Maybe His

By Shawn Lane

Travis Stone has been chatting with fellow Masonville police detective, Dustin Brooks, in a chatroom for months when Dustin suggests they finally meet in person in December.

Travis doesn’t trust easily and is still mourning the suicide of his best friend and partner Henry. He spends much of his personal time with Henry’s widow and children, but when Dustin shows an interest in him, Travis starts to take a chance.

But Dustin’s on his way out of Masonville. The ambitious young detective has his eye on law enforcement’s prestigious FBI. So his time to have a relationship with Travis appears to be very limited.

They begin a seemingly short-lived holiday romance anyway, but despite his bigger plans, Dustin doesn’t see Travis as a limited time lover. He’s soon thinking much longer term. If he can convince Travis they can survive an absence, just maybe, Travis can be his.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Dec 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685503437

Shawn Lane

Shawn Lane is a multi-published author of gay romance. She lives and works in Southern California. She has been published by Loose Id, Amber Quill Press, Evernight Publishing, MLR Press, JMS Books, and Ellora’s Cave. For more information, visit smlgr8.blogspot.com.

Book preview

Chapter 1

He looked like he was twelve.

That was Travis Stone’s first thought when Dustin Brooks came to stand by the driver’s side of the vehicle to peer in at him. At least Travis thought he was peering. It was hard to tell behind the FBI-style aviator sunglasses Dustin wore.

"You made detective?" Travis asked, admittedly rudely.

I’m twenty-eight. Dustin straightened up from having bent down to look into the department-issued SUV. Travis realized then he was actually tall. A few inches taller than six feet and taller than Travis by a lot and very nicely filled out in the muscles. Not that Travis noticed or anything. Okay, he did. But he still looked very young.

Brooks glanced around the parking lot and his gaze zeroed in on St. Nick’s Bar, the actual only establishment in this lot.

Funny to pick this place, he commented.

‘Tis the season.

Hmm. Are you going to get out of that thing and come in for the drink?

Of course that’s why they were there, to meet at St. Nick’s that Saturday after Thanksgiving. It had been a rough few months for Travis and he didn’t even know why he’d started chatting with the young detective during the summer over some department-sanctioned online thing. It wasn’t a dating app, per se. But a lot of guys and gals used it that way.

He blew out a breath. Yeah, okay.

And he opened the door of the SUV. It was checked out to him semi-permanently and he was allowed to use it for personal use. Travis stepped out onto the asphalt, closed and locked his door.

It was then he noticed the old run-down—putting it mildly—used beige Datsun sedan parked just a few spots away.

Travis pointed. You came in that? You’re braver than I thought, he cracked.

Ha ha, Princess Leia. It works. I sometimes fix up old cars.

Brooks had come up with the idea that they should meet. In person.

Travis had managed to put it off until now. He wasn’t sure what made him agree to it now, really.

Funny, he worked in Homicide. His mom once told him it was a terrible job for someone as sensitive as him. He’d worked over the years to make sure every bit of that sensitivity was beaten out of him.

Brooks worked in Internal Affairs. Travis has asked if talking to him was kosher and he’d promised Travis it was. Still it seemed weird, just the same.

Dustin had told him that Masonville, California, a municipality between Los Angeles and San Diego, was a mere stepping stone. He had his eye on that FBI job.

Been here before? he asked Travis as they approached the big wooden door of the bar.

Mm-hmm. It’s been here almost as long as Masonville.

It was more suburban than urban. Like everywhere these days, they had their share of crimes, but Travis liked Masonville as much as any city, and better than some.

He hadn’t grown up there. But he’d followed a boyfriend there years ago and though the boyfriend split from both Travis and the city, Travis had stayed.

A sign by the fake snow-frosted window next to the door read Established 1945. So his guess had been a good one since Masonville had received city status in the late nineteen-thirties.

The original owner was Nicholas Pewter, Travis explained as he pushed open the door. Guess he looked like old saint nick, so the name of the place was born. It’s passed through a number of owners over the years, but that name has stuck.

At that moment, as they stood in the hallway just inside the door with Christmas lights hanging down far enough to almost touch their heads, the current owner, who looked a bit like Santa himself, glanced at them from behind the bar.

Jinkies, it’s the cops.

Funny, Wilbur. Travis briefly touched Brooks’ arm to lead him toward