Outcome (Aftermath #2) (23 page)

Epilogue

Two years later…

"Remy!" Andreas bitched from his station. "What have I said about running in the studio? Christ, you're just like Dan and Martinez sometimes."

"Someone needs to get laid," Remy laughed, hurrying to clean up. Ink everywhere, dammit. "When's the six-week checkup?" Andy became a father for the second time a few weeks ago, this time to a little baby girl.

"Tomorrow, fucking finally!" Andy exclaimed. Then he apologized for his outburst to the dude whose calf he was currently working on.

"Okay, well…
sayonara
, bitches." Remy shouldered his messenger bag. "Don't miss me too much while I'm gone."

"Have fun,
Stahl
." Dan winked.

Remy smirked and flipped him the bird as he left.

Stahl would soon only be a nickname.

The name "Gallardo" was inked across his left ring finger, in place of an engagement ring.

He made his way to the parking lot and jumped into his car, eager to get home. For the next three weeks, it would just be him, Chase, and the open roads.
I can't wait
. In fact, they'd both loved their first road trip together so much that they'd turned it into an annual tradition. Three weeks, three states.

This year, they were planning on exploring Arizona, New Mexico, and Colorado. Well, the first night would be spent in Vegas since they were leaving pretty late. Remy had suggested they leave earlier, but Chase had insisted on Vegas for some reason.

On his way home, he picked up Chinese and texted a little with Minna, who was visiting family in Duluth. He also called his sponsor, just to check in and say they were leaving in a few hours. He promised to give Harvey weekly reports and to never hesitate to call.

Remy had slipped around this time last year, so they'd been careful lately. It was because Bill had died, and…Remy didn't like to think about it. It had simply stirred up too much shit, so he'd bought a bottle of vodka and driven up to the cabin. But he'd only had one drink before guilt had taken over, and he'd come clean to Chase.

Otherwise, it had gotten a lot easier to deal with backlashes, which Remy allowed himself to be a little proud of. He was doing his best—always.

He may be doing the fighting, but he wouldn’t have been able to without his family, especially the man he'd proposed to a few months ago.

Now we just have to set a date.

Remy turned onto their street and eased into the driveway before he honked the horn. Chase's favorite bike was already out of the garage, gleaming in the sun.

Grabbing his stuff, he left the car and walked inside. "You here, sweetheart?" he called.

"Kitchen!"

Remy found him studying the maps laid out on the kitchen table. Two saddlebags sat packed on the counter, too.

"Hey." Chase turned and grinned at him. "Fuck yes, dinner. I'm starving." He drew Remy close and kissed him hard. "
Mmm
. I packed your sketchpad."

"Thanks." Remy was looking forward to working on Chase's first tattoo during the trip. By the time they got back home, he'd have the stencil ready for a Joshua tree with a bike parked underneath it. Then he'd have Chase in his chair in the studio, which…frankly, it got his cock hard just thinking about it. "Damn," he muttered, taking a step back. "Do we have time before we go?"

Chase could no doubt guess what Remy needed time for.

"We'll make time."

*

Chase felt the squeeze Remy gave his midsection as he drove under the signature, blue and yellow Bakersfield sign.
Yeah, we're on our way, baby.
He grabbed Remy's hand and kissed it—before he dutifully returned his hand to the handlebar. 'Cause Remy had a tendency of freaking out when Chase let go. Even for a second.

They hit the interstate with the sun sinking lower and lower over the horizon.

It turned the desert landscape red and gold, and the liquid heat along the road darker.

For every mile they put behind them, thoughts about everyday tasks faded away. It was all covered. Donna ran the bar and the other employees like a boss. His sister, who had finally returned to Bakersfield, would check in on the house. As would their friends across the street. No paperwork for three weeks. A break in therapy.

Chase smiled to himself, no longer expecting disaster at every turn. He'd learned it was no way to live. And for the days he got stuck in the past, Remy was there to pull him out if it.

Another thing he'd learned was to stop chasing the end results.

That wasn’t what life was about.

They wouldn't know the outcome until they took their final breaths, and they had way too much living to do before that.

He grinned and sped up, Vegas being the first stop on their journey.

Tomorrow he'd be a married man.

Carpe fuckin' diem.

The End

More from
Cara Dee

Public Display of Everything

Available on Amazon

There's a soft tap on my shoulder, and I turn to see that kid. Up close—for the first time. All right, so maybe he's a lot more than just cute. Maybe he's also older than eighteen. I didn’t exactly ask Tammy when she carded him a few months ago the first time he turned up.

"What's up?" I plaster a polite smile on my face, hoping I don’t come off as the Loser of the Day.

"I couldn’t help but overhear…" He trails off, looking over to where he's been sitting.

Official
Loser of the Day, it is. With a mustard stain.

There's no mustard stain on the kid's long-sleeved shirt. Fancy brand, to boot. It's got that crocodile logo on it.

He clears his throat and wipes a hand down his gray slacks, then extends it. "I'm Flynn. Nice to meet you."

I shake his hand firmly.
Clammy
. Nice, long fingers. "Cory." My smile feels a little more genuine now. The kid—
Flynn
…may be the hottest nerd I've ever seen. "You mentioned something about
overhearing
?"

"Correct." He blows out a breath and pushes a few locks of his dirty blond hair away from his forehead. "I'm aware of the fact that this topic doesn’t fall into social norms, so I apologize for any awkwardness on my part." A stiff smile. "I only caught the gist of it, but are you looking for work?"

"That’s right," I admit reluctantly.

"Okay. Okay." He nods shortly, puffing out a breath. "Do y-you have high standards?" A small bead of sweat trickles down his temple, distracting me. It's a hot July day, but the bar is air-conditioned. "Or high morals, for that matter." That last part was mumbled.

I furrow my brow, repeating his words. What the fuck? Glancing around me, I chuckle. I can feel the crease of confusion forming on my forehead.

"I wouldn’t have sex for money, if that’s what you mean." I cock my head as he averts his green eyes to the floor. "Kid, if this is your idea of small talk, I'm afraid it needs some work."

His gaze snaps up again, eyes wider. For some reason, his face falls slightly before it's back to composed. "
Kid
." Or as composed as he's capable of. "Oh, okay. Right. Yes. I see."
I don’t
. He scratches a point above his eyebrow. Then he squeezes his eyes shut for a single second. He's clearly struggling with something. "I'm g-going to ask anyway, and then we c-can forget all of this once you've said no." He speaks in a rush. "I have a job offer, but it's not for everybody." He sucks in a quick breath.

I blink. I'm not fucking slow, but this Flynn guy is a handful. I'm kinda worried he's gonna have a stroke, and he's way too young for that.

"What kind of job offer?" I've had some seedy gigs before, so I'm not gonna say no before I know what it is he's proposing.

"It's, um… Is there any way we can speak in private?" He gestures to a table in the corner. "It's better if I show you."

I look over to where Tammy is, preferring a second opinion right now, but she's busy with customers.
Fuck it
. I have nothing to lose, so I agree and grab my stuff before I follow Flynn to his table.

My eyes trail south on the way, and I stifle a sigh of longing at the sight of his tight ass.

It's been too fucking long
.

Too bad I'm a chickenshit and can't bring myself to get back in the dating game.

Flynn sits down and pulls out a tablet from his messenger bag, quickly powering it up while I get comfortable.

"I run a website," he explains, tapping away on the touch screen. "It's about, ah, exhibition—just to warn you."

I grin, a little nervous myself now. "I
watch
porn, but I have no interest in starring." It's been ages since I had the opportunity to watch, though. It's not like I have constant access to the internet. Or a computer.

"Okay." He swallows hard, and his hand is trembling as he slides his tablet to my side of the table. "This is the site."

Resting my forearms on the table, I lean forward and focus on the screen. Public Display of More dot com. I peer up at Flynn real quick before the screen has my attention again.
"Is there a voyeur inside you? Or are
you
the one who would like an audience in the bedroom?"
It's a website about voyeurism?

This guy doesn’t strike me as…kinky.

The simple design, mostly white and gray, makes it look classy. Nothing seedy about it.

At first glance, it appears to be a regular community site—but about, yeah, voyeurism. There's a forum part, a chat part, a…um.

"What's this?" I point to the tab where it says,
"Come and See."

Flynn leans close and keeps his voice low. "It's where people can let others know when and where they will be intimate. So people can go to their location and watch."
Holy shit
. He looks around us, making sure no one can hear. "There's a monthly fee to add yourself as a voyeur, but those who offer, um,
live shows
, for lack of a better word, get free memberships. They have to list at least one event a month where they either pleasure themselves or have intimate relations with others." By now, he looks extremely uncomfortable.

Meanwhile, I'm intrigued as hell. Wary too, but I wanna hear more. It's one of those moments where I wonder why I couldn’t come up with something like this. Seems like a gold mine to me.

"I apologize," he adds. "I always try to stick to safe topics when I interact with people, but I need help, so I'm afraid I can't get out of this one. Therefore, I'm nervous."

I don’t need his apologies.

"Is all this legal?" I ask in a hushed voice.

Flynn's fast to nod. "Oh, yes. I screen all members, and they have to agree to the terms of use and a consent clause."

I nod absently, turning back to the tablet. My stomach tightens. This sounds cool and all, but there's still the issue of the job offer.

"I'm not into voyeurism." I'd never judge anyone else for being into it, but it's not my thing.
I think
. I mean, I've never tried it, but I can't imagine… "What would this job entail?" I glance up apprehensively.

Flynn seems to hesitate, too. But for being so nervous and awkward, I gotta hand it to him. Walking up to a complete stranger like he approached me…? That takes balls.

"The members keep inquiring about me." He drops his gaze to the table. "I started the site when I turned eighteen—I had this vision, you see? God, of course you don’t. I'm sorry," he rambles. I can't help but grin. "Anyway, for the past four years—" I'm quick there, noting his age: twenty-two "—it's grown, and people are curious about…me." He pauses. "It's easy to be confident and outspoken online, but imagine if they knew?" He appears genuinely torn up about this. "They're expecting a Dom type—"

"Is BDSM involved, too?"

I learned about that lifestyle the wrong way. It was the one and only time I took a job as a private chauffeur. My client wanted me to call him "Master," which I found fucked-up, but I did it because I had bills to pay. However, I looked up the term after my first shift, and it opened up a new world that included a whole lot of whips and chains.

I kept an eye on that dude from there on out, and the day he told me I'd look good in a ball gag, he ended up in the hospital with a cracked jaw; I got fired and was nearly arrested.

"No, no." Flynn shakes his head quickly. "But you know the type?" I nod, getting it. "Yes. So. I am nothing like that." He bites the inside of his cheek. "They'd be incredibly disappointed if they saw the real me. I would ruin their image, and I do not like ruining things." 

That’s…that's crap. I get what he's saying, but it's crap. Fuck, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know this guy, and telling him—hell,
any
guy—that he looks good, that he's sexy…I can't do that anymore.

"I need someone to pretend they're me," Flynn nearly whispers. "Someone whose features I can type into my profile, and… Of course, I would continue my work as I've done previously, but there would be information about me that isn't truly mine." I nod slowly, the pieces falling into place. Flynn pulls up another page on his site—his profile, I note. "I've always kept it vague. Not even my paid admins know what I look like."

Reading his info, the little he has posted, raises some questions. "It says here you have light hair, which is true, but—" I point to my own, which is brown. "Your eye color is listed as green." Again, mine are brown. "And height…oh, you haven't filled that in."

I'd say he's half a foot shorter than I am. He hasn’t filled in anything under body type, either.
Lean
. Same with age—no info.

Sexual orientation: Heterosexual
.

Of-fucking-course he is.

"Never mind. I get it." I lean back and scratch my nose. "So, I guess this is a one-time kind of job, then? Like, you borrow my info and that’s it?"

Seems like one hell of a detour to be dishonest to me. He could've easily just lied and put down whatever info he wanted. Right?

"Well…" Flynn looks away and grimaces. "Here's the thing—Goodness, I can't. I can't ask you. My friend warned me. She said it would be inappropriate of me to ask, so now I can't." He covers his face with his hands. "I apologize sincerely for bothering you."

"Hey. Don’t." Reaching forward, I nudge his hands away, then sit back once more. "You've come this far, yeah?" I grin and shrug. "Might as well continue. And—" it's my turn to make a face "—I could use the money. I really do need a job."

He's already shaking his head. "No. I can't. You've already said it's not your 'thing.'" He actually makes air quotes. "This would require being on display."

"That sounds…"
Not good
. Not good at all. I shift in my seat. "Ominous." Still, I'm too curious now to back out. I can always say no, but I wanna know more. "Come on, tell me." I give him what I hope is a convincing smile.

He stares silently at me for a solid five seconds, then breaks away. His ears tint red. "Running this kind of site…I have learned I cannot be shy and hesitant." He exhales shakily. "They want to see me. In a window or something. Well, outside too, but most people show themselves in windows."

That confuses me—talk of "outside," then windows. "You mean a webcam thing, right? Like, they'd see you in a chat window?"

"No." He gulps. "A real window. In person." The next time he looks me in the eye, he starts speaking in a rush again. "Your face would be hidden. They'd only see your body. As you…you know…masturbate."

"Wait." My eyes bug out. "You want me to do
what
?"

While my heart starts racing, I look around me as if I'm guilty of a crime and don't want the police to throw me in jail.

"You would masturbate in a window."