Heart's Contrast

By Donna Dexter

Randall Brooks is a photographer making waves in the art world after moving to L.A. from a tiny religious enclave in rural Virginia. He's even met the perfect girl. If only he could convince himself that he can live without the sinfully hot sex he's been having at the gay bathhouse in his neighbourhood.

Cathy Mancusi fell hard for the handsome photographer, but she's not the kind of girl who's willing to wait very long for a man who seems indifferent to her charms. She's tried everything short of answering her door naked! But then a man who looks like sex on legs walks into her bar. He's tall, sexy, rich and brokenhearted. It only makes sense for them to comfort each other until their respective bad boyfriends do right.

Trevor Blakelock has it all. Money. Looks. A magnetic personality. A loving family that accepts him for who he is. And now, a beautiful woman to build a life with. So what is he doing, returning to the bathhouse day after day to have mindblowing and addictive sex with the same mysterious guy?

A car accident brings everything to a head; one night that reveals everyone's secrets. They'll have to overcome their pasts to embrace the future together.

Sizzling erotica mingled with just the right amount of romance to satisfy everyone's bisexual fantasies.

• men loving men
• polyamory
• play parties
• women loving women

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paracosm Publishing
• Release date: Feb 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224170586

Book preview

Hey baby, don’t I know you from somewhere?

Randy set his shoulders back a bit and kept walking. He’d lost his glasses earlier in the day, so the speaker appeared only as an indistinct blur and an obnoxious voice.

It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Randy was very slender and wore his hair in dreadlocks halfway down his back. When he was out and about, the occasional idiot catcalled him, thinking he was a woman. His habit was to ignore them until they said something truly toxic. Then they would experience the hard lesson of a Southern gentleman teaching them some manners.

Randy!

How did the obnoxious voice know who he was?

Running footsteps approached.

Randy, wait up!

He turned, squinting. On closer inspection, he recognized the dark spiky hair, loose jeans and combination of dress shirt, tie and wallet chain that was his friend Scott’s usual uniform. "Scotty! Hey! Sorry! I didn’t recognize you.

Aren’t you legally blind without your glasses?

He nodded.

You don’t live anywhere near here. How’re you getting home?

Randy’s plan had been to drive and try not to hit any large blurs.

I’m taking you home or someplace to get replacement glasses, Scott announced as if Randy didn’t have a say in the matter. We’ll get your vision issue solved and then I’ll drop you at your car.

It was better than Randy’s plan, so he followed Scott to his truck. Ten minutes away from Randy’s place, they pulled into a plaza. It had auto parts, a bodega, and one of those coffee shops where you need to be a trained barista to get a small black. Right now at mid-afternoon the place was bustling with activity.

Scott turned the keys and the engine died. Randy looked at him quizzically until he provided some explanation. I just need to run in and say hi to my friend Cathy real quick. She’s doing some diagrams for a book I’m working on.

Scott wrote about advanced engineering stuff Randy didn’t get, with crazy exploded pictures of spacecraft and satellites. Randy was interested to know what kind of person had the skills to do that, so he went in with him.

The coffee shop was cute in a hipster kind of way. The coffee was piping hot, and Scott’s friend was hotter still. Her dark hair had reddish highlights, and was pulled up in one of those knots that girls made with pencils or sticks. Hers was held up with artists’ paintbrushes. She had a button nose that barely held up her oversized glasses. Based on the way she held herself, she was used to being the smartest one in the room - and if she hung out with Spacecraft Scott, that was saying something.

As Scott and Randy entered, she was giving an in-depth explanation of the impact terroir had on the flavour of coffee beans, and how it was compounded by the processing method. The man to whom she was explaining this looked a little overwhelmed. She caught sight of the newcomers, and wrapped up her lecture, saying ...But no bean tastes as good as fair trade and being environmentally responsible!

The man took his coffee and scurried away as she stuck her tongue out at his back. She crossed her eyes at Randy like they were old friends. What can I get you boys? she asked, already reaching for an extra large cup and the caramel syrup. Randy figured Scott must be a regular customer.

You can pour this philistine a cup of boiled sewer water. He’s indifferent to the wonders of good coffee, Scott said, elbowing Randy.

Hey! I am not a philistine! I simply prefer the subtleties of a good cuppa. He scanned the back wall where they kept shelves of tea. I’ll take the Jasmine, thank you.

Handing the two their drinks without charging for them, she pointed to a large table near the middle of the room. Sit. I’ll go grab my stuff.

They barely had time to get settled before she returned and laid a huge portfolio on the table. She unzipped it to unveil amazingly precise mechanical drawings.

Randy tilted his head, peering under the top drawings at the ones beneath. Wow. I thought all this sort of stuff was done in AutoCad now. You did these by hand?

I thought you couldn’t see anything without your glasses, Scott teased.

I can see enough to know good work! I wish I had my contacts or something so I could get more detail, but I stand by my wow.

Thank you, sir! You’re very kind, she takes a little bow. I’m Cathy, by the way. Scott’s forgotten his manners again.

Scott threw up his hands in a ‘what did I do?’ gesture. When did I have time to slip an introduction in?

Scott has manners? Randy joked.

Randy, he introduced himself, putting out a hand. Cathy shook it warmly, radiating a smile at him.

Then the conversation moved on. Randy was lost almost immediately. They were talking about the best way to illustrate a particular point about speed and shear strength, and the fast jargon-heavy conversation made no sense to him.

You know what, Scott was saying, If we’re going to bring this back to basics, the easiest way to talk about wave generation is by doing it with a medium everyone understands: the ocean. That’s what comes to mind when you say ‘waves’ to a regular person, right?

Randy nodded. To him, that was the only kind of wave that mattered.

You surf? What’s your local? Cathy switched effortlessly from engineering to surfer jargon.

Venice.

She nodded. Manhattan.

Aerials and skater tricks, Randy nodded. Cool.

And you’re more of a 'chilling and pondering the mysteries of the deep’ kind of dude.

I prefer my relaxation to be relaxing, yes.  He threw in a little Namaste hand gesture for the sarcasm. I’ve only been surfing for six months. I’d look silly going out to Malibu and putting the lifeguards to work dragging my ass off the bottom of the break.

Fair, she laughed. I’ll take you out and teach you some tricks.

Deal.

And all of a sudden Randy had a date with a hot artist. He was very glad he had run into Scott.

TRUE TO HER WORD, CATHY did try to teach him some tricks over the next few weeks. He proved to be awful at everything except paddling out. He dragged his foot when he popped, overcompensated his balance, and didn’t know where to look to make sure he went where he wanted. Cathy suggested he might want to think about windsurfing instead, or maybe a nice row boat.

Randy may have been terrible at surfing, but every time the two of them talked, they found something new in common. He took her to an exhibit of Renaissance painting at the Getty Center, and the pair walked the galleries hand in hand, pointing out little details to each other.

‘The hottest places in Hell are reserved for those who, in times of great moral crisis, maintain their neutrality,’ according to Dante, Randy quoted from the Inferno.

Kurt Cobain said it better: ‘If you’re a really mean person you’re going to come back as a fly and eat poop.

Cathy coaxed Randy’s rolling baritone laugh to the surface more than anyone else ever in his life. She got his dry sense of humour, instead of finding it condescending. They talked every day, about everything. Somewhere along the line, she stopped being the hot artist and became Cathy, the friend who knew almost everything about him, and who he was excited to share things with.

He loved the minutiae of her days at the coffee house; the code words she used for specific regulars. Big Dog was a recurring player in the daily drama of the shop, so named because he once answered the phone in line, and proceeded to emit a series of very convincing barks with the device held away from his mouth before saying in his normal voice oh, shoot! The dog’s getting away! I have to go!

She went on excursions with him to scout locations for his artistic photography, and occasionally helped him edit the wedding photos that paid his bills. She sent him scathing texts about cheating brides and grooms while he was stuck at horrible events. The messages always put a big smile on his face as he sneakily checked his phone under tables or behind people’s backs.

Cathy was always there.

THE NEXT TIME SCOTT went to Cathy’s coffee shop, not only did he get a frothy caramel concoction, he also got a grilling.

Spill it, you devious bastard. You showed up nearly a week early for your drawings, which you never do, and you brought a friend who isn’t part of your polycule or whatever you call it. Were you trying to set us up?

I ran into Randy when he was in a jam, and if I happened to think you would get along, how’s that a crime? It’s more a case of my friends should be friends than marrying you off, Scott grinned. But you wouldn’t be this pushy if you weren’t into him. I think you’re the one who should spill it. He took an inquisitive sip of coffee, waiting.

He’s your friend. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice he’s smart, hot, and super talented. And that drawl, the Southern manners? Sold! Too perfect. What’s his dark secret? Does he kill kittens and hookers in his spare time?

Actually, he volunteers at a homeless shelter, Scott laughed. And I’m pretty sure he still teaches photography at the Compton Community Center.

Oh, you! You’re not supposed to be talking him up! He’s got to have a bad side! Cathy tried to look cross, failing happily.

Scott leaned back in his wooden chair, eyes on the tin ceiling tiles. Well, there is one thing, he said.

What’s that?

Randy’s- I don’t know what Randy is. Our circles overlap a lot, but I can’t say I’ve ever heard anyone say they’ve been out with him more than two or three times, max.

You tried to hook me up with a player? Cathy’s knitted brow said as much as her annoyed tone.

No! That’s what I’m getting at. Scott circled a hand in the air, thinking of an explanation. No one who dated him ever said anything negative I ever heard. But I’ve also never heard of him sleeping with anyone either. Not even an implication along the lines of ‘we got coffee in the morning.’ Either he’s super discreet, or he’s weird.

Randy’s not weird! Maybe he’s shy, Cathy defended her new friend. Not everyone’s like you- most of us don’t have seventeen lovers at a time.

Okay, okay! Have it your way. Just remember that I warned you. And I only have three partners! The same three for six years, thank you very much! We’re boring married people. It’s not as if you don’t have your share.

You’re the only ones who could ever think that mess is boring, Cathy teased. Tara got three birthday cakes because y’all didn’t coordinate!

In our defense, they were all different and way more people came to the party than we expected. We ended up needing all the extra cake.

RANDY MUST BE SHY, Cathy decided. A full month’s worth of dates and daily phone calls, texts plus the occasional Tweet and not so much as a peck on the cheek. A cheerful hug, hand holding, a friendly arm slung over her shoulder while they walked; all these told Cathy Randy was physically comfortable with her. He was flirtatious in his respectful way and a few times she’d flagged him surreptitiously checking out her assets.

Why wasn’t he making a move?

She loved spending time with Randy, hearing stories about his crazy redneck friends back home in Virginia, listening to his astute and often surprising observations about art, laughing at his antics in the water. Not jeopardizing their friendship was a no-brainer. That didn’t change the fact that he was hot.

They made plans to go away for the weekend to a surf spot down the coast. The waves were a bit bigger than Randy was used to, but Cathy assured him he’d be great. They packed their bags and strapped their boards to the roof of Randy’s old Honda Civic. By the time they arrived in Huntington Beach, Cathy was sure her ribs were, if not broken, at least severely bruised from laughing so hard.

Stopping at a little mom and pop roadside diner for lunch, they were delighted to find the interior was decorated in a space shuttle theme. Lego satellites hung from the ceiling interspersed with star-shaped hanging lamps and papier mache planets. One of the spheres had a name tag reading Hi! My name is Pluto and I am still a planet! The tables had exploded diagrams of the various versions of the Space Shuttle under glass.

Any of these your work? Randy asked.

I wish. Most of my work so far has been for textbooks like Scott’s or proprietary stuff for corporations. That pays okay, but I can’t even put it in my portfolio because of copyright issues. Business secrets, oooh.

She rolled her eyes. Honestly, a lot of the time it doesn’t even make sense because they’re never going to produce the invention I drew. They want drawings so they can file for patents and make sure no one else can make their own version of the idea. It’s super shady. I feel certain that the Patent Office contains plans for things that could capture all the carbon in the atmosphere without harming anything and build cars that run on, I don’t know, dreams and puppy dog kisses.

But the government doesn’t want us to know about it so the corporate overlords can go on making gazillions of dollars destroying the planet, Randy said. I’m familiar with the conspiracy theories, but I never could get past the problem with it: the overlords have to live here too. Isn’t the whole business world a bit suicidal?

All the rich idiots assume they’ll always be able to buy their way out of the problems. Global warming causes forest fires and pollution? Go somewhere that’s not on fire. Pandemic? Ride it out on your private yacht. They’re gross. There’s this striking difference in outlook. Take the coffee shop for instance. You must have noticed that it caters to the kind of people who think paying $15 for a to-go cup of coffee is acceptable. They come in and talk to me as if the fact they’re dumb enough to waste money means they own me too. I had one guy tell me he was going to sit and drink his latte while I got his dry cleaning from the place three doors down. I said no in no uncertain terms, and he ranted for twenty minutes about how he was going to buy the shop so he could fire me, and then buy my house and evict me. I asked him why if he’s so rich he didn’t have his fucking dry cleaning delivered instead of picking it up. A total tool, you know? Cathy drummed irritated fingers on the table top. A know-nothing-but-the-contents-of-his-personal-bubble oblivious tool.

The waitress arrived to take their order. Randy looked over his menu at Cathy. Don’t take this as me trying to tell you what to do, but I’d like to do an experiment. May I order for you? I want to see if I can guess what you’d choose.

Cathy set her own menu down. Sure. Can I pick for you?

Deal. She’ll have the farmer sandwich with fries and a blueberry milkshake. Oh, can we make that sweet potato fries, please? Randy handed the menu back to the waitress.

And for you, miss?

He’ll take a veggie burger with extra pickles and onion rings. And an apple juice, please and thank you. Cathy glanced at Randy to see how she’d done.

Extra pickles? Have I ever once eaten a pickle in your presence? Randy asked as soon as the waitress disappeared.

Did you read the fine print? They’re sweet pickles, Cathy pointed out.

Oh. That’s... how did you know?

Have I ever had blueberry anything around you? she countered.

A muffin once, weeks ago. Although it was the last muffin they had. Not a good choice? Randy was about to apologize.

No! It’s perfect! You read my mind, Cathy assured him.

Then that’s two of us. Creepy. I hope we’re not sharing a brain. I’ll bring your IQ down.

Oh, believe me you won’t. If we had to share a brain, your manners would probably make you try to pressure wash it after I had my turn, Cathy taunted. I don’t know that you can handle that level of smut.

I’m not a saint. I just hide my dirty thoughts more than you do.

Running the bare side of her sandaled foot up Randy’s calf under the table, Cathy flashed him a naughty grin. It’d be way more fun if you shared.

My momma raised me to be considerate of a woman’s delicate sensibilities. Randy moved his leg away.

Your momma didn’t know any women like me, I bet. Church groups and PTA ladies, maybe. Me? Hell no. Cathy raised her chin defiantly. It’s real hard to offend my sensibilities. You’d have to work hard to get close. Challenge issued.

Now why would I want to do that?

I’m not some fragile little flower that needs protecting, thanks. Cathy was close to pushing it and she took a deep breath to reel herself back in. Her mind filled with things she’d done and places she’d been. Things that now moved from the wild stories category to secrets she needed to keep in order not to offend her friend.

...Although corrupting him might be fun.

Matter of fact, Cathy continued, You might be the one who needs protecting. It sounds like your sensibilities are a lot more delicate than mine. You’re still working straight outta the Bible Belt playbook, aren’t you? That’s got to be confusing in West Hollywood.

Not so much. I’m pretty tolerant of other folk’s ways. My rules may not be right for them. But they work for me.

"Do they now? Seems to me