Bad Boy Billionaires #3 - The Vegas Shark(6)

"You'll be fine," Harlan said. "I'll be right back. I'll run all the way and back." Then he put his arms around Treston and kissed him with his tongue in a way that made Treston's knees go weak every time. The way his thick leather jacket rubbed against Treston's naked body made him want to submit to anything Harlan suggested. 

When they finished kissing, Harlan slapped his ass and turned toward the trail. Without giving him a backward glance, he said, "I'll be right back."

"Don't take too long," Treston said. "I don't want to get arrested."

When Treston couldn't see Harlan in the distance, he turned around and searched for a flat space to stretch out. He figured as long as he was outside, he might as well stretch out and work on his tan. He even removed his boots and his socks so he wouldn't have a tan line around his ankles.

The first twenty minutes passed fairly quickly. He didn't even glance at his watch once. But after an hour passed he started to get an uneasy feeling deep in his gut. It had only taken them thirty minutes to get up there on foot and he started to worry something had happened to Harlan. Maybe he'd fallen, or he could have made a wrong turn and lost his way.

After another hour had passed, Treston felt panicky. Harlan should have been back by now. He pictured him flat on his back with blood trickling down from his temple. He imagined him wandering lost, between rocks and ridges, trying to find his way, the poor helpless thing. So Treston put on his boots and socks and slowly made his way back down the trail to where they'd parked the Jeep. But on the way he started to experience even more panic when he realized there was no way anyone could get lost. It was a narrow trail with more than a few twists and bends, but distinctive enough to keep him on the right path. When he finally reached the spot where they'd parked the Jeep and he found it empty without a trace of Harlan or his clothes, a lump formed in his stomach and he fell down on his knees and started to sob so hard he never thought he'd stop.

Chapter Four

By the time the park ranger found him, he'd cried for so long there wasn't a tear left to spare. He was sitting on a flat rock, slumped over, with his legs folded and his elbows on his knees. He had no idea the park ranger had discovered him through a phone call from a couple of hikers that had seen him sitting there naked and crying.

The ranger approached with caution and said, "How's it going, buddy?" He spoke in a soft, gentle tone, as if he didn't know what to expect.

Treston glanced up at him and rolled his eyes. He was beyond being mortified by then. He felt absolutely nothing at all. "It's going just fine," he said. "I come out here to sit on a rock all the time and cry my eyes out. I'm just your regular crazy naked person."

The ranger looked to be in his early thirties. He had thick dark hair under his hat, a tall sturdy body, and large hands. He moved closer and squatted next to Treston. "I have a feeling that's not true. You don't look like a crazy person. Why don't you tell me what happened and I'll see what I can do?"

The last thing Treston wanted to do was repeat the story of Harlan to anyone. He'd just been dumped by the man he loved, robbed of all his savings, and left naked in the middle of nowhere. It didn't get much worse, and Treston knew he could only blame himself for being such a trusting idiot. But he also knew he had to tell the truth. If he didn't, he could wind up getting arrested for indecent exposure-or worse. He'd known gay guys who'd been handcuffed and arrested and thrown into jail for just cruising rest areas along the interstate. And most of them hadn't done anything wrong; they'd been set up by homophobic ambitious police who wanted to get promotions. So he told the ranger the entire story, all except for the blow job he'd given Harlan on the way to Hoover Dam.

When he was finished, the ranger reached out and helped him stand up. He walked him to a pick-up truck, opened the passenger door, and pulled a large red blanket from behind the seat. Then he put the blanket around Treston's shoulders and covered his naked body. As he helped him climb into the front seat he said, "I'll take you back to the station and we'll get some clothes for you. You're going to be okay, buddy."




 

 

For the first time since Treston had figured out what Harlan had done to him, he felt a wave of relief. He looked up at the ranger and said, "I'm not getting arrested? You're not going to call the police?"

The ranger smiled. "I think you've been through enough. I've seen all kinds of things in this job and I think I know how to tell the criminals from the decent people. From what I can see it looks like the only thing you're guilty of doing is being too nice. And as far as I know that's never been a crime."

If Treston hadn't cried so much, he might have started crying again. But this time it would have been for a different reason. "Thank you so much. I don't think I can ever thank you enough."

"You just have to promise me one thing," the ranger said.

"What?"

"The next time some creep asks you to take off your clothes you'll tell him to go fuck himself. Decent men don't ask nice guys like you to do things like that. Decent men treat nice guys like you with respect."

Treston smiled for the first time that afternoon. "I promise. Oh, have I learned my lesson." He didn't go into detail with the ranger because he wasn't sure if he was gay or straight. He knew straight guys got uncomfortable when gay guys talked about things of a sexual nature, even the most harmless things. He wanted to say he'd never trust another lying bastard like Harlan again. He'd never suck another dick like Harlan's again and he'd never fall in love with a man who wore sunglasses all the time. But he just nodded and said, "I think I learned my lesson once and for all today. Never trust anyone."

The ranger reached down and patted him on the shoulder. "You don't have to stop trusting everyone, man. You just have to know who to trust and who not to trust, is all. I promise you that you can always trust me."

* * * *

The park ranger brought him back to a small office where they found an overweight man sitting behind a metal desk eating doughnuts. The moment the man looked up and saw Treston enter wearing nothing but the blanket, the ranger said, "I'll tell you what happened later, Frankie. Right now I want to get this guy into some clothes and get him home. He's had a rough day."

The heavyset guy swallowed his doughnut and shrugged his shoulders. "There's an extra sweatsuit back there from nature day. It's on a shelf next to the lockers."

After Treston put on the sweatsuit, the ranger brought him back to the pick-up truck and drove him to his apartment. He put the radio on and tried to make light conversation, but all Treston did was stare down at his lap and either shrug or nod. It was getting late and he knew he had to be at work in an hour. He couldn't call the club and say he was sick, because he needed the money now more than ever before. When he thought about how that bastard Harlan had cleaned out his bank account, and with his permission, he clenched his back teeth so hard his jaw hurt. 

When they reached the outskirts of town, the ranger asked, "Have you eaten today?"

Treston hadn't eaten anything; he had no appetite at all. "I'm fine. Thanks."

"I can stop for something," the ranger said.

Treston sent him a glance and smiled. "I'm okay. I just need to take a long, hot shower and forget about everything for a while." He didn't want to admit he had no money and he didn't want this nice park ranger paying for him.

Treston lived in a small apartment that had once been a motel. It had a low, square look of the 1950s, with an art deco sign out front that read, "The Desert Queen." Either the people who had turned the motel into apartments didn't care or they were too busy to notice, because they'd never even bothered to remove the "vacancy" sign below it. They painted the stucco white every year but it still had a chipped, unkempt look no matter how hard they tried. And the aqua blue front doors and trim could have been defined as either high camp or offensive. In any event, it was home and it was the only thing Treston could afford. When the ranger pulled into the parking lot, Treston felt a rush of relief pass through his entire body for the first time that day.

He pulled right up to an empty space near Treston's door. He stopped, turned off the engine, and sent Treston a sideways glance. "Are you sure you're going to be okay, buddy?"

Treston wasn't certain how he felt about anything anymore, but he turned and said, "I'm fine. I really can't thank you enough. And I'll wash the sweatsuit and bring it back tomorrow. No one's ever been this nice to me before." He laughed and tossed his head back. "I have this feeling this is the point where you're going to grab my arm, shove me down on the seat, and strangle me."

The ranger laughed and said, "You're much too cute to strangle. I wouldn't harm a hair on your sweet little head."

Treston flung him a look and smiled. This time, for the first time that day, he looked directly into his blue eyes. Treston knew for certain this park ranger was gay. No straight man ever would have said he was cute, and Treston had a feeling it was the ranger's way of letting him know without actually saying it. "You're a very nice man," he said. "I always pictured the knight in shining armor who would rescue me would be different. He would ride in on a white horse and scoop me up in his arms. I guess I have to work on that fantasy a little."