Page 47 of Hotshot

I nodded. “Yes.”

“That’s good.” Dad pointed at the sofa in his den, quietly commanding me to take a seat and file my report. “Tell me everything.”

No way. Not happening.

My father’s heart had gone through enough lately. He was well aware of my homosexuality and supportive in his own way, but the barn shenanigans might just push him over the edge. Moot point ’cause I didn’t kiss and tell.

But damn, I had a hard time keeping my shit-eating grin under control. Hey, sex did wonders for the body, mind, and spirit, and today had been all kinds of amazing.

Denny was a surprise. I hadn’t been sure he’d come by. And when he did, I’d half expected him to say this was a mistake and that after careful consideration, he wasn’t interested in getting his gay on with me.

No hard feelings. I would have understood. Sex wasn’t a big deal to me. It was feel-good fun between consenting adults. No hearts and flowers required. But I was older than Denny. I’dhad my heart broken more than once, and I’d learned not to attach sentiment to naked horizontal encounters. That was a new muscle to flex for a guy with a limited dating history.

He'd shown up, though. And wow, just…wow. Christ, Denny had no idea how fucking beautiful he was with that glossy-eyed intensity, his fingers probing my ass, his mouth on my cock. In the fucking barn, no less.

I knew there’d been little to no chance of being discovered. Garrett worked alone on Sunday mornings, and he had a bum knee and bad hearing. But the element of danger added something for sure.

So yes, I was fighting a smile that gave me the mental fortitude required to deal with the clusterfuck I’d taken on. I’d left Elmwood on Friday disheartened at the notion of being the town pariah in New England’s version of Siberia, but I was feeling cautiously optimistic now.

“Not much to tell,” I commented, settling on the sofa. “The mill is plodding along, the house in Elmwood is nice, and…everyone hates me. But I see light at the end of the tunnel.”

With a red blanket covering his legs and the wispy remnants of his once-full head of hair sticking straight up, Dad looked too thin, too tired, too small. But his potent, no-BS stare still spoke volumes.

“What about the hockey player?”

“What about him?”

“C’mon, Hank.” He circled his wrist impatiently. “I’m old and I’m dying. Don’t leave me hanging.”

I furrowed my brow. “That’s not funny.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just tell me what he said today.”

“Nothing much. I’d mentioned my work with Bess, and Denny thought that was interesting and wanted to meet her. This isn’t a quick sell, Dad. He’s not a professional actor ormodel, he’s an athlete. This is going to require some finesse since I’m not going through his agent.”

“Hmm. Do you think he’ll do the ad?”

I considered the question for a moment and nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

Dad smacked his hand on the arm of his wheelchair. “Well done! Endorsements bring followers, employees, and good will. Mark my words, this is the beginning of a success story.”

“Success story”was pushing it, but my outlook on life in the Four Forest area had improved by a thousand percent recently. I knew change wouldn’t come fast or easy, but I had Denny Mellon in my back pocket. The fact that he might not physically be in town for another month didn’t bother me. I had an ally.

Now, I had to learn a little something about this place. Not just the mill, the whole area.

Starting with Elmwood.

I’d already done the Google search. Population, history, and topography didn’t give me enough info, but in case you’re interested…population had increased over the past decades in all four towns, thanks in part to the hockey boom. The first settlers arrived in the 1700s, and were most likely hunters. The area was still covered in forest, with gorgeous hillsides, and sweeping panoramic views of Lake Norman and the picturesque New England townships.

No, this wasn’t Colorado, but it was beautiful too, I mused as I drove the winding road into Elmwood.

I eased my truck into a parking space near the fountain on Main Street and turned off the engine, absently watchinga couple sitting on a bench sipping coffee and a gaggle of preschool age kids skipping while their parents chatted nearby.

On a whim, I scrolled to Denny’s contact info.If you were new in Elmwood, what would you order at the bakery?

He replied immediately.A maple cookie, but do NOT get into a big discussion with my grandmother. If she’s there, introduce yourself. That’s it.

You’re extremely bossy for someone who’s two thousand miles away, I typed, my lips curled in amusement.