Jeremiah

By Jayce Ellis

“Romance readers will eagerly devour this upbeat contemporary and look forward to Ellis’s next.” —Publishers Weekly

Jeremiah Stewart’s sexuality is no one’s business. Not that he’s hiding it. When—if—he finds the right one, he’ll absolutely introduce him to Mom. But a late-night brush with a sexy stranger in too much lip gloss has him rethinking nearly everything…

To Collin Galloway, direction is a four-letter word. Sure, he hates his job, he hates living with his parents and he really hates watching everyone move on without him. But he doesn’t know what he wants to do, long-term, and he won’t figure it out by thirsting over Jeremiah, the superhot, superintense paramedic who is suddenly everywhere Collin looks.

When Jeremiah’s faced with losing all he’s worked so hard to build, he reluctantly accepts Collin’s help. They’re both determined to stay professional…which works about as well as either would imagine. But Collin only does closets with clothes, and Jeremiah has to decide if he’s finally found the one worth bringing home to Mom.

High Rise
Book 1: Jeremiah
Book 2: André

Also by Jayce Ellis

Higher Education
Book 1: Learned Behaviors
Book 2: Learned Reactions

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jan 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781488068928

Jayce Ellis

Jayce spends her days divorcing “happily married couples” and her nights writing about people like her: Black, queer, fighting for their happy-ever-afters, with her husband and two turtles by her side.

Book preview

Chapter One

Jeremiah

I parked my car at the entrance of the strip club and let the engine idle, checking my phone one more time before I tossed it in the glove compartment and heaved out a breath. Chucky was probably the only guy, gay or straight, who could get me here, on my day off no less, on a humid as fuck Friday night in DC. Talking ’bout he had something to discuss, but not over the phone. Like we were in high school or some shit.

Across the parking lot, I got my hand stamped, paid the entrance fee and exchanged two twenties and a ten for fifty ones. The bulk made me distinctly uncomfortable, even though it wasn’t a lot of money and would be on a stage or in a thong before long. Taking a deep breath, I braced myself for the onslaught and stepped inside.

It took a second before my eyes adjusted. Low lights dotted the booths and the bar, but multicolored strobe lights accentuated the center stage. The other two stages, to the left and right of the bar, weren’t in use, and the place wasn’t really about it yet. It was only nine, but at eleven one of the local DJs showed up and folks would wild out. By God’s grace I would be home asleep by then.

I scanned the crowd, looking past the jacket-but-no-tie, buttons-undone, after-work crowd, past the giggling first-time-in-a-strip-club girls, past the old men prowling and the young ones flexing, trying to spot this six-foot-three-inch dreadlocked man in a suit who should’ve been posted up by the main stage. I reached for my phone and came up empty, of course. Never mind that then.

The crowd parted, and I found him. And his girl. Ronnie to Chucky, Veronica to everyone else. Her presence explained a lot, namely why Chucky wasn’t front and center and halfway to broke by now. I schooled my face and walked over to where they sat, alone in a corner booth easily meant for six.

Jeremiah Stewart! Chucky yelled once I got close. My man, what’s good? He stood and gave me a half-hug, whispered, I’ll explain later, then sat down and looped an arm over Veronica’s shoulder.

Everything’s solid, I replied, then plastered on a smile. How’re you tonight, Veronica?

Veronica uncrossed her legs, reached for a glass of what smelled like a super fruity white wine, then sat back again, taking just enough time to push her weave to the side before settling into her man. She took a sip before Hello, Jeremiah forced its way past her lips.

Chucky speared me with a look over her head. That me and Veronica weren’t tight was an understatement, but that’s what happened when you speculated to your friends about your man’s sexuality because his boy was gay, and never bothered to just fucking ask him. I’d cussed her all the way out, but that was years ago and we’d learned to keep it civil for Chucky’s sake. This level of dismissiveness was out of character, even for her. But I shut up and sat back, ignoring the squeak of the leather, slightly sticky even with the air conditioning, and watched the action.

The prime moneymakers didn’t come on until later, but no lie, baby girl on top of the pole was doing the damn thing. She was hanging from a horizontal bar at the ceiling, upside down in the splits. A crowd had gathered, and she did a pull-up in that position, flipped around, holding herself on the stage pole with just her arms, and slid to the ground. I, and just about everyone else there, jumped in applause. Dollar bills littered the stage like roses thrown at a king.

She trying to take all my money, I said, fishing out my stack. I appreciated the skill, even if I didn’t get down like that. Chucky stood, stopped to do whatever nonverbal thing he and Veronica did, then followed me.

I pushed through the crowd to the semicircular platform, added some more ones to the pile and waited for Chucky to do the same, then went for the bar. I needed a drink.

We both ordered and were silent until they came. Then Chucky spoke before I could. Look, man, I’m sorry about Ronnie. She’s not feeling great and asked to come with. I opened my mouth, but he kept going. And she didn’t want to hear it when I offered to cancel and meet you later. His shoulders stiffened and he cracked his neck. Something else was up, but then he smiled. That fake as fuck one he used when he didn’t want folks scared of the big Black man. But yo, what’s up with you? You looked hella tense when you walked in.

Sometimes I hated that about Chucky. He could be drunk as hell, attention focused elsewhere, and still be the sharpest fucker in the room. Even when I knew he was hiding something.

We had a company meeting today. On my off day. Always on my off day.

And...?

They’re merging with HealthNet and exploring ‘cost-reduction methods.’ Man, the euphemisms businesses came up with.

So...layoffs?

Pretty much. I plunked my glass down too hard and froze at the clink of the tumbler against the bar top. But nothing broke and I blew out deep, then downed the drink in one swallow.

Chucky cringed. My sentiments exactly. Shit, man, you’ve been there how long?

Ten years almost. Feel like I’m too old to be starting over, you know? Blood thumped in my ear and I was tempted to take my own pulse.

Chucky hummed and ordered another drink. I tried not to drink too much on my weekends, but what the hell. I ordered another too, and he kept going.

Okay, but folks been trying to tap you to move on for a few years now. Teaching, supervising, you name it. It’s not like it’d be hard for you to find something.

My boy Will, who drove the truck at work, said the same thing. He was hype about the idea, telling me to explore new opportunities and whatever, but I wasn’t down for the cause of change like that.

Maybe, I finally said. But that shit ain’t easy for me like it is you. I’m not the fearless one went unsaid.

Chucky watched me, drinking slowly, but didn’t speak. Time to turn this shit around. I thought you wanted to talk. What’s going on?

Chucky smiled in that slow, Southern boy style he’d perfected, which I found funny because his ass hailed from Washington—the state, not the capital. He twirled his glass, peeped behind him at Veronica, then back to me, and looked almost embarrassed. This big old three hundred pounds of all muscle motherfucker damn near blushing like one of Snow White’s dwarves. If he could blush. Which he couldn’t.

Ronnie’s pregnant.

I choked. Coughed until my eyes watered and Chucky pounded me on the back with that fat fist of his. Damn, I said when I was breathing again. Wasn’t ready for that. She happy? You happy? Why the fuck is she drinking? The paramedic in me didn’t have off hours.

Chucky laughed, big and loud enough to turn heads. It’s not alcohol. Sparkling white grape juice or something.

I pressed my lips together to hold in my smart-ass response, then Chucky’s eyes bugged out in front of me and I turned. A new dancer was there, on the ground, her ass in my face, gyrating her cheeks in time to the beat of the song. That should have been illegal it was so good.

The muffled sound behind me had to be Chucky biting his fist. I laughed and pulled out some ones for her, tossing them on her lower back. She smiled sweetly, winked, did an elaborate body roll, and moved on to the next customer.

Someone jostled me, fighting for space at the bar, and I stifled my groan. The crowd had thickened, folks ready to get right for the weekend. I turned away from the stage and spied Veronica immediately. And felt bad that she was sitting by herself. Wasn’t that some shit.

For real, though, you happy about the baby? I asked him.

Yeah, man, I am. Nervous as hell, but happy. His voice wobbled, imperceptible to anyone not listening for it, and I looked over. Chucky wasn’t even watching the stage.

You sure nothing else is going on? That sounded more loaded than I’d intended, but I never pretended to be an eloquent drinker.

He was silent for another second before he shook himself and smirked. Yeah, he was hiding something. Sure I’m sure. Let’s get back. He took off in that direction, me following behind.

You guys seem to be enjoying yourselves, Veronica said when we returned, her voice as sweet as my auntie’s sweet potato pie. And just like that pie, nothing with that much sugar could be good for you.

I opened my mouth, ready to say something smart, and remembered she was expecting. And shut up. I heard Moms’s voice in my ear, berating me for acting a fool, and I grabbed a handful of peanuts. They were about as salty as Veronica’s attitude, but they kept me quiet.

It fucked me up, how Chucky bitched about Veronica damn near every time we kicked it, then acted like some Beyhive stan when she was around. The way he tried to put on like things were perfect but let his guard slip around me. I knew it was typical—Will did the same thing about his wife Teresa at work, but it left me cold.

It wasn’t just them. In thirty-six years, I couldn’t think of anyone who didn’t talk shit about their partners, spouses, significant others, whatever, but then kiss every ounce of their asses in public. Hell, my sister had bitched about her husband the whole way down the damn aisle. And he wondered why I stayed side-eyeing him. Moms had tried to tell me for years that people needed an ear to vent so things would be solid at home, and yeah, I got that. But if I couldn’t deal with those issues with the person, what was I doing with them?

I shook my head at the direction my thoughts were going. It was time to go. I tried to come up with a legit excuse to leave, but Chucky set his drink down and stood. Gotta hit the john.

Jackass.

I watched him walk away, and Veronica and I shifted farther apart. I couldn’t leave until he returned, so I sighed and leaned back, trying to let the crowd, thick enough that I could barely see the platform, blur my thoughts. I was close to saying fuck it and getting another drink when a lovely young woman approached our table. Dance?

Absolutely, I said before Veronica could argue. Which may have been a dick move, but my ability to give two shits had evaporated with my mood.

The girl beamed and cleared our table before climbing on.

I looked at Veronica, expecting to see a look of dismay, disgust, whatever on her face. Instead, she tilted her head and gave me the classic Black woman Oh, really? look, rolled her eyes, and beamed at the dancer. The woman’s friend joined her, and when we didn’t object, got down to the business of grinding each other. Veronica danced on the couch and threw ones at the girls and looked nothing like the uptight bougie chick I’d known for three years.

Chucky came out of the bathroom and took in the scene, first bobbing his head, then scowling when some dude stepped to Veronica. He stormed through the crowd like a fullback ready to lay someone out for the score, and that was my cue to bounce. I had my jacket on before he reached us and tossed some money on the table for the ladies. The man scurried like the rats DC kept traps out for, and I smirked.

Chucky sat and pulled Veronica close, whispering something in her ear that made her shake her head then laugh. Whatever all that was, I hoped I didn’t have nine more months of it. I dapped him up, nodded at her, and walked to the entrance. A group was coming in, so I moved to the side.

A quick glance over my shoulder and I saw Chucky kissing Veronica like she was fucking precious. Something in my chest tightened before I could shake it free and get gone.

---

My skin was still tingly, almost clammy, when I climbed in the car, and the blast of air, hot before it went ice cold, turned those tingles to goose bumps. I turned the air down and peeled out of the lot. The drive home was short, a good thing because, especially out here, pedestrians and their general disregard for streetlights and stop signs made driving a lesson in defensiveness. And at this time of the year, people got real reckless. The Fourth was one of the worst days to work because some fools didn’t believe the warnings applied to them when they set off their next round of fireworks. I’d avoided being on call for years, but my luck had run out.

I parked in the garage under my complex and went to the elevator bank. I wanted to go straight to my apartment, but I hadn’t checked mail in a few days so I made a pit stop in the lobby. Overbright fluorescent lights nearly blinded me after hours in mood lighting, and I shook my head to clear the spots. Mr. Johnson was working the front desk, and he smiled when he saw me. He still had a full head of hair, while my ass kept mine at fade level because that receding hairline was starting to kick in. I had no idea how long he’d worked here, but he was everybody’s gentle grandfather/uncle/Jiminy Cricket. He never raised his voice, and he never took anyone’s shit. I wanted to be like him when I grew up.

Hey, son, how’s it going? Been too long.

I smiled at the endearment. He was right. It’s hanging, old man. What you been up to?

His eyes gleamed at the familiar refrain. Same old, same old. Me and the missus doing real well.

Muriel was as much a fixture as her husband. She baked cookies and brought them ’round to the residents at the holidays, which was both the sweetest and the weirdest thing to me. My family was all about the annual get-togethers and requisite Sunday dinners, but we weren’t real good at that whole spreading joy ministry.

His voice dropped, got serious. You’re thinking real hard there. I can’t imagine that frown is from the junk mail you holding.

And he never missed a thing. Job stuff, mostly. A lot going on I got to think about. That I wasn’t remotely ready to contemplate even as I felt the proverbial train ready to run me down.

Johnson nodded, then waited. He was good for that. Stay silent and maybe I’ll keep talking. Not tonight, sir. His mouth tipped up, like he knew what I was doing, and a short puff of air escaped. Well, you know what they say. Luck favors the prepared. So get ready.

I chuckled. He and Auntie were forever telling me that. Ready for what?

Anything. Gotta be ready for anything.

That bordered on ominous, and it seeped into my bones in a way that made me shiver despite the seventy-plus degree weather.

I walked to the banks and pressed the button, ignoring Mr. Johnson’s knowing stare on me. I needed to think on that. Night, sir. Give my best to Miss Muriel. My words sounded forced and we both knew it, but Johnson didn’t comment. That’s just who he was.

Will do. You get yourself some rest. You need it.

The doors opened before I could answer, and I waved before stepping on and pressing the button for ten. I just barely caught the muffled hold that from down the hall.

No lie, I was tempted to let it close and let whoever it was catch the next one, but I pressed the door open button and three people staggered on. And I fucking choked on air because one of them, a dark-haired man with brown eyes smudged with liner, was about the prettiest thing I’d ever seen.

He was also apparently the only sober one, and he gave me a tiny smile. Thanks. Appreciate it.

I nodded and posted up in the corner. The girl could barely stand up straight, probably part liquor and part the obscene heels she was wearing, and the other guy, a blond, was red-cheeked and giggling to himself. But the brunet could get it, even though the pseudo-spiky hair that had probably been perfect a few hours ago had wilted in this fuck-ass humidity. White boy problems. His shirt was sticking to him, and...did that bitch say PrEP-py on it? Like a neon sign he was trying to hit. I homed in again on the blue liner and sparkly lip-gloss he was gnawing off. I wanted to stop him, soothe that bruised lower lip with my tongue, and...the thought made my body stir in ways it hadn’t for months.

Fucking hell. I closed my eyes and willed my imagination and my dick to calm all the way down.

The floor dinged to a stop and I looked forward to find him staring at me, his eyes wide and searching and gorgeous. Eighth floor. I held my arm out while he and the blond, but mostly he, helped the woman off, but her foot caught in a thread on the carpet and she stumbled, taking the blond down with her. They laughed, the sound almost hyena-like with the wheezing and gasping, while the brunet stood there, his shoulders and head sagging. Fuck it, the way this night was going, they wouldn’t get any farther if I left them. I stepped out and let the elevator close behind me.

You need some help? I asked.

Dark-hair looked at me, his eyes wide, and shook his head. Oh, no need. I’ve got them.

See, now nine times out of ten I would’ve found that endearing, that he was cautious of me as a stranger and wanted to make sure his drunk friends were okay. And my Black ass knew better than to involve myself with drunk folks. I was going to pay for this later.

I’m a paramedic. Let me help. I bent over and scooped the girl into my arms, settling her head against my shoulder. She smelled like cheap liquor and expensive perfume, and didn’t that sum up DC in a nutshell? Where am I going?

He gnawed on that lip again.

Stop that, I said, and he jumped. Skittish little thing. I wanted him. Where am I going?

He paused, then knelt and looped his friend’s arm over his shoulder before helping him stand. Follow me.

We stopped at 830, and Dark-hair propped his friend against the wall. Give me a sec. He fumbled in the guy’s front pocket and pulled out a set of keys. So he didn’t live here then. Pity. He got the door open and pointed. She’s down the hall to the right.

I nodded and walked in that direction. They had one of those apartments with a long, narrow hallway that opened to the living room and kitchen on one side and the master bedroom on the other, with the second bedroom isolated in its own corner by the front door. It was a weird setup, like someone had fucked the building plans and had leftover space to fill.

Incandescent light from the streetlamps filtering in brightened the space enough for me to find her door, and I pushed it open with my hip. Damn. Her room was messy as hell, clothes all over the floor, the lingering scent of perfume in the air, almost like something had spilled, the bed unmade. My baby sister would love her.

I laid her on top of the covers, taking her glasses off just before she rolled to her stomach and punctuated the silence with a loud snore. A laugh broke free and I clamped a hand over my mouth, glad the sound didn’t wake her, then took just enough time to get those stilettos off and set them on top of a shoebox before closing the door behind me.

If I was smart, I would’ve taken my ass straight on upstairs, but Dark-hair was pretty and I wanted to see him again, especially if he didn’t live here. I hesitated, reconsidered, then walked to the second bedroom. There he was, taking off the blond’s pants. The blond mumbled something, too low for me to hear, and I figured I was interrupting. But Dark-hair frowned, shook his head, and kept working until he got the pants off, no easy feat since they were plastered to the guy’s small frame.

I leaned against the door and watched his ass move in those too-tight shorts. He wasn’t shaved like a lot of guys I messed with, and I liked it. I only needed one super-groomed guy in a relationship, and I had that title on lock.

Did you need something?

Fuck. I hadn’t realized he was watching me. I couldn’t even play it off, because I’d definitely been thinking of some specific things to do with him. To him. I cleared my throat and pointed behind me. I left your friend in there with her clothes on, but get some water and aspirin or whatever in her system.

His shoulders relaxed. Thanks. Thanks for helping. Sorry I was... His arms flailed and the words trailed off. He ran a hand through his short hair and it spiked out in all directions. It’s been a long day and I’m tired.

Same. On impulse, I held out my hand. Jeremiah.

He paused, then crossed the room and shook it, a small smile brightening his face. First one I’d seen, and damn but I wanted more. Nice to meet you, Jeremiah. His voice was soft, a low whir that rolled through me.

When he didn’t say anything else, I pressed. You gonna tell me your name, pretty?

He flushed, his neck and face turning the same shade of pink as the mums on my balcony, and I wanted to strip him and see how far down it went. I stepped into him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

The sharp inhale made me groan, but he stepped back a fraction. Umm, I don’t... I’m not sure that’s a good idea.

I didn’t miss the way his eyes had traveled up and down my body as he’d walked over. I also didn’t miss the fine tremble in the hand I was still holding. Damn. I let him go, but sensation skirted up and down my palm from where we’d touched. He sucked in another breath and darted his eyes up to mine before looking away again, his Adam’s apple bobbing. That tremor had spread and for the life of me I couldn’t tell if my presence made it better or worse. So I was leaving.

I nodded at him and kept my strides soft, unbothered, as I walked to the door. I squashed the urge to look back, even though I felt his burning stare, but still felt some type of way when I heard the soft sigh before the locks clicked behind me.

Chapter Two

Collin

The plantation shutters blanketing the glass wall leading to the balcony were closed, but a stream of light still hit me square in the eye. I tried to pull the blanket over me, missed, and rolled off the couch and into the coffee table I’d been too tired to move last night. My yelp was not muffled.

A curse, then the thwap-thwap of slippers on the carpet, then Lizzie standing in the doorframe, holding her stomach like it was all she could do to keep the contents in.

What happened? she asked, then winced. Her inside voice wasn’t working yet either.

Woke up, forgot where I was, fell. The usual. Sad but true.

She nodded, then clamped her hand over her mouth and ran toward her en suite bathroom. I wished I could block the sound, but it carried and made my stomach curdle. I shuddered, gagged, and prayed my stomach didn’t revolt in sympathy. When I thought it was safe, I straightened the cushions and walked the few steps to the open kitchen. These mornings begged for a carafe, but they only had a single-serve unit.

Lizzie padded back out, smelling like she’d doused herself in mouthwash instead of just gargling it, and perched on one of the two stools. I didn’t think you were staying over.