Bad Attitude by K. A. Mitchell Read Free Book Online Page A

signals wrong, and besides, his father had checked into Jamie’s background before putting the party together. A daughter? With a cowl-style hood for induction into—
    “My truck.” Jamie’s tongue moved under his cheek, like he was controlling a laugh at Gavin’s expense.
    “Oh.”
    “Snub nose, short box. But it’s built to last a long time.” Jamie grabbed a skewer of almond-encrusted sea bass from the tray of a passing waiter.
    Set between lightly freckled cheeks, Jamie’s nose was, like the rest of him, somewhat shorter than average. And that made his mouth look even more—
    He popped the skewer between his lips and drew the bamboo out slowly.
    The tingle of awareness turned into a flush under Gavin’s skin. Just as deliberately, Jamie slipped the skewer back inside his mouth, and Gavin felt every inch on his skin, felt those lips hot and wet and moving over his balls.
    “The…truck.”
    Jamie nodded and pulled the thin shaft free again. “It’s got a 347 cubic inch stroker motor.”
    “Stroker, huh?”
    Jamie’s lips didn’t twitch, but his eyes were bright, like he was on the verge of a laugh. “Four-speed hand-shaker stick on the floor. I’ll give you a ride sometime.” With a flick of his tongue, he shoved the bamboo back between his teeth.
    The pleasant spark of interest in Gavin’s dick turned into a sullen pulse of want. The roughness in his voice surprised him. “You should always have something in your mouth.”
    Jamie rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it.” As he stepped closer, the amusement disappeared. “But I was thinking you would be the one to—”
    A repetitive chime cut him off, then Gavin’s father was filling the room with a “Thank you for coming” and “I’m sure you know why we’re gathered here…” His father signaled, but Gavin knew the drill. He led Jamie to the podium that had silently appeared at the edge of the dance floor.
    The usual speech rolled right through Gavin, until Father got to the part about a moment of silent prayer for the recovery of David Beauchamp. Gavin bowed his head but looked through his eyelashes at the representative Beauchamp family members. Of course, Beach’s parents weren’t there. Nothing would drag his mother out of France, and there was that “unfortunate incident” with the underage cabana girl that kept his dad from returning to any place with U.S. jurisdiction. The aunt and uncle who’d raised Beach had their heads bowed, but no real emotion showed in their expressions.
    The whole thing was a giant sham.
    No one cared about any of this, least of all about Beach who might never wake up. As long as they could go on with their lives secure in the knowledge that the mighty Montgomerys remained untouched, it was merely another chance to eat and drink with the right people. Yet when his father paused in the story of that night and passed it on to Gavin, he found himself mouthing through all the expected words, somehow sounding self-effacing rather than disgusted with himself.
    “I only did what any friend would. I tried to help David any way I could. I’m particularly grateful to the skills and organization of the rescue divers, including Officer Donnigan here.”
    Jamie’s speech was full of platitudes that spilled from his lips as easily as if he’d been born to the cocktail circuit. He really sold it with the humble wrap-up of doing his duty and being honored to serve and protect the most important harbor in the country, which earned him as enthusiastic a response as was appropriate for the venue.
    Beach’s coma forgotten, the heroes were toasted and congratulated until the dessert stations rolled out.
    Gavin stepped away from the dais. As a polite “Oo” responded to the colored flames at the bananas Foster station, Gavin heard Jamie mutter, “How much longer does this crap go on?”
    The glib manner was gone, the scowl Gavin remembered in its place.
    “Not too much longer.”
    “Thank fu— God.” The genuine