CHAPTER EIGHT Van
Spokane, Washington, was flat. Unlike Seattle, with its abundant trees, lakes, hills, and the backdrop of mountains, Eastern Washington was arid and barren.
With the Cascade Mountains bisecting the state, Washington had two identities: the Seattle side, green and wet, and the Spokane side, arid and dry.
Most folks knew about Seattle and Tacoma, but Spokane was the second-largest city in the state, beating out Tacoma by about ten thousand people. Neither Tacoma nor Spokane had the national reputation of being as terrific as Seattle, but both offer their own qualities.
With sub-zero temperatures and snow swirling in the wind, there were no rodeos happening in Spokane in mid-December. Of course, I knew this would be the case, but I was disappointed just the same.
I’d been on the road about eight hours when my planned overnight stop showed up on the horizon.
I hadn’t made reservations, assuming a mid-week day wouldn’t be busy in this city as far as hotels went.
I wasn’t within city limits yet when I noticed a tall building in the distance with bright flashing lights and decided to pull off the freeway and check it out.
Northern Quest Resort and Casino was the name on the modern high-rise.
If a stylish hotel weren’t attached to the sprawling casino, I probably would’ve searched for a recognizable brand like Hilton or Holiday Inn.
Even though it’d been dark for an hour or more, the time was still early, so I decided to ask about a room and perhaps play some slots.
After checking in and taking a quick shower in an oversized bathroom, I dressed in a fresh button-down shirt and kept on the same jeans from earlier. Gucci loafers and a spritz of my signature cologne, Clinique Happy, had me on my way downstairs.
The moment I stepped from my room and made sure the door was locked behind me, the door across the hall opened. When I turned around, out stepped a man from a Marlboro ad. He nodded a courtesy hello and motioned with his hand for me to go ahead of him.
Of course, as a gay man, I immediately hoped my ass looked as good in my jeans as it did when I first had them on.
We walked toward the elevator and stood silently while waiting for the lift to arrive.
He smelled familiar. A scent I recognized as nice, but inexpensive.
Not an old man’s cologne like Aqua Velva, but one you wouldn’t necessarily mistake for designer.
We stepped into the elevator, and I silently scolded myself for being so typical with my analysis of his scent. When had I become such a snobbish gay man? I didn’t remember being that way in college before I met Evan, but I also didn’t feel good about blaming him for my quick-to-judge attitude.
I added another fault to the try to improve list I’d been compiling, as I desired to change being judgmental. It was early in the trip, but my list was growing. I was critical of myself, too, but others didn’t deserve my unwelcome analysis.
“From out of town?” he asked, a thick, manly baritone voice waking me from my list keeping.
“You can tell?” I asked, nervously avoiding eye contact, but happily noticing he had zero malice in the tone of his question.
He glanced at my feet. “We don’t get a lot of shoes like those fancy ones you’re wearing around here,” he quipped. “Don’t get me wrong, I like them, but not practical in Spokane winters.”
He was kind in spirit, even though he was making a judgment. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt because his demeanor was quite pleasant.
“Seattle,” I stated, shrugging my shoulders and looking at his feet. “Local, I assume?” gesturing toward his cowboy boots. “Shiny,” I added.
The handsome stranger laughed and lifted a foot. “My going-out boots,” he claimed. “I’m not a cowboy by any means, but I do business locally, so I try to fit in.”
I nodded and smiled. Not a flirty smile because I was unsure of his Eastern Washington pleasantness. I knew people from rural areas had a reputation for being nice, and the odds he was gay were slim to none around these parts.
I was unsure how to keep the chat going, and before I knew it, six floors had zipped by, and we were in the lobby. Again, he motioned for me to go first and kindly held the door from closing on us after I hesitated.
“Thanks,” I said, wondering if I should ask more questions regarding his work or anything else to keep talking with him.
“Enjoy your stay, Seattle,” he said, turning and heading across the lobby.
I said nothing, and before I could come up with anything, he was too far away to have heard me.
“Smooth, Van,” I muttered.
Mystery hunk had the body of a man who may have worked out or was naturally built as an athlete.
And to make sure my blood pressure responded, he wore Wranglers.
He wore the denim like a second skin. A husky man’s ass sat atop thick thighs and long legs.
His broad back was visible from twenty yards as he strode away.
I’d struggled to look at him in the elevator, but I’d noted deep blue eyes, a five o’clock shadow that was close to being an eleven PM shadow, and one of those cleft chins that looked like a small ass crack. Perhaps he actually was the Marlboro Man.
A quick mental fantasy of being underneath the stranger in my hotel room crossed my mind before I shut it down. True, I was on the hunt for a cowboy or a country boy, but he was obviously a straight guy who was just being nice. Country nice, I assumed.
After grabbing a beer, I found a slot game I’d played at a local casino in the Seattle area and shoved a hundred-dollar bill into the machine. After four or five spins, the chair next to me slid away from the neighboring machine, and the man from the elevator sat down next to me.
“Hello again, Seattle,” he said, chuckling. “Just so you know, I’ll keep calling you Seattle until you formally introduce yourself,” he added.
After the shock of his sudden appearance, I held a hand out. “Vance Holter.”
His lips pursed. “Hmmm, Vance. Vance,” he repeated. “Yeah, you look like a Vance. Dirk is my name.”
I laughed. “And you look like a Dirk,” I joked.
He held his Budweiser up, glancing at my beer choice. “A Bud for Dirk, and a Stella for Vance. Yep, starting to make sense.”
“Hey,” I warned. “I’m not all citified.”
He slid his thumb and index finger across his lips and then made a twisting motion as if to lock them up. “I’ll keep your secret, Van.”
I stared at him, curious that he’d shortened my name. “You used my nickname,” I said. “That was quick.”
“You look like a Van too,” he responded, sliding a couple of twenties into his machine.
“And what does a Van look like?” I asked, being far more flirty than I safely should’ve been.
I knew I should be cautious in a town the size and location of Spokane, but I swore the guy was flirting with me. Perhaps his approach was that country nice thing I’d heard of, but there were definitely other suggestive tones in his demeanor.
He turned to look behind him and then from side to side before answering what a Van looked like. “Like a pretty boy,” he said.
His voice wasn’t threatening like calling me a pretty boy was a slur, but his nervous look did seem to ask if he was also pushing too far in a possibly dangerous situation. I watched as he swallowed hard, his pronounced Adam’s apple waking my cock up from its forced slumber.
I cleared my throat and nervously pushed the slot button again. “I’ve been called worse,” I croaked.
“I bet you’ve been paid other nice compliments too.”
“Is ‘pretty’ a nice thing to say about a guy?” I asked, trying to keep my body language masculine in case I was misreading him.
He shifted in his chair, once again looking around carefully, seeming uncertain about what we were doing in our dance of discovery.
Marlboro Man bit his lower lip. “I’m blowing it, aren’t I?”
Bingo! He was flirting with me. “Depends on what you’re trying to accomplish, Dirk,” I replied. “I could guess, but honestly, I’m a bit worried about being in Spokane and how I might be perceived.”
“I’d like to buy your next Stella,” he blurted. “If you’ll let me.”
“I haven’t had dinner yet, so that could be a mistake,” I teased, this time letting him know I understood exactly what he wanted.
I’d been celibate for a year and was as horny as a three-peckered goat, so this guy, a man right out of my journey’s ‘hunky man search’ script, was right up my alley.
Was a one-night stand on the first night of my trip about to happen?
Or had a possible husband candidate crossed my path already?
I mean, this was cowboy country. Plus, he wore the prerequisite Wranglers and cowboy boots, so yes, the universe actually could be speaking to me.
“Dinner is overrated,” he stated, holding his nearly empty bottle to me. “And men who look like you seldom show up in this town.”
Flattery could get this man anything he wanted.
I hadn’t felt the rush of someone desiring me in such a long time that I was losing my cautious inhibitions.
I was safe, wasn’t I? A big casino. A million cameras were recording our every movement.
He’d checked into a room like I had. They had his name. He wouldn’t murder me, would he?
And frankly, I felt good hearing his words. The way he looked at me made me feel like I wasn’t the guy who gets dumped for better-looking options. He didn’t know my life story, and he saw me with fresh eyes that said he approved and appreciated what he was looking at. I decided to go for it.
“Are you winning?” I asked, tapping the side of his slot machine.
“Nope. Not with the gambling, but I’m not sure about with you,” he said, raising his brows. “I sure hope I am.”
“Like you said, dinner is overrated.”
“And I am just across the hall from your room,” he added. “I mean, we could have dinner after a room tour.”
“A sort of, you show me yours, I’ll show you mine, type of thing?” I asked, pulling out the best flirtation I could muster.
Marlboro Man stood up, cashed out, and began walking away. At first, I was confused until he stopped without looking back. I quickly joined him in the middle of the gaming floor.
“What took you so long?” he asked, leaning into my ear. The scent of Polo cologne hit my nose. I knew I’d recognized the scent. Polo was masculine, timeless, a classic male scent that fit him perfectly.
“I had a Stella to finish,” I replied, noticing as I stood beside him that he was much larger than I was.
I wasn’t small at six feet tall and one hundred and sixty pounds of lean muscle, but he had, at minimum, another four inches of height and forty plus pounds over me. Like I said, he was thick and husky. A real man’s man.
We stood inside the door of his room. He gently shut the door and turned to me, grinning.
Fear gripped my heart, and a palpable rush of adrenaline coursed through my body.
He was handsome and rugged. His size intimidated me, but a kind expression soothed most of my fears.
He appeared nervous. An unexpected surprise.
“I don’t do this often,” he whispered.
“I haven’t had sex in a year,” I confessed.
He stepped closer, and his hand reached for my chin. The moment his left hand illuminated under the hallway light, I saw the white strip on his skin. The flesh where a ring normally was, was three shades paler than the rest of his hand. I hadn’t noticed he was married in the dim casino lighting.
I grabbed his hand and moved it six inches from my face. He immediately recognized that I recognized the ring finger tan line and jerked his hand back in guilt. The look on his face revealed what I instantly assumed.
“Darn,” I whispered.
“It’s not…” he began until I stepped around him toward the door.
“Sorry, but I can’t do this,” I stated.
“My wife doesn’t provide what I need,” he defended. “I’m sorry, but I can’t be out in this town. I just need the touch of another man.”
“You have your reasons, I’m sure. But this goes against everything I stand for,” I pointed out. “Trust me, I want to, Dirk. You are so my type, and it would be easy to jump into bed with you, but I won’t invite this into my life.”
“It’s a one-night stand,” he defended. “Not a big deal.”
“Not to us perhaps, but there’s someone else that it would matter to if she knew,” I stated. “I can’t do that to a person. Trust me, I know what that feels like.”
I expected him to be pissed, call me a cocktease, maybe even lash out at me, but he didn’t.
“I can respect that,” he said. “I’m not happy you have standards, but that’s my dick talking.”
I smiled and laid my hand on his chest. “Believe me, I’m not happy either. And that’s also my dick talking.”
I stepped outside, closing the door behind me.
Leaning back, I took a deep breath and wondered if I was being too much of a prude.
There was Grade-A beefcake behind the door I just exited.
I had physical needs, and he was just the type to provide them.
But it hurt being the person who didn’t see it coming.
Maybe his wife would never find out. Maybe she would.
But one thing was certain: I’d have a clean conscience.
“One down,” I said to myself, wondering if my journey to find a good man was going to be more difficult than my Christmas miracle fantasy.
Exhaling a deep breath, I glanced at the door to my room. Nope, I wasn’t done for the night. Instead of going to bed, I took one step forward, and then several more, as I made my way back to the elevators.
You’ve got this, Van.