Chapter 1

Who even knew record stores still existed?My parents have vinyl LPs on the bottom shelf of their entertainment wall.WhenI was a kid,Mom used to play Mirageby Fleetwood Mac when she cleaned house;said it made her clean faster.I can recognize the virginal warble of a Stevie Nicks song at a hundred yards.

But here I was,standing outside Re-Vinyl on A1A in Jacksonville Beach.A display of’70s and’80s funk albums were scattered in with some plastic cherries.The Ohio Players Honeyalbum,the lean model dripping honey into her mouth;WildCherry with their one big hit.Faded posters of Kiss and Green Day and Shania Twain blocked most of the window glass but I could still see inside.

Enough to see him.

Enough to get nervous.

He glanced over and I knelt down and pretended to tie my shoe.Taking deep breaths,working up my nerve.

This is stupid.He’s your target.Now act like a good undercover cop and get some intel.

Tracking Conrad and his rave team—and the drugs that went withthem--was keeping me up nights and the gray beneath my eyes proved it.I was wearing thin.Jason had let it slip that on some Sundays Conrad worked at this record store and so here I was.

Two teenaged Goth girls wearing black lipstick and too many facial piercings twittered down the sidewalk toward me.I nodded and held the door open for them.

Conrad’s rich voice greeted us.“Hello,ladies!”A pause.“And gentleman.”

The girls giggled and peeled off toward the heavy metal section.I stood stupidly in the middle of the aisle and tried to act cool about seeing Conrad again.

It was impossible.The memories of last Saturday night flashed in my brain:the way his broad chest felt pressed against mine;the way he put my hand on his cock;the way he kissed me.

My neck and face flushed as I gazed at him.He knew.

Conrad grinned.“Steven!Come here,you.”

From behind the counter,Jason gave me a little glare.He was a kid just out of high school with a huge jones for Conrad and theguts to act on his feelings.He’d bring Conrad drinks and try to rub his shoulders while the team was raving.I’d seen Conrad give him a gentle brush-off the other night so I figured Jason was still stinging a little from that.His look told me I wasn’t welcome.

The glass display case held memorabilia.Concert programs fromKiss and Foghat and Styx were fanned on one side,along with concert tickets and 45 sleeves.The logical part of my brain noticed the guitar autographed by Joe Perry lovingly nestled on wine velvet;the horny part of my brain noticed Conrad’s crotch on the other side of the glass.His khakis were loose andI couldn’t see what I really wanted to.

What he hadn’t let me see the other night.Just feel.

He motioned me closer.“I said‘come here’,”He leaned overthe counter,snagged me by the neck and pulled me into a soft kiss.

Right in front of everybody.

I rose a hand,intending to—really—push him away but somehow my fingers lingered on his arm then slid up to one shoulder.God,he was a good kisser.I started to feel as if my legs were going to drift over the counter and I’d just bob along the ceiling—a kiss-filled balloon.

The girls giggled again from right behind me.That stopped me.I stepped away,face pink,eyes down,hands in my pockets.Conrad faced them dead on.“Ladies,did you find what you were looking for?”

“Like,um,not really,”one said.“I heard there was,like,a Japanese import of Black Sabbath.Released in’71?”

“Sure was.”Conrad nodded.“Right this way.”He led the girls to the back room and they disappeared through the beaded glass doorway.

Jason braced his hands on the glass,his acned face pink and angry.“What are you doing here?”he hissed.

“Came to check out the vinyl,man.”I looked around the store.Two aisles of record bins ran down the middle of the shop,crammed with vinyl records.Wall bins held more stock andI noticed the faint mustiness of the place.It smelled like my parent’s attic at home.

“Came to check out Conrad is more like it,”Jason snorted.

I squared off at him.“So fucking what?”

His gaze skittered up and down.I could see him realizing that Ihad six inches and fifty pounds on him,could see him figuring out that Conrad had already gotten his hands on me.The hurt in his eyes was hard to face.

And then I felt bad.He was just a kid,a kid who thought he was in love and scratching to defend himself as best he knew how.

He ran his hands through his scraggly hair,hair he was trying to grow into dreadlocks with no apparent success.It just looked dirty.

I tried to give him some wiggle room.“Jason,look,I didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah,right,whatever.”He slammed open the cash drawer and grabbed a twenty.“Tell Con that I went to get our lunch.I’llbe back when I fucking feel like it.”

“Sure.”The door jingled shut.The store filled with the slithery guitar of Leo Kottke doing World Turning,a song I recognized from my mom’s albums.A killer cover version,the drums mixed way up.

The beads tinkled and Conrad came out of the back.No counter between us now and he walked straight to me,those eyes dark as Kahlua,lush and warm,sending a quiver down my spine.He was shorter than I was by a couple inches but wider,more solid.Conrad pushed me against the wall and started in again with the damn kissing.

God.

His lips were full,soft.He lingered on my forehead,worked his way down my eyebrows and started on my nose.He was strong enough to keep me against the wall—his shoulders were about three feet wide—and for a few delicious seconds I wasn’t in control.He had me pinned.

And I liked it.

I put one hand on his chest.“Wait a sec,man,let me get my breath.”

Let me get my heart back in my chest and my brain back in my skull.

“Breathing is over-rated,”he answered.“More smooching.”

“Smooching?!”The word made me chuckle.

“Snogging,kissing,tongue-fucking.Whatever.”Conrad pressed against me once more,his thigh pushing between my legsand pleasantly upward.

The glass beads tinkled again and the Goth girls stepped into the front room.Conrad pulled away and I felt the cool of the store’s AC on my neck and chest and belly,places where Conrad had pressed into me.Like something was missing.

Conrad rang the girls,flirting good-naturedly,giving them a closer look at his chest and shoulders.He wore a pale yellow tank top today,like a sunrise on his caramel skin.I watched him,greedy,letting my gaze slide over his thick neck,that little mole he had behind his left ear,his shaved-bare head.I’d never looked at a man and felt like this:that blurp of nervousness in my stomach;the tightness in my balls;the way my cock stirred whenever I saw him.

The girls left and we stared at each other across the counter.For a long time.

“How ya doing,blondie?”His voice was dark as chocolate,rich and deep.

“Damn good,baldie.”

He grinned and palmed a hand over his shaved-bare scalp.I wanted to feel his skull in my hands:the rough texture of the stub of hairs on my fingers,the weight of his head in my grip.

I put my hand out,feeling stupid,like some junior-high kid with a crush on his teacher.Or like Jason.