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  Dare stared at him. The son of a bitch had done it again. Without a single blessed clue how to be manipulative, how to be anything but awkwardly honest, Jonah had alternately charmed and bulldogged his way through Dare’s defenses.

  “Don’t admire me,” Dare said quietly. “I’m a shitty role model. My stage act is the only thing I have together. I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out.”

  Jonah shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the lamplight pooled around his feet. “And I’m surprised you haven’t figured out that I’m not too good at figuring things out.” His wan smile, when he glanced up, was just as self-effacing as his words.

  Again, Dare was disarmed. “It’s getting kind of chilly out here. You want to sit in my car?”

  “You haven’t said if you accept my apology.”

  “Obviously I accept it. I didn’t ask you to sit in a car with me just so no one’ll hear you scream when I slap you around.”

  Another smile, delighted instead of self-deprecating. “You’re not meeting anyone? You don’t have a date?”

  “Jonah, I don’t think I’ve ever had a proper date.” Dare resumed walking toward his vehicle. It wasn’t as new and spiffy as Jonah’s, but it was closer.

  “That’s surprising. I would’ve thought you got propositioned plenty.”

  “I do. But a proposition usually results in a hit ’n’ quit, which isn’t a date. And I don’t even do those anymore.” The driver-side door made a cracking squeal as Dare swung it toward him. “Not often, anyway.” He got inside and opened the passenger door.

  “Well, you can afford to be picky, that’s for sure.” Jonah settled into the seat.

  Dare felt a shiver of excitement as he recalled Jonah’s declarations just minutes earlier: that he thought Pepper Jack was gorgeous and hot and found his act mesmerizing. But it was the aborted statement that intrigued Dare the most. “I’ll admit I was stunned at first, maybe for reasons I don’t….”

  Don’t what? Want to admit? Dare decided not to bring it up. Not yet, anyway.

  He pushed the seat back as far as it would go, lowered the backrest to a more relaxing angle, and, stretching out, linked his hands behind his head.

  Jonah watched him. It seemed Jonah had been watching him a lot. Dare thought he must’ve come across as a curious creature indeed to a teetotaler who wore suits and sold crop hail policies to farmers.

  “I want you to know,” Dare said, facing him, “that being provocative is part of my stage persona. It isn’t part of me.” He realized that wasn’t entirely the truth. “Okay, so maybe it is, a little, but not all the time and not in the way you think.”

  “I realize that now. It was insensitive of me to imply… whatever I seemed to be implying earlier.”

  “That I’m a slut.”

  Avoiding Dare’s gaze, Jonah murmured, “I really am sorry.”

  “Do you mean that? ’Cause if you don’t, if you’re just trying to be all mannerly and shit—”

  Through with being abashed, Jonah looked him square in the eye. “I mean it. What I told you out there is the truth.” He surely knew what Dare was getting at. I can’t confide in you about the most horrific episode of my life if you think I initiated it. “May I ask you something personal?”

  Dare chuckled. “I don’t think we need to get permission from each other anymore. Our whole acquaintance is based on asking personal questions.”

  “It is pretty bizarre, isn’t it?” Jonah said. “We haven’t even made it to the friendship stage.”

  Dare angled to face him. “I don’t know. Maybe we have. Or we’re at the doorstep. What do you think?”

  “I’d like to think you’re right.”

  Beyond the cozy enclosure of the car, occasional laughter and shouts echoed through the parking lot as more patrons entered and left the Bowl. The clubby dance hall called Crystal was open now, and the go-go boys were doing their thing. Some customers came just for that; others didn’t care to hang around when the evening turned manic between the hours of ten and two.

  “By the way,” Jonah said, “I don’t drink because I’m a recovering alcoholic, not because I’m a prude.”

  It took Dare several seconds to realize his mouth had fallen open. “Oh.”

  “Bet you weren’t expecting that.”

  To say the least. Dare was stymied. Just when he thought he had this guy figured out, his assumptions were smashed.

  “But you’re so young.” It was the first and only thing that popped into Dare’s overtaxed brain. Lame, he thought. Lame, lame, lame.

  Jonah didn’t seem to notice. “I actually started drinking while the stuff with Clayton Wallace was going on. My mother always had beer and wine in the house, sometimes hard liquor, too. Then I really ramped it up once Clay was out of my life and more stuff happened, which eventually landed me with GG. She’s the one who finally got me into rehab.”

  How calm he was! “Holy shit. How’d you get through high school?”

  Jonah shook his head and shrugged. “Sheer pigheadedness, I guess. I had something to prove to myself. Maybe to my mother, too. Wallace had made me feel spineless. Damned if I was going to be a total loser. So I was a binge drinker at first. I restricted my partying to weekends and holiday breaks. It didn’t become a fulltime thing until after I graduated.”

  “Then how’d you make it through college?”

  “I almost didn’t make it in. Even after I did, I dropped out after a few months. If I hadn’t been with GG by then and she hadn’t pushed me into that program, I would’ve boozed my way into oblivion.”

  “Did you, uh, discuss the abuse in rehab?”

  The cold night air seeped more noticeably into the car. Jonah wrapped his arms around his ribcage. “No. I wasn’t ready to. It was hard enough just admitting to my drinking problem and the promiscuity.”

  “Oh, so that’s what you meant when I asked if you were gay. First you said no, then you said you didn’t know, then you said something about having been too fucked up to figure it out.”

  The color in Jonah’s cheeks seemed to deepen. “Yeah, that’s the time I was referring to. I’d get blasted and have sex with anything that moved, then at some point I’d black out. After rehab I just avoided the whole issue. I had to focus on staying sober.” He gave Dare a sidelong glance. “That’s why I admire you. You haven’t avoided the issue. You didn’t let—what was his name? Howard?—turn you into some simpering, growth-stunted eunuch.”

  “Hey.” Dare give Jonah’s thigh a light shake, just enough to secure his attention. “First of all, it’s perfectly understandable how that experience twisted your self-image out of alignment. You were only eleven when that prick got a hold on you. You were like Silly Putty. Second, I’m not as well-adjusted as you think I am. And third, although I can’t speak with absolute authority on this”—Dare managed a smile, but it felt too tense to be jocular—“I’ll venture to say you’re not a eunuch.”

  Jonah’s left leg began to bounce, rapidly, his heel tapping against the floor mat as if a muscle spasm had seized his foot. He glued his gaze to the dashboard. Just as Dare began to think, despite how loony the thought was, Oh shit, maybe something happened to him and he actually has been castrated, Jonah abruptly stopped jiggling and spoke. To the windshield. As if Dare were sitting on the hood of the car.

  “I realized something at the Zandt Pavilion, even though I didn’t want to admit it to myself. I was attracted to you. And tonight I realized something that rattled me even more. You really fuckin’ turn me on, Dare. And it scares the hell out of me.”

  Chapter Ten

  THIS was not supposed to happen. This seemed like a boxcar full of wrong for all kinds of reasons, not the least of which was their reason for getting together in the first place.

  Jonah had excused himself and bolted from Dare’s car after his confession—he never did get around to asking that “personal” question—and Dare had pretty much obsessed about it all the way home and halfway through the nigh
t. The following morning, as he prepared for his Sunday gig with the Polka Doodles, his nerves squirmed.

  Sure, he’d entertained some lewd thoughts about Jonah Day. But they’d been harmless, divorced from any intention to act. He’d had similar fantasies about a lot of guys.

  Why couldn’t Jonah have kept his damned desires to himself, as Dare had been doing?

  “Get my tie on straight, would you?” he asked Carver, who’d just come out of the downstairs bathroom.

  Carver made a lazy U-turn and shuffled up to Dare. Staring at the tie, he scowled. “It’s a fucking clip-on, Daren.”

  “Just make sure it’s straight, will you?”

  “What’d you do? Sprain your hand while you were beating off last night? I heard you groaning. Must’ve been a good one.”

  “I couldn’t’ve beat off if I’d been using Brent Corrigan’s hand.” Dare figured he must’ve been groaning in dismay or frustration as he flipped from side to side and thought about Jonah. Carver, of course, being the coat tree he was, wouldn’t be able to distinguish one kind of groan from another if they all crawled up his ass with descriptions of themselves.

  After fixing Dare’s tie, the coat tree futzed with his bathrobe, looking down at himself as he smoothed his hands from lapels to sash. Carver did that sort of thing a lot, as if checking his physique to make sure his workouts were yielding results.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Is it that guy you started seeing?”

  “Yes, if you must know.” Peevishly, Dare adjusted the waistband of his red pants—a lot less fun than stroking oneself through a layer of velour.

  “It isn’t that I must know. Actually, I’d rather have a cup of coffee than find out.”

  “Then go fucking get one,” Dare snapped. Jesus. Why couldn’t he once, just once, confide in his brother without encountering indifference or snide remarks or a condescending lecture?

  Instead of proceeding toward the kitchen, Carver kept studying Dare, then sank into the nearest chair. “What’s going on between the two of you? I thought you only got together to exchange notes about therapy or something.”

  He actually seemed interested, but Dare was still leery of his brother’s motives. “We’ve been exchanging more than notes. And I don’t mean bodily fluids. But maybe we want to. That’s the problem. Or rather, I don’t want it to become a problem.”

  Carver gave him a blank stare. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I don’t want us to be attracted to each other!”

  The stare gave way to a puzzled blink. “Why?”

  “Because… you know!”

  “No, I don’t.” Now Carver stared at him as if he, Dare, were deranged. “Are you talking about some taboo I’m not aware of? Is there, like, a rule in the Universal Victims’ Handbook that says if you’ve ever been groped by a perv, you can’t touch anyone else who’s ever been groped by a perv?”

  “There is no Universal Victims’ Handbook, Carver.” Dare didn’t realize what an utterly idiotic statement that was until it had fallen from his mouth. He did realize he wasn’t too sharp today.

  “Then what’s the problem? You’re consenting adults.”

  Sighing, Dare put his hands on his hips. The ill-fitting red pants slipped an inch. “Fuck if I know.”

  Carver got up. “That’s the most sensible thing you’ve said all morning.”

  THREE bands were playing at the Birches, a supper club with an attached hall. Maybe Jonah and GG wouldn’t make it today; maybe this was farther than they were used to traveling for their dance outings.

  Dare could only hope… even though he still hadn’t come up with an adequate answer to Carver’s looming question: “Why?”

  His mouthpiece clattered to the floor as he tried to swivel it onto the cork-sheathed neck of the clarinet. “Shit.” He scooped it up, checked the reed for any damage, and worked the mouthpiece into place.

  Today they had to do their preparations in a storage room behind the hall. It was stuffed with folding banquet tables, stacked chairs, and a shelving unit brimming with tablecloths, vases, and decorations. The Polka Doodles were on first. Bob had persuaded the second band, whose name Dare had already forgotten, not to start bringing in their equipment until the Doodles started playing. Cluster-fuck prevention, Dare assumed.

  Max, Junior, and Ernie were setting things up on stage.

  Bob sauntered over, Lucille hanging on him like a gaudy piece of armor. “Something bothering you today?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Just don’t get your fingers confused.”

  “Don’t worry.” Dare smiled. “I’m a professional.”

  At least Bob didn’t sneer at that, just uttered a single ha. “Oh, by the way, I want to talk to you after our set about a duet idea I have.”

  Junior stuck his head into the room. “You guys ready?”

  They were on.

  Dare didn’t have time to think once they started playing, and not thinking was, for him, often a good thing. He didn’t even make a point of scanning the audience. Then GG danced past the low stage. Dare’s eyes sprang in her direction as if they’d been programmed.

  Jonah wasn’t her partner. Instead, a tall, elegant, older man with silver waves of hair smiled into her face as he led her around the floor.

  Now Dare did scan the audience, but only for a few seconds. He didn’t want to start obsessing again. Besides, he told himself, the place was too crowded to spot anyone, and a visual search would only be distracting.

  GG danced with the same man through every song. Unless Jonah was serving as their chauffeur or chaperon, which Dare highly doubted, he wasn’t there. Maybe he’d never show up at a Polka Doodles performance again.

  Even when the set ended, Dare didn’t have time to think. He had to hustle their equipment off the stage so the next band could set up.

  “Did GG find a boyfriend or something?” he asked Bob as soon as they were alone at the van.

  “She didn’t just find him,” Bob said. “They’ve known each other for years, but he lives out of state. Can’t get here too often.” He went around to the open side-door and shoved some stuff around. “But I think he’s in the process of moving. They’re getting married pretty soon. ’Bout time Hal made an honest woman out of her.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit, Sherman.” Bob joined Dare at the back of the van and leaned toward him. “And get this. She told Rosie she’s been having the kid take her out dancing so she can ‘stay in shape’.”

  “That makes sense. Dancing’s good exercise.” Rose was Bob’s wife; Dare knew that much. What he didn’t grasp was the reason for Bob’s lowered voice and suggestive look.

  Bob frowned at him. “Christ, you really aren’t all here today.” He held his upturned fists at hip level and executed a few maladroit thrusts.

  Dare nearly snorted his tonsils through his nose. He fell against the door, snickering until his abs began to ache and his eyes filled with tears. “Don’t ever do that again, man. I beg you.”

  Sheepishly, Bob grinned. “Hey, if you weren’t so friggin’ dense, I wouldn’t’ve had to do it in the first place.”

  “She’s really that… active?”

  Bob turned up his eyes and shook his head. “The woman’s sixty-eight, not ninety-eight. Jesus….”

  Dare still had trouble wrapping his twenty-six-year-old mind around it.

  “Oh, hey, let’s park our asses for a minute and discuss my idea. You want something to drink? I’ll get a pitcher and bring it out to one of those picnic tables. It’s too loud inside.”

  Grateful for the diversion, Dare headed toward a small, barebones pavilion with a corrugated tin roof. He didn’t want to go home and start brooding about never seeing Jonah again, regardless of the fact he had no reason to brood. Since last night, he hadn’t wanted to see Jonah again.

  Before he had a chance to give that contradiction much thought, Bob trundled in his direction with a pitcher of beer and t
wo plastic cups.

  “Okay,” Bob said, setting down their refreshment. He expertly poured a cupful for each of them. “Here’s what I got in mind.” As he sat across from Dare, the picnic table tilted under his weight like a teeter-totter.

  Dare steadied both sloshing cups. “Damn, Bob, maybe you should take up dancing to slim down. You nearly launched me into next week.”

  “Shut up, smartass.” Bob took a long swallow of brew, voiced a satisfied ahhh, and wiped the foam from his upper lip. “Now, how about we put a glock and clarinet duet in our program? I listened to these old hand-crank street organs playing the ‘Clarinet Polka’ on YouTube, and that’s what got me thinking, Hell yeah, me and the kid could do that!” Enthusiasm made him lean forward. “We could either play the whole thing together—it’s only about two minutes long—or go back and forth like we do on ‘Fascination’.”

  Dare felt sick. “I… I don’t think I can.”

  Bob leaned back, as if the words had given him a shove. “Why? I know the tempo’s a little fast, but I’m sure you can keep up.” He chuckled. “Prob’ly better than I can. So if we divvied up the sections like we do for—”

  “You don’t understand.” Elbow on table, Dare anxiously rubbed his forehead—back and forth, back and forth, mindlessly—until Bob reached over and grabbed his wrist.

  “Hey. What’s up?” He was serious now, no kidding around.