Beyond the Norm

Chapter 1 The one drawback of being the owner of Dave’s Bar was having to close it up the six nights it was open. David Johnson closed and locked the heavy oak door and glanced at his watch in the light of the neon sign of the bar. A little after three in the morning. And pouring rain. “s**t,” he muttered. Apparently the weather man had been right after all. Lightning flashed in the distant horizon. Unusual weather for December in Southern California. He fingered his suede jacket. With the rain coming down as hard as it was, he’d have to run to his truck to avoid getting completely drenched, and even then he’d be pretty damn wet. The suede would be ruined. Grimacing, Dave reopened the bar door while shrugging out of his jacket. He hung it on the coat hook just inside and relocked the door. His pickup truck was the only vehicle left in the strip mall parking lot. He made a run for it and nearly skidded on the wet asphalt. Reaching the truck at last, he slipped his hands into the front right pocket of his jeans and pulled out his truck keys. A loud crack of thunder startled them right out of his hand. “s**t,” he said again. He squinted down at the ground and saw them under the truck next to the front driver’s side wheel. He crouched down. His red muscle T-shirt had already soaked through and stuck to his skin. Any minute his teeth would start chattering. He dropped to his knees to reach for the keys, and lightning flashed overhead. Looking out from under his truck, he spied three shadowy figures across the parking lot. He couldn’t see very clearly, but he thought they were men. One lay prone, and another knelt beside him, dealing blow after blow to the man’s head. The third man stood and directed repeated kicks to the man lying on the asphalt. “Hey!” Dave yelled, but if they heard him they ignored him. He stood and went to the other side of his truck, stopping to grab a crowbar out of the truck bed. He hurried to them. “Hey, stop!” The man standing froze in the act of kicking. “This isn’t your business, mister.” “Yeah? Well, I’m making it my business. I’ve already called the cops,” Dave lied. He should have, of course. Would have even, maybe, if he’d actually had a cell phone. It was one of those stupid parts of modern life he had yet to adapt to. He only had land lines. He’d get one someday, he always promised. It would have come in handy just then. He waved the crowbar. The man crouched next to the one on the ground pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up around his head and scrambled up. “Let’s go.” “We can take this guy,” the kicker said with an ugly snarl on his face. Dave hadn’t gotten close enough to make out their features very well, but he thought they were both in their mid-twenties. “I’m out of here,” his accomplice said, and ran away, his feet sloshing in the puddles. Dave took a step forward, brandishing his weapon. “Dickhead,” the assailant swore and then followed his buddy. Dave watched them for a moment to make sure they were really leaving. When they didn’t come back, he hurried to the man on the ground. “Hey, pal, you okay?” The man lay face down, so Dave turned him over and cradled him in his arms. Rain splattered his face. His breath caught in his throat. Holy s**t, the guy was beautiful. Just a kid, really. Pale white with long, dark lashes. Black eyeliner. A tiny diamond stud on the left side of his nose. A little silver cross in his right ear. Thick shoulder-length black hair was plastered to his skull. Dave frowned, glancing briefly at his attire. He had on black pants and a T-shirt, combat boots, and a black trench coat. Even his nail polish was black. Nail polish? Oh right. Dave nodded. The kid was Goth. The kid groaned and opened his eyes, blinking rapidly. Dave strained to see by the parking lot lights what color eyes he had. Would they be blue or brown? Gray. Deep, gorgeous, pewter gray. Dave’s chest constricted. For a moment his world tilted. “Hold on. I’ll get you to the hospital,” Dave assured him. “No,” he whispered. Closed his eyes briefly, opened them, and focused his killer gray eyes on Dave. “No hospital. Please.” “Are you sure? Those guys beat the crap out of you.” “Yeah, yeah. I’m okay. H-help me up.” Dave stood and reached down to help the kid up. He swayed a bit, and Dave held him. “You don’t think anything’s broken?” “Nah,” the guy said, feeling his ribs under his trench coat. “Just a little unsteady.” He had a slight lilt to his voice, but it was so faint, Dave couldn’t quite place it. Lightning flashed overhead and was followed quickly by a very large clap of thunder. “Look, we’d better get out of here. You got any place to go?” The kid bit his plump, sensual lip and shook his head. “Not really.” Dave hesitated. He knew nothing about this young man. For all he knew he could be an axe murderer. He might regret this, but…“I don’t live far. Let’s get you dry and look at your injuries and maybe get you some food.” The younger man assessed him for a moment and then nodded. “Sounds good.” “Can you make it? Or do you want me to bring the truck over here?” Dave asked. The kid took a step but wobbled. “Stay here. I’ll be back.” Dave ran back to his truck, got in and started it, and drove across the parking lot to stop next to the kid, who opened the door and climbed in the passenger side. He leaned his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. “What’s your name?” Dave asked. “Kyle.” “Kyle what?” Kyle stared at Dave. His mouth curved up at the corners just a bit. “Just Kyle.” Dave pulled out of the parking lot, switching on the windshield wipers. “Mine is Dave Johnson.” “Thanks, Dave Johnson.” Dave nodded and turned down the street that led to the block his house was on. He wasn’t kidding when he’d said he didn’t live far. His house was literally about two streets over from the bar. He’d chosen it for that very reason. “So why were those guys beating the crap out of you? Were they friends of yours?” “Did they seem like friends?” “No. So, then?” Kyle sighed and ran his long pale fingers through his wet black hair. “Could be one of two reasons, I guess. I’m Goth, and for some reason that annoys certain people.” “And the other?” “I’m gay. That seems to annoy guys like that even more.” Kyle shrugged. “Maybe it was some of each.” Dave’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. Okay, so Kyle was gay. He was probably too young anyway, and Dave was supposed to be rescuing him from a bad situation. Not lusting after him. But, God, did he have to be gay? Because Dave’s c**k had certainly perked up at the news. “You a runaway?” Kyle snorted. “Dude, how old do you think I am?” Dave shrugged and pushed the button on his garage door opener. “Fifteen or sixteen?” “No. I’m nineteen and three-quarters.” Dave laughed. “Three-quarters?” “Yep.” Dave exhaled. Okay, so Kyle wasn’t jailbait. Which shouldn’t mean a damn thing, but tell that to his now fully erect c**k. He was in big trouble. Kyle was probably some sort of hustler, and he sure as hell didn’t need to get involved in anything like that. He parked the truck, careful not to bump the motorcycle already parked to the side, and closed the garage door behind them. “How old are you?” Kyle asked, getting out of the truck. “Twenty-seven.” Dave opened the door leading into the house. “I’ll get us some dry clothes. You want to take a shower?” “That would be wicked cool.” Dave guessed that was a “yes.” He went down the hall to the linen closet, took out a big fluffy bath towel, and tossed it at Kyle. “I’ll lay some clothes out for you while you shower.” Kyle nodded. “Thanks, dude. I really owe you.” He disappeared into the bathroom. * * * * Dave bent over to peer into the refrigerator to see what he could feed his guest. He’d changed into sweats and a thin white muscle T-shirt, and he’d taken out his contacts and replaced them with his gold wire-framed glasses. He had some leftover Chinese food he’d picked up a couple of days ago. He opened the little white package and sniffed. Smelled okay. He set the container on the counter and reached into the cabinet for two plates. “Hey, cool glasses.” Dave turned to see Kyle standing just inside the kitchen doorway. “Thanks.” “Dude, don’t you have anything in black?” Earlier when he’d brought him the clothes, Dave had resisted taking a peek while the young man showered. He hadn’t even glanced in the direction of the steamy shower glass. But now it was hard to keep his gaze off Kyle. Kyle had pulled on the navy blue shorts and pumpkin orange T-shirt Dave had left in the bathroom. They were way too big for him and hung rather awkwardly on his slim body. And he had reapplied his eyeliner. Damn, the man was just adorable. Not at all Dave’s usual type. If he had one. Did he? He didn’t know. Maybe guys like himself. Whatever. But not pretty boys with black eyeliner and pouty, kissable looks. He sure hoped his sweatpants hid his obvious erection. But damn, the kid was hot. “No, the navy shorts were as close as I could find,” Dave said. “I threw your clothes in the washer. There was some blood on them. You okay?” He noticed Kyle’s left cheek was already turning a bit purple, and he had a small cut there, too. There was a bruise developing by his mouth. Dave suspected his ribs were probably bruised, too, if they weren’t broken. He wondered if Kyle had any head injuries. He really should have insisted on taking the kid to the hospital. “Yeah, I’m all right. Just a bit banged up.” Kyle smiled crookedly. “Maybe a bit sore, but I’ve had worse.” Dave nodded. “You working the streets?” “You mean selling my body or something?” “Yeah.” Kyle shrugged. “I’ve done it before, but it’s been a while. A couple years, at least. And I only did it for a short time.” Dave spooned Chinese food on to the plates. “Drug habit?” “Is this the Spanish Inquisition or what?” Kyle sighed. “Maybe I should just go.” Dave turned and leaned against the counter. “Sure, you could. Where would you go?” “I guess I’d go hitching.” “You hitch rides?” Dave wondered if Kyle had a brain in his pretty head. “Do you know how dangerous that is? You got a death wish?” “No. I’ve been hitching for years. Never had any problems.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of the shorts. “You got some matches?” “Oh for God’s sake. You smoke, too?” Kyle pulled out a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth. “Yes. You want me to smoke outside?” “It’s pouring rain.” “This house doesn’t have a patio?” Well, it did, yes, but damn, did he want this kid smoking on his f*****g patio? He gritted his teeth and stuck the plates in the microwave. “Yes, I guess you can smoke out there. If you want to give yourself cancer, what does it matter to me?” Kyle’s lips twitched. “Matches?” Dave grunted and opened a drawer. He pulled out a box he used to light his barbecue and threw it at Kyle. Kyle caught the box. For some reason, Dave found himself staring at the little diamond in Kyle’s nose. He gestured to it. “Didn’t that hurt?” Kyle’s gaze briefly went to the dragon tattoo on Dave’s left arm. “Didn’t that?” “Touché.” Dave grinned for the first time since he’d brought Kyle the Goth guy home. He was definitely not Dave’s type at all. But God, Dave wanted to f**k him just the same.