Was he going to kick the handsome, muscular dude out?

  Nope.

  Chester sighed and got busy chopping up fruit for cocktails. It was stupid to develop a crush on a straight man. It was even more stupid when said crush had the ability to kill without blinking. Or did he? Was Kemper a big old teddy bear in disguise? Perhaps the man was secretly in the closet just waiting to let his rainbow cape unfurl.

  More than likely, Chester was delusional.

  If there were two things he learned from the movies, it was never cross the mafia and never insult a motorcycle club. For now, he’d take Kemper’s help, until the big man worked through whatever issues were going on in his head. He had no doubt that once the biker figured out things, Chester would watch the door slam shut as he left.

  Chester turned the music back up, not as loud as usual since he wanted to hear Kemper in case he called out. The bar hours were 2:00 in the afternoon to 2:00 in the morning. At lunch he ordered pizza and he went in search of Kemper. He found him hard at work in a larger hole than the initial one.

  “Hey,” Chester said.

  Kemper sat back and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “Hey.”

  “What’s all this?”

  “When I pulled out the rotted boards, I realized the subfloor was nothing but sawdust. Figured you didn’t want to have the floor collapse from under Miss Lulu so I decided to replace it.”

  “Wow, thanks. You seem to know your way around home repair.”

  Kemper shrugged. “I’ve always enjoyed building things. Fixing things.”

  “Lucky me. I got pizza for us.”

  “Cool. Let me wash up.”

  Chester nodded before retreating. He dished out a couple of slices onto paper plates, and slid it over to Kemper when he sat down next to him at the bar.

  “So, tell me how you became a biker.”

  Kemper finished chewing a bite of pizza and swallowed it before answering. “When I was a junior in high school, we had to take this test that showed what type of career we’d be best suited for. Guess what mine was.”

  “Motorcycle club dude?”

  “Ballet dancer.”

  Chester had just taken a drink of beer and had to spit it out on a laugh. “What the fuck?”

  “Yeah, that was my reaction, too!” Kemper chuckled. “Although it probably had more to do with me fucking around on the test and not taking it seriously. So anyway, here I am with these two monumental career choices. Ballet dancer or biker.”

  Chester leaned on his hand, angling closer as if hanging on every word. “Which one did you pick?”

  “Well, since I’m about as delicate as a bull in a China shop, I had to pass on the Swan Lake slippers to embark on my life of debauchery and crime.”

  “Debauchery?”

  “You went with that first?”

  “Eh,” Chester said with a shrug. “Even gay men pick debauchery first.”

  Kemper grinned, and then slowly it faded. “My mom died when I was a kid and my father liked to use me as a punching bag. He was a mean drunk. Me, I’m fucking hilarious when I’m three sheets to the wind, but him not so much. When I was seventeen, I’d had enough. So, I left. Met up with the Reapers sometime after that, and the rest is history.”

  “I’m sorry about your dad.”

  “Yeah,” Kemper said, shrugging. “Some people shouldn’t be parents. What about you?”

  “Me?” Chester shook his head. “I never had the urge to procreate.”

  “No, I meant, what’s your story.”

  “Ah. Well, I’m originally from Denver. Managed a club for a while. I liked it until I didn’t.”

  “Why’d you leave the city?”

  Chester wiped his mouth and laid down the napkin before answering. “Being a gay man today is infinitely easier than it used to be, but that being said, it’s still an uphill battle some days. You jump over one hurdle and two more pop up. My boyfriend was still in the closet, and while I’ll never force someone to come out if they’re not ready, I couldn’t go back into the closet. Our relationship fell apart. Which meant a future without him.”

  “Shit, man. Sorry.”

  “It is what it is,” he said with a shrug. “About the same time that was going on, an old family friend who owned this bar decided to retire. Asked if I wanted it and I said hell yeah. So, I packed up, got a business loan from a bank, and never looked back.”

  “But it’s just you working here, right? You don’t have anyone else?”

  “Nope, just me, myself and I. Up until recently, it’s not been busy enough to warrant another employee. That might have to change soon.”

  “Uh, huh. And are you enjoying it? All work and no play etcetera and so forth.”

  “I like my life now. It’s fulfilling. I get to see my friends every night. What’s not to love?”

  “You can be in a room full of people and still be lonely.”

  “I suppose.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

  Kemper was silent a moment as he finished up his last slice of pizza. When he was done, he wiped his mouth and then looked at him. “Yeah. I’ve been lonely, too.”

  Chester didn’t know how to reply so they finished their beers in silence. Then Kemper rose to his feet.

  “I should get back to finish the floor.”

  “Thank you, Kemper. I really appreciate it.”

  Kemper nodded, turned to walked away, not saying anything else. Chester watched him, his gaze slipping down to inspect his ass. Then he chastised himself for ogling, reminding himself that his biker wasn’t gay.

  Although he wished he was.

  Chapter Seven

  By the time Kemper finished with the floor, Wrong Side of Heaven was packed with people. Men playing pool. Men dancing. Men waiting, some impatiently, for their alcohol. It was the complete opposite of his visits before. Chester ran back and forth, serving drinks, joking with customers, refilling the bowls on the counter with pretzels. Although he laughed, stress lines bracketed around his mouth.

  Kemper sighed. He should just go. This wasn’t his scene. It wasn’t his problem. He had nothing in common with the men drinking and grinding against each other, but he couldn’t leave Chester in such a predicament. Without another thought, he hurried behind the bar and began serving beer. Chester blinked at him, but after a moment, he smiled in gratitude and they got back to work.

  Through the night he and Chester didn’t really have time to talk. Every once in a while, he glanced over when Chester laughed, wondering what was so funny. Through the night, he found himself seeking him out and each time he did, Chester seemed to catch his eye and smile back. Fifteen minutes before closing time, Chester turned off the music blasting through the speakers and yelled last call. As patrons settled their tabs and filed out the door, Kemper grabbed a damp dishtowel and tub and headed out to wipe down and bus the tables.

  “But I don’t wanna go,” slurred the last patron, a man three sheets to the wind.

  “Come on, Frank,” Chester said. He wrapped his arm around the man’s waist and grabbed hold of his shoulder, helping him to the door. “I called your daughter. She’s outside.”

  “Oh, no,” Frank wailed. “She’ll take away my television.”

  “You just need to sleep it off.”

  He led the man outside and returned a few minutes later, locking the door.

  “He do that often?” Kemper asked.

  “No,” Chester replied as he grabbed a few glasses off the tables near the door. “Luckily. From what I heard, he lost his partner, and comes here whenever the memories get too much.”

  They worked quickly, stacking all the glasses next to the sink.

  “I’ll get to them tomorrow,” Chester said. “One of the reasons why I don’t open until 2:00.”

  “All right,” Kemper said as he tossed his rag down onto the bar.

  “You didn’t have to stay and help, you know,” Chester said.

  “Had nothing else planned.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Guess I should head out. I can come back tomorrow-”

  “It’s too late for you to drive. You can crash at my place.”

  Kemper blinked. “Um. Nah, it’s okay.”

  “You’re telling me you want to drive all the way home just to turn around and come all the way back tomorrow? When my sofa is so comfy.”

  Kemper smiled. “How comfy is it?”

  “It’s like sleeping on a cloud. In fact, on a scale of one to a thousand, it rates at nine hundred and ninety-three.”

  “What happened to the other seven?”

  Chester shrugged. “Nothing’s perfect.”

  Kemper chuckled. “You drive a convincing argument. Lead the way.”

  ****

  Although Kemper replayed his decision to follow Chester to his home, the truth of the matter was that he hadn’t wanted to go home to the clubhouse. He was too tired to party, too uninterested to fuck, and too far over Zeus’s fucking attitude problem. It was all turning into one massive hemorrhoid chaffing his ass, which was the main reason why he agreed to sleep at Chester’s. A peaceful night on a sofa seemed a hundred times better than dealing with crap at home.

  Chester led them through the downtown section of the nearby town. The streets were quiet. Quaint looking streetlamps flooded the area with soft lighting. Railroad tracks bisected the area. Chester turned off Main Street into a residential neighborhood. The houses were small, with postage sized lawns. He pulled onto the rock-lined driveway of one and Kemper parked his bike against the curb. He dismounted and pulled off his helmet, tucking it under his arm as he walked up the lawn to join Chester at the front door. It stuck slightly in the frame, and Chester bent his shoulder to force it open.

  “Humidity always makes this door stick,” Chester said. “I’ve been slowly but surely renovating.”

  The small living room boasted a purple leather couch, so large that it took up the entire space. The padding was, indeed, overly puffed out. It rested on an area rug made up of electric blue and hot pink colors in geometric shapes. A fifty-inch television was mounted on the wall. On the coffee table rested a gaming console and several game cases nearby.

  “Let me guess,” Kemper said. “You’re a fan of Purple Rain?”

  Chester grinned. “His best album.”

  “Agree to disagree.”

  “Oh, really?” he asked. “And what do you think is his best?”

  “Sign O’ The Times, of course.”

  Chester pursed his lips and tilted his head. “Okay. Can’t argue with that. Kiss?”

  “Destroyer.”

  “Black Sabbath or Judas Priest?”

  “I’m more of a Mötley Crüe kinda guy.”

  “You’re all right, Kemper Ribar,” Chester said with a grin. “Make yourself at home. I’ll grab some blankets and a pillow.”

  He disappeared down the hall. Kemper removed his jacket and only then realized he had left his cut back at the bar. He had taken it off to work on the floor. Now, a sense of panic filled him, although not for the obvious reason. Not because he had left it behind, but because he hadn’t missed it.

  “You okay?”

  Kemper looked up. Chester stared at him in concern, several blankets and a pillow in his arms.

  “Yeah, great. Everything’s great. Well, actually, I left my cut back at the bar.”

  “Do you need to go back and get it?”

  “Not really.”

  “It’ll be safe there,” Chester said. He gave a nod toward the hallway. “I’m going to take a quick shower. I’ll leave a towel for you after I’m done.”

  “Yeah. Cool.”

  Chester turned and went back the way he’d come. Kemper sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The night had been long and demanding, but rewarding. It had been a while since he actually worked behind the bar and had enjoyed keeping busy. Stretching, a few pops cracked down his spine. He whipped off his t-shirt, waiting for Chester to get done.

  “Oh.”

  He spun around. Chester’s gaze widened as he looked Kemper up and down. His hair was wet. For a moment, they stared at one another. Kemper’s stomach clenched, but not in a bad way. More of a what the fuck way. His heart sped up a little, causing him to take a small step back. He reached up to rub the back of his neck.

  “I, ah, set out a pair of sweatpants with the towel on the commode,” Chester mumbled. “You know, for the shower. I mean, after you shower you can use the towel. And then, um, the sweats after that.”

  He focused on Chester’s mouth, and lingered there, for some inexplicable reason.

  “Thanks,” he murmured.

  They stared at one another. Kemper couldn’t seem to drag his gaze away. Time stopped. Or maybe it sped up. All he knew was that the air around them electrified. He waited for Chester to say something. Or do something. He did neither, only turned and walked away. What the hell just happened? It was almost like having a first kiss, where all the butterflies fluttered in his gut and his palms were all sweaty. His dick had turned rock hard and he pushed it down through his jeans to chill the fuck out. He took a deep breath, wondering if he should just get out and stay away.

  Then he wondered why he had the reaction.

  Taking a deep breath, he created his makeshift bed and then pulled off his riding boots. He waited a few minutes, until he heard the click of Chester’s bedroom door before going to wash. All the while, he tried to figure out why he suddenly sported wood for another man.

  Chapter Eight

  He was gone.

  Chester expected it, but it still stung. Last night something had happened between them. Some spark, and he wondered if his imagination had been working overtime. He could’ve sworn Kemper had sensed it, which was probably why he had run away. Maybe the attraction he felt was only one sided. Still, he buried his head in the sand hoping Kemper was something other than straight.

  If he was, last night had freaked him the fuck out. His absence was proof enough. Chester sighed and ran a hand through his hair, afraid he had lost Kemper’s friendship. He hurried through his shower and grabbed some toast as he walked out the door. He arrived at the bar in a little over ten minutes and parked around back. He let himself in and began his work day. In the mood for something a little different, he found Metallica’s Black album and cranked up the speakers. It helped take his mind off Kemper.

  First, he needed coffee. While it brewed, he washed the glasses and mugs, and then went about restocking the bar. Taking a break, he poured himself a mug. His gaze fell upon the notepad listing all the projects he’d written down, and once more, Kemper filled his thoughts. A memory surfaced so he went to the bathrooms and found the leather cut Kemper had left behind. He carried it to a table and sat down.

  It was well worn, with various patches covering it. One read, “Drinking doesn’t cause hangovers, waking up does.” Another one said, “Ride it like you stole it.” There was a patch of two stick figures, where the male had the female bent over with an arrow pointing to her saying, “You are here.” His name was embroidered on it and Chester ran his fingertips over the stitching. Damn, he was already missing the big, handsome biker.

  Breaktime over, Chester finished the rest of his coffee and carefully folded the leather cut. He had no clue how to send it to Kemper. He could drive it to him, but more than likely Kemper wouldn’t appreciate a gay man driving up to the Burning Reapers compound. Putting it on the bar, he decided to worry about it later and got back to work.

  ****

  Damn it!

  He left his cut at the bar and Ribar knew he was going to get shit for not having it. And he was going to have to go back and see Chester again.

  Last night, something had shifted between them. Some magnetism that had electrified his nerve endings. He was straight. There’d never been a time when he had looked at another man and wondered what it would be like to kiss him. At least, not until he stared at Chester and couldn’t take his gaze off his lips. His dick had hardened, for fuck’s sake! Sure, he had sometimes popped wood during a medical exam, but that was normal. Wasn’t it? Wondering how it would feel to kiss his friend wasn’t.

  So, like a little bitch, he had run away, unable to process his body’s reaction. Luckily he had avoided everyone at the clubhouse as he snuck into his room. His eyes had burned from lack of sleep, so he had hoped to crash, but his dreams were relentless. All featuring Chester.

  He rose and showered, intending to head back to the bar and get his cut. He would simply play it cool, apologize for sneaking out. Maybe invent some crisis that he’d had to deal with. Then, he’d leave and not return. He had no business in a gay bar, anyway, since he wasn’t gay.

  Ribar headed downstairs. A few men were passed out around the floor, snoring heavily. A half-naked woman slept on the pool table. The stench of stale beer, cigarettes, and sex hung heavy in the air. He headed for the door, needing to ride to clear his head.

  “You’re not wearing your cut.”

  Ribar turned and saw Zeus sitting on a stool at the bar. He sat slumped back with a bottle of tequila in his hand.

  “Yeah,” he said, not bothering to deny it.

  “So, where the fuck are you going without it?” Zeus asked, his words slurring a little. Confirming he was still drunk from the night before.

  “Out.”

  “You’re always out.” Zeus took another drink from his bottle. “Always there. Always stealing attention.”

  Ribar frowned. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Zeus stood, weaving a little on his feet. He stumbled closer with his index finger pointed at him. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” He didn’t want to get into a fight with his prez.

  “Trying to take everything,” Zeus mumbled. “Trying to overthrow my presidency.”

  Ribar rolled his eyes. “I don’t want it. You’ve nothing to fear from me.”

  “Bullshit!” Zeus snapped, swaying a little precariously. He was about one strong puff of wind away from falling on his face. “You piss me off. You’re always getting the men to smile at you. To laugh with you. You’re trying to take away everything because you’ve got seniority!”