Waking the Behr Read online

  Waking the Behr

  By Pat Henshaw

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2020 Pat Henshaw

  ISBN 9781646565290

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  To Becca, Jake, and Sarah, without whose help and love I would have given up long ago. Thank you all so much.

  Author’s Note: During the recession at the beginning of the 21st Century, many gays and lesbians moved from the San Francisco Bay Area and Sacramento to the Sierra Foothills. FLAG (Foothills Lesbians and Gays) was formed. This series was written for them.

  * * * *

  Waking the Behr

  By Pat Henshaw

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter

  Chapter 1

  Meeting a potential client for the first time was usually a mixed bag. As a contractor and partner in Behr Construction, I never knew what I was going to get: a fanciful dreamer, an actual customer, or a combination of both.

  So I was surprised when I opened the door to the gutted restaurant and found a giant of a man twirling Julie Andrews-style. He was grinning like a loon as the light poured over him.

  That should have been laughable since he was alone, but he was kickass savoring the moment. Instead of appearing loco, he struck me as a big overgrown Peter Pan. He looked so happy, I had an urge to join him, which gave me a moment of panic because I’m not an old boy who does much dancing or cavorting—in public or in private.

  “Uh, hello? Mr. O’Shea?”

  When he turned toward me, my jaw dropped. I’m sure I musta looked like the village idiot.

  The guy was unbelievably gorgeous. I don’t usually think men are good- or bad-looking. They’re men. Before that moment, I would have said men weren’t my type. But, damn! He was smoking hot.

  He looked about my height—six four or maybe a little taller—and was dressed in a classy three-piece suit with a gleaming tie tack, had one pierced ear, and wore a sparkling watch. His dark hair stood up in a tall buzz cut in front and tapered long enough to curl around his ears in back.

  But what stopped me and turned me to jelly were his wickedly merry eyes and his shit-eating grin.

  He acted like a kid who’d found Santa or the Easter Bunny.

  In the middle of the total disaster of the old Thompson’s steak house, this guy looked like he’d hit the jackpot.

  Fuck me. I’d come to a standstill and was staring at him openmouthed. Since I’m your basic laid-back good old boy, nothing usually bothered me. Now I was poleaxed. He was bewitching. Too hot for somebody like me to handle.

  He’d stopped spinning. Without missing a beat, he strode over to me with his hand held out. In the blink of an eye, he changed from the picture of kidlike excitement to a polished city businessman.

  I stood stock still, wondering what the hell had just happened. Had I hallucinated the twirling around? Maybe it was time to get away from work for a while, take a vacation, maybe go do some fishing.

  “Isn’t this place great?” he greeted me. His voice held a leftover tinge of joy.

  He didn’t look embarrassed or bothered that I’d caught him dancing around like an ass. Up close, he was even more powerfully sexy and self-assured. Face-to-face, his lively, assessing stare unnerved me. His unbridled enthusiasm wrapped around and lifted me off my feet.

  The guy seemed to be pulling my personality and soul toward him as he decided whether I was friend or foe. Then he grinned even wider, stuck his hand out farther, grabbed mine, and shook like we were on the verge of bonding. Why did I find this move hot as fuck?

  I shook his hand, stunned, and almost wanted to run back to the alley, where I’d left my regular, easygoing self.

  His eyes brightened and his smile turned sexy, as if he’d discovered a delightfully lascivious secret.

  “Mr. Behr? May I call you Ben? I’m Mitchell O’Shea. Call me Mitch.” He squeezed my hand one more time, then dropped it. “Great space here. I’m going to buy it.”

  His hand swept up in an extravagant Vanna White gesture. I was about to tell him he couldn’t afford a vowel, much less a remodel, when he grinned and sucked me in again.

  Fuck. Oddly, my body agreed with that sentiment. Why was this happening? To me, of all people. I wasn’t gay. Even a little bit.

  My brothers, Abe and Connor, had come out a while back, but everybody knew I was the straight Behr. I’d been dating girls since I was twelve (but looked sixteen). I wasn’t attracted to guys. Ever. I didn’t go for tall girls, especially ones as huge as me, so why was I attracted to a big man?

  I stepped back and gave him the once-over. My body sure as shit was a little interested. Okay, maybe more than a little.

  Like all the Behrs, I’m tall and squared off. As my grandpa always said, I’m built like a brick shithouse. A brown brick shithouse. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown tan. Nothing exotic about me.

  But this guy? This guy had dark blue eyes flecked with light blue and green. His big body was lithe, with a tapered torso, and he moved like a dancer. He hit me like a gorgeous morsel of urban life. Somebody polished and sophisticated except for a patch of boyish fun. His smile was so engaging, I figured my friends would even like him.

  My buddies had always said I was attracted to bright, shiny things. Was that all this was?

  Noise from outside burst my bubble. Mitch O’Shea and I’d been standing too long staring at each other and not talking.

  Through the blush heating up my cheeks, I cleared my throat and shifted uneasily.

  “What can Behr Construction do for you, uh, Mitch?”

  There was no way under God I was asking him what I could do for him. Or to him. Or whatever. I made myself stop overthinking. Just focus.

  His grin grew, embracing me. My prick rose. Dammit.

  “I’d like you to take a look at this place’s structure and tell me if it’s sound enough to remodel. Or should I just raze it and start over again?” His voice had changed to one only board presidents and big money used around us peons.

  I took a shuddering breath. I’d dealt with hundreds of Mitches as a contractor. Estimates and suggestions I could do.

  We both turned to the dismal interior of the former steak house. I cleared my throat, then took a breath.

  “Okay. Sure.” I took a step away from him and l
ooked up at the lung-cancer ceiling. “What do you plan to do with this place?”

  His grin tried to lasso me again, but I was onto him. I met his gaze with a frown. His eyes twinkled in response. Damn him.

  “Well, I own a bunch of clubs in San Francisco, but I’ve always wanted to start a family restaurant, kinda like Chuck E. Cheese’s but not with the costumed characters.” He fucking winked at me. “I want to start a place with an Old West theme, where parents can get a great steak for a reasonable price and kids can play old-fashioned arcade games without their folks watching them the whole time. You know, where families can come and enjoy a night out.”

  Okay, his idea wasn’t as flashy as he looked. I would have thought he’d want more Vegas—bright lights and pink cocktails—while he was thinking more Main Street, America. Thompson’s would be a great place for his vision if the Silver Star gourmet restaurant wasn’t nearby, feeding the rich and famous.

  “Uh, yeah. You did see the place across the street, right?” I thumbed toward the Star.

  He laughed, a hearty bellow of delight.

  “Oh, Chef Adam de Leon won’t be challenged by my little family place. This is a big block. Our clientele won’t overlap at all.”

  I was skeptical. We’d done some work for Adam, but I didn’t really know the guy very well. From what I’d gathered, the celebrity chef didn’t like to be messed with. Ever. Would he want chattering kids and cranky parents cluttering up the street in front of his place?

  I shrugged. “Okay. Whatever. If you give me fifteen to thirty, I’ll have a rundown of what needs to be done and write out a preliminary cost estimate so you can make up your mind.”

  He nodded as I bent my head to get an appraisal sheet and pencil from my shirt pocket.

  “Oh, Ben,” he called over his shoulder as he walked away.

  I glanced at him.

  “Mind if we talk about this over lunch?”

  “Sure, no problem.” My dick was on board even if the rest of me was wary.

  “How about I meet you outside? Maybe we could drive somewhere? I bet you’ll want to try out my car.”

  I shrugged again. What’d he have? A Maserati or something? Since I’d come in through the back, I hadn’t seen him drive up.

  But I was more concerned about my reaction to him than his ride. Was it possible to turn gay? Is that what had happened to my brothers and it was just now catching up with me?

  Damn. I didn’t know how I felt if that was the case. Maybe being gay was a family thing?

  I waved to him. Then, as I got one last eyeful, I shouted a piece of advice.

  “I’d lose the jacket, vest, and tie if I were you. We’re pretty laid-back around here.”

  If nothing else, he wouldn’t stick out quite as much as he would in the suit. He’d certainly attract the single gay men the way he was dressed. I didn’t need…competition?

  Shit, what was I thinking?

  * * * *

  I made my inspection, which went quickly since I was already pretty familiar with the structure. Nothing had changed since the last potential buyer had asked for a written inspection and estimate. The place didn’t seem to have attracted any new rodents or vermin, but then it had always had its fair share.

  Walking out of the gloom of the former steak house into the sunshine, I was blinded momentarily, so I couldn’t see Mitch or his fabulous ride right away. When I did, holy cow.

  “What the hell is it?” I asked as I ran my hand down the front wheel well.

  A souped-up Hummer, or maybe an ultramilitary vehicle on steroids, stood dominating this end of Main Street. Everything from the cab to the wheels and the lights was exaggerated, making it look more like a giant’s muscle car than anything else. Not to mention it had darkened windows and wicked grillwork. It seemed to be staring down everything in front of it, waiting for something to get in its way.

  “Rhino GX. It’s special order. Made for big guys like us.” He gestured to the car. “Rita, meet Ben. Ben, this is Rita. Let’s go for a ride.”

  Mitch was marginally less dressy without the tie, vest, and jacket. He’d rolled up his sleeves, but still had the winking ear stud and his full-bore grin. Yeah, he was a big guy, all right. Big all over, my dick commented with approval. I grimaced.

  “I was going to get a Hummer, but I saw one of these, then sat in it, and had to have it.” He opened the driver’s side door. “You want to take her for a spin?”

  Shit. Did bears crap in the woods?

  “Damn straight, I’d like to drive it.”

  Mitch laughed and pulled back the keys a few inches.

  “Nothing’s damn straight in my car, Ben. You’re either gay as fuck or gay friendly if you want to touch my baby.”

  “I’m one of the above. Possibly both. The jury’s still out,” I joked back.

  He leaned over, picked up my hand, and dropped the keys into it.

  “Close enough. Maybe I can influence the jury.” He wrapped his hand around mine and squeezed softly. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

  Then he turned and galloped around to the passenger side and opened the door. As he slid in, he added, “I heard about this diner up in the foothills around here, someplace called the Rock Bottom Cafe that’s supposed to be pretty good. Why don’t you drive us there?”

  I shook off the stunned feeling. He’d danced his spell around me and was still reeling me in.

  But damn if I couldn’t get us to the Bottom in this bad girl.

  I slid into the driver’s seat and realized he was right. Neither of us had to watch our heads when we were getting in, and there was room between the top of his grizzle cut and the roof. This was a car made for the big and tall guy.

  I looked at him and grinned.

  Yeah, okay, I could get us to the Bottom on the back roads that cried out to see this car. No problem.

  Chapter 2

  Driving Mitch’s Rhino GX up to the Bottom was every good old boy’s wet dream. The thing greedily gobbled up the road. A couple of times I felt like I was holding it back with a thin piece of rope that was on the verge of breaking.

  Mitch, the bastard, laughed at me the whole way.

  “Let her have some head.”

  “Can’t. We’re coming up on a couple of tight switchbacks. Don’t want us to go off the road before we’ve had lunch.”

  “Pussy,” he whispered.

  Easy enough for him to say. I was sure glad I hadn’t let him drive. We’d have been careening all over the place and probably would’ve had a lot more near misses.

  I could just see my cell lighting up with calls as we passed some of my friends in their trucks. I felt them all staring at Rita as we flew by.

  “You could have let her go,” he said after we parked at the Bottom.

  My hands were shaking from exhilaration. My zillion-dollar smile had to be glowing. Fuck. A guy could come just from driving this baby.

  “Whatever,” I mumbled, because I really didn’t have any words at all. I had no native language at that point. I was cruising on the blissful release of having danced with Rita.

  As we rounded the corner of the parking lot and headed for the front door, my brother Connor nearly bumped into me.

  “What the fuck is that thing, Ben?” He was practically panting as he took in Rita.

  “Well, damn me. There are two of you beauties,” Mitch whispered close to my ear.

  “Yeah, well. Mitch O’Shea, this is my younger brother, Connor. Connor, Mitch.”

  They stared for a split second before Mitch thrust out his hand and Con grabbed it.

  “Hey, nice to meet you. What kind of car is it?”

  They stood much too close, in my opinion, as Mitch listed Rita’s specs.

  Not that I was jealous or protective or anything. I mean, Mitch had said he was gay, and Con definitely was. So they were a perfect match, right?

  Are you kidding? my dick sneered.

  My gut screamed that Con was encroaching,
which was really weird. It wasn’t like I had any real designs on Mitch. I mean, I’ve always told myself I’m straight, even though I was between women and didn’t really feel like hunting down another one at the moment.

  So what if I was attracted to Mitch? He was a good-looking guy. I had a lot of good-looking friends.

  True, none of them made me want to run my hands all over them, though. Which was beside the point, right?

  “So you’re here for lunch?” Con asked Mitch.

  I nodded, but Con didn’t acknowledge me.

  “Mind if I join you?” He was staring right at Mitch.

  Couldn’t he tell he was the third wheel at this party?

  I shrugged, and Mitch nodded. I had no clue what the nod meant.

  Lorraine, the Bottom’s co-owner, latched on to us near the hostess stand, scooped up three menus, and said over her shoulder, “Right this way.”

  Connor was having lunch with us, then.

  “Let me give you a quick overview about the roadhouse, Mitch. Then you’ll have some basic info to think about. Okay?” This was a working lunch, right? So I’d best be acting businesslike.

  Mitch nodded, and Con, fortunately, figured out what was going on and shut the fuck up.

  After we ordered, I walked Mitch through the building’s long list of minuses and its one plus—it was a sturdy old bugger. He told me he’d get back to me about what he was going to do. I had a feeling he’d already decided and was going to call the Realtor to make an offer once we were back in town. You don’t often find guys dancing around like crazy idiots if they don’t already have their minds made up.

  As we ate, I watched Mitch and Con chat. I sat there and mentally took notes on how gay guys flirt. If nothing else, I guess I could chalk lunch up as a learning experience.

  * * * *

  Right before we got dessert, Mitch asked Con what guys did around here for fun. Nobody mentioned the missing “gay” before the word “guys,” but we all knew it was there.

  Con told him about Stonewall Saloon with its gay owner and bartender as well as a couple of clubs in a fifty-mile radius.

  I thought they’d be off on another of their shared experiences discussions, but Mitch surprised the crap out of me by asking what I did for fun. I’d given up on learning how to flirt with a man and had switched to thinking about Rita and the drive up here, as well as the rest of my stops for the day. I was buried so deep in thought I had to ask him to repeat his question.