2. Diesel
2
DIESEL
“ W hat the holy hell?” Diesel mumbled as he stepped out onto the deck of the pool. His eyes were assaulted by a stream of red and white as far as the eye could see.
He was used to Matteo and the guys throwing some pretty out-there parties, and usually, they involved leather or lace or glitter.
Glitter.
Diesel shivered.
Whoever invented Satan’s fairy dust should have been shot, quartered, and forced to listen to hours of boy bands singing on a loop—the same three songs, over and over and over.
Another shudder.
“Happy Canada Day!” a cheery Chase shouted, slapping Diesel on the back as he walked past him carrying a tray filled with what looked like fries drowning in gravy and cheese curds.
Confused by what he was seeing, Diesel watched Chase’s chunky man-ass jiggle as he walked in the tightest f’ing Speedo Diesel had ever laid his eyes on. No doubt that thoughtful gift came from a certain love-struck fiancé of his.
Keeping in line with the party’s theme, “O Canada,” Chase strutted his stuff, wearing a red-and-white bathing suit with a large Canadian flag plastered across his ass.
Chase was not a dancer at La Maison de M , nor did he work at the exclusive gentlemen’s club. Chase had come to La Maison last summer, undercover, to look into a mysterious journal that contained names of powerful and wealthy men who, according to the journal, had committed unspeakable crimes. Unfortunately for Chase, he never intended to meet and fall in love with Levi, one of the dancers working at La Maison. Ever since that fateful day, Chase has been chained to the boy by an invisible tether to his heart. He’s still investigating and hunting down the monsters listed in that journal, but he now resides permanently in Levi’s bedroom.
“Scary, isn’t it?” Jared asked, stepping up next to Diesel.
The two watched as Mr. Canada placed his tray of heart disease down on the large buffet that had been set up in today’s honor.
“What? Watching that material stretch to its limits across the guy’s meaty man-ass? Or watching how a man who used to have balls is now strutting around the pool, playing Martha Stewart?” Diesel asked, still trying to understand what it was that he was witnessing.
Jared chuckled.
“Let our boy have his day. I think he’s feeling a little homesick.”
“You bitches better not be talking smack about my man-beast,” Levi noted, stepping up next to Jared. He, too, was wearing a matching red-and-white Speedo, but instead of a flag plastered across his ass, he had several little maple leaves peppering his tight little twinky ass.
Jared wrapped an arm around Levi’s shoulders.
“No, we were saying how scary it is seeing Chase so… happy. What happened to the growly ex-cop who beat the shit out of an old man just because he wouldn’t answer his questions?” Jared asked, eyes still glued on the cheery Canadian rearranging the assortment of food being laid out.
“First off, that ‘old man’ kidnapped me and held me and others captive in his creepy old-man stalker cells for days. Secondly, that happy look is what happens when you get your balls drained three times a day,” Levi said, stepping out from under Jared’s arm and swaying his hips as he made his way toward his sexy man-beast. “You and Isaac should try it sometime.”
Diesel couldn’t help but chuckle. “The dude’s got a point.”
Next to him, Jared snarled. “That blue-haired sex demon of mine gets his daily dose of dick often enough. Any more, and I’m going to have to get the boy crutches.”
Diesel couldn’t contain himself. He let out an uncontrollable laugh that sent pains through his side.
That, right there, was why Jared and he were best friends. They both had a fucked-up sense of humor.
Adjusting the skintight swim trunks he was wearing—no doubt a purchase made by his fiancé Isaac—Jared gave Diesel a weird look. “What? Do you think it’s easy taking this cruise missile on the regular?”
Still laughing, Diesel shook his head. “Coming from someone who’s actually had a cock shoved up his ass, no, I’d say that you have to be crazy to want to have that thing inside you more than once.”
“Damn straight,” Jared responded with a cocky grin plastered to his face. “Now, where is my little pain-in-the-ass sidekick? Time to see if he’s ready to take his vitamin D.”
“Have fun.” Diesel nodded as Jared went off in search of his mate.
Deciding it was time to check out this foreign holiday that had suddenly manifested itself within the majestic confines of Paris’s welcoming lands, Diesel made his way toward the cheery Canadian.
Several of the Maison’s guests were crowded around the tables set up, some in barely there swimsuits, others just wrapped in a towel. All seemed to be having a good time.
“So, what do we have here?” Diesel asked, passing his eyes over the hordes of food.
Smiling, Chase turned, holding a beer out to his friend.
“Here, try this!” He shoved the bottle into Diesel’s hand before picking one up for himself.
There was a large maple leaf plastered to the label, no doubt a way to remind Canadians that they were actually Canadian. Kind of like how Americans hang American flags on every single property that they own. Civic pride? Or mass amnesia?
Diesel didn’t need a reminder that he was English. Born and raised in Essex, he struggled against the poverties of society and managed to claw his way out of the slummiest parts of London before ending up on Matteo’s doorstep. That was enough of a reminder for him.
“Cheers.”
They both raised their bottles before taking a sip together. Brotherhood at its finest.
The taste was smooth, with a slight sweetness that captured your tongue at the end. It wasn’t bad. It was just… different. Diesel was mostly a whiskey drinker, but when he dabbled in the beers, he usually stuck with the European brands. But, hey, this was a special occasion, and he needed to support his Canadian brother.
“Good, right?”
“Yeah. I can feel the hockey flowing through my veins as we speak.”
Speaking of hockey, their attention was temporarily diverted to the group of angry men shouting insults and death threats at one another while they slashed at a rubber ball with hockey sticks they angrily gripped in their hands.
Down on the lawn, a ball hockey rink had been set up, complete with homemade hockey nets and paint outlines on the grass.
“Nothing says Canada like a bit of hockey,” Chase explained with a gigantic smile on his face.
“Hmm, drunk CEOs with hockey sticks sounds like a great idea.” Diesel was always the enthusiast. “Now, back to the food.”
“Yes! Over here, we have Montreal-style smoked meat. Fucking delicious when you put it in a brisket with a pickle.” Chase kissed his fingers like he was some sort of Italian master chef. “Next, we got poutine, the best friggin’ fries you’ll ever eat.”
The man continued down the buffet, shoving samples of food into Diesel’s mouth, sometimes not even waiting for him to swallow in between dishes.
Was this how Italian kids felt when they visited Nonna’s house? Being force-fed spoonful after spoonful of delicious, heavenly food.
Seeing Chase so excited was just so… unnerving.
The rest of the afternoon was spent sipping Canadian beers by the pool, chatting up men, and trying to avoid offers to join in a friendly game of something called “lacrosse.”
Sometime around three or four in the afternoon—his memory was getting a bit hazy thanks to all the celebratory drinks—the ball hockey game morphed into something somewhat different. The hockey sticks were suddenly swapped out for sticks with nets attached to their ends, and suddenly, the goal was to keep the rubber ball in the air instead of on the ground. It was like Canada had a flip side to it.
As it turned out, Canada apparently had two national sports—ice hockey in the winter and lacrosse in the summer—although if you ask most Canadians, they will only recognize the one game played on slivers of blades. Gorillas on ice?
Both games looked violent as shit, and both involved running back and forth chasing a piece of rubber. Diesel had no interest in playing either.
Floating on his giant inflatable unicorn, Diesel watched his friends around him enjoying the day with their fiancés and significant others. Levi had Chase, Isaac had Jared, and even Matteo now had Ares. Slowly, everyone was coupling up. Everyone but Diesel.
Raising his glass of whiskey—yes, he finally switched to something that might actually get his ass drunk—he downed the remainder of the amber liquid.
“You look bored as shit.”
Diesel turned his attention to the handsome gentleman swimming beside him.
“Yeah, this party is getting kind of stale.”
“Want to take this party someplace more private? I got a little something that will help fix the mood.” The man slid his finger discreetly across his nose, indicating that he had some blow to share.
Guests who came to party at La Maison usually had the good stuff on them. Hey, if he was going to get high, he may as well do it with someone who’s got the good stuff.
“Sure, sounds like fun,” Diesel said, sliding off the majestic beast and following his new friend out of the pool.