Page 81 of The Boy from Half Moon

“You’re correct, no one on the ranch is allowed money besides the deceased, but that isn’t entirely why we practice law, is it?” I appealed, ignoring the creep sitting to my right.

Senior leveled his eyes at me. “That is precisely why we practice law, son. I didn’t get rich giving our services away for free.”

“Why can’t we take on pro-bono cases occasionally?” I asked. “Earn some goodwill in the community.”

“Fuck that!” Alec interjected. “That’s a big hell-to-the-fucking no,” he added.

“Sorry, Tate, but I have to side with Junior on this one,” Senior said. “Let the boy go. Time to move on from this one.”

Alec stood, nodding aggressively in agreement. “He killed a man, Tate. Even you don’t want to be with a man like that, do you?”

I jumped out of my chair, turning to Alec so he could see my face directly. “You, Junior, are a lousy example of a man,” I began. “I’ll take an accused murderer over you every goddamned day of the week.” I began leaving the office before remembering a suspicion I had about Alec. “I think you know, Alec, that we wouldn’t be here today had you not contacted the victim and told him Luke was violating community rules. Isn’t that right?”

“You’re imagining things,” he spat.

“Just like I imagined your police buddy pulling me over for what should have been a reckless driving charge, and then letting me go scot-free, only to remind me how lucky I am that I have contacts in high places?” I angrily asked. “That sort of imagining?”

“You’re high, Tate,” he barked, waving a dismissive hand at me.

“I wish I was high,” I said. “Then it wouldn’t bother me to be quitting this job.” I faced Senior. “I’m done, sir. Thank you for the opportunity and the huge upgrade in position, but a future here means a future with this waste of a human being, so no thanks.”

“Don’t be foolish, Tate. The kid is a Moonie, for fuck’s sake,” Alec snarled.

“Maybe, Alec, but he’ll be a Moonie with the best counsel available in this fucking town.”

* * *

My parking garage was basically empty at home. I’d quit my job at noon and was home a half hour later, while the rest of my complex appeared to still be at their jobs. Jobs that paid the bills. Jobs that kept a roof over their heads.

“What are you doing, Tate?” I asked, glancing at the rearview mirror. I let out a long sigh and gripped the steering wheel, relaxing my head against the headrest.

Luke was upstairs where he’d been for nearly a week, sleeping in the guest room, and wearing the same gym shorts I’d loaned him the last time he was here, the only pair that fit his incredible body. Every night found me miserable in my bed while my heart longed to admit how I felt about him.

The two of us had developed a bit of a routine. I worked all day while he stayed home. I’d come home to an immaculately clean loft, dinner on the table, and the sweetest man I’d ever met. He was kind, considerate, responsible, and his being in my loft drove me crazy with sexual want. The worst part? He kept a polite distance at all times.

Whatever flame we’d had prior to the event was extinguished now. We sat across from one another at the dinner table, feet apart on the sofa when relaxing or doing something he’d never done like watch TV, and we slept separately. I didn’t truly want the bullshit excuse of a client relationship I’d mentioned, but apparently he did.

I steeled my nerves, got out of the car, and headed to the elevators so I could endure the agony one more night. Standing outside my loft’s front door, I took a deep breath, plastered a smile on my face, and opened the door.

The door opened to find a nearly naked Luke opening drawers in the kitchen. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and was bare-chested. I’ve never prayed more for a towel to drop, even when Carter Harris, the quarterback from high school, teased he would drop his in the locker room after a football game senior year.

Luke jumped upright when the door opened, bashfully grabbing the towel and securing it. My eyes scanned his torso, stirring the sexual interest overloading my self-control. Looking at him never got old. Luke possessed an innocence, and a sexual five-alarm fire, all at once.

I was reminded of the first time I’d seen him in the bakery. My antennae were on full alert then, like it was now, with the contradiction he offered. Luke looked like an angel who had a dirty secret to share, while not being aware of what that secret actually was.

“Do you have thread and a needle?” he asked, blushing like a boy who was caught sneaking a cookie. “I sort of ripped the gym shorts you let me wear,” he confessed.

“Sort of?” I asked, laughing and falling in love for the millionth time that week. “How does one, sort of, rip stretchy shorts?” I teased.

“Squatting to clean the shower tiles,” he answered. “Maybe my butt was too big?”

At that moment, I wanted to jump on him and grab that big butt of his and beg him to fuck me on the kitchen island. I fantasized about how I’d hold it tightly and pull him into me as he invaded my asshole with his thick cock.

But that wasn’t what I did. “Bottom drawer with the tools,” I said, coming to his side.

Luke smelled like Ivory soap, obviously freshly showered before I got home. This time my horny mind imagined me yanking his towel off and dropping to my knees, taking his schlong down my throat and milking him completely dry. His muscled thighs would bulge under my hands as he fought the need to unload deep into my hungry throat.

But that wasn’t what I did. “There it is,” he said, in his sweet, boyish voice, another thing belying his brute strength and sex-on-a-stick looks. “I’ll patch ‘em right up. They’ll be good as new.”

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