gay.”
“Shit.” Another guy killed because of his sexual orientation
would definitely explain Braxton’s foul mood. “Anyone you
knew?”
“Name didn’t ring a bell but you know that doesn’t mean
anything.”
“Right.” The guy could’ve been a regular patron of The Heat
Wave, but that didn’t mean Brax, or even Mac, would’ve known
him personally. “This is crazy, man. I hope Eric catches whoever
is doing this.”
“And tomorrow wouldn’t be soon enough.” Braxton agreed
as they made their way out of the terminal.
§ § § §
May 14, 2009
34 Taylor V. Donovan
Mac buttoned up his short sleeved, dark red shirt and slid
his hands over it slowly, getting familiar with its shimmering
appearance. As a T-shirt and jeans, cotton all the way kind of guy,
he had never in his life worn anything so fine. Heck, he wouldn’t
even know where to shop for something like it; but thanks to
Christian, who had assured him it was mandatory for tourists to
experience the joys of a New York City shopping spree, he could
now mention a few stores and designers he’d never heard of and
whose names he could barely pronounce.
Mac tugged his shirt a little and looked at himself in the
mirror. It fit his linebacker’s physique like a glove, smooth and
soft and damn, the color did look good against his golden skin.
It was the only thing he’d loved at the store, and Chris apparently
noticed because, on the cab ride to the hotel, he’d given Mac a sly
smile and a gift wrapped box.
After making sure his blond hair was spiked just right he
grabbed his wallet and opened it to make sure he had enough
cash. Braxton had refused to let him pay for his own plane ticket
and room, but, after a brief argument, he’d agreed to let Mac pay
for tips and cab fares at the very least.
He put the money away and took out the business card he
hadn’t used until that morning. Granted he’d been busy, but the
real reason was he’d been worried his friends would find him out.
He’d walked around with a hard on for the guy he referred to
as Sexy Super Agent for days, trying to figure out what to do and
how to do it to no avail.
The fact that he might miss this opportunity mainly because
his friends didn’t know Mac swung the same way they did was
frustrating to the nth degree, but it wasn’t the right time to come
out to them.
The card had no first name on it, only an initial, but it stated
that the blue eyed wet dream was a Special Agent with the FBI.
Beauty and brains.
Mac wasn’t going to lie. He was impressed.
And although he’d had some fun wondering what the “S”
six DegRees of Lust 35
stood for by running a litany of words to describe the gorgeous
man—Sexy, Stud, and Super Suckable being his favorites—he’d
much rather ask him in person about it.
Mac couldn’t think of any other time he’d felt this way over
the prospect of a fuck. It was insane. Desire drove him a little
nuts every passing day, plaguing his mind, and eventually he’d had
to admit jerking off to the guy wasn’t going to cut it.
That morning, after realizing it was already Friday and his
time was running out, he’d made the call.
It went straight to voice mail.
Mac couldn’t make sense out of the shivers that once again
ran down his spine when he heard the “This is Special Agent
Shaughnessy. Leave a brief message and I’ll return your call”
greeting. And he couldn’t help but feel like an idiot after leaving
what was probably the dorkiest message in gay history, which
was most likely the reason why Sexy Super Agent never returned
his call.
He wanted the Yankee so much he even considered calling
again before leaving his room. If it weren’t for the fact that he’d
sound like a horny teenager or worse, desperate, he would have.
Instead he called home to make sure everything was okay and,
after grabbing his room key, he headed out the door to go meet
Braxton and Christian down in the