bastardsan_6mpx3l9y.pdf

Bastards and Pretty Boys

KZ Snow

Bastards and Pretty Boys

KZ Snow

Published 2009

ISBN 978-1-59578-618-0

Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509

reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise,

without the prior written permission of the author.

Manufactured in the United States of America

Liquid Silver Books

http://LSbooks.com

Email:

raven@LSbooks.com

Editor

Devin Govaere

Cover Artist

Lyn Taylor

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of

the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual

events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Blurb

Charles Larkin is finally happy with his life…for the most part. He’s happy with his

new summer getaway—a rustic cottage he just bought on a small Wisconsin lake. He’s

happy that his ex-wife, whom he divorced because he couldn’t play straight anymore, has

become one of his best friends. He’s happy he can breathe again.

It’s only Kenneth, Charlie’s boyfriend of five months, who makes this new life less

than completely satisfying. Charlie feels they’ve never been quite right for each other,

and Kenneth cements that conviction when he makes a disturbing confession. Charlie

knows their time together is quickly coming to an end. Problem is, Kenneth doesn’t know

it. And he tends to be rather possessive.

Planning to spend a quiet, relaxing two or three weeks at Cloud Lake—fixing up his

place, reading, even attempting to overcome his fear of water—Charlie is less than

thrilled to discover his next-door neighbor is one hell of a looker. He doesn’t need that

kind of distraction, especially since his issues with Kenneth haven’t yet been resolved.

But there’s a ninety percent chance the neighbor is straight, has a wife or girlfriend, and

could be leaving the next day. Charlie clings to those probabilities.

Only, Booker isn’t going anywhere, and he isn’t that easily ignored. And neither is

his unexpected, none-too-savory baggage. And neither, for that matter, is Charlie's. But

when two people care enough about each other, they figure out how to help carry each

other's baggage…or cast it aside.

Chapter One

One soiled, wet sock, frosted with duck squirt. Charred wood. A reeking heap of

weeds that served as a bier for two dead fish. More crud, and still more.

I felt like a crime scene investigator.

“Cabo San Lucas it ain’t.” Kenneth, who’d shuffled through the sand with me,

scanned the beach with a disapproving squint.

“Nope.” Sighing, I gave a desultory kick to a tangle of Christ-knows-what. Duct tape

and monofilament, mostly, although I glimpsed a few feathers and what could’ve been a

chipped lure. “But it’s mine.”

Kenneth glanced over his shoulder, casting more disapproval. “The house is rather

small.”

“It’s a cottage,” I said. “A dwelling on a lake is called a cottage. You should know

that. You’ve lived in Wisconsin long enough.”

“Well, those weren’t cottages I saw on Lake Geneva.”

“For all intents and purposes,” I said, “Lake Geneva is a suburb of Chicago.”

It was near noon, a Saturday. I’d just gone into town to meet Kenneth, have brunch

with him and his son, and then lead the way back to my new summer retreat. I’d driven

up yesterday to go to my closing and spent the night in a local motel.

Knowing I’d long wanted a modest piece of vacation property, Kenneth had told me

about this place. He’d found out about it through one of his coworkers, who also had a

cottage somewhere on Cloud Lake. Now Kenneth seemed to regret having passed along

the info. I’m sure he would’ve liked something more luxurious, but I was satisfied, and

he wasn’t the one paying the mortgage and property taxes.

Movement far off to the left caught my attention. Caught and momentarily held it.

My neighbor immediately to the south, or one of my neighbor’s guests, walked to the

lake and waded in. A tall, wiry man with tousled dark hair, he wore plain cutoffs. Not

Speedos, nothing tight and microscopic. When he was about hip-deep, he gracefully tilted

forward and slid beneath the water like a warm knife into butter. Resurfacing, he lapsed

into a strong, smooth crawl. I wasn’t sure why the sight transfixed me.

Kenneth, of course, was.

I could feel him watching me watch the man. “Something grab your interest?” he

asked.

“Seems my neighbors are here this weekend.” A casual observation, meant to

undercut his archness. I was tired of Kenneth thinking he owned my eyes. Still, good

boyfriend that I was, I laid a hand on his lower back.

He stepped away. “Don’t do that out here,” he muttered under his breath.

“Why? Nobody’s watching. And even if someone were—”

“Charlie!”

“See?” Kenneth said.

“Oh, come on. Like Carolyn doesn’t know. Besides, my hand was on your back, not

your ass.”

I turned toward the deck at the rear of my humble cottage. Carolyn was gesturing for

me to join her. Kenneth’s son hovered at her back. I didn’t mind Carolyn being there—

she was one of my best buddies—but the boy, Kris, made me uncomfortable. Kenneth’s

secrecy was to blame for that. He didn’t like his son seeing us together. At all.

Funny that I would prefer the company of my ex-wife to that of my lover’s kid.

Actually, not so funny. Unfortunate.

“She probably wants me to look at curtains or some damned thing,” I said.

As I ambled back to the cottage, Kenneth stayed on the trashy beach. I knew why.

He was going to keep scoping out the swimmer, assessing the man’s threat level.

I’d never understood that about Kenneth, that prickling suspicion. The odds were

heavily in favor of swimmer-guy being straight, with a wife or girlfriend, and even more

heavily in favor of him being altogether ordinary. That wasn’t a combination to inspire

lust. Not in me, anyway. I’d worked long and hard to stop being an ordinary, married,

straight guy, so the type didn’t interest me in the least.

As soon as I mounted the deck, Kris scurried down to join his dad. I got the

impression the poor kid saw me as a rival. He probably still hadn’t adjusted to his

parents’ divorce, and now his father had a new “best buddy.” Trying to include him in

our activities only seemed to make matters worse. I felt sorry for the boy.

“He was following me around like a shadow,” Carolyn said, watching Kris jog

awkwardly across patchy grass to littered sand. “I realize the kid has insecurity issues or

something, but it still gets on my nerves.”

I chuckled. “Where’s your maternal instinct?”

“I traded it for objective judgment.” She looked at me, eyes shaded with one hand.

“And don’t laugh. You know I’m not a fan of Daddy Dearest, either.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Can we drop it?” I didn’t need to be reminded that I’d been

growing disaffected with Kris’s father as well. “This is the start of my vacation. No

grousing allowed.”

“Sorry,” Carolyn muttered. “I just think—”

“I know what you think. So I don’t need to hear the mantra again. Okay?”

Carolyn had never liked Kenneth. We’d been divorced for nearly two years, but she

was still protective of me. It was as if I’d gone from being her husband to her little

brother.

I steered Carolyn through the deck’s sliding double doors before she had a chance to

expound on her opinion. The cottage had a tolerable false-fresh smell. I figured it was a

bridge between the sour, musty staleness that had greeted us earlier and the true breath of

nature that seeped through the open windows—sluggishly, for it was a hot, humid day.

Although the cottage came furnished, it didn’t come in move-in condition. I had to

supply all the household accoutrements. Unloading boxes from my minivan was all I’d

done after leaving the realtor’s office yesterday. It wasn’t until early this morning, after

Carolyn arrived, that the set-up of my getaway home began in earnest.

“Well? See if you like it.” Carolyn swept a hand toward the bedroom I’d claimed as

mine, the one closest to the bathroom. I walked into it and made my inspection.

I saw more than I’d anticipated. Not only were the curtains hung, the bed was made,

lamps stood on nightstands, and grooming aids dressed the dressers. Everything

appropriately understated, with a hint of rustic. A modest, Midwestern version of

Adirondack chic.

“Is it masculine enough?” Carolyn asked uncertainly.

Laughing, I turned and gave her a hug. “If it were any more masculine, my voice

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