Roadhouse Reds

By Layla Dorine

Born moments before his parents crashed landed on Earth, Jason was raised in foster care. As soon as he was old enough, he packed his backpack and hit the road. Just him and his bike.

Now a jaded young man, living above a roadhouse diner and bar with several other misfits, he struggles to understand friendships, relationships, and the bonds of family.

Unbeknownst to Jason, other refugees from the planet Altiss also made it safely to Earth. After discovering Jason living as a human, they seek to safeguard him and his fledgling abilities.

As Jason's powers begin to manifest, his mate arrives on earth looking to claim him. Ano ki stalks Jason, adding to the intensity of his new magic as seeks to gain Jason's trust.

Fearing they will be dragged back to the planet they fled, the refugees prepare to do battle. In Jason, they believe they may have what is needed to tip the scales in their favor.

Left with no choice but to accept his heritage and learn to fight, Jason struggles with some harsh lessons about love and trust amidst a backdrop of battle and betrayal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Desolate Press
• Release date: Sep 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223189879

Layla Dorine

LAYLA DORINE lives among the sprawling prairies of Midwestern America, in a house with more cats than people. She loves hiking, fishing, swimming, martial arts, camping out, photography, traveling, and visiting museums and haunted places.   Layla got hooked on writing as a child and she hasn’t stopped writing since. Hard times, troubled times, the lives of her characters are never easy, but then what life is? The story is in the struggle, the journey, the triumphs and the falls. She writes about artists, musicians, loners, drifters, dreamers, hippies, bikers, truckers, hunters and all the other folks that she’s met and fallen in love with over the years. Sometimes she writes urban romance and sometimes its aliens crash landing near a roadside bar. When she isn’t writing, or wandering somewhere outdoors, she can often be found curled up with a good book and a kitty on her lap.

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance made to actual events or existing locations, names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, is entirely coincidental.

This book, both in its entirety and in portions is the sole property of

Layla Dorine

Copyright © 2017 by Layla Dorine

Copyright © 2017 by Layla Dorine

~ 2023 PRINT EDITION ~

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without permission from Desolate Press or Layla Dorine. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights and livelihood is appreciated.

NO AI/NO BOT. I do not consent to any Artificial Intelligence (AI), generative AI, large language model, machine learning, chatbot, or other automated analysis, generative process, or replication program to reproduce, mimic, remix, summarize, or otherwise replicate any part of this creative work, via any means: print, graphic, sculpture, multimedia, audio, or other medium.I support the right of humans to control their artistic works.

Cover Art: Rue Volley

Edited by Crossfactor Ink

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning, photographing, or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Desolate Press at the physical or web addresses above or contact Layla Dorine: [e-mail].

Dedicated to all those who have dreamed of the touching the stars. May the beauty of the universe always provide warmth and comfort to you.

Chapter One

A triangle with a ufo in the sky Description automatically generated

Sunbeams made the rich mahogany tones of the roadhouse seem a bit brighter, the light filling in the spaces between the people jammed into the crowded room. Laughter and conversation nearly drowned out the sounds of sizzling meat and the undertones of southern rock on the jukebox. Kids played on video game machines in the corners, shouting and groaning as they won and lost, hands slapping buttons and maintaining death grips on the joysticks, eyes fixed to the blinking blips upon the screen. Orders ready for their intended tables were announced with the loud ding of an old metal bell and the bullish bellow of the cook, hollering out, Order up! It was enough to make folks wonder why he kept the damn bell around in the first place.

Bodies shifted positions on cracked leather seats, impatiently waiting for meals and refills, checks and change. Fingertips drummed on tabletops added to the rhythm of the room; a whirlwind of mismatched sound; lives briefly intermingled, then drifting apart.

The older of the two waitresses, a large-bellied woman whose smudged name tag read Pat, loomed impatiently beside a table, tapping the chewed end of her black ink pen in a rhythmic beat against her sweat-dotted notepad. Her expression rivaled a thundercloud, brows knitted together in a furious scowl aimed at a skinny blonde who fidgeted nervously. She stood so close to the table behind her that the patrons couldn’t help but get a whiff of her grease-and-body-odor stench every time she moved.

Look, are you gonna order or what?

We’d, umm, like two steak specials with salads, lite ranch dressing, wheat rolls, and corn on the cobb, the blonde woman said.

What, he can’t order for himself? Pat asked with a raised eyebrow and a sneer.

The mousy woman worried her lower lip with her teeth for a moment, her fingers rubbing the well-worn tabletop as she fumbled with her words. Well, he’s watching his cholesterol, you see, and—

Pat cut her off with a growl and a wave of her pen. And we ain’t got no wheat rolls, only white. No lite ranch either. Now, how would you like those steaks?

W-well done. The woman’s eyes spoke volumes of the shock she was feeling, hands twisting her napkin into a wadded mess in her lap as she tried to meet the waitress’ eyes and failed.

Sir, how would you like your steak? Pat asked, giving the man some semblance of a smile. She had a nice smile: white, even teeth. They were the only thing neat about her appearance.

The man seemed to sit up a bit taller, his slumped shoulders straightening and his unfocused eyes clearing as he gave her a small smile in return. Medium-rare.

A quick peek at his wife’s frowning face wiped the smile from the man’s lips and he went back to staring out the window while his wife continued to mutilate her napkin.

Pat snorted, her eyes narrowing as she looked between the two, her face the picture of disgust when she focused on the wife. I’ll be back with your drinks.

With heavy footsteps, Pat marched away, ample hips swinging to knock into a table and spill soda from a glass. ORDER IN! she snarled, and smacked both hands down on the counter. A tortured cow, some rabbit food, and a real meal!

Dan, the chef and owner, shook his head as he glanced up from the grill to catch a glimpse of Pat’s furious face. He stared at her a moment before returning his attention to the grill, grumbling as he flipped a row of burgers and then headed to the fridge for the steaks.

Jason laughed and brushed a strand of blond hair back from his face with a soapy hand. ‘A tortured cow’; that never gets old.

Dan scowled at him and Jason shrugged, smirking.

Get your ass in gear and clear some of those tables before I plant my old foot up your young ass, Pat snarled before she stomped away.

Jason chuckled all the way out the door, bus tub and cleaning rag in hand.

In the packed dining room, the second waitress, Genna, balanced a tray as she wove between tables, her brown hair pulled back in a neat bun, sweaty bangs clinging to her forehead. She stumbled as she tripped over the foot of a long-legged trucker and a plate of pepper-jack chicken and refried beans skittered from the tray into the lap of a bald-headed man in carpenter jeans and a grayish brown T-shirt.

Oh! I’m sorry, Genna said, trying, and failing, to stop the rest of the tray from following.

A glass of Cola sloshed over the edge and shattered on the floor, sending a spray around the ankles of everyone nearby. A plate soon joined the mess, dripping mashed potatoes, gravy, and pork chops onto the floor. Genna’s shoe hit the gravy and both feet shot out from under her, leaving her on her butt, with food splattering her once-neat apron and an ice cube sliding down her hair.

Clyde rounded the bar to help her, leaving protesting customers still demanding their beers. Jason rushed over as well, the two men helping her to her feet.

You okay, Genna? Jason asked, holding her elbow to steady her.

Yanking her arms away from them, she fixed a glare on the man whose foot she’d tripped over. Yeah, I’m fine. As if it isn’t crowded enough in here, you can’t manage to keep your feet under the table!

I’m sorry, ma’am, the trucker said, tipping his hat and sheepishly moving his legs out of the aisle. Hey, man, sorry about the mess. Let me pay for your dinner and another beer, he said to the red-faced bald man furiously wiping the mess from his pants.

The wiping stopped as he lifted his head, scowl replaced with a small smile and a quick nod. Yeah, sure.

Genna sighed and went to replace the order, leaving Clyde to return to the bar and Jason to clean up the mess. Pat tsked at them all as she crossed the room with a drink in each hand and slammed them a little harder than necessary upon the married couple’s table.

It is diet, right? the wife asked.

It’s soda, Pat said, before turning and marching away.

God, let’s never come through here again, the woman muttered as soon as Pat was out of earshot.

I rather like the place, the man replied, his eyes on a rowdy group playing pool across the room.

Dan rushed to the bar to help with the crowd, leaving Jason to man the grill. With several tables needing to be bussed at once, he was busier than normal and neglected the meat, which smoked and blackened while Pat brought drinks out two at a time and Genna limped about, her ankle sore from her tumble.

God dammit! Jason swore when he noticed the kitchen filling with smoke. Desperately, he scrambled around, trying to open a grease-stuck window while rescuing what food he could. He burned his hand on the spatula Dan had left on the grill, cursing even more at the stupidity of not replacing the wooden handle when it had first fallen apart. He salvaged some of the food and plated it, wrapped his burned hand in a cold towel, and slammed his unburned hand down on the bell.

PAT! COME GET YOUR ORDERS! he bellowed, as Dan rushed across the room to see what all the commotion was about.

Grumbling and lumbering, Pat got the food and marched with added ferocity to her tables, all but throwing the plates down in front of the customers. Her face was such a glowering mass of rage, even the mousy woman didn’t say a word when served a baked potato instead of a salad.

The chaos finally dwindled with the evening rush, before dying off an hour before closing, leaving the exhausted employees to begin the cleanup.

In the dining room, Pat and Genna swept, singing as they worked, Pat’s soft soprano a shocking contrast to her appearance, the melody beautiful and sweet. In the kitchen, Dan and Clyde were scrubbing the pots while Jason dried, his burned hand in a plastic glove to keep it dry.

God, I’m glad we’re closed tomorrow, Jason muttered as he climbed the ladder to put one of the pots on the top shelf.

Clyde glanced at him and smiled, his blue eyes friendly and warm, but when he spoke, his voice was deep and guttural, the result of a childhood accident that injured his vocal cords. What are you planning to do with your day off?

Same thing I do every day off: I’m gonna work on that old Triumph, see if I can’t get her running again.

Dan snorted and dragged the Brillo harder against the steel. It’s been six months, kid. Give it up. You ain’t getting that old hunk of metal rolling again. You’d be better off taking a bus to wherever it is that you were going.

I’m not goin’ anywhere without my bike.

Well, your bike doesn’t seem like it’s going to get you any farther than here, so I hope you’ve made yourself comfortable. Dan chuckled.

Yeah, thanks.

I can help you with it, if you want, Clyde offered.

Jason shook his head and declined. The older guy made him nervous. No one offered something and expected nothing in return.

Suit yourself, Clyde told him, but the offer is always there.

Yeah, okay.

Jason turned his attention away and tuned the older men out as their conversation shifted to the cars they’d known and the small town around the roadhouse in which they’d both grown up. When they were finally done in the kitchen, they asked him to join them in the game of cards they played each night—just a few hands to unwind—but Jason said no and headed outside to sit in the moonlight and smoke a joint while he stared at the stars.

Give it up, Dan told Clyde when the door closed behind Jason with a firm click.

I just offered to help with the bike. I’m pretty sure I can get it running for him if he’ll give me half the chance.

Dan gave Clyde a knowing look, one eyebrow arched as he watched his longtime friend. Yeah, and how many times have you offered now and how many times has he said no? You think he ain’t figured out what else you want to help him with? I’ve noticed the way you look at him. He’s probably decided you’re some lecherous old man.

You make me sound like Old Man Potter.

Yeah, and you’re forever staring at him the way Old Man Potter used to watch us play baseball in the park.

Clyde laughed and took a long drink off his beer before flipping Dan off. We ain’t that old, you bastard.

Old enough to be considered old by a young punk like him. If he’s a day over twenty-two, I’ll eat my hat.

Better start eating, Dan, Trajin quipped as he walked past. His driver’s license says twenty-four, twenty-five in a few weeks, actually. But yeah, I wouldn’t have guessed either if I hadn’t sneaked a peek. He looks younger than that to me.

And what were you doing looking in his wallet? Clyde asked the roadhouse’s final border, his voice deepening even more, a hint of protectiveness creeping in.

Oh, relax, will ya? He told me to grab a ten out of his wallet and go pick up some beers, and I did, but not before peeking at the license first.

Clyde’s eyes narrowed, a curious spark coming alive in them. Yeah, so where’s he from?

License said Michigan, had a Detroit address on it, but who knows with him. Maybe he was just passing through.

Dan snorted, but Clyde looked thoughtful as Trajin headed out the door.

I know that look. What the hell are you up to, Clyde?

I’m taking a load through Detroit next week is all. Maybe I’ll do some digging, see if I uncover anything.

You’re starting to sound dangerously like a stalker, my friend, Dan said. Will you be back in time to tend bar for the weekend?

Yup, I’ll make it before the Friday night rush. As for Jason, I’m just curious, is all. He’s been here six months. How much do we really know about him? I want to know more is all. Just wanna make sure you’re not harboring a fugitive or something.

Uh-huh. More like you’re looking for something that might help your chances.

Hey, if I find that, too, more power to me, right?

What the hell is it with you and that kid?

I don’t know, but I sure as hell want to find out.

Dan grumbled and finished his first beer before cracking the top on his second. Deal the goddamned cards.

Clyde got to dealing, while outside, Trajin found Jason sitting in his favorite spot, smoke curling around his head as he stared into the night.

Why do you smoke that shit? Trajin said.

Why do you always ask?

Trajin laughed as he shoved Jason over so he could sit on the rock beside him, ignoring his grumbles rather than responding with his usual quips.

Okay, so spill, what’s got you so down tonight? Trajin asked.

Jason glanced at him and took another drag, trying to pick out constellations as he let the smoke fill his lungs. Nothin’.

Uh-huh, sure. Tell me another lie.

What the hell do you want, Trajin? I’m not in the mood for another sanctimonious lecture about the evils of smokin’ up.

I didn’t come out here to lecture you, Jay. I just wanted to talk.

Okay, so talk.

Damn, do you always have to be so difficult?

Do you always have to ask so many questions?

Touché.

Jason took another long toke off the joint and resumed admiring the stars. Trajin sat in silence beside him, waiting, and glancing up every now and again himself.

I used to think that if I stared at the stars long enough I could find the answers to all my questions written there, Jason said softly. But I never found any answers, just stars and airplane lights.

Then why keep looking?

I’m just stubborn, I guess.

Yeah, you are. Especially if you turned down Clyde’s offer to help you with your bike. He’s a damn good mechanic.

So am I. I’ll get her running.

Uh-huh, Trajin muttered. You don’t like him too much, do you? I see the way you avoid being around him and cut conversations as short as you can whenever he talks to you.

I hardly know the guy. I’m just not much for conversation, only some people don’t get the hint.

Oh, do I detect a not-so-subtle barb?

Detect whatever you like, Trajin. Just do it somewhere else, will you, please?

Must be some pretty serious brooding you’ve got planned if you’re actually saying please.

Jason sighed heavily, even as Trajin nudged him again. Why do we always have to play this game? he grumbled, looking away from the stars at last to focus on the other man. Trajin’s honey-brown eyes were watching him, a smirk on his lips as he plucked the joint from Jason’s fingers and flicked it aside.

Maybe because you’re too stubborn to do anything else, Trajin commented. Then he leaned in and brushed a kiss across Jason’s lips.

Jason kissed back, briefly, before pushing him away. Not tonight, Traj. Just go away. Okay?

Damn. Okay, now I know for sure something’s up. What’s wrong, Jay?

I just.... Something isn’t right tonight. I don’t know. I feel nervous, edgy, and restless, so leave me alone, okay? Jason said, his eyes locked once more on the sparkling lights in the sky.

He ignored Trajin’s hand on his shoulder, the soft brush of fingers through his long hair, and his muttered goodnight before his footsteps headed back toward the now-silent roadhouse.

Jason sighed and slid down the rock so he could rest his head against the smooth, hard stone as he lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply, sucking in a lungful of smoke.

It wasn’t just the uncomfortable way Clyde made him feel that led to his refusal of Clyde’s offer of help. It was the secret fear that Clyde really was a much better mechanic than him; good enough to actually fix his bike. That would leave Jason without an excuse to stick around the roadhouse and the tiny hillside town he’d come to both love and hate.

With another sigh, he closed his eyes and inhaled again, wishing he knew what it was about this place that left him so torn. Restless, yes—tonight he was very restless—but still not enough to want help on his bike. He just didn’t want to go, not yet. That was a first for him, and it scared him, too, because whatever was drawing him to stay would be something he couldn’t handle. Torn, yeah he was, so very, very torn. So tomorrow he’d get up early and sit with a six-pack and the pieces of his Triumph, and he’d fiddle with the bike, but he wouldn’t fiddle very hard. And next week he’d do the same, until he had his answers or was finally compelled to leave. Inhale, exhale, he melted against the rock in peaceful oblivion.

***

Inside the house, Trajin lay on his bed, eyes closed, breathing evening out, wondering if tomorrow would finally be the day Jason fixed that old pile of metal and left town for good. Wind from the open window blew the curtains against the wall, rattling the rosary he’d hung there. Maybe he could convince Jason to let him tag along when he left. It didn’t matter where the hell they went, so long as it was far away from this town and the green and gray house on Main Street where his mother still glared down from the bay window of the room she never allowed him to enter. Just that gaze was like a shadow cast on everything he even thought of doing, and as he slipped into dreams, he wondered what it would be like to finally be free from her domineering and micromanaging ways.

***

A streak of brilliant red light raced overhead. Jason watched it plummet and crash into a nearby field in a shower of earth and red sparks. Before Trajin could blink, Jason was sprinting toward it, and Trajin was racing to catch up, all the while thinking this was the stupidest thing he’d done in all his twenty-one years.

He watched Jason vault the wooden fence at the edge of the property and sprint into the cloud of dust. Somewhere behind him, he was sure he heard Dan’s booming voice calling both of them fools, but Trajin didn’t slow, though every instinct he had screamed at him to stop. He could see a shadow that he hoped was Jason and followed it into the heart of the cloud.

A deep furrow was etched into the ground, smoking and smoldering, adding soot to the cloud of dirt. Trajin looked around wildly, searching for the shadow that he’d been following, but there were shadows everywhere now.

Jay! Jason! Where the hell are you?

Standing beside a glowing red crater, Jason coughed and backed away from the heat radiating from what looked to be a large rock. A meteor maybe; Jason couldn’t tell. The smoke and dust made it hard to breathe, the heat made it almost suffocating, but he couldn’t back away. Shaking, he could only stand there, his restless energy turned into nervous anticipation as a voice echoed all around him, telling him everything was going to be all right.

Jason stopped believing it when the red stone cracked. A large, looming figure rose from the halves, flaming wings extended, eyes swirling red and gold as they focused on Jason. Its mouth opened to reveal a wicked set of fangs as its clawed talons extended with a loud, metallic sound. Jason started to move, but the weight of its gaze froze him in place. Then it pointed one of its talons at him and spoke a single word: Mine.

Chapter Two

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Jason awoke with a groan, shivering and wondering why the hell it was so cold in his room, until he realized that he wasn’t in his room. He blinked, and his hand slid through the dew-covered grass beside his head; he could feel the dampness of his clothes and smell the dank, wet earth. Something was moving in his hair and before he could react to it, the grasshopper landed on his cheek and then hopped onto a blade of grass by his hand. Jason closed his eyes again, unwilling to find the energy to move. It wasn’t the first time he’d slept on the ground anyway.

The next time he moved, it was to press his face against the warm hand on his cheek, yawn, and stretch toward the warmth that seemed to envelope him. Fingers caressed his cheek and a blanket of softness cocooned him. So warm. Jason reached up and wrapped his arms around the warm body hovering over him, pulling it closer, snuggling his head against the other man’s chest, and listening to the calm, rhythmic beat of his heart.

Safe. Mine.

The words rolled through Jason’s skull, and he relaxed bonelessly against the body beside him as his mind carried him back to sleep. A finger slid along the skin beneath his eye and brushed gently over his ear, caressing his hair, pushing it back. Lips pressed against his ear, warm breath making him shiver, and he tightened his arms around the man who was holding him.

Jason.

He heard his name, but he didn’t want to answer. It felt so good to just lie there and be held so tightly. He wanted to stay as long as he could, lose himself in the moment.

Jason.

He felt himself being rocked, the man’s body wiggling against his as if trying to get away, but he was so warm Jason didn’t want to let him go.

Jason!

Startled, Jason opened his eyes and saw Clyde’s face inches from his own. Jason’s eyes widened and he panicked, sitting up too fast and scraping his cheek on the rock beside him. Blood welled up in the cut and dripped down as Jason hissed at the pain.

What the fuck! Jason yelped, swiping at his cheek even as he scrambled backwards. His limbs were stiff from sleeping on the cold, hard ground, making for awkward motion.

Clyde chuckled and shook his head. I was going to ask you that, once I woke you. Cold as it was last night, what were you doing sleeping out here?

Jason tried to dust the grass and dirt from his hoodie. I can sleep where I want.

Never said you couldn’t. I was just trying to make sure you were okay, Clyde replied, his voice a bit deeper and gruffer than normal.

Jason’s eyes narrowed as he tried to push himself to his feet and failed, landing heavily in the grass. Clyde reached out to help him, and Jason stubbornly scooted away.

All right, suit yourself, Clyde said with a shrug, taking a few steps back.

Why were you hugging me? Jason demanded, crossing his arms.

Actually, you were the one who reached out, grabbed me, and hauled me in when I bent down to shake you awake. The way you were shivering, I’m guessing you were just trying to get warm, so I hugged you back.

Jason’s frown deepened as he eyed Clyde suspiciously. What do you care if I was shivering or not?

Clyde’s eyes widened as he took a step back. Just didn’t want you to get sick, is all. Haven’t you noticed that, around here, people look out for one another?

Jason’s shoulders slumped, grudgingly having to concede that point. Yeah, I guess. Just figured that was ’cause you’ve all known each other forever.

It is, but that doesn’t mean we don’t extend our concern to newcomers too.

’Kay, maybe I owe you an apology, Jason said as he tried once more to stand. I just wasn’t expecting to wake up face to face with you.

Clyde started to laugh, then quickly stopped himself.

Jason stumbled to his feet and immediately doubled over, holding his side and letting out a hiss of pain. Clyde was next to him in an instant, steadying him. When he touched Jason’s arm and back, Jason howled.

Let go! Jason cried out, twisting to get away.

Clyde released him immediately. What’s wrong?

I don’t know, but it hurts like hell, Jason whimpered. He leaned on the large rock he’d been sitting on the night before, but cried out again as soon as the rock made contact with his hip. Jerking away, he stumbled, and Clyde caught his elbow. The two stood like that for a moment as Jason fought to get himself back under control.

***

Clyde listened to Jason’s labored breathing and the hitch in his voice when he tried to claim he was okay, growing ever more concerned at the sound. Let’s get you to your room and see what’s wrong, okay?

Jason let out a shaky breath and nodded. Yeah, okay.

To Clyde’s surprise, Jason allowed him to aid him into the roadhouse and up the stairs leading to the bedrooms. By the time they arrived, Jason was shaking, and he rested his head against Clyde’s chest as soon as the door was closed.

Hesitantly, unsure of how Jason would react, Clyde ran a hand over the back of his head, hoping it would calm him a little. What he received in return was a soft sigh and the press of Jason’s body a little closer to his. Reluctantly, Clyde murmured, Why don’t you sit down and let’s see what’s wrong?

Jason nodded, then lifted his head, and Clyde could see how flushed his face was and that his eyes watered. The whole thing was making Clyde wonder if Jason had slept outside by choice, or if there wasn’t something more sinister going on. The answer to his question came moments later when Jason sat and unzipped his hoodie, cringing as he tried to peel it down his left arm. Clyde helped him, and as soon as they had it free, they could see the large red handprint on Jason arm.

Clyde looked at Jason, who was studying the print. Who did this?

Jason’s hazel eyes met Clyde’s, and Clyde could see the confusion in them. I don’t know.

Clyde scowled and studied the print closer. It was too large to be Trajin’s, and he was the only one that Clyde had ever seen spend any real time with Jason outside of work. The fingers were too narrow to belong to Dan’s beefy hands, and Clyde knew he hadn’t been anywhere near Jason since they’d worked together in the kitchen the night before, which ruled out all the males in the roadhouse. Being that the two women were more into each other than spending time with any of the men, it was doubtful this had come from them.

Clyde’s thoughts soon came to a screeching halt as Jason eased up the bottom of his T-shirt and the edge of another red,