Chapter One
Is it just me who gets bent out of shape about thirty year-old men running around on inline skates like they’re still fifteen? Shirts off and tucked into belted cargo shorts that are rolled up to mid-thigh. Beat-up Converse high-tops with a flumpy bit of sock showing. Barreling down the beach pathway like they own it and don’t have a care in the world?
Don’t get me wrong, I got nothing against sk8er boiz. Some are pretty damn cute. Especially when they’ve got well-formed legs, back and ass, and a cap on backwards to hold their hair out of their face. My favorites are those with full pecs, trim belly and hair glinting in the sun as they race past. I’ve had a few of them. Guys who got nothing against a long slow blowjob with whomever...and even some fuckety-fuck after a bit of...oh, discussion.
But those were college-age, maybe mid-twenties, when the skate and skateboard world was already beginning to recede from their focus...like it had, for me. I don’t go for teens, so much, just guys who’d be out hitting the parks to just keep up their skills. Show the kids some tricks, even help those just starting out. Them, I appreciated.
But guys past thirty? Like Nicky?
Fucking Nicky.
Perfect fucking Nicky.
Who I know for a fact is thirty-three, even though he looks ten years younger. And has one of those bodies that looks like it was formed by A-I. All clean lines and crisp features under a steady bit of scruff. Deep brown hair where it counts. Legs to die for. An ass from heaven. Still scooting along the pathway like he’s a kid.
And ignoring me.
Fucking ignoring me!
Sk8er boiz don’t ignore me, I don’t give a fuck who they are. I’m Rett, short for Garrett. Just hit thirty-five, and look it. Which I don’t mind because I’ve got those Irish good-looks with a strong chin that make it work for me. Dark hair slightly sun-bleached and no gray. Taut body and legs from running and using the monkey-bars on the beach. A guy who’s always good for a chat and honest feedback on your form...and, as mentioned, maybe a one-on-one party in his condo overlooking the ocean...
If you’re cute enough.
And old enough. I mean it, I’m not at all interested in having that one-on-one with guys who don’t meet the legal requirements.
And if a little cash does happen to change hands? It’s no big deal. I’m pretty well-off, even for LA. Sold a few screenplays and done some rewrites, and stayed smart with my money. I also have a couple projects in the works and have potential deals for more.
As for Nicky, he models underwear and sportswear. Which makes sense, considering his buff beauty, perfect ass and basket filled to the brim. Done it for all the big names. Billboards along Sunset. Even a fair amount of cat-walking. Which I got to see thanks to Vance, a in-the-know friend of mine who always has tickets.
Man...watching that guy strut like he’s butcher than butch, his hips swaying just enough to emphasize his very nice package with legs that were sexier than anyone else’s on the planet, is it any wonder I felt a serious obsession starting to grow?
Which, to be honest, probably really started the first time I saw Nicky in real life.
Three years ago.
As I was looking at my condo and debating offering a bid. The too-slick real estate agent was letting me wander about to think it over...as he called three other potential buyers, I’m sure. I was on the bike-and-everything-else pathway looking out over the Pacific and had almost talked myself out of it. The price was hefty. So I’d turned to go inside with the bad news when Nicky came roaring past at probably forty miles an hour and yelled, “Watch it, asshole! Motherfucker!”
At me.
I jolted and caught a look at him as he roared on down the pavement, legs slinging left and right, being a complete dick to everyone in his way.
And revealing what was, as already mentioned, the world’s most perfect ass under a pair of white onion-skin shorts over white athletic boxer-briefs. Flexing his amazing back. Showing off his perfect legs. I fell in lust, right then and there.
Of course, I was standing there, gazing after him with my mouth open, like an idiot, when a true sk8er boy rolled up on his deck to say, “Don’t pay attention to dick, there.”
I jolted and looked around at a kid well under the legal age, and blinked. He had a fine-looking face on a nice tight body under a loose t-shirt and lovely legs half-hidden by cargo shorts. And, of course, Converse high-tops.
“That his name?” I asked.
“Naw, he’s Nicky. We just call him dick because he acts like he owns the whole fuckin’ pathway.”
Another kid, a bit older but not by much, but leaner and with a more angelic aura about him, rolled up, grinning at the first kid. “He got Nicky’d?”
First one nodded. “First time’s always the best.”
“This happens to other people?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah,” said the first kid. “Every time he’s rolling.”
“All the way to Northstar and back,” said the second kid.
“Pathway go that far,” I said.
“Walkway does.”
“You not from here?” asked the first kid.
Now both were way on the cute side, but they were too young for me. So I shifted into polite mode and said, “Laguna Beach.”
“Shit. Native. Ain’t many of you around.”
“Yeah. You kids live in this area?”
Both gave me wary shrugs, so I smiled and added, “It’s just, I want a serious idea of what’s it’s like up here. I’m thinking of buying a condo in that building.” I pointed to a long, low, white, angular beast with solarized windows and fake tile along the roof.
They looked at it and their expressions softened. “Georgie’s place,” whispered from one of them.
The other one nodded. “Saw the sign go up, couple weeks ago.”
“You knew the guy who lived there?” I asked.
They both gave that knowing look that means far too much. “It’s nice inside.”
“Lots of space,” said the other.
“Good insulation.”
“Always quiet. And cool in summer and warm in winter.”
“Georgie was nice.”
Meaning, to us...and enough said about that.
“But you will have to deal with Nicky,” said number one.
“Running back and forth in his asshole way.”
"But not all day or all the time, at least."
“Does he cause problems?” I asked, actually getting to be intrigued.
“Naw, he just owns this area,” said number two.
“Don’t say it; just acts it.”
“Same for the skate park.”
“All you gotta do is stay outta his way.”
“Which ain’t hard; he’s only down here three-four days a week.”
“One on weekends.”
“And just for a couple hours.”
“In the afternoon.”
“When the sun’s still high.”
“Shows him off at his best.”
“He thinks.”
Then they gave me that knowing look, again, and number two asked, “So what’d you think of him?”
I’d decided in high school I would never lie about who or what I was, so I snarled in the direction Nicky had gone, “He’s exactly what I’d like to fuck.”
Laughter burst from both of them and they actually opened up, with me. Turned out number one was named Ben and two was Liam. No last names. No reference to exactly where they lived. I gathered they were still at home, close by.
I revealed I was also a sk8er boi, but got sidetracked with my writing. They demanded proof, so we hopped down to the sk8er park, Liam lent me his sled and I showed them. Granted, I was a bit rusty, but they were still impressed with some rolls and slides I did.
“For a guy twice our age,” Ben snickered.
“And ten times your experience,” I shot back.
That brought another knowing expression from them...which actually made me uncomfortable. So I said, “Thanks for the info. Later,” and headed back to the condo to put in my offer.
The agent did his “We’ll see how it goes,” deal but I won. Seems the place had something of a reputation, thanks to the old queen who used to own it...Georgie...but I didn’t care about that.
I cared about seeing Nicky on his thrice-weekly runs down the pathway.
Ben and Liam have been my best buds, since then. Kept me up on all the pathway gossip. I let them into the condo once I’d bought and furnished it and they were polite enough to compare my taste to Georgie’s.
“Not as trashy,” said Ben.
“Cali-cool,” said Liam.
Which made me feel vaguely insulted. As was my interior designer, who’d worked the living room, dining area and kitchen up in a low-key monochromatic Japanese style I really did like. I made sure he knew I thought he’d done a great job.
The upstairs balcony had a perfect view down the pathway, towards Santa Monica. Meant evening sun but thick drapes handled that.
My new buddies showed me the best times to keep an eye out for Nicky.
“Every time, at three-forty-five,” said Liam.
“Starts at Will Rogers and down,” Ben added.
“That’s a real trek,” I said.
“Makes him mean, hot and sweaty,” said Liam.
Intending I should avoid him. I did not plan to do any such thing, not even then.
In fact, I began to stalk him, online.
He became my focus.
My Moby Dick.
Or Moby Nick, if you prefer.
Because I was damned well going to have him.
Whether he wanted me, or not.
Just needed to figure out how.
Does that make me sound crazy?
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