because of sweling. Griff had visited regularly with magazines and junk food, more for himself than Dante. He couldn’t figure out anything to say that didn’t sound crazy, so he kept quiet.

Dante seemed to appreciate the silence and the company. Today, he’d gotten to go home.

Tonight, Griff was on the Bone door until two, and then he had laundry to do. He wanted to run by the store and pick up some stuff to put in Dante’s fridge.

He was praying for a slow Thursday night so he could cut out early, so he could get up in time to—

“Muir, ’s’me.” Tommy was already plastered when he showed up at the door by himself, and Griff had to look twice to figure out who it was. Then his

stomach did a somersault.

Thomas Dobsky Jr. was in terrible shape. His raw eyes were unfocused and his clothes looked slept in. There was a cut over his left brow, deeper than a

scrape and a little gummy, like it had been reopened in a repeat fight. One of the buttons on the fly of his blue jeans was open. Jeez. Had he just had more aley sex close to home?

Mauled bear cub
.

Griff squashed the thought and leaned over the little paramedic. “Tommy, you don’t look so great.”

Tommy leaned against the doorjamb, his body heat in Griff’s space. His breath was warm and whiskey-soaked. “I gotta be home in a half hour. M’wife

says.” His wagged a drunken finger and his knee nudged Griff, by accident or not.

Griff stepped back. “You oughtta do that. Get some sleep before your shift.”

“Fuck. You.” Tommy pushed right past him and into the crowd, headed for the bar.

Great
.

On a Thursday night, the Bone was slow and steady. An early crowd of young suits beering it up before they headed home to Cobble Hil and Carrol

Gardens. A couple other city workers had come in: three off-duty cops and Watson from their firehouse. Tommy was the only situation that needed attention, but Griff couldn’t leave his post to deal with it. Plus, he needed to go check on Dante tonight.

For the next hour Griff tried to keep an eye on Tommy, who hadn’t made a single move to head home. The stubby bastard lurched from table to table,

toasting strangers and butting into conversations. Twice the bartender looked ready to signal Griff for a toss-out, but the request never came.

At about nine, Griff scanned the room for the little paramedic and couldn’t find him.
Oh jeez
. Niggling doubt chewed at him. Surely Tommy wasn’t dumb

enough to….

Griff signaled the manager to take his place for a sec. “Need a piss.”

He was heading back to the john when he spotted Tommy wedged into the smal booth near the back, nursing a dark pint and nodding to someone seated

next to him. Then he recognized the shaved head and the suit.

It was Alek.

He was teling a story, smiling and gesturing with his long fingers; Tommy’s smile was a little boozy, and his eyes looked interested in more than talk.

Holy Mother of Shit on a Stick
.

Griff prayed that neither of them would be dumb enough to start something in the Stone Bone. Alek wasn’t going to say anything, right? Or was he trying to

scout Tommy for the HotHead website?
Jesus!

Worse: what if they
were
hooking up? If Tommy wanted to rough-fuck random guys in Manhattan, that was one thing—but here?

Nah
. Alek wouldn’t do anything to mess with him or with Dante. Hel, Griff had met Alek about where he was standing now. The Russian knew how to play

it cool. And Tommy wasn’t going to get his meat where he got his bread, right?

If Griff hadn’t known things about each of these guys, he wouldn’t have given them a second glance.

As it was, he counted to three. The two of them were awful goddamned cozy. He checked to see if anyone might have noticed. In here maybe they were just

two dudes shooting the shit, having a beer. No big.
Yeah
.

He made his move, pushing through the mob to get back to their booth. He only had a few minutes to do damage control before he had to get back to the

door. He slid into the vinyl seat opposite them.

“Big Griff!” Tommy was drunker and friendlier now. His mouth looked soft and happy. He crowed, “Hey, man, siddown!” as if Griff hadn’t already.

“Mr. Muir.” Alek smiled and nodded helo. “I did not see you when I arrived. Thomas and I were just chatting about the fire service.”

“Oh?” Griff stared at Alek and shook his head sharply.
The hell are you hunting in here, greaseball?
He knew exactly.

“Only chatting.” Alek shook his head in response to the unasked question and let his blue gaze fal.

Tommy settled back in the booth, arms wide enough that one was behind Alek. Nothing weird if you weren’t looking. “I was teling Mister.…”

“Vaklanov.” Alek spoke quietly in his burred accent. “Alek Vaklanov.”

Tommy grunted. “Yeah, that. ’S’teling him about the firehouse. Greatest fucking job, shit money. But we’re like brothers, right?” He looked at Griff like an

injured dog. “Everybody’s got your back ala time.”

Alek stood up, but he was only headed to the bar, shifting his weight under Griff’s glare. “Drinks?”

“I’m working.” Griff growled a chalenge at him.
Don’t fucking push me
.

Alek leaned over to say something to Tommy, who was staring wet-lipped at the scarred table in front of him. Tommy nodded and wiped his nose roughly.

Alek straightened and started heading for the bar.

As soon as he was halfway gone, Griff tapped the wooden table to get Tommy’s attention. “Hey, Dobsky! I thought you were supposed to be headed

home.”

“I am home.” Tommy turned drunkenly to watch Alek’s ass. He licked his lips and turned back. “I mean I’m headed… yuh-huh.” He chuckled.

Motherfuck.

“Hey! Hey.” Griff snapped his thick fingers and dropped his voice to the gravel that Dante caled his barbarian voice. “Whatever you’re thinking, fucking

don’t. Dobsky, you listening?” Was he gonna have to get direct?

Tommy turned back to the table and dug in his pants for something. He lifted a wrinkled business card close to his bloodshot eyes.

Griff had to sit on his mitts to keep from snatching it. Was that Alek’s phone number? Or the HotHead card?
Either one was a disaster. He needed to get Dobsky out of here without making a scene or letting on that he knew what was what.

The paramedic chewed his lip in concentration and thumped the bent card with his stubby fingers. His eyes went back to Alek at the bar.

“Dobsky, don’t make me toss you out on your ass. You’re a fucking mess. Go home to your wife before you pass out.”

Tommy turned and scowled at Griff. He stil didn’t know Griff knew, and that was an advantage. Had Alek already made an offer?

“Listen to me talking here.” Griff leaned over at him. “I’m trying to do you a solid.”

Tommy snorted and sloshed the pint glass. For a second his gold eyes were about to cry; then the glassiness was gone. Rising up out of the booth so he

could face Griff, he poked the bigger man in the chest to punctuate his boozy anger. “You… can’t… help… shit.” He hiccoughed and sat back hard on the bench.

“Pipe down, jackass.” Griff glanced around them to make sure no one was paying attention to the stubby drunk and the coppertop giant chatting in this

booth. He growled under his breath, “Before I stuff you in a box and fucking
mail
you to your house. Let me cal you a car service.”

Tommy smiled and blinked once, anger forgotten. Another slow blink, like he was winking with both eyes. He weighed the offer and swalowed a belch. “No

thanks, buddy. I’m good. You’re huge, huh?” His gaze ran over Griff’s chest and shoulders.

Perfect.
Physical intimidation had backfired and gotten the kinky bastard horned up. He’d forgotten that bulying turned Tommy’s crank.

“C’mon, Tommy.” Griff considered the wisdom of walking around the table, yanking him to his feet, and dragging him outside into the cold air, but didn’t

move. He looked to his post at the door. The clock was running.

They sat in that booth trying to find words to say very different things to each other.

Before Tommy started teling any truth, Griff coughed and broke the tense moment. “Hey, man, nothing is that bad.”

That’s a fucking lie and we both know it.

“Griffin. I think I want a divorce.” Tommy’s voice broke across the little table. “People get divorced.”

Oh shit
. “What are you talking about?”

“’S’awful, man.” Tommy rubbed his face. “I don’t know who to fucking talk to.”

You and me both, asshole
. Griff thought of how close he’d come to teling Tommy everything before—
thank you, God
—deciding to keep his mouth shut.

At the bar, Alek was picking up his order carefuly. Griff saw a middle-aged woman next to him flirting, to zero effect.
Wrong tree, much?

Tommy was sliding his glass on the condensation on the table. “Griff, you’re a real good guy, right. Level. Uh, have you ever thought about…?”

Watching him flounder, Griff realized he was working up crazy drunken courage to confess something awful. Tommy wanted to tel him everything and ask

for advice that Griff didn’t have to give.

“Like, you’re a brick shithouse. I mean, you and Anastagio are fucking
men
. Like brothers. Mnm. Nobody hassles you. If I needed….” Tommy chewed on

his fear, trying to get the words out, and Griff let him; he had his own. “’Cause, we’re both, uh, guys.”

The specter of that raw aley fuck balooned in the air between them, hovering and materializing as Tommy spoke.

Between the two of them, only Griff knew that they were both thinking of the same dangerous desire: the scraped skin, the rigid cocks, the hairy chests,

beard-burn and precum, the grunting-straining-sweating-moaning heat possible between two men who wanted the same thing and weren’t afraid.

Not me; I’m terrified.

Tommy took a breath. “We got al kindsa needs. Which means we can be pigs too.” He snorted back a laugh.

Griff closed his eyes, waiting for the axe to fal right here in the Stone Bone, half-hoping it would.

Tommy finaly found the words, his stare intent. “What I’m saying is, did you ever wonder what it’s like to…?”

Make out with a man.

Fuck your friend
.

Be gay
.

Griff gritted his teeth and held his breath, opening his eyes to see the words emerge.

Tommy looked up, groggy, took a breath to finish his questi—

Like that, Alek was standing with his crotch bumping the table. “Here we are, gentlemen.”

A wave of relief and guilt crashed over Griff as the specter of man-sex evaporated before Tommy could make it tangible.

Alek put a cup of coffee on the pitted table in front of Tommy’s paws.

“Tom?” Griff asked a question he knew wouldn’t get answered. “What, man? What it’s like to…?”

“Never mind.” Tommy fel silent, closing his stubby fingers over the hot mug.

Alek sat down beside the baffled paramedic and nodded to Griff—
time to go
. They came to silent agreement while Tommy tried to figure out how his

terrible confession had been hijacked and why he was drinking a cup of joe in the Bone.

“I gotta get back up front.” Griff swung out of the booth, nodding to the manager up front, who looked pissed. “Drink up, Dobsky. Last round. Get home to

your family.” He landed that last word looking at Alek.

Alek tipped his head to the door. He understood Griff perfectly, the order and the threat. “When he reaches the bottom of his coffee, I wil put our friend in a taxicab. I promise you, Mr. Muir.”

Poor Tommy.

Griffin went back to his station at the door, wishing
he
knew who to ask for advice.

THE next morning, Griff left his dad’s house without eating. He was serious about moving before the holidays, and it was after Columbus Day.

Loretta Anastagio had made a couple appointments to look at rentals with him. Before the baby was born, she’d studied for her real estate license and sold a

few houses.

Griff had caled her and asked for help getting the hel out of his father’s basement. He knew what he wanted—nothing fancy, just a place he could afford

with the jobs he had that was close enough to his life so he wouldn’t waste half his days commuting.

He wanted something clean, near his two families, and within a half hour of the firehouse and bar by car or subway. She’d tried to force him to get more