Encore Encore (2 page)

Beside Isaac, Joshua scowled. His gaze snapped from Shawn to the bar behind him, scanning the men seated there.

Once he was more than an arm’s length away, Shawn turned to the bar himself.

Black eyes regarded him steadily from behind ridiculously thick black horn rim glasses. Roscoe’s signature feature. Occasionally he tried different frames and they all looked good on him, but he invariably came back to the horn rims. They made him look like a
8 Mykles ~ Much Ado

geek, but he was a damn
fi ne
geek in that super intelligent, hotter than hell kind of way. A tumbler of what was probably gin and tonic was held in one hand over the bar, while the other elegant hand rested casually on the thigh of his jeans. The men around him had turned as well, giving Shawn their attention.

Belly fl ipping, Shawn took one more long inhale over the fl owers then closed the distance between them. Standing in his heels, he was on eye level with Roscoe sitting on the bar stool. He tossed his head so that his loose curls bounced in a way he knew Roscoe liked. Even when they were breaking up, neither of them had denied the heated attraction that remained between them.

Shawn knew he was
exactly
Roscoe’s type, an advantage he hadn’t failed to enjoy when they were lovers, and he would use now. He cocked his head to the side. “What are you doing here?” He ignored the whistles and snorts of the others surrounding Roscoe. He had eyes for one man.

Who had eyes only for him. One corner of Roscoe’s wide, mobile mouth hitched up and his tongue took a slow swipe of his lower lip. Unfortunately, Roscoe knew that
he
was also very much Shawn’s type. “I came to talk to you.” Refusing to be baited, Shawn insinuated himself between Roscoe and the man beside him so he could put the fl owers on the bar. “So talk.”

“Alone?”

Shawn met Danny, the bartender’s, eye and nodded, ordering his usual. “Why?”

Roscoe set his tumbler on the bar, ice clanking as it settled.

“I’ve a business proposition for you.” One of the regular patrons whistled. “Shawna honey, when did you start turning tricks?”

Another called through the resulting laughs. “Roscoe, I’ll do you for free.”

Shawn ignored them as he faced Roscoe again. “What kind of proposition?”

ENCORE! ENCORE!
9

Roscoe leaned one elbow on the bar, cheek resting on his palm. The V of his spread legs enticed Shawn to step between them and into the man’s body. “I’m doing
Much Ado
again.” Laughter died down. Talk of a play brought out the hunger in every actor surrounding them.

Shawn waited.

Roscoe’s grin grew. “I need you to play Beatrice.” Gasps. Doubtful it was surprising to anyone that Shawn was being offered a female role. But the offer of the
lead
role was something to note.

Shawn considered Roscoe’s words. Not “want,” “need.” What game was he playing? “Why me?”

Roscoe considered him, the eyes behind those glasses gone heavy lidded and sensuous. Fuck me eyes. Or, rather, I’m-going-to-fuck-you-until-you-can’t-move eyes. “That should be obvious.

For me, there
is
only one Beatrice.” He made so bold as to reach out with his free hand to trace fi ngers up the outside of Shawn’s arm.

Even though he was a fi nely trained actor, the thudding of his heart made it nearly impossible for Shawn to go for casual.

Instead, he gave in to his frown and batted the hand away. “Fuck you.”

Roscoe’s grin dimmed a little. He sat up. “It’s true.”

“Where?”

“The Bard’s Festival, upstate.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s new.”

“How new?”

“Started last year. I was one of the directors. But it was pretty successful and it’s got some money behind it.” Shawn tuned in to the chatter surrounding them enough to hear others confi rm the reality. He also heard they were impressed.

One thing about the hens that hung out at Ms. Tyken’s, they knew
10 Mykles ~ Much Ado

the business. Now that Roscoe had explained further, he did remember hearing that Roscoe was doing Shakespeare upstate, shortly after they’d broken up. He’d directed one of the tragedy plays—not
Hamlet
, maybe
Othello
or
Antony and Cleopatra—
rather than his preferred comedies.

Danny set a mojito on the bar beside Shawn’s hand, giving Shawn a distraction to gather his thoughts. Anger fl ashed in his head, and he wasn’t entirely sure why he was mad.

Roscoe folded his forearms on the bar before him, one of his elbows brushing Shawn’s. “It’s a paying gig. Equity. You could get your card.”

“Aha.” Shawn took a sip of his drink, keeping his eyes on the bar. “I get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why are you showing up, out of the blue, with an offer?” Some of their audience had drifted away, but Shawn had no doubt those who remained would spread the word.

Didn’t seem like Roscoe cared who heard. “I told you. I need you. Play’s not the same without you.”

“Why that play?”

“I like that play.”

“You going to call Bonnie in California to come play Benedick?”

When there was no answer, he slanted his gaze at the other man.

Roscoe stared at the array of bottles on the mirrored wall behind the bar. He shook his head, not smiling now. “No.”

“What? You don’t think she did great?”

“I do, and you know it.”

“Right.” He took a healthy drink then carefully set his glass down. “But you weren’t sleeping with her.” Ever aware of his performance, on and off stage, Roscoe ENCORE! ENCORE!
11

gave it a beat, turned to face Shawn then sat back, putting some distance between them. “My offer is sincere, regardless of our past.”

“I’m sure the offer’s sincere. But it doesn’t make anything that happened between us right.”

He heard the disgusted snort even though he wasn’t looking Roscoe’s way. “Who said I was trying to make anything right? I’m trying to offer you a
job
.”

Shawn faced him. “A
real
job.” Roscoe tilted his head.

“Go ahead, say it. You want to.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

They had a silent, rapt audience now. The only sound was the Eighties music pumping through the speakers overhead.

Shawn was not adverse to giving them a show.
These
people would be on his side. “Why not? I know what you want to say.

What the hell are you doing slumming here anyway? You hate places like this.”

The older man shook his head. “I never said that.”

“Oh, okay. Then you just hate
me
being in a place like this?” Roscoe glanced at the people surrounding them. “You sure you want to do it like this?”

“Why not?
They
like it here.”

The calm facade dissolved and fi nally Roscoe showed some anger as he crossed his arms over his chest. “My God, still the drama queen, are we?”

“Fuck you.” Shawn slammed his hand on the bar and stepped back. “I don’t need your hand out, Mr. Big Shot Director. Why don’t you go somewhere else and fi nd someone who’s willing to bend over and take it from you.”

In one sudden move, Roscoe rolled to his feet, leaning over and into Shawn. “You used to do it willingly,” he murmured, lips just inches away from Shawn’s.

12 Mykles ~ Much Ado

Shawn barely managed to keep himself from jumping up and wrapping himself in Roscoe’s embrace. As it was, he caught himself leaning toward the hard strength he knew was inside that shirt. Nostrils fl aring, he glared up into Roscoe’s face, determined not to back down. “Not. Any. More.”

Roscoe stayed where he was, staring Shawn down. The air around them vibrated, and no one within hearing spoke.

Finally, Roscoe licked his lips. “Fine.” He took one step back.

“You think about it. The offer stands, but I can only hold the role open for a week or so.”

“Don’t bother.”

Roscoe’s jaw worked from side to side, a sign to Shawn that he was reviewing and discarding a number of parting lines. In the end, he just said. “By the way, I caught your act. You were great tonight.” He turned and walked out.

Flummoxed, Shawn could only stare. He’d seen Shawn’s act?

After all he’d said about how Shawn couldn’t succeed as a drag queen? Trust Roscoe to fi nd words that would bite.

◊ ◊ ◊ ◊

Thoroughly annoyed, Shawn refused to answer any questions that were pelted at him after Roscoe’s exit stage right. He fl ed to the haven of the dressing room and changed into his jeans and tennis shoes. After cleaning off all his makeup, he shouldered his backpack, checked his wallet to make sure he did, indeed, have cab fare then left by the back entrance.

Hailing a cab from the corner was easy, but just as he was about to duck in the back, someone came up behind him to hold the door. You don’t live in the city long before you develop a healthy dose of suspicion, so Shawn immediately straightened and jumped away.

It was Roscoe. He tilted his head forward so those black eyes peeked at Shawn over the horn rims. A lock of silky black hair dipped down to shade his eyes from the harsh street light. “Mind if I join you?”

ENCORE! ENCORE!
13

If Shawn’s heart hadn’t already been hammering from the mild scare, it jumped into triple time now. “If I say no?” Two years as this man’s lover had taught him what that wicked glimmer in those eyes meant. “Don’t say no.” All blood rushed south to fi ll his cock and Shawn suddenly had trouble remembering why, exactly, he wanted to keep his distance. Why would he decline that offer? He shrugged and climbed into the backseat, aware of the man crawling in beside him. Okay, yes, Roscoe was probably just pushing his point about the play. Mr. Director rarely gave up after only one volley. Shawn didn’t intend to give in, but, since he very well knew the tools of persuasion Roscoe had in his arsenal, he didn’t see why he couldn’t have a little fun.
Yeah,
he told himself as he settled in his seat,
no harm in making him work for it.

“Where to?” asked the cabbie, glancing back at them through the dirty safety shield.

Shawn opened his mouth but Roscoe answered fi rst, giving the address of his building. Before Shawn could continue to give his own address, Roscoe grabbed his arm to stop him.

He leaned closer. “Come home with me.” Shawn swallowed, watching those gorgeous lips caress the words.
Home
meant a lot more when Roscoe said it, since the home he meant had been Shawn’s once too. “Why should I?” Roscoe’s lips parted, that tongue again swiping over his bottom lip. “I want you to.”

Shawn snorted, clutching at the backpack he held in his lap.

“You can’t always get what you want.”

“But you can get what you need.”

Shawn twisted his face away just in time to avoid the kiss he was pretty sure was about to close in. He scooted a little closer to his window, gazing out of it. Just because he was pretty sure what was going to happen didn’t mean he couldn’t make Roscoe work a little. “That’s not the lyric.”

Roscoe’s hand slid down his arm. “Close enough.”
14 Mykles ~ Much Ado

Shawn rolled his eyes but didn’t tell the driver his address.

He watched recently familiar streets slip away into older familiar streets. Streets he’d learned when he’d fi rst moved to New York, new to the city, new to his relationship with Roscoe and still relatively new to being gay. They’d been teacher and student in Los Angeles, then they were live-in lovers in New York.
Good
times,
he thought. Still. That fi rst year and a half had been an awesome whirlwind of not only growing accustomed to the Big Apple, but to the dark, intriguing, and fucking frustrating life of the theater business. Learning Roscoe’s world as a well-known director, and meeting all sorts of people as Shawn started to form his own career. Compared to all that, getting used to being in his fi rst romantic relationship with a man had been ridiculously easy.

Roscoe was the fi rst he’d ever dated, fi rst he’d slept with, and the only man he’d ever really wanted. Despite the six year age gap, he’d been with Roscoe longer than he’d ever dated any girl, and he and Roscoe had certainly been more serious than any of Shawn’s past relationships. They’d even said the “L” word. In hindsight, that’s probably where things had started to go wrong.

Roscoe kept Shawn’s silence during the ride. Shawn didn’t want to admit how much he missed the neighborhood, so different from the extended rat trap he now shared with two other guys he barely even knew, to save on rent. Roscoe had taken care of most of the bills before Shawn had left.
“Let me take care of you
until you get a steady job,”
he’d always said. That very situation had turned Shawn on the path that had eventually shown him just what Roscoe thought of him.

Memory of their parting anger stalled him in the backseat of the cab while Roscoe paid the cabbie and climbed out. Did he really want to go through this again?

“Shawn?”

He looked at Roscoe, all sleek and fi ne standing in the open door waiting to take him up to a quiet, clean loft apartment with a big, comfortable bed. Waiting to have sex with him, sex that was guaranteed to be exquisite. It always was with Roscoe.

ENCORE! ENCORE!
15

“You know, you’re not going to convince me to do this play just by fucking me.”

Roscoe grinned. “I can do my best.”

Still Shawn hesitated.

His grin melted back into that seductive stare. “C’mon, Finn.” Roscoe beckoned with one long fi ngered hand, using the affectionate short of Shawn’s last name that no one else seemed to use. “One night. No strings.”

Just like that fi rst night.
He’d used a similar line to get Roscoe to sleep with him the fi rst time, to get the older man to take a chance on a heretofore heterosexual student. Oh, what a night it had been.

Without taking Roscoe’s hand, he slid over the bench and onto the sidewalk. He avoided Roscoe’s touch by hurrying up the steps that led to the front door of the building. He waited, eyes averted, as Roscoe opened the building’s front door then preceded him through the quaint little lobby to the elevator.