On a Roll

Chapter 4-2

The music was a wet, smothering blanket, thrown out the door and into Vin’s face. The beat was so loud that the pavement vibrated underfoot. Some barely discernible guitar chords screamed somewhere in the mess of bass and tempo. DJs, Vin reflected, were convinced that louder was in some complicated algorithm better than comprehensible. Or conversation, but hellwazzamatter with you, you wanted to talk to someone? Really?

Vin rolled his eyes at his inner monologue and gestured grandly to Beau. “After you,” he said. The bouncer went through the routine and stamped his forearm with a blurry rendition of an eagle after inspecting his ID so closely that one might have supposed Vinyl Elvis Reyes was on some terrorist watch list somewhere. He was used to it. One of those things that happened when you had an unusual name.

Beau showed his ID, didn’t get tramped, stamped, inspected, or injected, and said, “Yeah, I’m the designated walker tonight.”

“Are you planning to carry me home when I get too trashed?” Vin said. They entered, drowned in the music and flow of people for a moment before gaining some traction. There were a few small tables—not the nice kind, designed for sitting—but what Vin thought of as “show offers.” No chairs, just a flat surface to hold drinks, or run a line off. For the pretty people to see and be seen. That’s us, Vin thought, angry and somewhat vindictively. He did a quick scan, nodded to a few of his acquaintances—Maggie was actually waving frantically, big overhead sweeps of both arms until he smiled and then she immediately returned to gabbing with her neighbor, a dread-locked guy wearing the inevitable m*******a leaf T-shirt.

“Hey, gorgeous!” Hector Lange’s cheerful, unctuous voice rang out, audible even over the throbbing beat and whatever inane bullshit the DJ was going on about. Vin turned, grin already starting. Hec pulled him in, tipped his head, and didn’t hesitate. Barely a warning and Hec was kissing Vin, a mouthful of tongue and enthusiasm that would have drowned someone less alert.

Warmth, comforting and swift, blossomed in Vin’s stomach and drew a line down his belly toward his groin. Vin’s hand went up to grip the back of Hec’s scalp, feeling the rough stubble of his brutally short hair.

By the time Vin freed himself from Hec’s ebullient greeting, Beau’s eyebrow had climbed all the way into his hairline. “Someone you know?” Casual, almost dismissive, but Vin suspected he was not, actually, that relaxed. The disinterested mask Beau hid behind had only cracked the once, but Vin thought it might yield to pressure. Eventually.

Hec smirked, hands on his wide hips. He was dressed in his usual style, a half-unbuttoned white linen shirt, showing copious amounts of chest hair, muscles, and the leather harness underneath, with tattered black jeans and combat boots. Typical bear uniform. Vin wondered if they’d gotten around to passing a dress code. Hector rubbed one hand over his head, looking interested.

“Bringing your new boytoy to the scene, gorgeous? You sharing, or showing off?”

“Neither,” Vin said. Shouted, really. “This is Beau. He’s a frosh and wanted to meet some friendly people.”

If possible, Hec looked even more interested, a wide grin splitting his bearded face. “Hot stuff! Lemme buy you a drink! Or three!”

“Coke,” Beau said. There was no shame in his voice, no hesitation, and no room for negotiations.

“Seriously?”

Beau held up his naked hands, unstamped by the bar’s mark. “I don’t drink.”

Vin whipped out his camera again, snapped a few pictures of Hec’s frozen, sardonically horrified expression.

“Damn it, Elvis, stop that!” Hec made a half-hearted grab for the camera. Vin danced out of the way, grinning. He ducked behind Beau.

“Save me!”

“Save yourself, bro,” Beau said. He stepped aside, gesturing like a matador. “That phone of yours is going to get you into trouble someday.”

“Oh, it already has, my young friend,” Hec said. He put an arm around Beau’s shoulders and spun the lean blond toward the bar. “I’ll buy you a Coke and tell you all about it. You see, Vin and I were in a class together, Philosophy 253, Kant-anese class, we used to call it and…”

Their voices didn’t fade out so much as they were buried in the wash of music and screaming conversations. Beau leaned toward Hec, listening intently. Vin felt a pang in the chest area—he wouldn’t be quite so corny as to call it his heart, but he knew Hec pretty well. It wouldn’t surprise him if Hec was deliberately talking quieter, the better to get his new interest to lean in, to place his ear just so close that he could feel warm breath. Vin shuddered, jealous and angry for being jealous.

Beau’s in good hands, Vin argued with himself. Hector was outspoken, free with his affections and desires, but generally not deliberately hurtful. Hector was more like a child in an ice cream store: he wanted to taste everything and so at the end of the trip, he didn’t want the cone anymore.

Vin closed his eyes, feeling the beat of the music thrum against his eyelids. When he opened them, Hec and Beau were gone. Bar, right. Tucking up against grain-smooth wood and peeling leather, Vin offered a single, crisp, hundred-dollar bill to the perky girl behind the bar with the huge eyes and too much lipstick. “Bourbon, please. Let me know when I’ve used it up.”