Full Disclosure (A Nice Guys Novel Book 2) Read online

  As far as he was concerned, he couldn’t have been more entertained. Jace and Colt were hilarious. Just deciding on a place to eat created an hour-long debate. Both were so focused on the other that neither would give. Jace insisted on a steakhouse for Colt, while Colt insisted on go-green health food for Jace. The debate went on so long that Mitch finally had to move them out the door, and he rode separately from them to get a little peace and quiet. He wasn’t sure when they decided on this place, but they wound up here where they were apparently regulars.

  The possessiveness that Colt showed toward Jace didn’t just extend to Mitch. He put it out for the world to see and was actually quite amusing. Colt kept Jace close to him. He stayed attentive, even correcting the waitress when she repeated Jace’s order incorrectly. These were all such new attributes for the man he’d watched lead his father’s favorite football team in back-to-back championships and the same party boy that had been implicated in more scandalous behavior than he could even begin to recall.

  “I spoke to your dad the other night,” Colt said. His one arm draped across the back of Jace’s chair, rubbing little circles into the side of Jace’s arm.

  “Really?” Mitch asked. He’d foregone the beer, not wanting to drink alcohol in front of Colt, no matter how much he insisted alcohol didn’t bother him. Mitch understood the everyday battle Colt faced.

  “Yeah. He seems real good. Told me to tell you that you should come see them more,” Colt said, a grin on his lips.

  “Yeah, I got that email yesterday,” Mitch replied dryly. “How’s your old man doing, you ever get things straight with him?”

  “We still haven’t spoken. It’s better this way; he made his decision,” Colt said, and Jace nodded.

  “Excuse me, I don’t want to bother you, but can I have your autograph?” A young man, no more than seventeen or eighteen, came forward, staring straight at Colt. There was clear adulation in his eyes. He held out a black Sharpie.

  “Sure,” Colt said, unwrapping himself from Jace. “What do you want me to sign?”

  “This.” The young man lifted his shirt in the middle of the restaurant, exposing tan skin and a tight midsection. “Can you sign here?” The kid smiled, gesturing toward his flat stomach.

  Colt paused and looked over at Jace who seemed to be enjoying this moment. “Is that your boyfriend?” The young man nodded his head toward Jace. “I saw you on television, but everyone was saying y’all had broken up.”

  “Go ahead,” Jace urged Colt to sign.

  “He’s my husband, not my boyfriend. Do you just want me to sign my name?” Colt asked, still acting uncertain.

  “Yes.” He bit his bottom lip and made his stomach muscles ripple which caused Mitch to laugh into his sweet tea. No doubt the kid was trying to impress. As Colt signed, the kid locked eyes on Mitch, and that was all it took for the football hero to be forgotten. He slowly eyed Mitch up and down, letting his gaze linger on Mitch’s lips, before blowing him a kiss.

  “I’d tear you up, kid,” Mitch grumbled, seconds before the manager approached them.

  “Kenneth, behave! Leave these people alone. Go back to the bar with your friends,” he scolded, ushering the kid away.

  “I’m sorry he bothered you.” He gave the kid an exasperated look, but turned a fond smile back toward Colt and Jace. “I’m glad you came back in tonight,” he said, shaking Colt’s, then Jace’s, hand.

  “Terrick, meet our friend Mitch. Mitch, this is Terrick. He’s a co-owner of the restaurant,” Jace explained.

  “I’m sorry about Kenneth’s behavior. He’s a good guy, just a bit of a flirt. Harmless, I assure you.” Terrick grasped Mitch’s hand in greeting.

  “He’s not a problem,” Mitch reassured the man. Seconds later, Kenneth was back, planting himself right next to Mitch, sliding a napkin with his phone number penned in big purple markings in front of him.

  “Call me tonight. I’ll bottom you so hard,” he said and was gone before Terrick could shoo him away.

  “That boy!” Terrick looked frustrated and shook his head, before starting off after him. Within minutes, Mitch watched as Kenneth and his group of friends were escorted from the restaurant. The kid’s parting words were very clear to Mitch, though.

  “Call me, handsome!”

  Mitch just watched as the scene unfolded in front of him, and the smirk never left his lips. He’d taken life so seriously lately that he hadn’t had this good a time in a while. And he had to admit that being propositioned by the overly forward kid left him feeling good. So good in fact, it didn’t even bother him when Colt gave him hell about the encounter for the rest of the meal. The only problem? Mitch didn’t do the twink thing anymore. He liked his men big, thick, and muscular, and now his mind was fully occupied with sex.

  Chapter 7

  Mitch slowed his ride as he passed the front doors of the two-story bar Jace had recommended. It was late in the evening, and Jace and Colt chose to walk the few blocks from the restaurant to the club. Mitch drove, wanting his rental close by, just in case the night ended with him getting lucky. Hotels were clearly not an option this weekend, but the front seat of the car could do just as well, if need be.

  From the looks of the place, JR’s was hopping. Guys were everywhere. They littered the sidewalks, danced along the balcony, and the big floor to ceiling window illuminated just enough to show the place packed full of men. The music blared, thumping loudly, even out into the street. Just the kind of place he was looking for. Mitch drove another fifty feet before he found a parking space freeing up. Perfect.

  Mitch, never one to rest on formality, lowered the rearview mirror and checked his teeth, running a hand through his close-cropped hair. He liked to keep it short when he was out on assignments. His freshly trimmed beard was a little heavier than a five o’clock shadow. He looked down to ensure the collar of his new button-down lay right. He unbuttoned a couple of buttons, letting his muscular chest show, before getting out of the car. He hoped that did the trick. The car door slammed, and he hit the key fob, setting the locks as he took in the scene around him. From what he could see, it looked like every kind of guy was there—older, younger, it didn’t seem to matter, which suited him just fine.

  Mitch had been told he had a strut, some called it a swagger. Whatever it was he was damn sure going to use it tonight as he bypassed the crowd waiting for entry right outside the front door. He only made brief eye contact with the bouncer as the guy stepped back, giving him a low whistle. Mitch’s shoulders and biceps were bigger than the bouncer’s and that said a lot. The bouncer smiled at him and gave him immediate access.

  He felt eyes on him, so he took a quick glance back over his shoulder as he passed through the door. The bouncer stared at his ass. He cocked his head to the side, drawing the guy’s eyes up to his, and he gave him a real smile. His dimples were an attention-grabber so he used them to his advantage. The bouncer smiled back. Mitch let his gaze linger, then winked at the guy before heading into the bar. Maybe he could wait long enough for the guy to get off work. The bouncer was exactly his type of man. Who knew what would happen, but he needed to keep his options open.

  Mitch rolled his shoulders, letting loose of any pent up energy he still held onto regarding the earlier stupidly botched case. He wasn’t going to let any of that ruin his night. Keeping the natural smile on his face, he looked around for Jace and Colt, but they were probably still en route.

  What a great place this turned out to be. Mitch felt free here. Every person in this room accepted him for who he was as a person. That always eased his heart, especially with the job he had. He stopped by the bar, placed a twenty on the bar top, and ordered a quick double shot and a beer. He always watched his alcohol around Colt, but if Colt could handle a place like this, it sure seemed he might have kicked his habit. On those good thoughts, Mitch turned to the dance floor. He needed to make sure he told his pop how well he believed Colt was doing.

  “Hey, sexy.” Mitch heard over his shoulder.
He turned to see the bartender pointing downward at a full double shot glass and his beer before taking the money and moving on to the next patron. Mitch downed the shot and then the beer, watching the sea of bodies on the dance floor writhing to the music.

  In times like these, he loved the fact he wasn’t insecure. He didn’t have any inhibitions, and he damn sure wasn’t the shy type or easily embarrassed. It wasn’t a bad thing, and on nights like these, it really paid off as he left the bar, strutting his way out onto the dance floor.

  His dark good looks and muscular body usually had men and women alike approaching him. He’d worked hard on his body, and he had to admit he loved being a bit of an exhibitionist. Not more than a couple of minutes passed before his brand new shirt was completely unbuttoned and removed, tossed somewhere unknown. The ink that decorated his body did the rest, earning him more than a few appreciative glances.

  The men at JR’s were eager to make his acquaintance, and he accepted them all. It was his own little game, a kind of foreplay of sorts, zeroing in and going after what he wanted. Dragging out the process of narrowing down the person he intended to have sex with was a thrill he’d always enjoyed. Mitch loved the hunt, probably why he chose his current profession.

  He danced across the floor, bodies pressed against him, and he loved the hands running across his chest, down along his ass, and over his dick. Yeah, he loved that the most. It built anticipation as he grew hard with the intentional caresses and tightened grips.

  The only problem? The newly enlightened civilian culture had many gay men growing a conscience. Mitch remembered a time when any of these guys would be ripe for the picking. Sex in the restrooms had been a way of life. It wasn’t so much that way anymore. He’d pick one, and only one, for the night. Pity, because there were some good-looking guys rubbing all over him.

  About thirty minutes later, he needed a break. The double shot and beer combo was wearing off. He needed a refresher. Mitch wiggled his way from the middle of the dance floor, flashing those dimples as he caught the attention of each man he passed by.

  He was so genuinely happy to be here and not stuck in his own head like he had been since meeting Colt and Jace. It was only then he remembered they should be there by now. Mitch did a quick search and found them dancing on the outside of the crowd. They were wrapped around each other, moving slower than the beat of the music, completely lost in each other. They were sexy hot and made for one another. The slight pang of jealousy at the closeness they shared didn’t go unnoticed.

  Perhaps someday he could find what they had, but for right now—Mitch cut his eyes back to the dance floor—he couldn’t be bothered when there were so many other options.

  The bar was unfortunately stacked three deep. Mitch snaked his way around to the side, finding a hole and sliding in. He raised a hand to get the bartender’s attention. He yelled out his order, got a nod, and pulled out another twenty as he waited. He scanned the room before turning back to the bartender who was being pulled in too many different directions. This was going to take a while. It wasn’t until he glanced toward the bank of tables to his left that he spotted him. The guy sat in the darkened corner of the bar, with a baseball cap pulled down low on his head, and for some reason, the way he wore the hat caught Mitch’s attention.

  Mitch went from giving him an over-the-shoulder look, to turning right toward him. Why hadn’t he noticed him before? Mr. Ball Cap was all cowboy’d up, in little better than work boots, snug fitting worn blue jeans, and a white T-shirt with some kind of design. The T-shirt was tightly stretched across a pretty impressive chest. The bulk in his arms showed, causing Mitch’s jeans to tighten that much more.

  Yeah, he wouldn’t mind getting to know this guy.

  The guy sat there at a high-top table, peering around Mitch, looking toward the dance floor, as if he was trying to remain unseen. Mitch watched as the wallflower’s long fingers circled the beer bottle in front of him and brought it to his lips.

  Fuck! Those lips were a temptation he needed to sample. Mitch was spellbound. He couldn’t take his eyes off the guy.

  When Mr. Ball Cap tilted his head back to down his beer, Mitch actually groaned out loud as he watched his Adam’s apple work up and down with every swallow. Mitch’s dick took too much notice of the move, and he had to reach down to adjust himself. From his actions, Mitch surmised the guy must be newly out, or completely uncomfortable with his sexuality.

  How long had it been since Mitch was right there, doing that same thing? Well that answer was clear. Never! He started exploring his sexuality at a very young age, and if the truth be told, he explored it every opportunity he got. He was who he was…always. And his family had always accepted him.

  The longer he sat ogling this guy, the more he wanted him. Mitch reached over, knocking his baseball cap back, not off, but up on the top of his head.

  “I can’t see you if you’re hiding under that cap,” Mitch yelled, flashing the guy his best smile. The bartender placed his drinks on the bar, and after a minute, snatched the twenty from his hand with a loud huff.

  Mitch didn’t give a shit what the bartender did. He was captivated by a shockingly handsome, rugged face. One he had been completely unprepared to see.

  The guy was a little older than Mitch had originally thought, and motherfucking gorgeous. Shit, those full lips and strong jaw covered with a day’s worth of stubble had Mitch imagining all kinds of assorted lewd behavior. Brilliant bright blue eyes framed with thick lashes shot up to his. Panic flashed in their depths. The guy lifted his cap, ran his hand over light sandy blond hair and placed the hat back on his head. When he did, Mitch noticed a tattoo on his upper chest peeking out from under the cotton material of his shirt, and he wanted to see more. Mitch had always had a thing for big blonds with blue eyes and ink. Had he just died and gone to heaven?

  “I can’t decide if I wanna be seen,” the guy finally said and looked down. He was no longer making eye contact, and it was hard to tell in this lighting, but Mitch could have sworn he saw a blush. A blush? How long had it been since he had seen one of those? Mitch pulled the hat completely off and lifted the guy’s face by placing his finger under his chin.

  “Just as I thought. It fits you.” It was a blush. Damn. That was seriously hot, and his cock jerked in approval.

  “Huh?”

  “How old are you?” Mitch asked, running his eyes up and down Mr. Ball Cap’s big frame. He had thick muscular thighs that made the jeans he wore pull tight in just the right places, showing off a very nice package.

  “Can I have my hat back, please?” the guy asked, but didn’t move out from under the hold Mitch had on his chin. Manners and good looks…he wanted this guy, bad.

  “Maybe, if you answer the question,” Mitch teased, giving him a smile and a wink for encouragement. The guy swallowed, and his eyes moved to Mitch’s lips. Good sign.

  “I’m twenty-six,” he answered. Mitch nodded and tucked the bill of blondie’s hat in the back of his waistband, before lifting a couple of fingers toward the bartender. Mitch wasn’t ready to give up the ball cap just yet. He figured he’d hold on to it for a while longer, insurance that the guy wouldn’t take off.

  Mitch watched as the bartender worked and handed his waiting shot to the hot, young country boy. How had this gorgeous guy flown under the radar? And a better question, why wasn’t he out on the dance floor?

  “Drink this,” Mitch said, shoving the shot in the guy’s hand. The bartender placed two more shots in front of him. He absently dug another twenty out of his pocket, not even paying attention to the change being offered back.

  “What is it?” the guy asked.

  “Does it matter?” Mitch challenged. “Drink it. And this one too.”

  Mitch downed his in one swallow. The guy followed suit and then drank the other one, before slamming the glass down on the polished wood. It was liquid courage. Mitch tossed the beer chaser, encouraging the kid to drink his, and he did. Mitch placed both empty bottles
back on the bar before he grabbed the guy’s hand and pulled him up.

  “We’re dancing,” Mitch informed Mr. Ball Cap, ignoring the list of objections and excuses he spewed. It was a forced deal since the guy fought him every step he made, but Mitch wasn’t taking no for an answer. It took a minute to make it to the edge of the dance floor. He wasn’t a big drinker, so the shot had already begun to work.

  When the guy finally broke free of his hold, he flipped around. He was taller than Mitch realized, maybe taller than his own six-four frame. Mitch couldn’t let him get away, that just wasn’t in his plan. He reached out, hooking an arm around the guy’s waist before he could bolt too far off.

  The move caught Ball Cap off guard with the hold turning into a full body deal as Mitch nudged him with the weight of his body out into the middle of the dance floor.

  “It’s easier when you just take the plunge. You know, like a Band-Aid. Always best if you just rip it free. You’re here for a reason. Be okay with it.” Those words weren’t whispered. The music made it impossible to not yell them from behind, but it stopped the guy’s struggles. Mitch didn’t let him go. Instead, he turned him around so they were face-to-face on the dance floor.

  Mitch kept him close, pressing the front of his body against the guy’s chest. His arms held Ball Cap caged in, and damn was he hot, far more gorgeous than Mitch had first realized. He smelled fresh, clean, like the calming light rain that falls after a summer thunderstorm, mixed with a hint of fresh cut evergreens. He leaned in and inhaled. Damn, Mitch loved the smell of rain.

  “You’re fucking hot,” Mitch yelled, and he could feel the young guy sported a pretty impressive bulge in his jeans. So did Mitch.