Unconditionally (Brown County #4) (3 page)

The wrong thing that I could’ve said ended up being what came out of my mouth, “I’ll think about it, Gio.” The fact of the matter was, I had already thought about it. But I didn’t know any other type of response that would’ve allowed him to let me leave. He was standing in the way of my driver’s side door as well as my sanity.

I shook myself out of the conversation from earlier. That answer must have been sufficient enough because he let out an exasperated sigh and moved out of the way, letting me leave.

I pulled into the dimly lit parking lot, the only light in the area was illuminating from the twinkling rainbow sign that flashed ‘Big Pete’s.’ Not even stepping through the threshold of the front door and I already felt myself relaxing.

I was comfortable in my own skin, but being here amongst people who could totally and completely relate to me, was refreshing.

Walking in through the main entrance, I was immediately accosted with the music that was blaring from the speakers. The ambiance in here was always exhilarating and I felt my tension dissipate the closer I moved towards the bar.

Placing my hand on the back of an open seat, I slid myself onto the leather upholstered barstool and raised my arm signaling my need for service. The bartender who took my order wasn’t Roman, but he wasn’t bad looking either. The dress code here made Big Pete’s that much more enjoyable. I supposed their motto was less is more, because none of the gentleman bartenders wore shirts. Nope, not a one.

It was a man’s candy land here in Big Pete’s. And I was ready to play.

Bartender number one was what I had dubbed the man stopped in front of me raising his brow, before he asked, “What’ll it be?” His voice was meager and slight, I preferred my men to have deep baritone voices.

“I’ll have a Martini…dry, please.” Gin was my alcohol of choice for the night. I wouldn’t get shitfaced to where I couldn’t drive home though, I knew my limits. But that didn’t mean that I wasn’t going to get a bit tipsy.

“Coming right up,” bartender number one spoke before he went about pouring my gin and vermouth into a silver shaker and giving it a liberal jerk of his wrist. Seeing the action had my cock stirring in my pants and images of him wrapping his hand around me moved to the forefront of my mind. I needed action and in a bad way.

He placed a Martini glass in front of me on a hot pink napkin and tipped the shaker up, straining and pouring my cocktail before adding an olive as an embellishment.

Giving me a sexy wink before he turned and made his departure towards the other end of the bar, I picked up my enticing drink and before taking a hefty sip, I said partially under my breath, “Happy birthday to me.”

Feeling the cool liquid slide so smoothly down my throat, I had to close my eyes at the exquisite taste of the perfect combination. It was utterly refreshing.

“So it’s your birthday, huh?” I didn’t even notice that someone had taken a seat beside me. This voice was oddly familiar and came out as a deep rumble.

Turning my head to the side I was surprised to see it was Deputy Ethan Bradley. I had never seen him around here before, let alone anyone really from Brown County. Although I distinctly remembered hearing something about him being gay, it was just weird seeing him on the opposite side of the spectrum.

He was sans uniform and in a pair of dark denim jeans, with cowboy boots peeking out from beneath his pant legs. I realized that I was taking entirely too much time perusing his ensemble. If I was already going this far, I might as well check out the rest of the package.

Continuing to skim my eyes over his extremely fine exterior, I took in that he was wearing a rather snug fitting polo shirt that was tucked into those amazing jeans, and it was topped off with a silver belt buckle. With the dimmed lights in the bar it was hard to tell exactly what his buckle said, but I imagined that if he was anything like me, it would be something naughty.

I picked up the toothpick that held the green olive from my glass and leisurely placed it in between my slightly parted lips, sucking the remains of my martini from the meaty, bitter garnishment.

Ethan couldn’t take his eyes off of my mouth, so I
supposed
I was being a bit seductive in my act to eat the olive. No harm in that, right?

Well aware that I left his question unanswered, I was getting ready to right my place in my seat until someone on the stage cleared their throat into a microphone.

Catching both of our attention, Ethan and I turned to where the stage was in full view in front of us. And who was gracing the stage was enough to take my breath away, Roman in all his shirtless glory, just seeing him was enough to begin to turn my night around.

The interesting thing about Roman was that he didn’t have a last name. Well, I’m sure that he was born with one but didn’t acknowledge it now.

He was just Roman—kind of like Madonna or Cher. A persona so powerful that they didn’t need a last name to associate them with.

Lord have mercy, he was hot. I felt a slow and steady flush creep up my cheeks. It wasn’t all that often that I felt flustered but that scrumptious piece of man could get me all hot and bothered.

The way his presence took up the area, I could just imagine a
Magic Mike
performance breaking out on the stage.

Disappointment showed in my features as he didn’t proceed to dance to a sexy and seductive tune but rather introduced Big Pete’s ‘new owner’ Gwendolyn Shaw.

I didn’t get to process any thoughts because the stage blacked out just as soon as Roman descended the stairs and a familiar beat began blaring through the building.

Jay Z’s voice was first to pump through the speakers.

The stage was still pitch black until the spotlight began flickering on and off towards stage left and right, never once stopping in the middle. It wasn’t until it was time for Rihanna’s part did the bright spotlight snap on in the center, illuminating a woman dressed in a short black trench coat spread eagle on a metal chair clutching a closed umbrella.

I anxiously shifted myself in my seat making myself a little more comfortable to watch what was without a doubt going to be a stellar performance of “Umbrella.”

Big Pete’s was known for their lip syncing performances amongst the drag kings and queens and from the looks of what was partaking on the stage, we were going to be in for a real treat.

Gwen stood up from the chair dancing her way around it with the upmost provocative precision. Swiveling her hips around in circles, her hands never staying in just one place on her body.

By the second verse she slowly disrobed the coat, leaving only a leather bustier and panties in its wake. Paired over fishnet stockings that were being held up by a garter belt and she had all the women in the house wishing to get into those panties and every man pissed that she was of the wrong gender for their liking.

Now I liked my men to dress like a full on male, but that didn’t stop my astonishment and being in complete awe of her rendition.

She began popping her hips and using that umbrella in ways that could possibly be illegal in at least twenty-three states. Twirling around, that umbrella was being used as her own personal shortened stripper pole.

But it was the third verse that had everyone gasp in pure delight. Poising one hand on the lifted handle, she slid her free hand up the shaft raising the canopy of the umbrella. Clearly not one to inquire about superstitions, it allowed something to fall from the confines of the umbrella to the floor. I had to squint my eyes to make sure that I was correct in what I was seeing. Mass amounts of glitter was sprinkling down like rain covering the flooring of the stage.

I was in a trance and didn’t even notice that Roman had sidled up next to me leaning up against the bar. Gwen ended her performance and when the houselights came on at their maximum brightness I could finally take in the features of her face.

Gwendolyn Shaw was petite but with a voluptuous form. She was stunning with her lips painted a purple hue almost the same shade as her short, pixie-like hair.

She floated down the stairs and towards Roman at the bar. It was then I noticed that Ethan had left and Roman was in his place.

I leaned an elbow on the edge of the bar and gave a brief applause and nonchalantly said, “Gwen, if I may call you that, I must say that was an astonishing performance.”

She raised her eyebrows almost scoffing at my sheer audacity to address her. Wow! Such a shame that she wasn’t beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside.

Roman cleared his throat and waved a hand in my direction, “Gwen, this is Toby Morgan, the gentleman that I was telling you about who had experience in cosmetology.”

Gwen quickly covered her distasteful expression towards me and replaced it with something equally as hideous.

“I’m so sorry, Tony was it? Roman was telling me about your eye for makeup detail. Do tell me, where is it you studied?” She crossed an arm in front of her chest, and grasped her chin with an open hand. She was apparently comfortable enough in her own skin because she sure was showing an abundance of it.

By this point I was well past the feeling of anger and I was just ready to get out of here. Why in the hell was Roman talking about me to this monster of a woman?

“It’s To-BY,” I scoffed, enunciating the B with a bit of my own natural diva attitude. “And I didn’t study cosmetology anywhere, it’s more of a gift, a hobby if you will. I help out my girlfriends from time to time because it’s something that I enjoy.” I raised a brow and jutted out my chin in her general direction, if it wouldn’t have been considered rude I would snapped my fingers in her face.

“Well, Tony I am in need of a makeup artist for my girls.” She still disregarded the correct pronunciation of my name and continued on as if she were in a hurry and I was just wasting her time. “If you think you’d like to show me your ‘skills’ just let Roman know and I’m sure we could arrange something.” She pivoted her foot and spun on her heel and was quickly out of sight.

I quizzically looked at Roman and cocked my head to the side, “Is this chick for real?”

“Gwen is about as real and as tough as it gets. She’s just misunderstood.” He rolled his eyes telling me that he liked her ‘attitude’ about as much as anyone else.

What would make Gwen actually think that I would take her offer? Even though I wasn’t going to take her aloofness to heart didn’t mean that I was seriously going to jump at the chance to be on her payroll.

Gwendolyn Shaw, although a raving beauty on the outside, brought a whole new meaning to HBIC—
Head Bitch In Charge
. But then on the other hand, I also wanted to commend her efforts taking on Big Pete’s on her own. That in itself took some big cojones. And she definitely seemed like the woman to have them in abundance.

Hell, she probably collected them. Had them in a jar and displayed them like trophies on her shelf.

Toby

I sluggishly walked up the winding pathway towards my lime green front door.

Sleep was calling my name and even though it was no doubt going to be a restless, fitful sleep, I would still prefer the alternative. I was in a pissy mood due to my lack of male companionship and sexual frustration.

Jingling my keys into the lock out of habit, I knew my feisty little felines would be out and on the prowl. Tonight just wasn’t the night for them to bother me and seemingly they got the hint as I proceeded to grunt at them as they strutted mercilessly my way. It was completely unbecoming and unflattering but I was now in the comfort and safety of my own home. My kingdom. My salvation.

Stripping down to my plain white Calvin Klein boxer briefs, I crawled underneath my cool sheets ready to shutout the outside world and put this entire day behind me.

What was supposed to be a fantastic day, quickly spiraled out of control and was anything but.

After staring at the empty space of my ceiling for nearly a half an hour I could tell that sleep wasn’t any nearer than it was some minutes ago.

So I did what any other borderline sane person would do to save said sanity…I counted men. Screw counting sheep, I had to at least make it entertaining.

Hot men running shirtless through a field.

One…Channing Tatum

Two…Matt Bomer

Three…Ooo Ian Somerhalder

The cusp of sleep was right there, finally reachable. I could feel myself drift farther into unconsciousness…

Thump… Thump

Snapping my eyes open, I balled my hands into fists around my very expensive sheets. I had to let out a very low and menacing growl because if that was what I thought it was—

Thump…Thump

“Oh, yes!” Muffled groans and cries of ecstasy filtered through my paper thin walls.

One of the things that I just loved about my townhouse, the adjacent bedroom walls, especially when my neighbors decided to have a late night romp.

Reaching for an available pillow and smashing it over my face wouldn’t even drown out the noise. You’d think as much as I paid for these suckers they would make things a little more sound proof. I momentarily wondered if it would engulf my screams but quickly thought better of it. I didn’t need the police showing up at two a.m. on a welfare check.