Authors: Heidi Cullinan
Chenco drifted to sleep as Sam went to the front of the cab, but as dawn broke, it was to the sounds of Mitch’s low voice and Sam’s muffled whimpers—bare knees on the floor told him Sam was blowing Mitch, but the soft, plaintive cries made him peek behind the curtain to see Mitch was fingering Sam at the same time.
He shifted beside Steve, hoping to wake him too.
He did get fucked a third time—this time over a picnic table behind a public restroom. He looked around, wild-eyed, as Steve pumped into him, barely touching him, making it clear this was all about filling Chenco’s ass because he liked it stuffed full of his come, and he said he sure hoped somebody saw since he was fucking pretty good in Chenco’s sloppy ass. This comment made Chenco come, and Steve plugged him up before kissing him deep, pushing on the metal end and making Chenco feel all the mess inside him.
Chenco went to the bathroom to clean up—not his ass, he promised Steve—and he met Sam there.
They were quite a picture together in the mirror. Sam’s mouth was swollen, his neck full of hickeys. His nipples stood out on end, and he had the exhausted look of somebody who’d endured a lot of fucking. Chenco looked worse. He felt the burn of the clamps lingering all over his skin, felt his dick howling from overuse, felt his ass burn with pride around the heavy plug.
Sam smiled shyly at him—but wickedly too.
The rest of the ride was, in relation, rather boring. Chenco slept on the floor, Sam in the bed, and even when Chenco woke he lay there, listening to the soothing low voices of his lover and his brother.
Then Mitch said, “Here we are, Chenco. Las Vegas.”
Chenco climbed to his knees, rising up to a crouch so he could see over the dash, wincing as the plug shifted inside him. It was true—there it was. Las Vegas. Sprawling roads and houses and buildings and casinos and the mountains rising quietly in the distance. It was huge. It was everywhere.
He was here. He was really here.
Steve pulled him closer and kissed his temple. “You’re going to be great, baby.”
Chenco leaned into him and held on. Maybe he would be, maybe he wouldn’t. He almost didn’t care.
That was when he realized the game had changed. It wasn’t about whether or not he made Caramela a star. It was about whether or not he could make Steve his. For good.
Chenco watched the city expand before him, drew on his queen for courage and got ready for the ride of his life.
Chapter Eighteen
While Steve had anticipated the pleasure of Chenco discovering Las Vegas for the first time, reality was much more exquisite than he’d imagined. Everywhere he looked, Chenco’s eyes were wide. Every turn around a corner was another discovery. The boy who had wanted to get out of the RGV had indeed—and Steve had helped get him there.
He took his lover on an extended tour on the back of his bike, which had come along in the trailer of Mitch’s rig. Mitch and Sam kept bikes at the same distribution center where Mitch parked the trailer, and the four of them, Sam, Mitch, Steve and Chenco, had gone on a tour of the city before they went to Randy and Ethan’s house, where they’d all be staying. They took in the Strip, drove by Ethan’s casino, had a tour of the desert. When they stopped for a drink at a bar called the Watering Hole, Chenco was wide-eyed and dazed as they entered.
“We’ll have to get you your own bike and set you up with some lessons,” Steve said as he ordered Chenco a club soda.
Chenco did a visual sweep of the room, his dark eyes cautious and intense. “Is this a gay bar?”
“It’s an open-minded bar.” Steve handed him his drink and did a sweep of the room too, but he didn’t see anyone he knew. He hadn’t been to Vegas in years, and even then he hadn’t stayed long. Mitch and Sam, on the other hand, were making their social rounds, telling stories to friends. He turned to Chenco. “Anywhere else you’d particularly like to see?”
“I don’t know.” Chenco leaned into Steve. “I feel kind of dumb. Honestly, I want to go to Randy’s house and rest. I spent twenty years wanting to get out of the valley, and now that it’s happened, I feel weird.”
“I know what you mean.” Steve pulled Chenco closer, wrapping an arm around his waist and drawing Chenco snug to his front. “California was everything I wanted, but it terrified me too. Used to go to this isolated park where I could practice getting rid of my accent so they didn’t look at me as if I were some dim-witted good ol’ boy all the time.”
“You know, it’s funny—I hadn’t really put my finger on it, but you
don’t
have much of an accent. Mitch has more than you, and he hasn’t lived in Texas for years.” He settled deeper into their seat. “My mom was always harping on me for my English. I couldn’t sound like some dirty Mexican. I took debate in high school, and when I was in middle school, she had me in these sessions with a vocal coach. She picked my clothes out for me too—we’d drive to San Antonio or Austin sometimes just so she could make sure I was an all-American boy. Then I gave her Caramela.”
Caramela, named after his mother, Carmelita. That was everything about Chenco in a nutshell, wasn’t it?
Steve stroked Chenco’s arms. “You should send her video of the show. And tickets.”
Chenco went rigid. “No. She won’t come.”
Steve let it drop. For now. “Would you like to see where you’ll be performing?”
“Yes,” Chenco said, though it was clear he was nervous too.
“I’m curious to see what Ethan’s done with the casino. I’ve been to Herod’s, but only under the former management.” He slid his hand to Chenco’s hip and squeezed lightly. “I’ll see if Sam and Mitch are ready to head on over.”
When they pulled up to the parking lot, Steve could already tell things were different. For one, they parked their bikes in a private side lot reserved for VIPs. The lot staff waved and smiled at Sam and Mitch and treated Steve and Chenco as if they must be important too. When Mitch proudly introduced Chenco as his brother, however, the boy received a very warm welcome and many enthusiastic handshakes. By the time they entered the building, a pretty older woman with upswept hair stood in the foyer with a clipboard, smiling and welcoming them with handshakes and kisses on their cheeks.
“You must be Mitch’s brother.” She smiled brightly at Chenco, enfolding him in a polite hug. “Welcome, Mr. Ortiz. I’m Sarah Reynolds, Mr. Ellison’s personal assistant. If there’s ever anything you need while at Herod’s, I’m the one you let take care of you. I assume you’ll want to see the theater?”
Chenco looked a bit shell-shocked, but he nodded, dragging his eyes away from the circus of the casino floor and back to Ms. Reynolds. “Yes, ma’am. That would be wonderful, thank you.”
“Right this way.” She led them past a row of poker tables toward a gilded archway. “There might be a rehearsal going on, but nothing more. None of the shows start until seven, and the theater isn’t open to the public until six.”
Steve couldn’t get over how much the entire casino was transformed—he rubbernecked all the way across the main floor, taking in the refinished red drapes, the new paint. No one could miss the demon statue in the center of the room. The floor overflowed with gaming tables and happy, helpful staff encouraging tourists to have fun. Several hosts, he noticed, had subtle rainbow flag pins next to their name badges, and from the way the guests paired up, it was pretty clear the word was out—Herod’s Poker Room and Casino was LGBT friendly.
The theater was a charming thousand-seater, not as ornate as some Steve had seen but fancy enough to feel special, something between ornate opera and gilded old-school vaudeville. He’d listened to Sam wax rhapsodic about seeing Kylie Minogue perform there, and Steve could imagine any performance in this venue being both exciting and intimate. As the theater manager came up to greet Chenco, Steve fell back, content to observe Chenco as he received his tour.
He was proud of the way Chenco pushed past this and took advantage of the new experience. His boy not only listened attentively as the manager explained when he’d be allowed rehearsal time and who’d be helping him, but he asked questions about the kind of audience they usually had, what other acts were regular and what they anticipated for a solo unknown drag act from the Rio Grande Valley. This led to a meeting with Caryle, the casino’s marketing manager, who had already put together a portfolio of possible ad spots and marketing concepts for Chenco’s debut.
Through it all, Chenco kept his cool, but when it was over, Steve didn’t ask, he excused them from Mitch and Sam and took Chenco straight to the bar. He ordered Chenco a double of Abuelo 12 on the rocks and a Bohemia for himself, pleased to see they not only had it but kept it on tap.
“That’s Mr. Jansen’s favorite beer,” the bartender replied, when Steve remarked on it. “When he’s not having a Dirty Whiskey.”
“Is that what this is?” Chenco took another sip of his drink. “It’s good.”
“You’re drinking a top shelf Panama rum.” He massaged Chenco’s neck with his right hand. “You looked as if you could use it.”
Instead of answering, Chenco sagged against Steve. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You can. You will. There’s no rush.”
Chenco looked up in concern at Steve, who stood beside him. “But you can’t stay here forever.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I brought half my house up here.”
I’m not leaving you.
Chenco relaxed, but only a little. “We’re to stay at Randy and Ethan’s, though. Do you mind? I thought we’d be with Mitch and Sam. I guess that’s all one and the same here. Is this okay?”
“Mitch and Sam always stay with Randy when they’re in town. When I last visited, Randy’s house was significantly more low-key than where we’ll be heading now.” He hesitated over the next part then decided what the hell. “If you’d rather have more space, I understand they still own the old place. We could set up there, just the two of us. It’s not as fancy, and the neighborhood’s colorful—granted, it has nothing on the flats.”
“Maybe. I kind of like the idea of being with everyone, if you don’t mind—unless we’ll be underfoot.”
“It has six bedrooms from what I understand. We’re fine.”
“Okay. Then I’m fine with staying for now—if you are. Will Crabtree and Gordy be there too?”
Steve had been wondering the exact same thing. “I don’t know. Crabtree doesn’t live very far away. I think he stayed at their house when he was recovering, but…well, I don’t know.”
Chenco took a better look at Steve’s face. “Are you worried about Gordy?”
Yes, Steve was terrified, though he couldn’t for the life of him figure out of what, exactly. “It’ll work out.”
Chenco said nothing, only squeezed Steve’s hand as he went back to his drink.
Randy and Ethan’s house truly was impressive. Located in Henderson, it was in a newer development near what had been a pretty swanky area in the 1960s, as far as Steve could tell. The house was about ten years old, in a rather uptight little part of town. From the outside, the house looked like any other slightly ornate display of ostentation. Once beyond the front door, however, it was clear Randy Jansen had made his mark.
It had always amused Steve how Jansen fussed over his house, cooking and cleaning and playing hostess whenever he had guests. While he’d never shown much interest in having a fancy place when Steve knew him before, he’d made Ethan’s home into a showplace for whomever he chose to entertain. In the absence of the official homemaker, Sam gave them a grand tour—the great room, the dining room, the theater room, the side patio bleeding into the backyard which had a long, narrow pool with raised hot tub and wet bar.
Everything looked as if at any moment the home might break into an elegant party. The walls were painted deep hues of red and brown and green, the floors gleaming hardwood or stone tile. Heavy crown molding accented the ceilings with an echo of ornate kick boards. The furniture was leather and luxurious, except for the patio, where it was weatherproof fabric nestled inside dark wicker matching the high, rock-and-wood walls shrouding the property.
The kitchen was gigantic and acutely functional, not just a showpiece that looked nice when caught out of the corner of one’s eye from the dining room, but a working heart where Randy could make his gourmet meals, fancy desserts and legendary Christmas cookies. It stood as a bridge between the elegant, in-your-face design of the front half of the house and the smaller, more intimate and comfortably furnished rooms beyond. In the cozy nook off the kitchen, for example, Steve recognized some old furniture and knickknacks. Farther on was a game room and laundry—outside of expensive equipment, these rooms might have been found in any house.
There were cats also, he saw to his dismay, a black-and-white one sitting in the middle of an ornate cat gymnasium in the sunroom and a slightly larger calico somehow managing to take up the entire six-foot couch in the den. Sam stroked and cooed at each one as they passed through on the tour, and both times the animals simply squinted at him and nodded as if yes, this was the kind of adoration they had been put on earth for.
Jesus, Steve hated cats.
“They’re so precious.” Chenco crouched to love on the calico’s belly. “I always wanted one, but my mom said no, and of course Cooper would have killed it for fun.”
Fuck, Steve was going to have to get a cat.
The black-and-white came in to receive attention too, and Sam bent to stroke it. “This is Salomé, and the one you’re petting is Daisy. Crabtree gave Ethan Salomé as a kind of test during the whole casino thing, but he adopted Daisy on his own. He trained them with a clicker to do all kinds of things. I’ll show you later.”