When the men meet at the bar where Hunter plays guitar in a band, they spark immediately, the attraction fierce and sudden. Can it last when the two of them are at very different places in their lives? Hunter has his music, his business, whereas Jeff is just starting out, looking into his options after mustering out of the military.
Can Jeff and Hunter compromise so they can stay together? Or do they even want to?
NOTE: This story was previously published with the ISBN: 978-1-60370-205-8. This reissued version of the story has been revised and reedited.
Genres: Gay / Contemporary / The Arts
Heat Level: 3
Length: Extended Amber Kiss (13k words)
.It felt strange wearing nothing but civilian clothes. It felt really strange not having the base to go back to, his bunk in unmarried quarters no longer his own.
Funny how one thing Jeff and all the guys groused about was not having a room to themselves, and here he was in Florence Mae’s Boarding House with a room all to himself. He found it lonely and too quiet of snores and sniffles and the smell of other men sleeping.
He didn’t know who Florence Mae was, but she sure didn’t own the boarding house anymore. Now it was owned by a chubby guy who made great chili and lots of it. Thing was, that’s all that was made for supper, and while you could have as much as you could eat, after a couple of days of it, Jeff just couldn’t eat any more.
So after a day of testing out at the DEA’s Corpus field office, he went to find a diner or bar or somewhere he could get a warm meal that wasn’t too expensive and wasn’t chili.
The touch of the wind on his scalp was familiar at least. He’d spent the last two years of his five-year stint in the Navy at the Podunct Naval Base. It had been an easy decision to find something here, given he had no reason to go home.
He missed the easy camaraderie of the barracks, even if some of the guys were assholes. The world felt a lot bigger when you faced it on your own.
He followed the Kennedy Causeway south toward Padre Island, looking idly for somewhere clean and decent and not frou-frou. He saw a bunch of trucks at a little place called The King’s Sword. Looked busy enough, decent, and the sign out front offered burgers and beer.
Worked for him.
Jeff let himself in, the smell of smoke and beer hitting him as opened the door. He snagged a little table in a corner, and sat with his back to the wall, looking around. The place wasn’t big, was homey and simple. Little bar. Little dance floor. Little stage with a trio of cowboys setting up.
Funny, you’d expect at least a few chicks out on a Friday night.
The waiter was a young guy in jeans and a T-shirt with a cowboy hat tilted back off his face. “Hey, stud, what’ll it be?”
He blinked. “Um…a draft and burger, please.”
“A tall cold one like yourself? And you want that burger with the works? Fries on the side?”
Jeff blinked some more and nodded. The guy was coming on to him. Or flirting anyway…
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Sean Michael
Often referred to as “Space Cowboy” and “Gangsta of Love” while still striving for the moniker of “Maurice,” Sean Michael spends his days surfing, smutting, organizing his immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by horseshoe crabs. While collecting vast amounts of vintage gay pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the hours between dropping the f-bomb and pursuing the Kama Sutra by channeling the long-lost spirit of John Wayne and singing along with the soundtrack to Chicago.
A long-time writer of complicated haiku, Sean is currently attempting to learn the advanced arts of plate-spinning and soap-carving sex toys.
Barring any of that? He’ll stick with writing his stories, thanks, and rubbing pretty bodies together to see if they spark.
To learn more about Sean, please visit: www.seanmichaelwrites.com