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  When he was able, Ethan climbed out of bed and tried to hunt down his pants. He found them laid out neatly over a chair with his shirt draped over the top of it, and he was halfway into the latter before Mitch’s words fully penetrated his brain. He paused with one button partly through its hole.

  Husband?

  Chapter Six

  RANDY HAD TO ride his motorcycle all the way to Herod’s before he could go and get groceries, because his truck was still at the casino. As he got to the parking lot, he saw the plain silver Mazda with Utah plates parked the next row over from his truck. He stowed the bike, pulled the keys Ethan had given him at the fountains out of his pocket, and tried them in the door. They worked.

  As Slick had confessed, there was a gun and a pack of bullets beneath the driver’s seat. Randy stared at them, feeling sick and slightly disconnected.

  “New car, Jansen?”

  Randy dropped the gun and kicked it under the seat, trying to look casual. The guy speaking to him was a new dealer, one Randy didn’t know.

  “Hey.” Randy flashed a wide smile and leaned against the steering wheel. “Nah, this belongs to a friend of mine. Just checking something out.”

  “This wouldn’t be your new friend from the bar, would it?” The dealer grinned. “I just got off my shift, and everybody’s talking about your bet with Scully. You really bet against yourself, Jansen?”

  What was this guy talking about? Bet against himself? Then Randy remembered he’d offered to spot Ethan his one-fifty against Scully. Which, technically, he’d lost. Randy grimaced, then ran his hand through his hair to try and cover it, but he didn’t think it worked.

  The dealer beamed. “Come on, Jansen, spill. Did he kiss you? Because I got in on the side-bet action, and I said he did. I could totally see you betting against yourself just to get a kiss.”

  You don’t even know me, you prick. Randy supposed that was his legacy, wasn’t it? Randy the fearless. Randy the big asshole. Randy the fun guy. Randy the quirky little bastard. Randy, Crabtree’s piece on the side.

  Randy rubbed his hand over his face, not liking any of this. He wasn’t so bad, or he was deeper than what the dealer had insinuated. But everything in this guy registered yes, everybody believed Randy Jansen lived like that.

  This, more than anything else, made Randy’s decision for him. “I’m afraid you lost your bet, buddy.”

  The dealer’s smile vanished, and his eyes went wide. “No way.” His shock became anger. “You bastard, I didn’t even have that hundred.”

  Let it be a lesson to you. Randy splayed his hand in halfhearted apology. “Sorry.”

  “But you can read everybody. You’re never wrong.” The dealer scowled. “You felt sorry for him or something. Because this doesn’t make sense.”

  Randy gave him a withering look. “Yeah, that sounds like me, doesn’t it?”

  It sobered Randy to see how well this worked to soothe the dealer’s objection—his objection which had actually been the truth.

  This got shittier every second, didn’t it? He tried to recover. “Tell you what. I’ll make it up to you with a poker lesson. Next time I’m playing prop, come on over, and I’ll give you some tips. You’ll win your money back and then some in no time.”

  The young man smiled. “Hey, thanks, Jansen.”

  Randy watched him go. When he was alone, he slipped out of his jacket and wrapped the gun and the bullets inside of it. Then he headed with the whole mess down the street to Tina’s Pawn and threw it on the counter.

  Tina paused mid-draw on her cigarette when she opened the jacket. She raised her eyebrows, then looked up with mild interest at Randy. “Hot, is it?”

  “No idea,” Randy said. “I want it gone.”

  Tina resumed her draw, held the smoke in for a minute, then blew it out at the ceiling from the corner of her lip. “How much you gonna pay me to take it off your hands?”

  Randy gave her a withering look.

  Tina didn’t budge. “I ain’t supposed to take guns, Skeet.”

  “Oh for the love of Christ.” Randy dug into his pocket. He had a hundred, a fifty, a ten and a handful of chips. He passed her those. “I need the rest for groceries, so this is what you get, and you cash it in yourself.”

  Tina had caught the denominations on the bills in his hand. “You don’t need that many groceries.”

  “Yeah, well I’m making breakfast for the poor bastard who was going to blow his brains out with the gun you’re screwing me over, so tough.”

  Tina’s hard edges softened. “No shit? Well, I guess I can rub the serial off and give it to Burt.” She paused, giving Randy a knowing grin. “Wait a minute. This poor bastard wouldn’t happen to be your new friend from Herod’s last night, is it? The one who won a thousand off you because you read him wrong?”

  What the fuck? Randy started to deny it, to explain the bet with Billy, then realized he would expose Ethan. He faltered, not knowing how to get out of this one.

  Tina slapped the counter in victory. “There’s no poor bastard at all, is there? You’re just trying to get money out of me because you need to pay him back.”

  What? “Wait,” Randy said, but Tina rode over him, waving the butt of the gun at him with one hand before putting it down to take another drag on her cigarette.

  “Just tell me he kissed you by midnight and I’ll take this as it stands. Otherwise you’re giving me the fifty, because it’s what I bet on your slippery little tongue sliding down his throat.”

  Glaring, Randy peeled off a fifty and headed out, Tina’s laughter burning in his ears. But once he returned to the parking lot, he saw Ethan’s car, remembered the gun was gone now, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Balling his jacket into his hand, he tossed it in the passenger seat of his truck, climbed inside, and headed to the store.

  He felt better browsing the aisles of Albertsons, putting fresh beans for coffee good enough to impress Slick and an array of granola and yogurt choices in his cart as he trolled the aisles for further culinary inspiration. It was a little surreal to be cooking for somebody he’d slept with, because with few exceptions men he’d sleep with and cook for did not fall into the same category. Slick put a twist on the whole works by being, well, Slick. He seemed so fussy, to the point Randy picked out brand-name products instead of store, just in case. He could make a quiche or a fancy omelet, but suspected a nice cozy casserole would say home to the man.

  Then it hit him how seriously he was taking all this, how much he wanted to impress Ethan, and Randy stared down at the bottle of fancy mustard in his hand and shook his head. Putting the mustard in the cart, he doubled back to the meat counter, where he picked up some spiced sausage before heading over to the international cheeses. He decided to compromise and make Slick a gourmet cozy casserole.

  He felt smug as he waited in the checkout line, pleased with his choices and looking forward to Ethan’s guaranteed surprise when he found out a guy with grease stains on his hands could cook like Julia Child. It pretty much impressed everybody, save the knuckle-draggers he’d left almost fifteen years ago in Detroit, and good riddance to them anyway. He liked engines and cards and cooking and cock? So the fuck what? That was what he loved about Vegas. Nobody fucking cared.

  In Las Vegas Randy had cultivated a life of casual friends and favors and a reputation at the table which got him respect wherever he went. No, he was never going to be a famous poker player like Doyle Brunson, and this was fine. He’d never write a book about poker or enter the World Series of it, either. He’d play prop at Herod’s, dabble at the Nugget and the MGM and Caesars and Bellagio, and when he got tired of playing poker, he’d head over to the Watering Hole and scare up a fuck or two.

  He wasn’t fond of everybody thinking he was a fucking gigolo, but after today his rep ought to have some significant, Ethan-shaped dents in it. And Ethan shouldn’t have to pay for a drink again.

  Right now, Randy decided, everything was good. He’d go home, ma
ke Slick breakfast, then talk him to bed for one more fuck before they got to the uncomfortable conversations such as “Where are you headed now?” and “Would you want to crash here for a bit?” But those would be fine too. Somehow. Because this was a good day. And because Slick was hot and fun to charm.

  Yeah, he thought, his libido rising as he pulled onto his street. Yeah, it was gonna be great.

  Then he saw the big, blue semi cab parked bobtail in the middle of his driveway, and he knew surprise, elation, and regret all in one strange go. Mitch and Sam were here.

  This was going to make everything interesting.

  Mitch came to the doorway and leaned against the frame as Randy carried the grocery bags up the sidewalk. He smiled as he sipped at a longneck. He looked good, really good, and happy, and despite the fuckery his presence was going to cause regarding Slick, Randy was glad to see him.

  Of course, there was no point in letting him know that.

  “What the fuck, Old Man?” Randy nodded at the beer. “Marriage driving you to drink before noon already?”

  “Nope, just bucking up the courage to look at your ugly mug again.” Mitch grinned and slapped Randy’s ass as he passed. “Now get your butt into the kitchen and cook me up something to eat.”

  Randy was sharpening his retort when slim arms closed around his neck, and he had to brace against the onslaught that was Sam Keller-Tedsoe.

  “Randy!” Sam planted a kiss against his cheek before hugging him once more.

  “Hey there, Peaches.” Randy brushed a kiss on his hair, which he noted absently was lighter than the last time they’d been through. “How’s my favorite nurse?”

  To his surprise, Sam blushed and withdrew. “I—I messed up, Randy. I’m sorry.” He glanced over his shoulder at Ethan, who stood quietly against the archway to the hall, already dressed—in the same clothes as the night before. Sam’s blush deepened. “I went to your room to say hello.”

  It took a second for Sam’s hints to penetrate Randy’s understanding, but the slightly frazzled look on Ethan’s face and the mortification on Sam’s began to paint a picture. Randy didn’t know whether to swear or laugh, so he shifted the grocery bags all to one hand and ruffled Sam’s hair. “Don’t sweat it, Peaches. I’ll take care of it.”

  Sam kissed his cheek again, then returned to Mitch’s side. Randy nodded at Ethan as he headed toward the kitchen table to deposit his load. “So, I see you met the family?”

  “That I did,” Ethan said, a hint of innuendo in his voice. Sam whimpered into Mitch’s shirt.

  Mitch grunted a laugh and patted Sam’s back loudly. “Sunshine, come out and help me unload Blue, will you?” Then they were gone, and it was just Ethan and Randy and the breakfast which was likely not going to lead to hot sex on the table afterward.

  “Let me guess.” Randy stuck the cheese and butter into the fridge. “Sam came in to say hello and mistook you for me?”

  “He had his hand on my dick and appeared ready to give me more, if I’d wanted it.”

  “Once he gets to know you better, he probably still will.” Randy shoved the beer aside to make room for the milk. “Of course, he’s going to turn red every time he sees you for a good week right now.”

  “But he’s married.”

  Randy shut the door to the fridge and turned to Ethan, hiding the nerves he felt over explaining Mitch and Sam and himself. “You might as well know I’ve fucked him. A lot. Shit, I fucked him on his wedding night.”

  Ethan’s brow furrowed, his mouth hung open, and he gestured toward where Mitch had stood.

  Here we go. “Yeah, Mitch was there, enjoying the whole thing.” Randy leaned against the fridge. “Look, it’s how they are. It’s who they are. And they’re my friends, so if they make you uptight, I’m going to ask you not to let them know.”

  Say you’re not uptight, Randy’s heart whispered, and then he told his heart, Shut up.

  Ethan’s face was carefully blank. “Is that who you are?”

  Oh, leave it to Slick to go right for the belly. Randy rubbed his jaw, trying to suss out how to answer this one. “I like sex. Kinky sex. I like vanilla sex too—I just plain like sex. The Old Man and I go way back. And Peaches—Sam, that is—” Randy sighed. How to explain Sam? “He’s real shy, Slick, so don’t tease him. He’s shy, but bent too. He’s this precious little fire, so hot, but so fragile. The world should have eaten him up and spit him out a long time ago, but it hasn’t, and goddamn, but I’d do anything for that twerp.”

  Ethan relaxed against the wall. “Ah. So you’re in love with him.”

  Randy would have been able to better guard against a bucket of ice water.

  “Calm down.” Ethan sounded unruffled and quietly amused, which was almost worse. “I’m not going to say anything.”

  “I’m not in love with him,” Randy replied, angry at being called on it, unsettled by it being Slick who did the calling. “I’m not going to fuck up their marriage or anything.”

  “You’ll just fuck him?” Ethan suggested, sounding more amused all the time.

  Randy swore, shut his eyes, and gave up, pressing his forehead to the cupboard door. He stilled, though, when Ethan placed a hand on his back.

  “Calm down.” The hand drew gentle circles then slid up to Randy’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “Actually, I think I sort of understand. Given the way he touched me, thinking it was you—well, if it helps, I was pretty much butter in his hands.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, Randy arched an eyebrow. “Thought it was me, though. So you would have been butter in my hands?”

  Ethan’s eyes darkened a moment before he lowered his hand. “Randy, is my being here going to cause a problem?”

  “No.” Randy caught Ethan’s hand and threaded their fingers together. “No, baby. I wasn’t expecting them for another week or so, but they just come and go. The worst you’re going to have to put up with are Peaches’s moans, because I’m not gonna lie to you—those two fuck like bunnies.”

  “His moans, but not yours?”

  Randy recaptured Ethan’s hand. “Not unless it’s you making me come, Slick.”

  Ethan tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Hmm.”

  Randy caught Ethan’s other hand too. “Okay, so this is an unusual situation, I’ll grant you. I was going to feed you and fuck you before I brought this up, but the happy couple has thrown a wrench in my plans, so we’re just going to lay our cards down here and now. You got nowhere to go, Slick. I’ve got your keys, and I sure as fuck am not giving them to you until I know you aren’t going to go find another gun or a cliff or whatever.”

  Ethan looked Randy in the eye. “I’m not.”

  Something leashed inside Randy relaxed. “You still need somewhere to stay. You don’t have even enough money for a fleabag hotel. You would have had a cool grand, which could have been a stake in a poker game, but you blew that to play tonsil hockey with me, so you have only yourself to blame there.” He thought about the rumors he’d just started at the casino and at Tina’s, but he decided this wasn’t the moment to bring it up. “I’m not going to go to bed with Mitch and Sam while you’re here. Well, not unless you decide you want to come along, which for the record would, I’m sure, be an available option.”

  “You don’t owe me that, withholding yourself from them.”

  For some reason this pissed Randy off. “Well, you’re getting it.” He pulled his hands away and opened the door to the fridge, staring into it, hoping if he stood there long enough he’d remember what he was going to reach for. “Now get out of my kitchen so I can cook.”

  Ethan pushed the door to the fridge shut, and when Randy turned to complain about this, his face was caught in a firm, slim hand. Then Slick’s mouth was on his, taking him in a slow, sweet, grateful kiss.

  Randy kissed him back, nuzzling his chin when they finished. “I’m not in love with Peaches.”

  “You are, but it’s fine. Really.”

  Ethan’s face was impos
sible to read, but beautiful and calm too, and the confident control Randy had found while food shopping dove the rest of the way into the toilet.

  All this was before Ethan opened his mouth and said, his voice solid and soft and sexy as hell, “I want you to teach me more poker.”

  Jesus fuck, but why the hell did Mitch and Sam have to show up right now?

  Randy held on to Ethan’s hip. “Fucking hell, Slick, I want to push you onto the table and take you this goddamned second.”

  Ethan grinned and stepped between Randy’s legs, taking Randy’s rapidly growing erection in his hand. “I’ll pay you for the lessons.”

  Randy let his legs open wider so he could arch into Ethan’s seeking hand. “I take cash or fuck. No credit.”

  “I can deal with those terms.” Ethan’s silky tone fell away, and he looked almost sheepish as he shook his head. “I feel like I’m somebody else when I’m with you.”

  “Naw.” Randy slid his hand up Ethan’s chest to curl his fingers around his neck. “You’re Slick, plain and simple.”

  “Big Slick.” Ethan pressed his hips against Randy’s.

  “Don’t I know it. I had the monster down my throat, if you recall.”

  “I do recall.” Ethan nipped Randy’s earlobe. “I’d like to put it in your ass.”

  “Whenever you want it, baby. Wherever, whenever, however.”

  He shut his eyes and tipped his head back as Ethan’s tongue slipped inside his ear.

  Then the front door opened, and he groaned in regret as Ethan moved deftly aside.

  That was when Randy got his first good look at not just Sam’s face but Mitch’s. He pushed off the counter, breakfast, sex, and even poker forgotten. “What the fuck is wrong?”

  “I HAVE TO make a run to Kentucky.”

  Randy settled in the passenger seat of his truck as Mitch drove them through the streets of Las Vegas. “But Sam’s taking his first nursing job after graduation, right? I thought you were going to do short hauls here out west while Peaches got started?”