My Heart to Keep

Page

A Totally Bound Publication

My Heart to Keep

ISBN # 978-1-78430-634-2

©Copyright Bailey Bradford 2015

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright June 2015

Edited by Rebecca Douglas

Totally Bound Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2015 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

Warning:

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 2.

Love in Xxchange

MY HEART TO KEEP

Bailey Bradford

Book ten in the Love in Xxchange series

Losing everything doesn’t mean Remy’s lost.

Fred’s been the bar manager at The Xxchange for a long time. He’s seen servers come and go. With the bar revamped and turned into a more reputable club, the last person he ever expects to see walk in is Martine, a snarky booty-boy server who worked at The Xxchange years ago then just didn’t show up one night.

But Martine isn’t really Martine—he’s Remy, and always has been. To get hired at a place he could party and have fun in, Remy had previously lied about his age and got a fake ID. Then he got into a bad relationship, one based on money and a contract no one should ever have agreed on.

After his parents commit a crime that lands Remy in trouble with his sugar daddy, Remy loses everything. The only place he can think of to turn to is The Xxchange, and the people he used to work for. If they’ll just give him a chance to prove he can be a mature, responsible adult, he might end up no longer living on the streets.

These two men come together first as rescuer and lost soul, then as friends. If there’s going to be more than that, Remy wants them to be on an equal footing. He’s learned his lesson about trying to find the easy way through life.

But someone doesn’t want him to have a chance at freedom or love…

Dedication

To Shorty Chelle, who asked. Thank you for everything.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

EpiPen: Mylan Specialty LP

Camry: Toyota Motor Sales U.S.A.

Subway: Doctor’s Associates Inc.

Muppets: Disney

Chucks: Converse, Inc.

Chili’s: Brinker International

Vaseline: Unilever

Bluetooth: Bluetooth SIG, Inc.

Doc Martens: Airwair Intl. Ltd.

Barbie: Mattel

Ken: Mattel

Frisbee: Wham-O

Coke: The Coca-Cola Company

Psycho: Shamley Productions, Paramount Pictures

Walmart: Wal-Mart Stores, Inc.

Chapter One

There was something familiar about the short, lanky man who entered The Xxchange. Xavier Talbot leaned back in the booth and nudged his husband’s foot under the table. Chase? Does that guy look familiar to you?

Chase Murphy glanced up from the lighting catalog he’d been studying. Though The Xxchange had undergone a rather elegant transformation five years ago, Chase was always searching for ways to keep the place updated and hip—and classy. It wasn’t the hook-up, meat market, fuck in the bathroom or on the dance floor kind of place it had been once upon a time.

Now, smooth, live jazz music filled the club with warmth and a smoldering sensuality. People came there for a different kind of enjoyment than they used to.

But for those who missed the dim lighting and sweaty bodies, there was a club for them, too. Xavier and Chase had quickly developed enough business acumen to know they’d need the profitability of a place like that, and neither wanted to deny the hot and horny clubbers a place to go.

Chase stared at the newcomer for several moments, not moving except for the occasional breath and a couple of slow blinks. The stillness with which Chase held himself was always an incredible thing to see. It made Xavier want to spread his husband out on the table and fuck him right there, to chase that stillness away and replace it with gasping, moaning, and curses fired by need.

Xavier shifted on his seat, reaching down to adjust his erection.

Chase smirked, one side of his mouth curling up. His gaze never left the customer who was hovering just beyond the bar.

You do that whole serious predator watching prey thing just to get to me, Xavier accused.

That’s just a benefit of me being a serious bastard, Chase corrected, narrowing his eyes slightly. We know him, somehow. He dipped his head, gaze still on the man in question. Chase’s blond curls were caught perfectly in the overhead lighting, making the silky strands gleam.

Xavier itched to run his fingers through them. Of course, if he did so, he’d then be pulling Chase to him for a kiss. The kiss would lead to that exact fucking on the table Xavier had thought of moments before, and hadn’t the whole reason they’d re-branded The Xxchange been because he and Chase were tired of the old club being a tawdry place where people fucked…on the tables?

Xavier huffed and folded his arms over his chest. He forced himself to look at the man Chase was studying. Short, not even five four if I’m right. Skinny—not necessarily the healthy kind, either. Guess he could just be one of those people who runs to scrawny no matter what. Asshole. Xavier tried not to feel jealous of the man’s thinness because the fact was, for Xavier, the older he got, the harder he had to work to stay in shape. Mousy brown hair. Clothes are too big. They hang on him.

He’s either sick or desperate, Chase observed, speaking in his usual quiet tone. Cheeks are hollowed out and he has deep circles under his eyes. Could be recovering from the flu or something. He’s nervous or high—I’m leaning toward nervous, though. His clothes are clean even if they don’t fit him, he’s not twitching like he’s agitated, but like he’s scared.

How can you tell the difference? Xavier asked, trying to discern that himself. He saw the customer bite his bottom lip and glance at the bartender, Fred, as Fred prepared a drink for someone else.

Just can, Chase said.

Xavier glared at him.

Chase sighed, then gestured at the guy. He’s twitchy, but not jerky with his movements. Watch his fingers, or his feet.

Xavier turned back to the newcomer. After a moment, he saw what Chase did. The man was methodically rubbing his thumbs over the tips of his other fingers in a slow, deliberate manner, pausing on the pinkies for a second or two before moving his thumbs back over the other digits.

And his feet—Xavier noted there was a rhythm to their movement. Rock back on the heels just a bit, pause, then stand flat-footed. Wait for approximately half a minute then repeat.

Maybe he’s got OCD or something, Xavier mused.

Or a crush. Chase finally stopped staring and went back to poring over the catalog. Except, we both think he seems familiar, and I don’t remember seeing him in here before.

There was a vague memory trying to break free in Xavier’s mind. It was like trying to remember a word that was on the tip of the tongue—he’d struggle with it until he relaxed and let it go, then the word would pop into his head.

Xavier leaned back and closed his eyes. Maybe he just reminds us of someone else. We’ve had thousands of faces to look at over the past several years, and before that.

True enough.

The soft sounds of Chase flipping through pages reached Xavier despite the jazz music.

Xavier tried to let go of the nagging question of the man’s identity. His brain wouldn’t cooperate. So maybe we’ve seen him at the other bar. The one they’d opened after re-branding The Xxchange. They’d hired someone else to manage it, though. The Xxchange was Xavier and Chase’s baby. Inferno, the raunchier club, was what The Xxchange used to be, except smaller and kind of like a neglected child whose parents were too busy for it. Xavier and Chase only went there when they needed to for business, and on the rare occasions they wanted to feel old and out of place. It wasn’t really a hangout for committed couples—or more—or anyone over age thirty, though no one was discriminated against.

But damn, Xavier felt ancient any time he was in there.

Chase exhaled, doing so loudly enough that it had Xavier sitting up straight and opening his eyes in concern. What? What’s wrong?

Chase was focused on the customer again. He reminds me of one of the old cocktail waiters when The Xxchange was still a fuck factory. He nodded. Yeah, that might be it. Check him out again.

Xavier did, frowning. He looks like a skinny, nervous kid. We hired sexy—

Now picture orange hair, Chase cut in confidently. "I mean orange, like that ridiculous dyed color, and add about twenty pounds. Fill out the hollow cheeks. Replace the blank expression with a kind of ‘come on, fuck me’ one. Tight leather shorts, ankle boots with heels, a mesh top."

Xavier tried, but he didn’t have the imagination Chase did. All he could see was a cartoonish mash-up of those attributes. It wasn’t helpful. I’m not as talented as you, Chase. Enlighten me as to who you think that is.

Chase pursed his lips, humming as he considered the man. A name… The instant it hit him, Xavier knew it. Chase’s entire face lit up and he snapped his fingers. Martine!

Martine Phillips? Xavier gasped and started to argue. Martine wasn’t capable of being reserved, ever, and that guy? He nodded to the newcomer. He’s too quiet and still, as in, he isn’t trying to latch onto the nearest sugar daddy. I mean, even twitchy like he is, that’s calm compared to the way Martine was, don’t you think?

Life experiences change people, Chase murmured. You and I both know that. Martine has had a whole half a decade or so to become whoever he is now.

Yeah, but… Xavier looked the guy over, trying to find a reason to deny Chase’s claim. Unfortunately, all he found were similarities. "Martine was short and thin. Maybe not as skinny as this guy. He had big eyes, too, and pretty features. Almost feminine, but not quite."

There’s any number of things that could account for the weight loss, like illness, for example.

Xavier shivered at Chase’s explanation. You don’t think—

Chase snarled just a little. I don’t think we should be making any suppositions. Won’t do him or us any good. Besides, you know I believe in being direct.

Xavier gawked at his husband for a moment then managed to say, You want to walk right up and ask him if he’s sick?

Chase snorted at him. The way Chase’s nostrils flared turned Xavier on.

And Chase knew it. He had that smug air about him in an instant. Later, baby, Chase promised him. And no, but I do think we should go talk to him. Fred hasn’t seen him yet. I don’t remember Martine and Fred being buddies, but maybe I’m wrong.

If that’s Martine, he probably knew Fred intimately at least once, Xavier said.

Chase shrugged. More power to him. I’ve got nothing against sex for sex’s sake—as long as those involved aren’t in a relationship with someone else.

Xavier agreed. Yeah, that’s true enough. Fucking is fine, fucking around is fine. I surely can’t judge anyone else for that. Martine used to latch onto any older man he could get his hands on. Thinking about it, Fred wouldn’t have been his type after all. Martine definitely was always on the hunt for a sugar daddy.

Fred’s older but he’s not rich, not on what he earns working here. Chase nudged the magazine to the center of the table. I like the crystal pendant lighting on page twenty-two. I think it’d add to the ambience on the dance floor. Or it’d look really tacky. I can’t decide.

You want to take a vote on it? Xavier asked. They had a great group of friends they often turned to with questions like that, and one of them, Josh, really got off on helping with the decorating. We’re going to the barbecue at Glenn and James’ tomorrow. Everyone will be there and we can ask what they think.

Eh. Chase shrugged. Yeah, we can. Josh will get all bouncy and happy.

And he’ll tell us we need more pink in here, Xavier said.

Especially since we only have the one pink bar stool just for him. Chase grinned. With the penguin cushions.

It’d been ridiculously expensive to have the stupid thing made, but Josh had been so delighted, it’d been worth the cost. If Josh wasn’t at the club, the bar stool, with its smooth armrests and silky cushions, was kept in Xavier and Chase’s office, safe from the asses of strangers.

He is special, Xavier mused. He noticed the maybe-Martine guy inching closer to the bar. "Wonder if he’s worried we’ll see him. If that is Martine."

It is, Chase said confidently. Could be that’s why he’s nervous. Didn’t he quit without notice?

Xavier recalled that he had indeed. Yeah, just didn’t show up for his shift. Never came and got his last check either. He was starting to remember more and more about the guy now. He tried to seduce some of the men that were in committed relationships, too.

Chase reached over and tapped Xavier’s hand. Ain’t our place to judge him.

Xavier’s cheeks burned at the gentle rebuke. Right, I know. I swear, the older I get, the more I’m like my father. Which made him shudder.

I’ll keep you from turning into an obnoxious asshole, honey, Chase teased. He scooted toward the edge of the booth seat. Let’s go see what’s going on. Martine’s going to have a heart attack if he keeps on like he’s doing.

Xavier got out of the booth after Chase did. He wondered what would have brought Martine back after he’d been gone for so long. Probably nothing good.

* * * *

Frederick Adler finished mixing up the martini and handed it over to Eldon. Here you go. One extra dirty martini. Or, as I call it, a jar of olives with a little vermouth coating.

Eldon Sumners laughed and took the glass. You know I can’t handle my booze, and I’m trying to eat healthier. Olives are a fruit. This counts as a healthy snack. He winked and wandered off, no doubt looking for his boyfriend, Jordan.

Fred liked the older couple. They were down to earth and tipped well at the end of their night out. Fred could count on at least a fifty-dollar tip tonight. He made better tips at The Xxchange now than he had when it’d been a less classy joint. There were fewer customers, sure, but the kind of men and women who came into the place were more mature and certainly more generous.

If, at times, Fred was bored out of his gourd, he could live with it. His bills were paid and he hardly ever had to break up fights.

I’d like a sidecar.

Fred nodded to the handsome dark-haired man wearing a very nice suit. In town for business? He’d never seen the man before.

Yes, I am. The gentleman held out a card. My name is Enrique. And you are?

So not interested. While Fred liked the money he made at his current job, the old one had been more suited to his sexual tastes. There were too many sophisticated people hitting on him. Fred gave in now and then, meeting up with someone at a hotel or whatever, but he never felt satisfied by the hook-ups. Still, he could always use another good tip.

Fred, he replied, plastering on a smile he hoped conveyed interest. He wouldn’t fuck any customer for a tip. Flirting, however, wasn’t immoral when it was intended as a means to pay bills. So, a sidecar, hmm? Don’t get a lot of requests for those.

They’re coming back into vogue, Enrique said. Classic man’s drink.

Considering the last time he’d fixed a sidecar—it’d been for a woman—Fred was inclined to silently disagree. In fact, he’d had plenty of ladies ask for a sidecar…years ago, when he’d first started bartending.

He took out the lemon juice, triple sec and brandy, then retrieved the glass. In short order, he had the drink mixed and he handed it to Enrique. That’ll be four fifty. Enjoy.

Enrique took the glass and handed over a twenty. Keep the change.

Fred wasn’t flattered. His ass was not for sale, either. None of him was. Thanks. He went to the register and rang up the drink. So what kind of business are you here for?

Enrique eased onto seat at the bar. He sipped his drink, then licked his lips before setting the glass on a napkin. You didn’t look at my card.

Fred hadn’t. In fact, he’d tucked it in his back pocket and forgotten it already. It was obvious that Enrique wanted to poke at him a little, or perhaps he thought Fred would be impressed with whatever title the guy had printed under his name.

Fred pulled the card out and raised it a few inches from his eyes. The lighting in The Xxchange wasn’t that bright most of the time. He had to squint to make out the tiny, elegant script. "Enrique Flores, Executive Producer for The Next Big Bar. Never seen it." He had, though. It was on the new cable channel, Flourish. It wasn’t one of the shows where a failing business was revamped. Instead, successful bars and clubs were put under the spotlight and any interesting facts shared with the viewing public. Usually, that included sensationalistic shit that Fred thought was staged, but what did he know?

Well, Enrique all but purred, leaning forward onto the bar on his elbows. Let me tell you about it. We take bars and nightclubs that are floundering and remake them into something spectacular. Granted, this place has a decent crowd, but they’re so…so laid-back. And considering where the business is located, what it is—a nightclub that caters to the LGBTQ customers, and is set in a small town in Texas. Enrique grimaced, which in no