Breaking Clay

Deadwater, Texas. Clay wiped the back of his hand over his mouth but doing so did nothing to reduce the moisture. His hand was just as clammy as the rest of his skin. He just as soon be in Hades, it was so damn hot. Spotting a bar that looked little more than a hole in the wall, he walked over, lamenting the fact that he didn’t have his truck. Wrecking it had been inconvenient because he didn’t want to fork out the money to replace it right now. No one said riding the rodeo was all glitz and glamour. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he guessed he’d get a new one. Hell, he needed a lot of things—including a beer and a lay. As he strolled up to the door, he hoped Ruckus was the place where he could get both.

The interior of the bar was dark and cool. Clay sighed, feeling somewhat better already. He chose his stool at the bar and waited to be served. While the bartender helped another customer, Clay swiveled around to take in his surroundings. Most of the booths and tables were occupied by rough men, dusty from the road in. A few women were scattered about and one at the bar. A man had scooted up next to her and was trying to catch her interest from what he could see.

Clay prepared to do another sweep of the room, when the bartender interrupted, “What will it be?”

Clay swiveled back around, and his eyes widened. He’d been searching the place for a likely candidate for a tumble in the sack, and here was this sexy thing ready for his seduction. He leaned an elbow on the bar and let his best smile settle on his lips. With it he’d led quite a few would-be lovers down a dark and dirty path of lust.

“Beer,” he said in a low tone, “and your number.”

Amusement brightened the already vibrant blue eyes. His cock swelled in his jeans. How he loved a blond, blue-eyed lover. Hell, he loved redheads too, and brunettes…

The bartender said nothing in answer to his request but brought his beer, wiped off the counter, and moved back along the floor to help the next customer. Clay took a big pull on his draft, swallowed, and grunted. Nothing beat a cold one. Except that, he mused.

He took in the white crisp shirt, glowing under the neon lights. The sleeves were rolled half way up the arms, and a few buttons at the chest were left undone, revealing smooth, unblemished skin. When the bartender turned and bent to retrieve something off a lower shelf, Clay hissed between his teeth and stared. His jeans had become uncomfortable.

“Found something you want, cowboy?” a rough voice demanded.

Clay shifted his gaze to the man standing in front of him. Boyfriend, he guessed. He played it cool, taking another sip of his beer and setting it down gently. “Yeah, he yours?”

This time the eyes that studied him were dark brown, and the hair was midnight black. Both only enhanced the man’s rugged jaw and powerful build. Clay could spot a gay man a mile off, even if he was the masculine type. It made satisfying his own lusts much easier—that is until he ran into a gay man who didn’t know himself. This man, and the other one with the blue eyes were gay. No doubt about it, and Clay wanted one or the other bad. He wasn’t picky.

“I said—” he began again.

“Keep your voice down,” the man growled.

Clay held his hands up in surrender and lowered his tone. “I get it. Not out of the closet.”

“Perhaps you didn’t see the sign when you rode into town,” the guy spat. Damn, was he still angry that Clay had been eyeballing his boyfriend’s ass? When he bent over like that what the hell was Clay supposed to do?

He played along, still smiling. “What sign was that?”

The man’s brows lowered, and he flared his nostrils. “The sign that says ‘Welcome to Deadwater, population five hundred.’ The people around here are friendly and fun loving. We’ll welcome virtually any stranger.”

“Except the kind like me?” Clay finished for him.

“Yeah, like you.”

He rested both elbows on the counter and leaned in even closer. Someone bumped the jukebox, and an oldie but goodie came on. Clay hated nostalgia.

“You keep your mouth shut about that kind of thing if you know what’s good for you,” the man continued.

Clay played with a finger around the edge of his bottle. The voices around him hadn’t lessened. They had no reason to as no one was near enough to hear their conversation, and with the man’s scowl, Clay was sure nobody in the place would think they were flirting. “But you’re not denying anything, right?”

The guy stared, leaned back, and wiped the same spot that had already been cleaned by his friend. “No, I’m not denying a thing.”