plik

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are

used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any

resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or

persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

It’s Simple, Simon

ISBN: 978-1-7101-129-7

Cover Artist: Victoria Miller

Editor: Olivia Ventura

or reproduced electronically or in print without written

permission, except in the case of brief quotations

embodied in reviews.

Breathless Press

www.breathlesspress.com

Look for these titles by Lee Brazil;

Loving Eden

Loving Jacob

The Librarian

The Man Trap

Trapping Drake

Saint’s Curse: Luke

Mark’s Opening Gambit

Truth or Dare Series

Keeping House

Telling the Truth

Giving Up

Taking the Dare

Risking it All

Print

Truth or Dare, Books 1-3

It’s Simple, Simon

Chapter One

Meet Simple Simon

Simon Carter sat cross-legged in his favorite green silk paja-

ma bottoms on the twin-size bed in his childhood bedroom, star-

ing at his collections. The beautiful cones and spheres of his glass

water pipe collection, the ornate ceramic and carved wood of his

one-hitters and standard pipes were arranged neatly and lovingly

dusted. His songbooks and CDs had been likewise tenderly cared

for in a manner they’d certainly never experienced when he lived

in this house.

Who? Who had cherished these glittery bits of his sordid past

he’d tried so hard to forget when he left them behind?

Mom? Dad? He shook his head. Incredible. Neither of them

actually knew what the pipes were for, of course, naïve ivory tow-

er academics that they were. Neither had he considered that either

of them would come out of the clouds long enough to realize he

didn’t clean his own room anymore and do it themselves. Could

Lee Brazil

have been a new housekeeper or something, he supposed. Why

couldn’t someone have just come along with a box and swept all

his ignoble mementos away to the trash, or the thrift store or even

the farthest reaches of the attic?

It didn’t really matter. The pipes and the music were his past.

He didn’t need or want either of them anymore. Wasn’t that the

reason he’d come home after twelve years? To prove to them, to

everyone, that bad boys could be good, that miscreants grew up

to be successful businessmen.

No. If he were honest with himself, he’d have to admit that it

wasn’t. His parents hadn’t ever cared that he loved music more

than school, and they certainly never knew that the herbs he

smoked were illegal. They smiled indulgently with distant affec-

tion and upped the limits on his credit cards when he asked.

He stretched, arching his back until the vertebrae cracked

loudly in the silence of the early morning. No. He wasn’t here for

them. Though they’d been vaguely pleased to see him. He had to

admit, at least to himself, he was here to prove himself to the one

person who’d disapproved of him.

The person whose disapproval had devastated him and

turned him on a course leading directly to his current success.

Simon crossed the cold hardwood floor to the window that

looked out over the street in front of the stately home. Chase

Garvin didn’t live across there anymore. His parents had sold

their place and moved south long ago. But Chase did live and

work here in Denver, and though he’d ignored Simon for years,

Simon now had the perfect plan for rubbing Chase’s nose in his

success. The success Chase had sneered at Simon ever attaining.

He whirled about and approached the closet. His plan was

simple, and elegant, and Chase Garvin would regret his hasty

words for the rest of his life.

The words that had broken them up, the words that had

changed Simon’s life.

They’d snuggled in this bed, on this exact day, twelve years

ago. They’d graduated community college the day before with

their AA degrees, and Chase had been bouncing and excited. Si-

mon had been dreamy and luxuriating in the aftermath of a sound

fucking. Life had seemed pretty damned perfect. The future lay

ahead of them to explore together.

It’s Simple, Simon

They had tickets to the Renaissance Faire and planned to

spend the whole day together, fencing, and eating, and drinking

and taunting the pretty boys and girls alike. At least, those had

been Simon’s plans. Chase’s eyes had darkened when Simon fog-

gily lit his pipe and toked up. He’d scowled in derision when Si-

mon offered the pipe to him.

“Dude, it’s time to grow up! Get real! You can’t succeed in

life, smoking dope and playing your guitar at Renaissance Faire.

When are you going to take things seriously?”

“Does that mean you don’t want any?” The memory of his

oblivious voice made Simon cringe today. That had probably

been the comment that drove Chase to his parting shot.

“You know, forget about it. Forget the faire, forget us. It’s sim-

ple, Simon. You lack ambition. I don’t need you tying me down

through culinary school like you have through community col-

lege.”

Shaking off the memories, Simon studied the specially made

velvet garb he’d had crafted for the faire. Not one, but three suits

of elegant aristocratic, authentic fifteenth century nobleman’s

garb. Royal blue, deep burgundy, and forest green trimmed with

lace, fine leather accessories, and plumed hats. Those clothes

alone would show Chase that he’d been wrong. They cost more

than any chef, no matter if he owned his own bakery restaurant in

the heart of the city, could afford.

Honestly, they probably cost more than Simon should have

invested in them, given that a bandage on his wounded vanity

would be the only return he could expect.

But he didn’t need them to earn anything else for him. He’d

just gotten a huge promotion and was perilously close to earning

an obscene amount of money annually. Success couldn’t be any

sweeter, until he saw the expression on Chase’s face when he real-

ized what he’d thrown away.

The MBA had been difficult to attain, but so worthwhile.

His hand hovered over the blue suit, then the green. He

peeked out the window. The sun was rising and he needed to get

down to Larkspur in time to park decently or his finery would

be drenched in sweat before he got through the main gates. Of

course, if his pipes and CDs were still in his old room....

He thumbed through the hangers, cringing at concert tees

and ratty jeans. No wonder Chase had been disgusted by his

wardrobe. There wasn’t a single reputable band among the lot.

And there they were. His old Ren-Faire clothes. A few loose-

ly woven linen shirts in unbleached fabric, the soft worn denim

pants (anachronistic, yes...but cool and comfortable) hung neatly

at the back of the wardrobe. His broad leather belt, sword, and the

harness for his mandolin would be on the shelf above.

“Yes!” Suddenly, the day seemed even brighter, and the years

melted away as the excitement built. He slipped the clothes on,

tugged the boots up his calves and sat down to lace them up. The

laces were tricky, and would probably come undone throughout

the day, being rawhide strips that wound through metal hooks,

but they were comfortable and still fit him like a second skin.

Simon surveyed his appearance in the mirror. Yep. They still

fit. The belt fastened neatly, and his rapier lay on the bed waiting.

Should he? It would just get in the way. Without anyone to fence

with, it wouldn’t be any fun to wear the rapier in the heat. How-

ever, he would need his other Renaissance Faire standby. The

lute and strap for slinging it across his back were stored in their

case under the bed as usual, and he smiled broadly as a new plan

formed while he studied the battered instrument.

Yes, it would be fun to rub Chase’s nose in his success, but not

nearly as much fun as it would be to get Chase to repeat his words

first. Would he sneer at Simon for his lack of visible success? Say

I told you so?

Yep. Today he’d wear his old garb. Tomorrow he’d wear the

finery and tell Chase he’d hit the big time in the business world.

It’s Simple, Simon

Chapter Two

Meet the Pie Man

Chase inhaled the delicious aroma and let his eyes close in

appreciation. The scent was so fresh, so deliciously enticing. He

opened his eyes and took in the perfection of his efforts. Gold-

en brown, hot temptation met his gaze. His mouth watered. He

couldn’t resist.

“Was there ever anything so perfect?” he whispered rever-

entially. Taking a swift look around—after all, it wouldn’t do for

everyone to know that the Pie Man preferred simple buttered

toast—he snatched the last piece of toast off the plate and de-

voured it in three huge bites. Sighing contentedly, he brushed the

tell-tale crumbs off his linen smock.

He unplugged the toaster and shoved it under the counter,

checking to make sure his staff wasn’t looking. Evan tended the

warming ovens, Keith rolled dough into perfect ovals, Emmet

Lee Brazil

mixed fruit fillings, and Crash measured and minced meat for the

savory pies.

Things were well in hand for when the crowds arrived. The

colorful streaks of dawn faded, and the sky glowed with the prom-

ise of a brilliant sunny day. The faire goers would pour through

the gates in starving hordes within the hour.

Just as he had when he was a kid, Chase lived for Renaissance

Festival. Twelve years ago, he’d made the switch from faire goer

to faire worker, and he’d come back every year since. That first

year he’d worked someone else’s booth, hawking inferior pies.

The following year, with a year of culinary school under his belt,

he’d scraped together all the money he could beg, borrow, or steal

and worked fifteen-hour days to man his own booth.

Now, he had adequate staff and a loyal clientele. People swore

his pies and pasties were the best ever. He loved hearing it. Of

course, with the success of his chain of bakery-style restaurants,

he didn’t have to work the faire booths himself anymore, but he

couldn’t resist the draw of the faire any more than he could as a

youth.

He had to admit, in part, that he attended this particular event

every year in the hope of running into Simon Carter. He and Si-

mon had enjoyed the faire together, and he hoped that one day

Simon would return to enjoy it with him again.

Meanwhile, there wasn’t time for lingering memories of past

loves. He had pies to bake, and wares to hawk.

He couldn’t shake the memories though, and as the hours

passed, busy as they were making product and tending custom-

ers, every now and then a laugh or called taunt sent a flicker of

memory through him and he smiled as he worked.

The clang of steel on steel had him turning away from the

ovens just in time to see two stalwart young men in hose with

doublets over their blousy white shirts fencing down the dusty

path in front of his booth. He waved Evan back to the ovens and

strolled up to lean on the corner post of the booth to observe the

impromptu fencing match. The boys could have been profession-

als, or just faire goers fooling around. Either way, they were good.

The boys had stopped directly in front of the booth and were

putting on quite a display.

It’s Simple, Simon

“Do you bite your thumb at me sirrah, I will run you through!”

The blond called out, laughing, as he danced about in his supple

leather boots.

“I do bite my thumb, and you, you merry-faced jackanape,

haven’t a tinker’s hope in hell of running me through!” The bru-

net flicked a drooping feather out of his eye with the tip of his

gleaming sword, pushed his headgear back at a jaunty angle and

assumed a traditional, en garde position.

A crowd gathered, cheering and jeering, as the men par-

ried and thrust with their blunted rapiers until one slid his blade

down the length of the other’s, and with a twist, pinked him in

the vest. They took off running as quickly as they had arrived.

Chuckling—that had been the way he and Simon had been, once

upon a time—Chase turned back to the crowd that had gathered.

Now the show was over, the aromas of the pie stand enticed them.

A clearing throat attracted his attention to a waiting customer

and he turned with a polite greeting on the tip of his tongue. As

though the thought had conjured the man, there he stood, looking

exactly as he had in the past, a lean sexy troubadour with his lute

slung over his shoulder and a scruffy jaw, smiling broadly and

waiting expectantly.

“Simon?” Chase whispered. He leaned forward with a hearty

laugh. “Simon! It is you! I’m so pleased to see you here again!” He

reached out to shake the man’s hand, reconsidered it and shoved

his way past Crash to enfold Simon in a crushing hug across the

counter. It was a damned good thing the counter stood between

them, or he wouldn’t have been able to resist rubbing up against

the man. As it was, he was reluctant to let go. Simon was solid

and warm and so right in his embrace. How could he have been

so foolish as to let him go?

“Chase! Good to see you, man.” Simon returned his hug heart-

ily, laughing when the lute slid forward awkwardly to whack him

in the head.

Chase straightened, releasing Simon. He scrambled for an ex-

cuse to keep the man here, to bring him back. Recapturing what

they had in the past probably wasn’t possible, and that was the

foolish dream that brought him back to the Faire every year, but

he didn’t have to say good-bye just yet.

“You too, Simon. You too. Are you playing here today?” He

watched a slight flush cover Simon’s cheekbones and winced a

bit. Remembering his parting gibe to Simon years ago, that prob-

ably was not the best thing he could have said.

“Just for fun.” Simon asserted, tucking his thumbs into the

broad leather belt that emphasized his slim hips. “But this...this is

your booth, huh? Mr. Pie Man?”

Chase beamed like a proud papa. He knew it. His joy in his ac-

complishment probably lit up his face like a Christmas tree, but...

hell. He was proud of his work. “It is. Can I get you something?”

“Well, surely! I have to taste your wares! Let me see, I’ll have

to try, umm...the beef and bacon pie...and oohh...apple..and...

mixed fruit...yeah.... Wait...you have lamb?”

Chuckling, Chase grabbed a box and started filling it with

golden steaming pies. Looked like Simon still had a healthy ap-

petite. “Got the munchies, man?”

Simon’s blush deepened and he shook his head furiously.

“Nah. I don’t do that anymore. Just didn’t stop for breakfast.

Wanted to get here in time to park, you know?”

“That’s twenty-five nineteen.” Crash tallied up and an-

nounced the total.

Simon reached in his back pocket and then froze, meeting

Chase’s eyes with a mortified expression. He licked his lips lightly

and started to speak, then stopped.

Chase was so busy watching the tip of Simon’s pink tongue

moisten his chiseled lips that he nearly missed the cue. Crash

coughed, Simon pouted. Chase raised a brow quizzically, then

light dawned and his own cheeks warmed. Should have realized.

The man was probably unemployed. Just because Simon’s par-

ents had kept him in cash at twenty, didn’t mean they’d continue

to fund his lifestyle at thirty-two. Ahhh....

Hastily, Chase scribbled his cell number on a napkin and

tucked it into the box as well. He waved off Simon’s sheepish ex-

pression and pushed Crash’s hand out of the way.

“My treat. Really. I have to work till this afternoon, but give

me a call around three and we can meet up and talk about old

times, okay? You are here for the day, right?” They’d always made

a day of it in the past.

Simon smiled broadly, nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah. I

have my phone with me. I’ll catch up to you later, then?”

Nodding thoughtfully, Chase watched Simon stroll off down

the path toward the puppet theater.

It’s Simple, Simon

Chapter Three

Show Me First Your Penny

Simon ignored the niggle of guilt as he carried his box of as-

sorted pies away. He’d nearly blown his cover back there, reach-

ing for his wallet. He could hardly pull off the charming ne’er-

do-well image he wanted if he was flashing his black Amex card

under the nose of the man he sought not to impress, could he?

The blasted lute banged into the back of his head again and he

cursed softly. Had the thing always been this awkward? Or had

he been more graceful when he was younger? Spying a decently

shaded spot under a tree, he scurried over and dropped to the

ground in relief. He set the pies in his lap as he arranged himself

cross-legged, and then removed the lute from its harness and set

it on the ground in front of him. With a sigh of relief he leaned

back against the tree and tilted his face up to admire the sunlight

filtered by the tree leaves, allowing the breeze to lift his hair. Yeah.

He gathered the strands into his hands and held them off his neck.

Lee Brazil

The cool air felt good on his nape. He so needed a haircut. He’d

let it grow the last few months to lend authenticity to his Renais-

sance costume, but he wasn’t used to the weight or the heat of it

anymore.

Yeah, he didn’t have the energy and stamina he’d had at twen-

ty, that’s for sure. He sniffed the golden pies. Mmm. Chase had

always been talented in the kitchen. The aroma was intoxicating.

Delicious. As he ate, savoring the flaky crust and rich fillings, he

contemplated the man who’d treated him to the pies. Chase was

one hot baker. He’d always been sexy, but there was no way that

hunk of beef could fit into his old Renaissance garb. Chase had

put on muscle. His shoulders had broadened, his biceps bulged,

and mmm.... The rest was hidden behind that voluminous apron,

but Simon doubted that it had changed much.

Best of all, Chase still seemed to find him attractive. That was

just icing on the cake. The sugar on the pie? He chuckled softly.

Whatever it was, he liked it. Liked the idea that Chase might still

be interested in him sexually. As he licked the sugary filling off

his fingers, he contemplated abandoning his plan. After all, Chase

hadn’t meant to hurt him years ago, and he’d certainly seemed

welcoming enough, even though to all appearances Simon hadn’t

changed over the years. Yeah, there really wasn’t any reason to

prove to Chase how successful and ambitious he really was. He

should just come clean.

On the other hand, he felt like enough of an idiot for hiding

his success in the first place. He bit into the next pie, feeling the

juice trickle down his chin. He licked at it, chewing and swallow-

ing, scrabbling absently for a napkin to wipe his chin. It would be

horribly embarrassing to go back to that booth and offer to pay

for the pies, to tell Chase why he hadn’t wanted to pay in the first

place.

“Here, I’ll get that for you.” Chase grabbed his napkin. To his

surprise, Chase drooped down onto the grass next to him. Instead

of dabbing his chin with the white paper napkin, the man leaned

forward, his breath a warm buttery scented breeze as he hovered

close for a moment before gently licking the juice off Simon’s skin.

“Mmmm. Apple goes well with your cologne. What is that, Drak-

kar, still?”

Gaping, Simon was at a loss for words. His brain stopped

working and all he could do was stare. He covered the spot on his

It’s Simple, Simon

chin that Chase had licked with his hand, staring blankly at the

other man. “You said you had to work.”

Chase shrugged, turning to look out at the happy crowds.

“I’m the boss. They can handle it without me. It’s not every day

your past comes into your present and you get the chance to make

up for your sins.”

Simon gulped. He considered coming clean, yeah. But the re-

ality of having Chase in his face, in his personal space—he shud-

dered—licking him, made confessing so much more difficult. He

took a huge bite of the pie to keep his mouth busy and just nod-

ded, trying to look innocent. He didn’t really want Chase to know

he’d come here looking for him on purpose, did he? For the not-

very-nice purpose of rubbing his nose in Simon’s success, at that?

Chase turned back to look at him, smiling his joyful smile, full

of gleaming white teeth and good will. “I’m so glad to see you, Si-

mon. I wanted to apologize for what I said before, when we were

together last time. You didn’t lack ambition, your ambition was

just differently directed than mine. It was a stupid way to break

up with you, and I hope we can be friends now.”

Something in Chase’s hot gaze made it clear that he wanted to

be more than friends, at least for the day, and Simon decided that

letting the past go was probably a good thing. “Yeah. No prob-

lem.”

Chase gestured toward the old battered lute lying on the

ground at Simon’s feet. “You’ve kept up with the music all these

years, and I’m glad my words didn’t discourage you from that.

You were good, you know?”

Now what could he say? Every minute that passed made con-

fessing that he was well on his way to being a multi-millionaire

seem even worse. Now, instead of sounding like success, he al-

most had the feeling that his financial status would upset Chase,

and he didn’t want to do that anymore.

“Yeah. Um.... No. You didn’t discourage me.” More like en-

couraged him to turn his life around and do something worth-

while with it. Had he been good enough back then to be a suc-

cess in music? Probably not. Not the kind of success he’d found in

banking, anyway.

Chase smiled again. “I’m glad. So, friends?” He held out a

hand to shake, and this time, unthinkingly, Simon put his in it.

Chase chuckled, jolly ripples of sound that shook memories loose

Lee Brazil

in Simon’s head. He remembered that laugh. It had been hidden

from his heart by that one comment, but that laugh had once been

something he lived for.

“Yeah. Friends.” He looked down at their clasped hands,

blushing furiously as he realized the hand Chase held was sticky

with sugary sweet fruit pie filling. “Ummm....” He tugged gently,

trying to retrieve his hand.

“What, that little bit of pie filling bothering you?” Chase

laughed outright now, and drew Simon’s hand to his mouth. Si-

mon caught his breath as Chase pressed his lips to the juice, then

swiped it with his tongue, licking it slowly away.

Dumbfounded, he just watched as Chase cleaned the sticky

juices from his hand with rough swipes of his tongue. His face

burned, his pulse raced and he was grateful for the blousy shirt

that hid the rest of his reactions. Passing strangers didn’t need to

know how hot Chase still made him.

“So, will you play something for me?”

Play something? He could do that, couldn’t he? No, he

couldn’t. Because even if the lute had been dusted, it certainly

hadn’t been tuned in all these years. Simon nodded doubtfully.

“Um. Maybe I shouldn’t. I don’t have a busker’s license this year.”

That was a good enough reason, wasn’t it?

Disappointment crossed Chase’s face. “Oh, well. Okay, then.”

His face brightened rapidly. “Hey, I owe you a date at the Renais-

sance Faire.” He jumped upright and held out a hand to Simon.

“Good Sir, shall we?”

“Date?”

“From twelve years ago?”

“Oh, well then,” Damnation! How could he be a success in

the cutthroat world of international banking and an indecisive,

muddling fool in this man’s presence? “Are you sure you want to

consider this a date?”

Chase wrapped a big hand around the nape of his neck, bur-

rowing under the hair to touch the flesh there. He looked deep

into Simon’s eyes, “Yeah. I want to consider this a date, more than

anything.”

“Then, okay, I want to see the Punch and Judy show.” He

shoved the need for confessions away. There was time for that

later. For now, he could enjoy the date Chase owed him, and later,

he’d take Chase out to dinner somewhere nice and confess and

Lee Brazil

Chapter Four

Indeed, I have not any

It had been sheer impulse that led him to abandon his booth

and follow Simon down the dusty path. And sheer lust that had

led him to lick pie juice from the man’s flesh. Was it foolish to

want to spend time with Simon now? To consider this a date?

Maybe. But it was a gorgeous spring day, and he hadn’t want-

ed anyone the way he’d wanted Simon on sight this morning in a

long time. Oh, he’d dated. Danced, fucked, even fallen halfway in

love a time or two. But there was something about one’s first love,

something that never quite faded. And, he had the urge to see if

things might be different from an older man’s perspective. Years

ago, Simon’s lackadaisical approach, his absorption in his music

and himself had seemed bad-boy sexy, until he’d had enough of

being irresponsible and couldn’t figure out how Simon would fit

in to his future.

It’s Simple, Simon

He’d wanted an ambitious man then who would match his

own drive, someone who could share the joys of success with

him. Now, he was older. He wanted someone to love him, and to

accept him, who was as content to stay home with him as he was

to go out with him.

What had seemed like foolish romanticism in the Simon of the

past, seemed like a pretty sweet deal in retrospect. Get off work

after a long day and go home to find a seductive lover, relaxed

and comfortable and happy just to be with him? How could you

beat that?

Someone who allowed him to make every decision without

argument or recrimination? He’d been impatient with Simon’s

indecisiveness over even the simplest thing. Eat at Red Robin or

Chevy’s? Applebee’s or Red Lobster? Go out or stay in? It had

been easy enough to interpret the lack of decision-making skill as

complete lack of interest or caring.

He’d been embarrassed to be serenaded by Simon when he

was nineteen. It surprised him today how much he’d give to have

the man play “Greensleeves” on that lute for him right here and

now in front of everyone.

In short, he knew better now. He was older, wiser, more ma-

ture, and better equipped to deal with a man who was as comfort-

able in his own skin as Simon was. Someone who didn’t need to

prove his masculinity by making all the decisions, conforming to

all the latest trends, taking charge. Drifting was fine, as long as

they were drifting together in the same general direction. Even it

was only for a few hours.

So, he owed the man a date, and if it felt a little bit like trying

to recapture the past, what was the harm in that for a few hours?

He tugged sharply on Simon’s hand, bringing the smaller

man to a complete halt. Simon looked back at him over his shoul-

der, elegant brows arching in query. Chase gestured to the box

and the food debris on the ground under the tree. “You just gonna

leave all your trash here?”

A delicate flush spread over Simon’s cheeks. He moved awk-

wardly backward and bent to scoop up the debris. “Oops. Would

you believe I was so distracted I forgot about it?”

And Chase felt like a jerk for pointing it out. Why hadn’t he

just picked it up and thrown it in the nearest bin himself? Be-

cause that’s what he used to do in the past, tell Simon how to

Lee Brazil

act. So much for growing up. They were falling into old behavior

patterns already. Unfortunately, not the ones that he wanted to

repeat. “Yeah, Sorry about that. I’m just used to being in charge

of the crew now. So, you want to see the Punch and Judy show,

huh?”

He tucked Simon’s smooth hand into the crook of his elbow

and made a dignified bow, swirling his hand in a courtly gesture

to indicate the path that led to the puppet theater. “This way, my

good man.”

Simon was laughing, green eyes sparkling, and Chase’s chest

squeezed a bit tighter. He’d missed that sound; actually, he’d

missed the man. They strolled arm in arm down the path, ignor-

ing the occasional odd look or disgruntled glare.

“How long are you staying?” Chase blurted.

“Today? Until dark. You know, without the lights, there’s no

point in staying. They still don’t have electric lights, do they?”

“No. I mean, they don’t have electric lights, but I meant in

Colorado. How long are you here for? I heard you live out in Cali-

fornia now.”

“Oh,” Simon gazed ahead, and Chase wished he’d turn and

look at him. He wanted to see Simon’s reaction when he contin-

ued this conversation. “I’m here for about a week. I’m not sure

exactly.” Simon’s fingers clenched on Chase’s arm, and then he

pulled his hand away, fussing with his overlong golden hair.

“You should get a—” he nearly bit his tongue in half stopping

his suggestion that Simon get his hair cut. He swallowed back

the comments and forced his brain back on track. “Can I see you

again, while you’re here?”

That brought Simon’s head around, green eyes wide, mouth

dropping open. Picturing it wrapped around his cock again

didn’t help matters. “Are you leaving so soon? We haven’t even

seen Punch and Judy.”

“No. I mean later. Not today. Today is a date I owe you be-

cause of the past. I’d like to see you again, for the present.” The

back of his neck burned. He was a glorified cook with a head for

numbers. Not a poet, or a wordsmith. He sounded as much like

an idiot now as he ever had in his life.

“Oh, well. Let’s see how today goes, first, okay?”

It’s Simple, Simon

It wasn’t a yes, fuck me until I have to go home, but it was said

with a smile, and Simon’s hand wrapped tight around his and

started swinging with a jaunty gait, and he could live with that.

The red and white striped fabric and the gilded paintwork

of the puppet theater came into sight. A large crowd of kids and

their families had gathered and the show had already started.

A much beleaguered Punch had misplaced the baby and was

shouting at the audience in his squawking voice. “Have you seen

the baby?”

The giggling children called out directions, pointing and

laughing off to the left, where the baby had peeked out a moment

before.

“Where’s the baby? Where’s the baby?” The ugly puppet with

its big nose and colorful clothes raced about the stage, looking

high and low for the baby. Every time he turned his back, the

baby popped up behind him.

Simon chuckled, and Chase smiled, his eyes as often on the

man as on the stage. Eventually Punch grabbed the baby and it

wailed pitifully.

“What? What a noisy baby!” Punch banged the baby on the

stage and the appalled children booed.

“No! Booo!” Simon called out over the eager children’s voices.

“Quiet baby! Naughty, noisy baby!” Punch shouted. The

puppet glared across the audience. “Shhh! You’ll bring the missus

back!”

On cue, Judy called from the back of the booth, “Mr. Punch!

Have you woken the baby?”

Furtively, Punch looked around. The children eagerly ratted

on him. They always did. Chase cast another sidelong glance at

Simon. Children, unlike men, could be relied on. Punch picked

up the baby again, bouncing it and cooing. The baby cried, loud-

er, and the puppet bounced harder, eyeing the back stage all the

while.

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop crying!” The puppet begged. At last he

bounced one bounce too many and the baby soared into the air, to

the children’s astonished gasps and cries. It somersaulted before

falling solidly into a little girl’s lap.

“That’s the way to do it! Roottitoottitooit!” Punch called. The

girl cuddled the baby and the curtain closed.

“I love these things.” Simon said, turning to Chase.

Chase tore his gaze away from the little girl and the baby doll.

He felt a little like Punch himself right now, best of intentions but

going about shit the wrong way altogether. “You do? Still?” He

only meant to reassure himself that he wasn’t being stupid with

his insistence on this “date”, but Simon’s happy expression faded

into sobriety.

“Yeah. Still. Sorry.” Simon turned abruptly and walked off

down the dirt path toward the center of the faire.

“Fuck me.” He cursed softly under his breath. This recaptur-

ing the past was harder than it fucking seemed.

“I beg your pardon?” The scandalized mother of the little girl

glared at him, and he smiled sheepishly, scurrying off down the

path after Simon.

“Simon! Wait up!”

The other man slowed so he could catch up, but kept walking.

“I didn’t mean it like it sounded.”

“I know.”

He heaved a deep breath, exhaling slowly. A vendor with

smoked turkey legs walked past, hawking his wares. Simon licked

his lips, watching the guy approach. Again, he reached for his

back pocket as though to pull out a wallet, and again he stopped.

“Hey, there.” Chase called. “Two, please.” He handed the

man a crumpled bill he pulled out of his front pocket and accept-

ed the two drumsticks in exchange. Simon took his silently.

“Sorry. I don’t have my wallet. I’ll pay you back.” The man

sounded nearly grim.

“No worries. My date, I pay. So, what else would you like to

do?”

It’s Simple, Simon

Chapter Five

What else could he do? He pushed the guilt aside and enjoyed

the faire, and when the huge swing pushed by muscular young

men was at its pinnacle and they were framed by the leafy green

tree boughs and Chase’s eyes sparkled in the sunlight, when

Chase was smiling and happy again, he finally regained his inner

executive and took charge of the situation.

He kissed Chase. Right there on the swing, in full view of

the populace, square on the lips. The parading peasants in their

drab garb kept on walking. The nobility in their silks and velvets

kept on nattering. The world didn’t stop for anyone else. But if it

weren’t for the sweep and sway of that swing soaring and retreat-

ing, enforcing the lessons of gravity, he’d have thought the world

stopped for him.

Chase’s mouth was warm and soft, his breath buttery sweet.

Simon inhaled the scent, absorbed the texture, brushing his lips

lightly over the plump lower curve, nibbling slightly at the top

Lee Brazil

bow. He licked lightly along the path his lips had traveled as the

swing rose high in the trees again. A tap of his tongue on the lower

lip, and all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears and the

beat of his own heart as Chase opened to him. He pressed their

lips together and Chase’s eyes widened and his breath caught,

and they sank into the passion that had simmered between them

since that morning at the pie booth without regard for the watch-

ers.

Simon didn’t hear the casual taunts of the swingers turn to

wolf whistles. All he’d been aware of was the seductive heat of

Chase’s mouth, the slick glide of his tongue.

It was the applause that brought him back to an awareness of

their surroundings, and a not-so-nice jeer that broke them apart.

Simon stared into Chase’s hot blue eyes. Carefully, not sure how

to make his fingers function, he pried them loose from their tight

grip on the big baker’s shoulders. Chase rubbed over the place

where Simon’s hands had held him moments before.

“I need to get back to my booth.” Chase was nearly breath-

less, his face flushed.

“Okay.” Simon nodded, sliding out of the seat and waiting

for Chase to join him as the swing crew settled a group of children

into the wide seat. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say as

they walked back toward the booths. Had kissing Chase been a

mistake? Should he have ignored the awareness between them?

Had he misinterpreted the prickle of heat in his belly? Or the

longing in Chase’s glances?

Casting a sidelong glance at Chase, he shook his head slight-

ly. No. The passion was there. The kiss proved that beyond any

shadow of a doubt. Maybe, like before, the passion wasn’t enough

for Chase.

They arrived at the still busy pie booth before he came to any

conclusion. Any conclusion other than that he wasn’t ready to say

good bye to Chase, that is.

“Chase,” he started.

“Simon,” Chase spoke at the same time. They both broke off

and made comical after you gestures for a few seconds, before Si-

mon forged ahead.

“Will you have dinner with me this evening?”

Chase looked pleased. “Yes. I’ll be closing up here until

around eight, though. Call me and I’ll pick you up.”

It’s Simple, Simon

“No, no. I’ll pick you up. My date, I’ll drive.” He paraphrased

Chase’s words from earlier. And...if Chase were dependent on

him for transport, he couldn’t ditch him as easily at the restaurant

when Simon confessed he wasn’t a penniless musician any more.

Why would Chase be glad he was a penniless musician anyway?

He’d probably be relieved that Simon wasn’t a ne’er-do-well.

***

He was still trying to figure out exactly how to own up to

Chase when he parked his Dad’s old dull brown Volvo sedan, the

same car he’d been entrusted with as a teen living at home, in front

of the little ranch-style house Chase had apparently purchased at

some point in the last twelve years. Well, Simon assumed he’d

purchased it. It certainly wasn’t likely Chase would continue to

pay rent when real estate was such a sound investment ten years

ago.

He shut off the engine with a twist of the key and rested his

head on the steering wheel. It wasn’t going to be easy apologiz-

ing for his ridiculous charade of poverty. Nor would Chase look

kindly on his vengeful urge to rub his nose in his money. It had

to be done though. He was going to go all out to make this dinner

awesome, so Chase would be disposed to be forgiving.

And then, when he was honest, and Chase forgave him, they

could start over, and spend some time together during his vaca-

tion. He shored up his courage with a deep breath, intending to

go to the door to get his date, but the passenger door opened and

Chase slid in next to him.

“I was going to come to the door.” And once again he was

reduced to sounding like an idiot.

Chase cupped a big hand around his chin, leaned in and

pecked him lightly on the lips. “It’s okay. I saw you out here wait-

ing. So I came on out. We should go to The Pieman’s.”

The Pieman’s? Oh, Chase’s place. “It would hardly be a date

for you if we went to your place of work.”

“It would be fine. I want to show it off to you. You’ve never

seen it.”

And he wasn’t seeing it tonight, either. “Besides, I made res-

ervations. Just sit back and let me sweep you off your feet in my,

er...chariot?” He mangled the metaphor. Typical.

Lee Brazil

Chase seemed a bit taken aback too. “Well, okay. If you have

a reservation. I see you’re still driving this Volvo. How did you

manage to keep it running so long?”

“What? I don’t know. It’s my dad’s car. Mine is in California,

where I live.” Had Chase always been this confusing? Had he just

been too stoned to notice?

“Oh. California, huh? It’s probably better for you there, huh?”

“Well, yeah. It’s a great place to live, and it’s where my work

is.” And he let that opportunity to talk about his work slip past as

Chase’s hand landed on his thigh, squeezing lightly. Simon auto-

matically rested his hand over Chase’s, holding it in place.

“That’s great.” Chase didn’t really seem to care about his an-

swers to the aimless questions he asked, which was great, because

Simon didn’t care about much more than the delicate scratches of

Chase’s nails on the fabric of his dress pants. The touches seemed

to burn trails of sensation straight to his groin.

He pulled in front of the valet parking stand at the restau-

rant he’d selected and reluctantly released Chase’s hand, knowing

he’d miss the heat of the touch. That touch had given him courage

for what he had to do. By the time he’d circled the car, which the

red-jacketed parking attendant had taken charge of with a twist

of his lips and a deferential nod, Chase was standing by the pas-

senger side door, arms crossed over his broad chest and brows

raised in demand.

“What?” Simon gestured toward the solid doors of the coun-

try club.

“What’s going on, Simon? Are your parents members here

or something?” Chase passed through the door Simon held open

for him.

Well, they were, but that was irrelevant. “Maybe. But they

have great food, and I know you’ll like it.” Simon made eye con-

tact with the maitre d’ who stood speaking in low tones to a cou-

ple in elegant attire.

“We don’t need to eat here,” Chase asserted firmly as they

stood waiting for the maitre d’ to seat them.

“Chase,” Simon began. “It’s not a big deal. Really.”

“Really? You couldn’t afford a turkey leg earlier today, and

now this place.... It’s not necessary, Simon.”

Embarrassed heat burned the back of Simon’s neck as the

maitre d’ approached at exactly the wrong moment. Though his

It’s Simple, Simon

expression went blank swiftly enough, he’d clearly heard Chase’s

comment.

“Excuse us.” Simon muttered, grabbing Chase’s hand and

tugging him back through the foyer out to the sidewalk. Angry

with himself, he fumed in silence while the valet brought back

their car. Finally, he gathered himself enough to say what had to

be said.

“Chase, I have to tell you something. I thought I’d tell you

over dinner, but....”

“Simon, look, I know what you’re going to say, and honestly?

I think you could say it just as well at a KFC as a country club.”

The heat of anger and embarrassment, the humiliating knowl-

edge that his own stupid urge for revenge was responsible for

this situation, disappeared. Relief coursed through his body, leav-

ing him nearly lightheaded. How had this become so important?

“You know?”

Chase’s smile was sweet and understanding, his hand sitting

in the small of Simon’s back reassuringly. “Yeah. I guessed, earlier

today. Now can we get some food and go back to my place? We

can watch a movie and eat in comfort.”

“I’m just going to be sure here, the money doesn’t matter?”

How had he guessed? Maybe Simon wasn’t as good at conceal-

ment as he thought. Maybe that “we belong together, I can read

your mind and finish your sentences” crap he remembered about

their previous relationship wasn’t all drug euphoria?

“It doesn’t matter, Simon. What matters is that I’m glad to see

you again, glad that you’re happy, and I want to spend time get-

ting to know you again.” Chase ducked his head to slide into the

car, and Simon stood holding the door, contemplating.

He closed the car door, and paced around to the driver’s side.

All his silliness, the urge to rub Chase’s nose in it, hiding his suc-

cess, it was stupid. Chase didn’t care about his success or lack

thereof. Why? Or rather, how?

The valet exchanged his car keys for a folded twenty, and Si-

mon slid into the worn leather seat. He fastened the seat belt care-

fully. As he turned the key in the ignition he turned to face Chase

again. He had to be sure. Chase had been so adamant in the past

that ambition and success were important. “You really don’t care

about my job and why I’m here, and the money. None of it is im-

portant to you?”

“None. What’s important is getting a bucket of extra crispy,

some biscuits and watching Heath Ledger movies until we can’t

stand it any more and then—”

He broke off abruptly, flushing lightly. Simon grabbed his

hand, pressed it to his thigh and headed for the nearest KFC drive

through. “And then, we can see how much we really remember

about each other. But we’re watching A Knight’s Tale first.”

“What if I don’t have that one?” Chase chuckled, and Simon

knew he was kidding.

“You do, and if I have to sit through 10 Things I Hate About

You, then we’re watching A Knight’s Tale first.”

“It’s still your favorite, huh?”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

Yeah. Because they’d seen it together at least a dozen times.

“I haven’t seen it in ages.” Because he didn’t want to see “their”

movie without Chase.

“Then, lucky for you, I have it.”

It’s Simple, Simon

Chapter Six

Fried chicken and biscuits, beer and Heath Ledger. Maybe

recreating the past was easier than he’d expected. Because one

minute they’d been sitting stiffly at opposite ends of the couch,

and seemingly the next they’d been curled together feeding each

other choice bits of finger-licking goodness and rubbing sugges-

tively against one another.

Getting Simon from the couch to his bedroom had been no

problem at all, and it turned out they remembered quite a lot

about each other. Like this. He clearly remembered watching Si-

mon sleep, his lean face innocent and so appealing.

Time had changed his lover, that was true. Simon clearly

spent time in a gym now. His lean body was firmly muscled, not

skinny-slender like before. They were changes Chase approved

of.

In the dim shadowy light of the morning Simon’s skin was

pure and milky, not the tan he’d have expected of a recent Cali-

Lee Brazil

fornian. His body was still practically hairless, but now he could

tell this was due to grooming rather than youth. The faint musky

odor of sex mingled with Simon’s citrus cologne, a teasingly fa-

miliar scent that added to the illusion of timelessness.

Chase combed his fingers through the slightly long golden

curls. He’d stifled the urge yesterday to tell Simon he needed a

haircut. The truth was, now that he’d had more time to get used to

the hair, the long curls suited Simon. They seemed wild and free

and sexy in a way a short cut wouldn’t be. He liked running his

hands through them, wrapping his fingers with them and wrap-

ping them around his dick.

He slid his fingers lightly down the column of Simon’s neck,

lingering over the beating pulse. This was Simon, back in his bed

after all these years. The reality, not a dream, or a memory. And

since Simon was at a crossroads, having lost his job in Califor-

nia—for the first time Chase had reason to be grateful for the shit-

ty economy—he had a chance of keeping him. He wasn’t going to

let stupid things like differences in their bank accounts and career

goals separate them this time.

As far as he was concerned, Simon could play his music and

lounge around the house waiting for his big break. As long as he

cared for Chase, really that’s all that mattered. And judging by

how swiftly they’d fallen back together, the emotional connection

between them was still present.

As was the physical. Last night they’d explored how things

between them were still the same. This morning, he wanted to

show Simon how he’d changed, show him that he was ready to be

the dominant partner Simon needed, the decision maker.

Careful not to wake his lover, he leaned down to pull a box

from under the bed. By touch he located the leather cuffs he want-

ed. Once he got this part down, then he didn’t have to be so care-

ful. It wouldn’t matter if Simon woke up or not.

He fastened one supple leather cuff around Simon’s wrist,

dragged it up over his head, and passed the other through the

headboard. Wrapping his hand around Simon’s other wrist, he

urged it up into place to wrap the other cuff around it. This was

a lot harder with a sleeping partner. Normally he had the full co-

operation of his lovers. This was kind of like working with a man-

nequin.

It’s Simple, Simon

He finished fastening the second cuff and found himself look-

ing directly into alert green eyes. “Good morning,” he whispered.

He’d rather have been further along when he explained what he

was doing, and since when did Simon wake up alert? Used to be

he’d wake slowly, sleepily stretching and snuggling and murmur-

ing for a while before even realizing he was awake. That had been

sexy and sweet.

Simon arched beneath him, and the brush of a hard cock

against his backside reminded Chase that alertness was sexy too.

“Good morning to you, Mr. Pieman.” Simon’s voice was

husky with sleep still, and Chase smiled, leaning down to kiss

the man in his bed. Simon accepted his mouth willingly enough

but pulled away swiftly after the brush of lips. “Sorry, morning

breath.”

Never used to bother him. “It’s okay. Um... I suppose you’re

wondering about the cuffs.” Embarrassment churned in his belly.

He felt like he’d been caught doing something underhanded and

sneaky.

“Not really. If it bothered me, I’d have stopped you earlier.”

“You were awake? Wait...like you could prevent me doing

anything?” The idea of slender Simon being able to fight him off

made him chuckle.

Simon snorted in derision. “Yeah, I was awake. Do you really

think you could cuff me to a bed without my consent?”

Chase raised a brow. “Let’s postpone the ‘who’s tougher,

stronger, more macho shit’ for later. I have plans for now that

don’t require physical strength.”

“Oh yeah? And what kind of strength is called for?”

“Oh, umm... emotional fortitude? Will power? I don’t know.”

“You suck at writing dialogue, you know? I have no idea what

you’re talking about. Fortunately for you, I do have a superior

understanding of non-verbal communication, and,” he nodded

toward Chase’s cock, “That speaks clearly of what you have in

mind.” He relaxed back against the pillows and smiled warmly.

“I’m all yours, use me, abuse me, or just continue to peruse me, to

your heart’s content, as long as I get off in the foreseeable future.”

Chase laughed outright. “Oh, I can guarantee there will be

getting off in the foreseeable future.”

“Then carry on,” Simon gave him permission with a regal air,

and Chase smirked.

Lee Brazil

“Your wish is my command, my lord troubadour.” Did he

imagine Simon’s flinch at that? Shrugging it off, he inched back-

ward off the bed, reaching for his toy box again.

“Er...I should just say, Pieman, that I’m not really into any-

thing too kinky. You know, in case you’re planning on pulling any

whips or pinchy things out of that box.”

Chuckling, Chase hid what he’d pulled out of the box behind

his back. “Pinchy things? Is that sophisticated-musician speak?”

“Nah, that’s frustrated-lover speak. Suck me or fuck me,

but do it soon!” Simon eyed Chase, his gaze traveling pointed-

ly from his face to his broad shoulders, then down to his erect

cock. Simons licked his lips, pink tongue peeking out. “On second

thought, come up here and let me taste you. I haven’t had any

breakfast and I’m hungry.”

Chase’s cheeks burned and his belly tightened with intensify-

ing lust. He shook his head. “Not yet. First, I have plans.”

“What are you hiding behind your back, dude?” The words

slipped out of Simon’s mouth, from their past, and the present

disappeared entirely.

Awash with emotions he’d considered long forgotten, Chase

drew his hand forward, displaying a small glass bottle of peach-

flavored lube. “Nothing pinchy, just a bit of sweet stuff.” It wasn’t

just sweet, it warmed when blown on, and he knew just which

expanse of creamy skin he wanted to taste with his peach lube.

Simon’s eyes lit up, and he grinned widely, splaying his

thighs, “All right then. That’s more like it.”

Silently, Chase smiled and pulled the tiny cork out of the bot-

tle with a distinct pop. He plugged the opening with his finger

and tilted the bottle. The viscous liquid slid down the sides of the

bottle with sensual slowness, and he noted Simon’s eyes follow-

ing the movement. He tilted the bottle further, letting the thick

liquid coat his finger, then dabbed his finger on each tight pink

nipple. Simon flinched, and he laughed. “Yeah, sorry, it might be

a little cold, at least for now.”

Simon shivered a little, and Chase brought his sticky finger

to his mouth and traced Simon’s lips with it. “Since you won’t let

me in, we’ll have to try something a little different.” He leaned for-

ward and breathed lightly over Simon’s lips, licked at the sweet

peach-flavored syrup, then blew lightly again. Simon gasped in

surprise, and Chase laughed softly, exhaling over his lips again.

It’s Simple, Simon

“Nice, huh?”

Simon nodded, licking his own lips, tasting the warming

lube. “Yeah.” Chase left Simon’s lips and licked his way down

the man’s neck, pausing to suck his Adam’s apple, to nibble on

his collar bone, then kissing his way over to one sweet nipple. He

licked the taut nub, enjoying Simon’s gasp of pleasure. So sweet.

He licked and blew, and blew and licked while Simon shuddered

and twisted beneath him, occasionally managing to brush his

dripping cock against Chase’s thigh.

Chase worked his way over to the second nipple while he

fumbled for the bottle, upending it to coat his finger again. He

drew back and traced a line from the throbbing pulse at the base

of Simon’s throat down to his navel.

“Yeah,” Simon grunted, pushing into the contact with Chase’s

lips as he blew a stream of air over the trail he’d traced. He fol-

lowed the path of his breath with his tongue, licking and sucking

the sweetness off the smooth skin. He was kind of surprised by

Simon’s acquiescence. He should be begging, pleading for contact

on his dick by now.

Chase reached for the lube again, dragged a sticky trail up

Simon’s inner thigh, painted a circle around the base of his cock,

his balls, down the sensitive skin to his hole. Simon stilled, drew

in a deep breath and shuddered all over.

“Please,” he whispered, twisting his body, seeking contact.

“Please what, Simon?” Chase knew what he wanted. Simon

wanted him to touch him somewhere more blatantly erogenous,

wanted him to give him more direct contact, more immediate

pleasure. Simon was always direct and to the point in bed. The

scenic route Chase was taking was probably driving him crazy,

but other than that simple please, he had yet to say what he want-

ed, and Chase wanted him begging for more, for him.

“You know what I want.” Simon pouted.

“This isn’t about what you want, Simon. You got what you

wanted last night. This is about what I want.”

Simon groaned in frustration, dick bobbing as Chase began

the slow process of blowing on the trails he’d made, of licking the

sticky sweetness away. Chase took his time, licking and sucking

at the skin, warming it with his breath, just a tiny bit away from

where he knew Simon wanted his mouth most.

Lee Brazil

“What do you want? I’ll do anything, give anything, please,

just fucking do it.” Desperation rang in Simon’s voice, in the agi-

tated writhing of his body.

“Just fucking do what?” Anything, huh? He hadn’t really con-

sidered that Simon might offer him an exchange. Right now he

couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than this, anyway.

“I don’t know what! Whatever you want to do! Just...do it

soon, I’m going to.... It’s too....” Simon trailed into silent frustra-

tion.

Chase drew back, stroked his own leaking cock, becoming

aware that he was breathing harshly. Simon was watching him

with greedy need in his green eyes, and Chase liked that expres-

sion a lot. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“I’ll think about it.” Ignoring his own eager cock, he picked

up the bottle, focusing on where he intended to put that sticky

sweetness next, ignoring Simon’s whimpered protest.

He decided that there’d been almost enough teasing and

dripped the liquid straight from the bottle, trickling it over Si-

mon’s balls and down over his hole. Simon gasped, moaning in

pleasure as Chase followed the stream of liquid with his breath,

and then licked the tight balls as they drew up hard against Si-

mon’s cock. Broad swipes of his tongue and Simon’s moans grew

louder. The bed creaked as he jerked at his bonds. Humming hap-

pily, Chase took one lightly furred ball into his mouth, rolled it

around and sucked it gently before drawing the second one in

alongside the first. Mouth full, he hummed lightly, tugging gently

with his lips. He released them and traced his tongue thoroughly

over and between each ball, nuzzling and blowing, careful to lick

away every trace of sweetness. He licked lower, following the

trail of liquid down to the sensitive flesh of Simon’s hole. He blew

hotly and Simon whimpered, pushing up toward him. “This?” He

whispered, exhaling slowly. “Is this what you want me to fucking

do?”

“Yes!” It was practically a scream.

Chase licked. He probed the tiny opening with the tip of his

tongue. He swept across it in broad rough strokes with the flat

of his tongue. He sucked tiny portions of crinkled skin into his

mouth. Most of all he enjoyed Simon’s efforts to force him to do

more.

Finally, he couldn’t wait either, and Simon was more than

ready. He fumbled a condom on with trembling fingers, aware of

Simon’s hot gaze on him all the while he rolled the latex down his

eager cock. Instead of the sticky warming lube, he slicked himself

with the same stuff he’d used the night before, and positioned

his cock at the quivering opening, before dropping to his elbows.

“This? Is this what you want me do?” He whispered again, licking

Simon’s lips, finding a faint residue of peach.

“Yes, this.” Simon whispered back, arching into Chase’s

thrust as he pushed forward.

They moaned together as the ring of muscle stretched and he

slid slowly home. Home. Yes. Corny as it might sound, Simon was

home. And that’s when he knew, at the back of his mind, what he

would ask for.

Later. For now, there was only this, this dark sensual grip of

velvet muscles on his cock, this clinging friction, the clenching of

muscles and the heat of lust as he withdrew and drove back home.

Simon was groaning. Chase reached between them, where the

man’s cock was rubbing against his abs and gripped it tightly,

jerking the slick rod a few times as he thrust. Simon was close, he

could sense it in the man’s gathering tension, and it was a damn

good thing because Chase was going to lose it very quickly.

The sudden constriction of Simon’s passage, the ring of mus-

cle tightening unbearably, barely preceded the gush of warm

seminal fluid over his palm. Chase thrust deep, hips jolting as the

added sensation of flesh rippling around his own sent him over

the edge as well.

Sated, he collapsed forward, panting. He rolled to the side

and reached over his head, eyes tightly shut, to release Simon’s

cuffs. He’d had a point to make, hadn’t he? What the fuck had it

been?

Lee Brazil

Chapter Seven

PI 2 at the mall was a smaller scale version of The Pieman bak-

ery-style restaurants. It was more of a fast food place, and it really

wasn’t the place that Simon had planned to have this conversa-

tion, but Chase had just asked him something that shocked him

into silence and made the conversation imperative. He pushed the

plate with the half-eaten piece of pie away. Not that the blueberry

and custard pie wasn’t melt-in-your-mouth amazing, it was. It

was just that the sudden lurch of his stomach made eating impos-

sible. He lifted his cup of Dr. Pepper to his lips and took a long

draw on the straw, trying to gather his thoughts. Only one thing

was clear.

“Chase, I can’t move in with you.” He hadn’t had a clue that

Chase was even considering such a thing. They’d been together a

lot this week, but this was out of the blue. Nice as it sounded, as

appealing as the idea of waking up in bed with Chase every day

It’s Simple, Simon

was, playing and fucking and laughing together, it wasn’t pos-

sible.

“Why not? You’re still staying with your parents. You can

just as easily stay with me while you look for work, and we’ll be

able to spend more time together. I’m not going to begrudge you

the expenses for a few months while you look for work.” Chase

swapped pie plates with him, and Simon found himself looking

at a thick creamy chocolate silk pie. He didn’t want it either, so he

shoved it back to Chase, who raised a brow but continued eating

the blueberry pie.

Whoa. He sat back in the wrought iron chair in the food court

and stared blankly at Chase. He liked Chase, maybe even still

loved him. He’d certainly enjoyed the week he’d spent hanging

out with Chase, meeting his friends, his employees, seeing his six

restaurants. But the assumption that he’d give up his extremely

lucrative high-ranking position with Bank of SoCal and move

back to Denver was a bit much. “Chase, I can’t quit my job. I just

got a promotion.”

Chase scowled, bite of blueberry pie halfway to his mouth.

“I thought we’d put this pretense behind us, Simon. You’re back

here, out of work, and I want you to stay. You can find work here

as easily as you can in California.”

“I don’t need to find work.” The awkwardness of this moment

was his just desserts for thinking he could just accept Chase’s dec-

laration that he “knew all about it”. Confession time was upon

him.

Chase beamed. Now what had he said to put that joy on the

man’s face? “You’re right. You don’t have to. I won’t lie. It would

make me perfectly happy for you to just stay home. I like the idea

of getting home to find you waiting there for me, you know?”

“I never said that!” Where the fuck had Chase gotten the idea

he was unemployed? They’d covered all this ground a week ago.

“I’m not a leech, to live off my friends and family.” Though he

had been quite content to do so in the past, he wasn’t the same

as that aimless, ambitionless boy, and he thought that Chase had

realized that.

“I know. But it’s obvious. There can’t be a lot of work for a

musician in this economy. You’re here, driving your parents’ old

car, you don’t have any money, and....” Chase trailed off as Si-

mon’s jaw dropped.

Lee Brazil

“I am regional vice president of the Bank of Southern Califor-

nia, newly appointed.” Simon bit out. Grabbing his wallet from

his back pocket, he yanked out his business card, a handful of

high limit credit cards and a fistful of cash, tossing the whole mess

on the table in front of them. “I am not a destitute musician look-

ing to sponge off my friends and family, dammit.”

Chase looked blankly at the black Amex, the wad of hundred

dollar bills, the embossed business card. “What the fuck, Simon?

What’s been going on?”

He should have known accepting Chase’s “I know” at face

value was a stupid move. Simple-minded, even, but he’d been

so eager to resume their acquaintance that he’d taken it and run.

He’d wanted to avoid the truth too badly. “I didn’t lose my job

and come home to lick my wounds, Chase. I didn’t realize you

thought that.”

“You didn’t realize...what the fuck did you think, then?”

“Nothing. I thought you wanted to spend time with me, and

I thought you knew I was leaving.”

“You’re leaving.” Chase was echoing his words, and Simon

wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly, but it couldn’t be a good

thing any more than the lurid red flush creeping up Chase’s neck

was a good thing.

“I’m only here on vacation. I have to go home, go back to

work.” Back to intense traffic, cut-throat negotiating, and seven-

teen hour work days. Back to being respected, even feared, in the

workplace. His employees certainly didn’t accord him the casual

friendly regard that he’d earned at Chase’s eateries over the last

week.

Chase slammed his hand down on the glass topped table,

sending a paper soda cup toppling sideways to soak Simon’s

cash, his credit cards, and the half-eaten slices of pie with Dr. Pep-

per. “I thought you being here was you coming home!”

Simon righted the cup, then pulled napkins out of the metal

dispenser and tried to blot up the mess. He felt like shit, like an

utter ass. He had no choice now but to tell Chase the whole story.

“Let me tell you how it happened. Please. I came home to visit. I

wanted to see you again. But my motives weren’t all that pure. I

wanted to show you what a success I’d become.”

He cringed as Chase scowled at him in fury. “So you showed

up at the Ren-Faire in ratty old clothes with a lute to show me

your success? That makes about as much fucking sense as any-

thing else that’s happened this week, I suppose.”

Simon winced. “I’m not a genius, I admit that readily, Chase.

This wasn’t a brilliant plan. I decided to surprise you with my suc-

cess by looking like I hadn’t succeeded.” It sounded even stupider

when he said it out loud.

“Why? I don’t understand this.”

“Because you said I lacked ambition and would never make

anything of myself. It was why you broke up with me.” That part

he managed to say with conviction, because it still had the power

to hurt.

“Revenge? That’s what this is about? You’ve been messing

around with me, lying to me, fucking me, for revenge? So what?

So you can break up with me this time? Laugh at me for being

stupid?”

“No! It isn’t like that!”

“Sure it’s not.” Chase rose fluidly and carefully pushed his

chair under the table. His muscles were tense, his face an iron

mask. “Fuck you, Simon.”

Desperate, Simon threw out his only excuse. “You said that

money didn’t matter, that all you wanted was me.”

“That was when I thought you didn’t have any money. And

you know what? It’s still not the money that matters, Simon. It’s

the lies.”

Chase disappeared behind the Employees Only door, and

Simon mopped at his cash and the sticky credit cards with the

soaked napkins. Had he really done all he could to get his feelings

across there? Was there any point in pursuing Chase through that

door when he had to get on a plane to Orange County tomorrow?

Did he really want to get on that plane?

Lee Brazil

Chapter Eight

Chase wearily opened the bedroom door and came to an

abrupt halt. His shoulders lifted, his back straightened. Simon

was ensconced in his bed, hair damp from the shower, wearing

Chase’s fluffy green robe, reading on a hand-held device of some

kind.

“What are you doing here?” Chase asked dully, resenting the

flare of arousal, the pleasure in Simon’s presence.

“Waiting for you.” Simon seemed unperturbed, and if it

weren’t for the tell-tale twitch at the corner of his eye, he wouldn’t

have seemed nervous at all.

“Waiting for me? What makes you think you’re welcome here

after this afternoon?” Not that he wasn’t. Chase had the humiliat-

ing feeling that as angry as Simon ever made him, he’d welcome

the man back every time he left with embarrassing speed.

“I didn’t think it, I just hoped it. Barring welcome, I hoped

you’d be stunned enough by my audacity that you’d at least listen

It’s Simple, Simon

to me.” Simon tossed the e-reader aside and rose lithely. “I tried

to call you, but you didn’t answer.”

“I didn’t want to talk to you.” He’d been too hurt, too embar-

rassed by his own assumptions, to actually talk to Simon. “You

showered.”

“I had to. You realize that soda seeped right through the holes

in that table top? My pants were soaked and sticky. I should point

out, in the interest of full disclosure, that I also did a load of laun-

dry.”

“Full disclosure, huh?” A full disclosure policy sounded like

a great idea. “In the interests of full disclosure, then, I should tell

you I’m still fucking pissed that you tried to play me for a fool.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. And in the interests of full disclosure, I should also

tell you that I’m mostly pissed at myself, because I made a fool

of myself. I thought it over, and you didn’t actually say any of

it. I assumed, and as usual when assuming, I made an ass out of

myself.”

“So you’ll forgive me?” Simon was working the buttons of

his shirt loose, tugging the hem from the waistband of his pants.

Chase covered one of those busy hands with his own, and Simon

stilled, meeting his eyes intently.

“Not that easy, Simon. I love you.”

Simon blinked, glanced away. His hand twitched nervously

under Chase’s grip. “I can’t really say that back to you Chase, not

right now.”

Disappointed, Chase nodded grimly. “Okay, I get that. But

you do feel something for me beyond nostalgia? Beyond getting

back at me for the past?”

“Definitely. Chase, I care for you, a lot. I always have. That’s

why it hurt so much when you cut me loose all those years ago,

and in the interest of full disclosure, I care for you even more now

than I did then, because when you didn’t answer that phone this

afternoon, I headed straight here and camped out on the doorstep

until I had the brilliant idea of waiting inside.”

“Wait...how did you get in here?”

“Um....”

“Full disclosure.”

“I....”

Lee Brazil

“You broke in. My God! I could have you arrested!” He chor-

tled.

“You could, but you won’t.” Simon jerked his hand loose

and went on tugging his shirt out of his Dockers, every brush of

his slender fingers against Chase’s chest or abdomen promising

more.

“I won’t, huh? What makes you think that?”

His belt slid out of its loops and landed on the floor seconds

before his pants were deftly opened and falling rapidly.

“Because you’d look like an idiot talking to the cops naked?”

Simon shoved his boxers down, deftly accomplishing that feat.

He knelt between Chase’s thighs, looking up at him with hot eyes,

and Chase melted. His resistance fled, his anger died. He loved

Simon, and they’d work it out.

Simon expressed his own commitment to working it out by

opening his mouth and taking Chase’s cock inside in one hot, wet

gulp. Shivers racked his body and his balls tightened deliciously.

“Oh yes, there’s that.” Chase agreed, winding his hands through

those teasing golden curls, sliding, sifting the strands of hair as

Simon hummed pleasantly around his cock.

He pushed slightly forward, seeing how much Simon was

willing to take, how much control he was claiming. “In the in-

terests of full disclosure, Simon, I want to fuck your mouth right

now. I’m not in the mood to receive, I want to take, and if that’s

not what you have in mind, you better say so now.”

Simon’s lashes flickered, his mouth tightened, his lips slid up

until just the tip of Chase’s cock rested on the gleaming pink pil-

low of his lower lip. He probed delicately with his tongue. “I said

anything the other day. You never told me what you wanted. If

this is it, it’s yours.”

“Actually, I did tell you what I wanted. It just wasn’t some-

thing you can give. So, this, yeah, this will serve as an adequate

substitute.” Foolish to equate Simon staying with the orgasm

they’d shared the other day, anyway.

Simon’s mouth opened in a receptive “O”, his hands curled

tightly around Chase’s thighs and he breathed deeply. Then he

just went completely still, waiting.

“Oh, that’s a yes, isn’t it? That’s a ‘go ahead and fuck my

mouth’.” Chase didn’t wait for confirmation. He glided forward,

over silky lips, ivory teeth, an acre of lush velvet tongue. He slid

It’s Simple, Simon

forward until his tip pressed against the back of Simon’s throat,

and still Simon made no protest, just breathed through flared nos-

trils, stared up at him with glowing eyes.

Chase wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, measur-

ing the length that Simon could take, and drew back. He stood,

squeezing his cock, inches in front of Simon’s perfect mouth, inch-

es from sinking back into bliss, and he paused. Over-thinking had

never been a problem in this situation before, but this was Simon,

and it was probably a good idea for one of them to be doing some

thinking.

“This means something, Simon.” He watched a droplet of

clear pre-cum slide off the tip of his dick and land on Simon’s

lower lip.

Simon licked it away, pressed his lips tightly together. “It

doesn’t have to mean anything, Chase. Can’t it just be sex?”

“You know that’s not what I want. You said you’d give me

what I want in exchange.”

Simon sighed deeply. “You don’t do anything the easy way,

do you Chase? I’m kneeling here, waiting for you to fuck me, to

take me, and you won’t do it.” He swiped roughly at Chase’s cock

with his tongue, swirling around the head.

“Life isn’t easy, Simon, haven’t you learned that yet? I told

you I love you,” he prodded. His stroked himself roughly for a

few moments, but Simon didn’t answer. “I know you said you

don’t love me, but I’m not interested in forcing you to do this, like

this, so you can hate me when you’re home in California, so you

can tell yourself I’m just an asshole who took advantage of you.”

Green eyes flashed and a deep flush spread over Simon’s

cheeks. “You’re not an asshole, and I...am hardly disinterested in

the activity at hand.” He leaned back, revealing his thick cock,

curved against his hairless abdomen. “Now fuck me, dammit!”

“No.” Chase curled a hand around the nape of Simon’s neck,

dragged him forward again. “I’m not going to fuck you...I’m go-

ing to make love to you. Because between you and me, that’s what

it always has been, that’s what it always will be.” And on the last

word he drove his cock forward into waiting wet silk.

Simon eagerly accepted him, sucking and licking, but leaving

Chase to thrust, to withdraw, to hit the back of his throat with

a lush rhythm. Chase reveled in the control Simon had handed

over to him so easily. He might not love him, but Simon certainly

trusted him, trusted him to do this without hurting him, without

going too far, taking too much.

The blood rushed in his ears, his skin prickled with aware-

ness, and his cock pulsed, balls drawing up tight and hard against

his body. He thrust and withdrew, slick saliva smoothing his

path, Simon’s flickering tongue adding to the sensations, until he

groaned. It was too big, too much, and he forced himself to still,

cock poised at the back of Simon’s throat. Simon swallowed con-

vulsively. Chase couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not, but there

was no pausing to calm after that luxurious caress. He spurted

thick streams of cum down Simon’s waiting throat, hips jerking

while Simon bathed him with caressing licks of his tongue, swal-

lowing each spurt as it came.

He collapsed to his knees, landing with a grimace in a wet

spot on the carpet. Wrapping his arms around Simon’s shoulders

he rested his forehead against Simon’s and struggled to catch his

breath.

Simon could say what he wanted, there was some truth, had

to be, behind that old adage that equated swallowing with love.

It’s Simple, Simon

Chapter Nine

“I still have to go back to work.” No amount of lethargy-in-

ducing, body-pounding, soul-destroying sex could change that

fact. Simon kicked the tangle of sheets and blankets off his feet.

Chase tugged them into his lap, modestly covering his groin, and

sat up against the pillows. Wasn’t that cute? Like Simon hadn’t

just spent six hours alternating between mouthing and touching

that beautiful cock and feeling it drive into his body? He’d be sa-

voring these aches all through his flight home. Even the cushy

first class seats wouldn’t erase the reminder of Chase loving him,

fucking him into the mattress, the floor, the wall. Jeez...he’d lost

track of how many places they’d done the deed since Chase ar-

rived home hours ago.

“I know. I just want to make sure that you remember me while

you’re out there in that sea of golden, toned flesh. I get cable. I get

reality TV. I know what those people are like.” Chase knew, all

Lee Brazil

right, and judging by the expressive frown on his face, he didn’t

seem to like it at all. What had the man expected?

“Yeah, well...I work in a bank. You know what those people

look like? They look like pie crust dough before you roll it out,

shape it and bake it. They’re pale, wrinkly, and lumpy. Because

they work inside under fluorescent lighting, for long hours,

hunched over desks. Trust me, I’m going to remember you.” Just

like he had for the last twelve years. Did Chase think he was going

back to California to lounge on sun-drenched beaches and pick up

guys with more beauty than brains? He opened his mouth to ask

when Chase cut him off, filling the silence.

“You’re coming back.” That wasn’t a request. The demand for

his presence made something in Simon settle a little, eased some

pain he hadn’t quite been aware of.

“You’re coming to California.” There was an invitation he’d

never thought he’d make. Last time he’d gone to California, he’d

been running from ever seeing Chase again. Now, the idea of see-

ing him, of Chase wanting to see him, warmed him from the in-

side out, kind of like the passion they’d shared this week.

“Am I?” Chase’s lips quirked upward at the corner, his eyes

crinkled a bit. “Are you sure about that?” His skin was a golden

contrast to the rumpled white sheets, and Simon licked his lips

as his disobedient gaze traveled down the neat trail of brown

hairs that disappeared under the bed linens. Knowing how much

Chase wanted him turned him on.

“I’m sure that your restaurants would be a flaming success

in Orange County and Santa Barbara. And since you are your

own boss, you can do it.” This idea excited him. It was perfect!

He could have the best of both the past and the present if Chase

agreed to come to California. His mind was racing, a thousand

ideas a minute coming and being discarded. He had to find the

right argument, the perfect one to convince Chase.

“You’re talking long distance relationship.”

“Am I? Seems to me the distance between us now is less than

it was twelve years ago when we lived in the same town.” The

physical distance was way less important than the philosophical

one that had separated them before. Chase’s strong face went soft

and thoughtful. He was considering it.

It’s Simple, Simon

“Yeah? So, you think I’m going to be running off to SOCAL

every few weeks trying to set up a new restaurant?” That wasn’t

a “hell, yes.” It wasn’t even a sedate “okay.”

Time to offer a few concessions, some incentives of his own.

“And I’ll use my six weeks of vacation and holidays wisely so I can

spend time out here with you.”

“That’s it? We’re going to have hot phone sex in between

rushed, frantic visits to each other?” Chase was outright scowling

now, his lips drawn down and pressed tightly together.

Phone sex? That hadn’t been an incentive he’d considered, but

it sounded like a plus to him. Chase made it sound like a bad

thing though. “Why not? Other people do it all the time.”

“I’m not other people. I mean, look at me, Simon. I’m a bak-

er, not a businessman. I’m homey and cozy...and I want to settle

down and have a family life. I don’t want to open a franchise in

California. I want a home in Colorado, with the man I love by my

side.” Chase shrugged, shifting restlessly, rubbing his feet against

the sheets, creating a tiny irritating blur of background noise. His

mutinous expression said he knew he was being unreasonable,

and he intended to keep being unreasonable.

Incredulous, Simon studied the man. He was dead serious.

He looked around the room. Homey about covered it. So did Sal-

vation Army. Settle down and have a family life in Chase’s point

of view appeared to mean that they lived in poverty while Chase

worked and Simon twiddled his thumbs all day.

Okay, so it wasn’t poverty when he probably had enough

investment income that he could afford not to work. But when

you were accustomed to more, middle class looked difficult. He

could do it though, if he lived frugally, gave up vacations. And

expensive clothes. And was content to sponge off Chase for the

rest of his life. None of which suited him. After a week he already

itched to redecorate the place, and at least when he was working

he didn’t have the urge to shop and hang out in coffee shops.

Then again, he could pick up his music again.

No. That door had closed a long time ago. Chase had slammed

it, bolted it, and padlocked it.

“So, compromise is pretty much out then, huh? You want

all or nothing?” Deja fucking vu. Why did Chase always have to

have things his way? Twelve years ago, he’d had to give up smok-

ing and music and get a job, get ambitious, on Chase’s timeline,

Lee Brazil

not his own. Now he had to consider giving up his new promo-

tion, his new salary... “I’m making a six figure salary with this

new promotion, Chase.”

Chase froze. “What?”

“High end of six figures. As in...more money than I ever

dreamed of.” And Chase wanted him to throw it away, for what?

The possibility that he might be in love? Did he love Chase? He

had the glimmer of a suspicion that he still loved the man. Why

else would he have been so focused on revenge? Or rubbing

Chase’s nose in his success? What would he do all day every day

if he didn’t work?

“High end of six figures?” Chase seemed stunned, but not in

a good way.

“Yeah, hey! I know. You come out to California and stay with

me. You can hire a manager here to handle your restaurants, and

instead of flying out to see me, you can fly back to check on your

restaurants.” Turn the tables neatly on “Mr.-I-Am-A-Baker.”

Breadwinner. If only one of them could be The Breadwinner, then

shouldn’t it be the one who made the most money? It seemed a

reasonable solution to him.

“Not going to happen, Simon. Tell me, the money; it’s impor-

tant to you?” Chase stared down at his hands, clasped tightly on

the blankets pooled in his lap.

“Important? Well, I don’t know, it’s nice. It’s a lot of money,

Chase.”

“It’s just that the money never used to matter to you, Simon.

You were all about music, having a good time and...us. It seems

like us is not a priority any more, at all.”

Simon stared blankly at Chase, mouthing gaping like a fish.

“It’s not important, like that. I mean...”

“Well, tell me this, Simon. How much money is going to be

enough?”

“Enough for what?” Where the fuck did that come from?

“Enough to sit in your accounts and buy stuff and prove to me

that you’re successful? Because working that fucking job, which

I cannot believe you really enjoy, is all about proving to me what

an asshole I am, isn’t it?”

“It is? No! It isn’t. That was disbelief! I was not agreeing with

you!” He protested as Chase grimaced. The money wasn’t the

It’s Simple, Simon

point, was it? He tried to review what had been said, to see if he’d

made it sound that way.

Chas levered himself off the bed and Simon swept an admir-

ing gaze over his broad muscled back, down to the taut buttocks,

dusted so lightly with fine brown hairs. His wandering gaze back

up noted the slope of Chase’s shoulder, the air of defeat.

“What? Chase?” He slid off the bed and padded in his bare

feet on the rough industrial grade carpet over to wrap his arms

around his lover’s waist. Another thing that would definitely have

to go. High traffic carpet was great for hotels and bank lobbies,

probably restaurants as well, but in a bedroom? Chase clasped his

hand over Simon’s and bowed his head.

“It’s my fault. I’m the reason you’re obsessed with money.”

Impatiently sighing, Simon squeezed hard, hearing Chase’s

vertebra crack. Chase gave a breathy little moan and relaxed

slightly. “Look, I’m not obsessed with money. And, hard as it

might be to believe, I actually enjoy my job.”

Chase ignored the last part and latched on the first with light-

ning speed. “Then how much is going to be enough? Because I

regret what I said, all those years ago. I already told you that. I

miss the music; I miss the romantic fool who serenaded me in my

dorm common room.”

“You hated that. You didn’t talk to me for three days.”

Chase rolled his eyes. “I was young. I was dumb, and not

talking didn’t keep us from doing important things, like being

together.”

“Yeah,” Simon snorted. “Silent fucking was loads of fun.”

“I didn’t mean the sex. I meant, we were physically together,

not twelve hundred miles apart. I just don’t see how this is going

to work.”

“You’re not going to let it work, you mean. Hell, you won’t

even try! So much for fucking love! I knew I couldn’t trust you!”

“You can’t trust me? The fuck? You came back here to get re-

venge on me, to show off, you lied to me, and I can still say I

love you, even though you didn’t say it back. I’m the one who

shouldn’t be able to trust you!”

“Yeah, well, you lied to me about loving me before, didn’t

you?”

And that was it. The truth about why he couldn’t ditch his

high-paying job, no matter how much money he did or did not

It’s Simple, Simon

Chapter Ten

Chase threw the last of the small bright carpet squares on the

freshly polished hard wood floor. Who had known that that beau-

tiful wood lay under the carpet? He’d had the excess carpet from

his first restaurant installed in the bedroom in a spirit of waste-

not, want-not, years ago, before he’d even moved into the house.

It had seemed perfectly functional and comfortable, just like the

cozy quilt his mom had given him and the fluffy bathrobe his sis-

ter had bought him for his birthday.

He hadn’t known until he spent so much time after Simon’s

abrupt departure moping in the room how little it actually ap-

pealed to him. No more. Time for change had come.

His phone sat, silent and recriminating all at once, on the

brand-new polished cherry wood night stand by the equally

brand-new matching cherry bed. The room looked a lot smaller

now with the king-size bed instead of the full bed that had been

there before. The bed took up a lot of space, but it was worth it.

Lee Brazil

It meant he had to make another trip to the store, because he

had to return all the bedding he’d bought for his full size bed.

Chase pushed away the distraction of the furniture. He

should be thinking about something else. The phone that hadn’t

rung. Not that he expected it to. Simon had stalked out of here

two weeks ago, grim-faced and edgy, and he hadn’t heard hide

nor hair of him since, even though he’d called, left messages, even

taken to harassing the man’s bewildered parents.

He’d started the week in righteous indignation, shopping for

new bedding to destroy the image of Simon lounging and laugh-

ing and then finally, fighting, in his bed. Actually, in the inter-

ests of full disclosure, he had to admit that he’d wanted to replace

the bedding because the scent of Simon seemed to linger on the

fabrics long after he’d laundered them, and he found himself not

wanting to leave the bed to go to work because he wanted that

illusion of closeness.

It was when the shopping started to take more than twenty

minutes that he realized he was looking for colors that Simon

would like, that would show his skin to advantage, reflect the pas-

sion in his eyes. He wasn’t redecorating to forget Simon, he was

redecorating to accessorize for the man?

It was ridiculous, but when he found jewel-toned sheets and

a quilt that was actually vibrant as well as cozy, he spent a huge

sum of money on bedding only to realize they made the rest of

the room look shabby in comparison. So he’d taken a week off

work and done over his whole bedroom, in clear, deep colors that

were perfect for Simon’s vibrant personality and complemented

his coloring beautifully. The fabrics were soft and sexy against his

skin, and he still couldn’t bring himself to do more than look at

the room.

Too bad Simon wouldn’t ever see its brilliant perfection.

Only himself to blame for it too. Just like last time. Twelve

years older and he was still making a fool of himself over shit that

shouldn’t matter at all. Ambition, money, work...why did he keep

letting stupid shit get in the way of love? What the hell had he

been thinking?

He knew what he’d been thinking. He’d thought it would be

nice to wake up to Simon in his bed, in his arms, to come home to

Simon in his house. He’d thought that Simon should fall in with

his plans so he could have his dream and Simon, both. After all,

It’s Simple, Simon

the last time around he’d sacrificed Simon for his dream, hadn’t

he? He’d worked hard, achieved, succeeded. So now, he deserved

love, right?

The stubborn phone still refused to ring.

The dream was just as silent.

It seemed that the dream that had sustained him in these inter-

vening years hadn’t stood up well to the test of Simon’s presence.

Through it all, the painting, the pulling up carpet, the assembling

the new furniture, he’d kept going back to that one sentence. “You

lied about loving me before, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t lie.” The words came to him now, when he didn’t

have to look into deep green eyes and see disappointment, anger.

The words came to him now when there was no one to hear them.

He’d said them over and over again, whispered them into the

phone, cried them into his pillow, yelled them into the darkness,

into the bathroom mirror.

And still no one heard them. He had the appalling impression

that even he didn’t believe them.

He hadn’t knowingly lied about loving Simon. He’d loved

him in the way that a boy loves someone. He’d loved him for be-

ing fun to be around, for his affection, for his body. He’d loved

Simon; he just hadn’t accepted him.

And that was a shitty sort of love, wasn’t it?

So, breaking up with Simon hadn’t been easy, but he’d done

it, and he’d pursued his dream. In exchange, he had a thriving

group of restaurants, and an empty house that he was slowly

turning into a shrine to a love he’d rediscovered.

Twelve-year-old mistakes were easy to forgive. What kept

him within pouncing distance of his phone was not the stupid-

but-understandable mistake he’d made at twenty. After all, Simon

had survived that quite nicely, hadn’t he? He’d gotten his MBA,

made a ton of money, and had a great job.

In short, he was thriving.

Except, he didn’t play music, didn’t even listen to music, ap-

parently, didn’t smoke, or drink, or sleep in. He wasn’t Simon any

more. No more simple lifestyle, no more simple affection.

Most of all, he didn’t love Chase anymore. Because Chase

had once again proven what a narrow-minded, selfish asshole he

was. Simon had remade himself into the man he thought Chase

wanted, and what did Chase do?

He wanted more, that’s what he did. Instead of accepting

the relationship Simon offered, he insisted once again on having

things one hundred percent his own way.

Now, when he’d realized how wrong he’d been, Simon

wouldn’t answer the phone. How could he prove to Simon he was

willing to change? That he hadn’t lied about loving him?

The answer came to him on a whiff of fresh paint and he

pushed himself up from the bed. He could prove himself by act-

ing...by doing what Simon had done before, changing. Most of all,

he could do what Simon wanted for a change, instead of expect-

ing Simon to fall in with what he wanted.

He could pack a bag and go to California and fucking prove

that Simon could trust him, that Simon could love him, that he

would fucking stick around no matter what this time.

Decision made, he strode confidently toward his closet and

pulled his luggage down off the top shelf. Slinging the assortment

of duffel bags on the new quilt brought him up short.

Fuck, more shopping. His luggage looked like shit, his clothes

were all wrong for California and wouldn’t impress a rat’s ass, let

alone a man with Simon’s unconscious elegance of dress.

It’s Simple, Simon

Chapter Eleven

“You broke in.”

“So have me arrested.” Chase challenged. He raised a knee so

the bed covers fell back, revealing that he really was naked and

waiting.

“Is this where I’m supposed to conveniently strip and have

sex with you? So you can accuse me of some ridiculous thing and

fight with me because I won’t make a huge change in my life on

the spur of the moment? ‘Cause, I think I’ll just keep my pants on,

if that’s the case. It’ll make talking to the cops easier.” And hiding

his arousal easier, too.

Finding Chase in his high-rise apartment wasn’t just surpris-

ing, it was shocking, considering what he paid for a secure home.

“How did you get in here anyway?” Must have been a lot more

challenging than his own break-in at Chase’s place. All he’d need-

ed was a credit card and he’d gotten through Chase’s flimsy lock.

Unlike Chase though, he had a security system, a doorman, and a

Lee Brazil

Schlage keyless lock. No way should Chase have been able to get

in here. Duh moment. Unless he guessed that the key code was

Chase’s birthday.

“I met some skate punk kid with a weird name in the lobby.

He let me in the building.” Chase kicked off the blanket and treat-

ed Simon to a prime view of his thick cock. He stroked himself

lightly, pouting at Simon.

Simon snorted softly. The pout was cute...not Chase, but cute,

and he could so see that he was being manipulated, but his eager

cock was swelling, pushing against the zip of his trousers. His

pulse raced a bit, and he scrambled to explain. “Yardley. He wa-

ters my plants when I’m not here.”

“He seemed to think I’m not your type. What is your type, if

it’s not me, Simon?”

Simon shed his suit coat, wiped away a bead or two of sweat

that threatened to drip down his brow. “Wow, it sure is hot today.

My type? Err...”

“Is Yardley your type these days, Simon?”

Was that jealousy scrunching up Chase’s blue eyes into tiny

slits, thinning his lush lips to white lines? “My type, a month ago,

would have been very like Yardley, yes—young, lean, athletic.”

“The opposite of me.”

“But, that’s not why they were my type. I wanted to forget

about you, not fuck substitutes.”

“Funny, ‘cause all these years, my type has been just like you.

Height-challenged blonds with green eyes. Guess I was substitut-

ing.”

“Yeah, well, we all forget our pasts in our own ways. They

didn’t look like you, didn’t fuck like you. That’s what my sex life

was all about. They weren’t you, and they didn’t expect more

than one night and a call every once in a while.”

That brought the tooth-baring smile back to Chase’s face. “I

see. Phone numbers in your little black book.” His face grew in-

tent and serious again. “And in the last three weeks? Have you

been using that little black book to forget about me again?”

No, he hadn’t. Because while he hadn’t been ready to talk to

Chase, didn’t want to talk to Chase until he knew a few things for

certain, he hadn’t wanted to forget about him. “No,” he admitted.

“I didn’t want to forget you this time.”

It’s Simple, Simon

He absently began unbuttoning his dress shirt, then hung the

garment on a hanger in the closet.

“You didn’t answer your phone or return my calls.”

Simon sighed, removed and folded his trousers across a sec-

ond hanger. “I wasn’t ready. I didn’t know what to say.”

“You didn’t even listen to the messages?”

He locked his gaze on the closet interior, blinking back emo-

tion, pretending to study the selection of jeans.

Warm strong arms slid around him, a rough-stubbled cheek

pressed against the top of his head. He was turned into Chase’s

arms, and a tender kiss landed on his brow. “I left twenty-seven

messages. You didn’t listen to any of them?”

Simon shook his head, squeezing closer, pressing hard against

Chase’s firmly muscled body. Three weeks of loneliness...for the

last three weeks he’d felt more alone than ever before in his life.

Coming out to California for college at twenty had been bad,

but he’d quickly lost himself in school and made friends. He’d ex-

pected that when he returned from this vacation his work and so-

cial life would make up for Chase’s absence, just as studying and

clubbing had in the past. Instead, he found work dull and tedious,

and the clubs he usually loved insipid and nausea-inducing.

Chase felt like home.

“I said I didn’t lie.”

Simon waited for more. Nothing else seemed forthcoming,

though Chase started rubbing his rough, strong hand along his

spine, and Simon melted a little closer. “Twenty-seven times?” He

prodded.

“Basically. I didn’t lie. I love you. I’m sorry I suck at showing

you how much, and I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. I get

that it’s hard for you to trust me, after what happened in our past

and all.” That sweet little speech sounded rehearsed, but Simon

was willing to accept practiced contrition.

Because he’d realized that he really did trust Chase. He was

even fairly sure he loved him. Hard to believe he could miss some-

one so much who he didn’t love. “I love you too.” If only saying

the words solved all their problems, the world could dissolve in

a fuzzy panorama right now. Or the passion that rose between

them even now, that should be enough, shouldn’t it? But it didn’t.

“But I cannot quit my job and move to Colorado and sponge off

you for the rest of my life.”

Lee Brazil

“Well, can I sponge off you for a while?”

That sank in through the layers of rising passion. “Sponge off

me?” His eyes lit on the small duffle bag in the corner of the room.

While Chase talked as though he were here for a long visit, he

clearly hadn’t packed for one. “I’m not sure I understand?”

“I mean, can I stay with you for a while? And you better say

yes, because a whole shitload of my stuff is being shipped here to

arrive in three days.”

“You’re giving up your shops and moving here? For me?”

Chase was compromising? Simon’s heart stopped, then resumed

in triple speed. “Really?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“Oh, of course not. I mean it’s your dream and all, right?

I wouldn’t expect you to give up your dream for me.” But the

thought had been warming.

“Why shouldn’t you? You gave up something you loved for

me.”

“What? I told you, I didn’t quit my job.” Yet. He’d sent out

resumes though, to every bank and financial advisory company

in Denver.

“I don’t mean the bank thing. I mean the music. The smoke.

The dream you had then. You gave up being a rock star, became

the man you thought I wanted. The man I said I wanted, I mean.”

He had, hadn’t he? “But I found out that that man was also

who I really am, Chase.” And that was what had hurt most about

their last altercation. The thought that Chase didn’t love him as he

was, but as he used to be.

“I’m sorry about that. Really. I was caught up on recapturing

our past, but I love you. The real you, not the memory of you. I

want to work this out, and I have a plan I think you’ll find accept-

able. But, I have to be honest with you.”

“Full disclosure?” Was he about to confess that he’d slept with

someone else? Why did that hurt? They hadn’t exactly been com-

mitted to one another for the last three weeks.

“Yeah, full disclosure. I want to talk about this, but being na-

ked and all is really fucking with my concentration, and as long

as we’re clear that we love each other and this can be worked out,

can we just fucking go to bed and fuck so we can concentrate?”

“No.” Okay, that was mean.

Lee Brazil

Chapter Twelve

Apparently, in Simon’s mind, the difference between mak-

ing love and fucking involved proceeding in a tortuously slow

manner, and kissing...kissing way more than they had ever kissed

before...longer, slower, deeper, everywhere...kissing that drove

Chase out of his mind.

He sank back onto the pristine white sheets, pulled Simon

down with him and lost himself again in the warm sweet kisses

that Simon trailed over his lips, cheek, chin and brow. Each moist

little kiss was an affirmation that he’d done the right thing, finally.

That he’d made a choice for himself that Simon could live with.

The glow in Simon’s green eyes never faded, the urgency

of his cock against Chase’s thigh never abated, but still Simon

slowly kissed his way over Chase’s face to his ear, where his hot

breath tickled sensitive flesh, sending ripples of pleasure through

Chase’s body.

It’s Simple, Simon

His own hands were awkward as he tried to touch without

urging, to caress and encourage without taking control. When

had he become such a freak that he had to be the one directing

everything? Changing that part of himself was what would allow

him to find a future with Simon, he knew it.

He wanted that future. So he settled for kissing the sweat-

dampened flesh he could reach without disturbing Simon’s path.

The man seemed to have a plan, and the plan had proven good

so far. As the plane of a cheek came into range, he leaned up to

brush it with his lips. The cheek disappeared and he waited, thrill-

ing to hot lips in the inner curve of his arm, the tickle of a tongue

teasing the hairs in his arm pit. He stifled a self-conscious urge to

clamp his arm down tight, to deny Simon that tender skin out of

embarrassment for the mass of thick hair that grew there. Maybe

he should shave or wax or whatever Simon did to keep his own

skin so smooth and hairless. But Simon’s murmur of appreciation,

the lingering heat of his mouth soothed Chase’s unease and he

relaxed, enjoying the unexpectedly pleasurable sensation.

A shoulder came close and he nipped the muscle with his

lips, trailing along the moving line of flesh until Simon found his

nipple and he gasped, inundated with sweet sensation. His belly

tightened, his hands clenched in the sheets. He waited.

Simon sat upright, wiped his mouth with back of his hand

and glared. Chase groaned. “What? Why are you stopping?”

“Well, you’re not really into this, are you?” Simon was pout-

ing, lips turned down sullenly.

“The hell I’m not! I love it. Your mouth on my skin is amaz-

ing.” He flexed his hips, driving his aching cock against Simon’s

buttocks where he was perched on Chase’s belly. “Does that feel

like I’m not interested?”

“Then how about a little interaction, huh?” Simons demand-

ed, rubbing his own cock over Chase’s abdomen leaving a shiny

trail of slick kisses. “What’s with the hands off shit?”

His head hit the pillow with a solid thump. “I thought you

wanted to do this your way.”

“I want to do this our way. I want your hands and mouth on

me, I want you as eager and active as I am. Why the hell would

you think I wanted you to just lie there?” His eyes crossed. “You’d

better not be fucking thinking about politics or pie crust or the

cost of cherries in April.”

Lee Brazil

“Why would I be thinking about the cost of cherries in April?

Never mind.” He added hastily as he saw Simon about to answer.

“I’m not thinking of anything but you, and doing this right for

you.”

Simon planted a hand squarely in the center of his chest, tan-

gled his fingers in the hair there and leaned down to kiss him

lightly. His breath still came hot and fast, and his words were

husky. “It’s not right if you don’t touch me.”

“I just want to be the man you need me to be in bed and ev-

erywhere.” He finished helplessly, shrugging. That was the deci-

sion he’d come to back in Colorado. To be the man Simon needed,

simply.

Simon’s smile was blindingly brilliant. “You are. The man I

need, the one I love.” He shifted a bit, “And you’ll still be that man

if you touch me.”

Laughing, Chase grabbed Simon’s hips and raised him, re-

aligning them so their cocks were nestled side by side in the

cradle of their bodies. He hissed in pleasure at the slick friction,

swallowed Simon’s moan with a fervent kiss, and they left slow

behind in a frantic slide and glide of blissful friction that brought

a flood of warmth and a sense of completion and wellbeing that

panted breaths and pounding hearts couldn’t drown out.

Simon cuddled up to him, and slowly their breathing re-

turned to normal. “I missed you.”

The ache in his heart that their lovemaking had banished re-

turned, but Chase pushed the pain aside. He edged Simon onto

the rumpled sheets beside him and slid out of bed. Silently he

padded across to the master bathroom and dampened a wash-

cloth with warm water.

Back to the bed and he carefully cleaned the traces of se-

men from their bodies, before tossing the cloth aside. Simon was

watching him expectantly, and he didn’t know what to say, where

to start.

“You have a plan.” Simon encouraged baldly. “I’d like to hear

what you’re thinking.”

“Six months.” He swallowed hard, staring intently into Si-

mon’s eyes, willing him to go for it. “I hired another manager,

promoted someone to my second in command. I’m going to tele-

commute for six months, fly back whenever I have to.” Somehow

it had escaped his attention that he was basically inviting himself

It’s Simple, Simon

to live with Simon. Now, his brilliant idea seemed more than a

little...brash.

“And in six months?”

Here was the part Simon might not go for. “I was hoping that

by the time six months had passed you could either request a

transfer to Colorado or find an equally rewarding position there.”

Simon studied him quietly, expression blank.

Desperation led Chase to fill the silence. “If you want to, I

mean. You don’t have to. But...I was hoping you would. Relocat-

ing would be easier than maintaining a long distance relationship.

I don’t want to be away from you.” He trailed into miserable si-

lence.

“You won’t be.” Simon was confident. “I’m sure the resumes I

sent out this week will bring results much sooner than six months,

and if they don’t, then I’ll set up shop as an investment consultant

on my own.”

“You will?” Simon had been looking for a way to come back

to Colorado, come back to him?

“Yeah, I will. I don’t want you to give up your dream for me,

Chase. Being a restaurateur was what you always wanted. What I

do—managing money—can be done anywhere, even the kitchen

counter of a little ranch style house in suburban Denver.”

Guilt still nagged at him about what he done years ago, even

though he could see that Simon had no regrets. “But I forced you

to give up your dream for me.” He could at least do the same,

couldn’t he? He drew in a deep breath, prepared to tell Simon to

forget six months, that he would stay for as long as it took, when

a sharp sting of pain radiated through his arm. “Ouch! The hell

did you smack me for?”

“You forced me to do nothing. I made a choice, and part of

that choice was realizing that music wasn’t a fulfilling career path.

I didn’t give my dreams up right away, you know. I came to Cali-

fornia like a hundred thousand other dumb kids to make it big

in the entertainment industry. You know, find a nightclub, play

some gigs, get discovered?”

Stunned, Chase found himself rearranging the image he’d

had of Simon’s past twelve years. “You mean...”

“I mean, I really wanted to show you how wrong you were by

succeeding in the music world. I found something I liked better

shortly after I got here.”

Biography

I’m an avid reader and former teacher of grammar and composi-

tion who believes that falling in love is the grandest adventure anyone

can have. In a nutshell, that’s every story I have to tell.

Relocating from the crazy pace of life in Southern California’s Or-

ange County to the beautiful and leisurely atmosphere of the Illinois

countryside has given me the time to indulge the desire to write that I

set aside when I started teaching fourteen years ago. Readers can find

out more about me and my writing by visiting me at my blog, Lee’s

Musings at http://leebrazilauthor.blogspot.com/ or finding me on Face-

book at http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100001551666797

Feel free to drop me a line at lee.brazil@ymail.com.