Baton Rouge Bingo by Greg Herren Read Free Book Online Page A

to sleep? Then he’d show up for his big match all tired and worn out and unable to focus. And when a professional wrestler is tired and unfocused, that’s when injuries and disasters in the ring are more likely to occur, and I wasn’t about to be responsible for that.
    An overactive imagination can truly be a bit of a curse sometimes.
    I finished my cup of coffee and had just poured another when Frank came wandering into the kitchen in just his black Calvin Klein briefs. He smiled at me sleepily before getting a cup down from the cupboard and pouring himself some coffee. “I don’t suppose there’s anything to eat around here?” He leaned back against the counter and took a sip of the coffee.
    “Not likely. Storm doesn’t cook. That’s why he has all those delivery menus.”
    Frank walked over to the window, giving me a lovely backside view of the muscle development in his back, his narrow waist, and his perfectly shaped ass. “You don’t suppose there’s a diner somewhere nearby?” He absentmindedly scratched his leg. “I really am starving.”
    “I guess we can find out.”
    Mom was still asleep when we finished washing up and getting dressed, so we went foraging for breakfast on our own. We found a nice little greasy-spoon diner a few blocks away from the condo. Frank had an egg-white mushroom omelet, while I indulged with blueberry waffles. “You nervous about tonight?” I asked when he finished and pushed his plate away.
    He shook his head and beamed at me. “No, it’s going to be great. You’re going to be amazed.” He winked at me and sighed. “No, I’m worried about my nephew.” He rubbed his hands over his head. “I was thinking I should e-mail my sister and have him come down right away, don’t you think?”
    “It’s fine with me,” I replied. It wasn’t completely a lie—I hated the thought of him being stuck up there in Homophobia County, and said so. “The sooner he gets out of there, the better. I still have some reservations, but they aren’t about him ,they’re about me ,if that makes sense?”
    Frank grinned at me. “We’ve been together how long? Of course it makes sense.” He put his hands down on top of mine. “Thanks, Scotty, I appreciate this.”
    I got some toast and jelly to go for Mom, and we walked back to the Riverview Tower. We kissed in the elevator on the way up, and I was thinking it might not be such a bad idea for him to have sex the day of a match when the elevator opened on Storm’s floor.
    But as we walked down the hall to Storm’s door I imagined all kinds of awful things happening to Frank in the ring because I’d worn him out.
    Stupid overactive imagination.
    Mom was sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee watching the television when we walked in. “Hey, guys,” she said, not looking away from the television screen.
    “We got you some toast,” I said, handing her the bag and sitting down next to her as she started spreading jelly on her toast.
    “I need to jump in the shower and head down to the arena,” Frank said, kissing the top of her head.
    I considered joining him, but decided not to. It would be weird with Mom in the living room, for one thing, and there was that whole “day of the match” thing.
    Tonight, though, was going to be a different story.
    “What are you watching?” I asked after the bedroom door closed.
    “I keep hoping there’s going to be some more news about Mike,” she replied between bites. “They’re calling it a tiger-napping.” She rolled her eyes at me and gestured to the coffee table where the morning paper sat. “I suppose that’s what everyone is going to call it now,” Mom said with a sigh. “Tiger-napping. Seriously. Why must they always invent words?”
    “I don’t know. I guess kidnapping didn’t seem dramatic enough.” I picked up the paper. The headline on the front page of the Baton Rouge Advocate screamed M IKE K IDNAPPED !!! Right below that was a photo of him in his habitat,