Anonymous Encounters(30)

"Wear your swimsuit underneath, you never know what'll happen," she'd said with a knowing wink.

"Okay, but why the stilettos?" I said. At least the swimsuit would be  under my clothes, that wasn't a huge deal. "Wouldn't flip-flips be more  appropriate?"

"No!" my friend squealed. "Stilettos are sexy, they make your legs look  longer. Come on Callie, live a little, we're almost done with school!"

I'd only sighed. It was true, we were just waiting to hear from colleges  now, our grades practically didn't matter anymore. I could afford to  relax a little, play it by ear.

So I teetered awkwardly over to where the boys stood by the gated  entrance, their figures lean and athletic, dressed in jeans and  button-down shirts. They were casually handsome in flip-flops, black  hair swept to the side.

"Hey there strangers!" squealed Chrissy. "Glad you could make it."

Blake and Bryan nodded, slight smiles on their lips. "Thanks for the  invite," drawled Blake, "we appreciate you extending a friendly hand to  us new folks at school."

"No problem," said Chrissy. "Come on in, can I get you a drink? I make a mean piña colada," she said with a wink.

"Um," said Blake, "You got something harder? We're not really tropical drink guys."

"Oh," said my friend, flushing pinkly. "Of course not, you guys are too  "guy" for that. How stupid of me. What about Jagermeister shots? Does  that sound good?"

"Yeah, that's more up our alley," confirmed Bryan, nodding. "Thanks a  bunch," he said as my friend ran to the drinks table, practically  falling over in her effort to impress our new classmates.

In the meantime, I was left alone with the twins although there were  already a couple girls circling about, eyeing the hard bodies with  hungry looks, ready to get their game on. Oh god, the pressure was on  and I was so bad at this.

"Umm, how did that cat dissection go?" I asked lamely. I could have  kicked myself. Time alone with the hottest new guys in school and I was  asking about biology class on a Friday night? Shoot me now.

But the men looked at me gamely.

"It didn't happen. Grimes said we could make it up on a weekend, come in  on a Saturday and give it another shot. He's ordered some new cats,  hopefully ones that aren't stale this time. Care to join us?" asked  Blake with an amused grin.

I was already feeling faint again, although from the dead animals or the proximity of these men, I wasn't sure.

"I think I'll pa-" I was about to say "pass" but Chrissy sprang up again.

"Of course we'll come and make up the lab with you," she gushed, shoving  drinks into the men's hands. "Just let us know which Saturday and we'll  make time, won't we Callie?"

I blushed red for my friend and for myself. This was really getting out  of hand and I couldn't believe that I was witness to so much overblown  emotion. But I merely muttered an indistinct reply, my head down and my  cheeks flaming.

"Hey," said Blake smoothly. "Got some ice around here? Not crushed," he  said to Chrissy, nodding at the cooler, "but maybe some of the real  stuff from the fridge. Callie, why don't you show me inside? Bryan will  hold the fort down here," he said, nodding at his brother.

I could have sworn that Bryan shot an evil look at his twin, but maybe I  was just imagining things because his expression cleared immediately,  his face suddenly smooth.

"Yeah sure, no prob bro," he said casually, draping an arm about  Chrissy's shoulders. "We'll be here  …  be sure to bring me some ice too."

And my friend was practically drooling already, so elated at the feel of  the man's big arm on her body. "Take your time!" she squealed. "Callie,  you know where the ice chest is."         

     



 

I did, I'd been here so many times that her home was like a second home  to me  …  probably more than it should have been. But I turned to Blake  and beckoned for him to follow.

"Come on," I said with a smile. "Let's get out of this heat, I feel like everyone is looking at us."

He chuckled. "Everyone's looking at you sure, but no one's looking at me, pretty girl."

And I flushed. Most people don't think I'm attractive. I'm tolerable,  yes, even pleasant-looking. But pretty? Not really, unless you liked  them round and curvy.

But I found myself adding an extra wiggle to my walk as we made our ways  indoors, past the crowd and into the relatively deserted kitchen.

"I know it's here," I muttered, opening the freezer door, fumbling  around. "Chrissy's dad is really into top shelf spirits, he has this  special ice cube thing that makes big, perfectly square cubes," I said,  digging around in the freezer depths. The ice tray was cool, and the  resultant cubes amazing if you could get them out of the mold in one  shape.

But when I turned triumphantly, Blake wasn't paying attention  …  at least  not to the ice. His eyes flitted ever so quickly away, and then back  guiltily. He'd been checking out my ass! My rump had been in the air  when I bent over and the alpha male had been helping himself to a big  visual serving of my pert behind!

I smiled then. Okay, so the twins weren't as laidback as they seemed. I  could feel myself loosening up, warming up under the flattering  attention.

"Come on," I said, taking the drink from his hand and flipping my hair  over my shoulder flirtatiously. "I'll show you upstairs  …  Chrissy's  family has an amazing game room."





CHAPTER FIVE


Blake




I'd gotten rid of my brother with a fast move, I admit. Hey, sometimes  you gotta strike before someone else moves first, and I wasn't above  one-upping my closest kin. I admit it was slick after our agreement this  afternoon, but each man for himself my friend.

Besides our relationship runs deeper than that. Not only did we share a  womb, but we're close. Maybe too close. On the outside, everything was  as American as apple pie growing up. My twin and I grew up in a working  class neighborhood in Queens, New York, playing stick ball, eating hot  dogs with beans. We didn't have much, but no one in our neighborhood did  so none of us kids knew any better. Sure, there were tales of  phenomenally wealthy people in Manhattan, but that could have been a  galaxy away for all the difference it made.

So we'd chosen to enroll in the police academy after high school because  there wasn't enough money to go to college for the both of us. Besides,  the band of blue was in our blood, just like my dad and a couple of our  uncles. Our first assignment was in the Bronx, a fucking nightmare  …   but also a dream come true.

Because you see, that's where Bryan and I discovered our predilection  for gay sex  …  with each other. It's twincest, straight up, his dick in  my ass, my dick in his, enjoying each other's bodies. It sounds twisted  and wrong, but it worked for us that first time and it's worked for us  ever since.

It happened because of the job, to tell the truth. Our first beat was a  stretch along the Grand Concourse in the Bronx, a seedy strip where the  county jail was located as well as a bunch of flophouses with  accompanying methadone clinics. I guess it was convenient  –  junkies  could get high illegally and then come down just as legally, all within  minutes.

But Bryan and I had been placed undercover to investigate a Russian bath  house. Rumor was that a Ukrainian gang was dealing inside the all-male  establishment, not just in drugs but whores as well. There were  allegedly women chained in the basement, serving bathhouse customers,  forced to engage in the most heinous, obscene sex acts. And the only  customers admitted were those who could be vetted, preferably by an  insider.

So Bryan and I had a contact provided by the force  –  a seedy CI named Vladimir with a serious drug problem.

"Come on in!" chortled Vlad, meeting us at the door.  Uncharacteristically, Vlad was paunchy and fat, unlike the rundown  heroin users we usually encountered. "Come in, come in!" he said in a  heavily-accented voice. "Meet my friends. Vodka to start you off?"         

     



 

Bryan and I accepted the tiny shot glasses and then made our way past  the front office which was nothing more than a bored-looking girl with  bad skin sitting at a desk. She looked at Vlad, nodded to us, then  languidly opened an appointment book and jotted something down by hand.  Clearly, there were no electronic records in this place.

Vlad led us downstairs into the bathhouse itself. This was no luxury  spa, I assure you. Instead, it was all cement, a warren of small rooms  which were alternately hot, medium and cold in temperature. We passed  one dude in a private room, laid out on a massage table, a scary-looking  Russian woman beating him with a bunch of branches as he screamed in  pain and pleasure.