“You want to grab some lunch before we head out to the nursery?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“You like Mexican?”

“Who doesn’t?”

Roque smiled. “We can walk to my favorite place from here. It’s easier than trying to find parking.”

“Let me lock up,” Lance replied.

Lance let Ro take the lead, partly because he had no idea where they were headed, and the sidewalks were narrow. It gave him the opportunity to admire the wiry body encased in worn jeans. He zeroed in on the perfect ass and imagined cupping each cheek and squeezing gently. By the time they walked into the small café, he’d made the decision to do a little cruising tonight. He needed to get laid, and quickly, before his hormones got him in trouble. Making a premature move on Ro wasn’t in the plan, but he had to find some other source of relief. He couldn’t keep pretending he was immune to his body’s demands. It had been a while since he’d gotten off on a real live person, and he was overdue. What was the name of that club Susie had touted? He’d give her a call later to see if she and her significant other wouldn’t mind giving him a tour of the place. Meanwhile, he’d better get his act together and focus on something other than Ro’s spectacular back. It was hard to ignore when the T-shirt stretched tightly across well-honed deltoid muscles. Christ! There wasn’t an ounce of fat on the guy.

“This is nice,” Lance noted when they were settled in the wooden booth. The restaurant was small and packed with a lively lunch crowd. Ro was obviously a regular because they’d seated him as soon as he showed up.

“They have great food and I eat here whenever I get a chance. They’re closed at night, and it’s not that often I’m working in the city at lunch. Most of my clients are in the suburbs.”

“Do you have a lot of houses on your route?”

“Enough,” Ro admitted. “The big and dependable money is in the industrial parks. I have a few under my belt, but I could use a lot more.”

“Homeowners are too cheap?”

Ro grinned. “You’d be surprised how hard it is to collect. Industrial accounts pay on time and don’t nitpick over bullshit.”

“People are funny, aren’t they?” Lance commented. “We have patients who routinely show up for dental work and don’t pay because they’ve conveniently ‘forgotten’ the checkbook or credit card. Who the hell goes to the store without money? They don’t equate our services with tangible products they can put in a cart and load in their refrigerator. It’s unfortunate but true.”

“I had no idea you’d have the same problem,” Ro said, obviously a little shocked by Lance’s statement. “And the thing is, I can’t put back the grass I mowed or the branches I trimmed if they don’t fork over the dough.”

“Tell me about it,” Lance scoffed. “I’d love to be able to say pay up or I’m yanking out the implants.”

They both laughed, envisioning the scenario. “You just have to hire good dragons to breathe fire onto the deadbeats,” Lance said. “Our office manager is great at collections.”

“I’m my own office manager, bookkeeper, buyer, worker, and all-around grunt,” Roque admitted. “Someday I’ll be able to get some help, but not now.”

“You work alone?” Lance asked in surprise. Landscapers usually worked in teams to get in and out as fast as possible.

“My brother works with me.”

“Can’t he help out with some of the paperwork?”

Ro laughed. “No.”

“I see. Do you have plans for afterward?”

“I have a vague idea, but of course it’ll depend on getting new clients. It’s like any other business. Networking with builders and contractors is essential to finding the right jobs.”

“I’ll bet.”

They were interrupted by a waitress who greeted Ro like a long-lost relative. She spoke to him in Spanish but he answered in English, which Lance found rather curious. He didn’t let on that he understood every word. After all the summers he’d spent with his boys by the pool, he’d become fluent. He almost gave himself away when she commented on Ro’s good taste. She obviously knew he was gay and assumed Lance was a date. The blush that crept up Ro’s neck was adorable, and Lance was sorely tempted to chuck it all and make some comment in Spanish, but he decided against it. Aside from embarrassing Ro, it would open the proverbial can of worms he preferred to keep buried in the past. There would be a better time in the future to reveal he was bilingual.

After they placed their order, she left them with a basketful of chips and a large bowl of homemade salsa. One bite was all Lance needed to understand why this place was crowded. The salsa was homemade and every ingredient fresh off the vine. It had a subtle bite that increased with each dip.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Lance queried.

“Shoot.”

“Don’t you speak Spanish?”

“It’s taken me years to shake the accent, so I only speak my language when I’m with my parents or grandmother.”

“Why is that so important?”

“No one takes you seriously when you sound like the Taco Bell Chihuahua.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “You have no discernible accent.”

“Not anymore,” Ro admitted.

 

Mickie B. Ashling is the alter-ego of a multifaceted woman raised by a single mother who preferred reading over other forms of entertainment. She found a kindred spirit in her oldest child and encouraged her with a steady supply of dog-eared paperbacks. Romance was the preferred genre, and historical romances topped her favorites list.

By the time Mickie discovered her own talent for writing, real life had intruded, and the business of earning a living and raising four sons took priority. With the advent of e-publishing and the inevitable emptying nest, dreams were resurrected, and the storyteller was reborn.

She stumbled into the world of men who love men in 2002 and continues to draw inspiration from their ongoing struggle to find equality and happiness in this oftentimes skewed and intolerant world. Her award-winning novels have been called “gut wrenching, daring, and thought provoking.” She admits to being an angst queen and making her men work damn hard for their happy endings.

 Mickie loves to travel and has lived in the Philippines, Spain, and the Middle East but currently resides in a suburb outside Chicago.

 

Fractured is now available in paperback or e-book format here: 

Dreamspinner Press

 

You can contact Mickie at mickie.ashling@gmail.com or leave a comment on her website at http://mickieashling.com or her blog  http://mickiebashling.blogspot.com.

 

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