Peek at The 13th Month

So, I'm still working on it, and it's not been edited, of course, but here's a peek at the first chapter of The 13th Month, which will be the last book in the Calendar Men series:

The 13th Month
Calendar Men 13
Copyright 2018
Bailey Bradford

The 13th Month

Calendar Men 13

Bailey Bradford

Chapter One

Quantum, Inc., was bustling, the employees excited about all the new contracts and projects in various stages of development. As the owner of the company, Ezra Harrington should have been just as excited, should have been celebrating along with his employees, enjoying the catered lunch he’d had brought in. 

Instead, he was sitting at his desk, wondering how long he needed to stay before he could leave without causing too much of a fuss. He was the boss, after all, and he used to stay at Quantum, Inc., more often than he did anywhere else. His company had been his home, but all that had changed when his friend, Marco Chacon, had almost died. 

“Ezra?” 

Ezra blinked, coming back to himself. He’d been staring out the wall of windows behind his desk, though he hadn’t seen anything. His mind had been elsewhere, and so had his sight. Turning around, he plastered on a smile he hoped looked sincere. When he saw Albert Washington standing in the doorway, Ezra didn’t have to fake happiness. Albert was one of his favorite employees. “Albert, come in and have a seat.”

Albert entered the office. His suspenders were a pale lavender, and he wore a matching bowtie. The baby blue color of his shirt went well with both. “Maggie said you wanted to see me?” 

Ezra waited until Albert sat in the chair closest to the desk before replying. “Yes. As you know, the motherboard you designed has put Quantum, Inc., at the top of the field. We have more contracts than we can handle, though HR is handling that issue, and financially, Quantum, Inc., is projected to be one of the most profitable companies in the United States next year. A lot of that is due to your contribution, so I wanted to offer you a promotion to development manager, and you’re getting a nice raise whether or not you want to accept the promotion. Merry Christmas.”

Albert’s eyes were wide behind the lenses of his glasses. “A p-promotion? Anda raise?”

“Yes,” Ezra said, feeling something that made him light up inside. It took him a moment to realize it was happiness. It had been a long time since he had experienced that particular emotion without some trepidation attached to it. “Yes, indeed. Thanks to you, this company is one of the most sought-after techs around. A ten percent raise is in order, and not unfair. You’ll also earn two percent of net sales on the motherboard you designed. If you accept the management position, there will be additional perks, including financial. I want you to take some time to think about the offer, though. You’ve got a week off with Gregg. If you can give me an answer after that?”

Albert bobbed his head. “Yes, yes I can do that. It’d be more hours?”

Ezra winced. “Well, yes, but you’d have more paid vacation days. I would do my best to balance that out for you.”

“Okay, I’ll talk it over with Gregg and get back with you the first week of January. Thank you, Ezra, for everything.” Albert cleared his throat then tugged at his bowtie. “Um, how is Marco? I heard he had pneumonia again—but that came from someone in the office, and I wanted to ask you myself. You know how gossip goes.”

“Often wrong.” Ezra leaned back in his chair. “Not this time, however. Marco was in the hospital for a week. He came home two days ago and is still weak. It wasn’t pneumonia this time, but some bacterial infection that the doctors feared would lead to sepsis. Luckily, he’s going to be fine.” I hope. Gods, please let him finally get to recover.It had been one health crisis after another for Marco for almost a year. 

“Good, good. You know, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out to me. I didn’t want to call Perry and ask about the rumor I’d heard, didn’t want to upset her, especially while she’s on that fashion shoot in Versailles.” Albert smiled. “She’s got contract offers coming in daily now that the charity calendar has been such a hit. Some of the guys have been contact by talent agencies, too. The calendar itself has raised so much money for the children’s cancer fund, there are already plans to do another one. Well. Anyway. Thank you, Ezra.”

“You’re welcome. I hope you decide to do whatever is best for you, and if that happens to be what’s best for Quantum, Inc., that’d be great, but if not, we’ll be all right.” Ezra stood and walked out from behind his desk as Albert got up. “Thanks for asking about Marco and not just running wild with a rumor. He’s had a traumatic year, what with Evan trying to murder him twice, then all the health complications from the burns. I hate that he’s the subject of gossip.”

“Any time I can be of help, let me know.” Albert shook his hand, then left the office. 

Ezra waited until Daria got up and stood at a makeshift podium to start announcing the winners of the raffle drawings. The company holiday party was always a fun one to attend, but Ezra just couldn’t hang around this year. He slipped away without anyone noticing and drove home a little faster than he should have. This wasn’t the first time he’d been away from Marco—it wasn’t like he could stay by the man’s side twenty-four-seven—but the latest health scare had terrified Ezra. He felt like he’d been living on the edge of a deadly precipice for almost a year, and he was worn down in a way he couldn’t describe. 

Except that there was no security or certainty anymore. He used to think he knew how his life would go—very successful businessman, good boss, good person, adventures few people got to take, and eventually, a love that would last through thick and thin—but now he knew nothing was set in stone. 

Ezra focused on driving. One car in the lane next to him swerved in his direction. Ezra hit the brakes and was almost rear-ended. The driver behind him honked a rapid staccato proclamation of ire. He waved a hand over his shoulder and moved over to the far-left lane as soon as he could manage to do so, all while keeping a wary eye on the car that had almost hit him. 

When he reached his home, the guard at the gate nodded but didn’t let him in. Ezra was grateful for that. He rolled down his window and greeted the guard. “James, how is it going tonight?”

“Just fine, Mr. Harrington. Danu is with Mr. Chacon, and the house staff are all in, as they should be. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

While Janes was speaking, he leaned closer and peered past Ezra. 

One of the reasons Ezra had chosen the security company he used was because of how thorough they were when it came to doing the job. Not one guard let him come onto his property without making sure someone else wasn’t in the car with him. 

“All by yourself, Mr. Harrington?” James asked, eyes sharp as he looked at Ezra. 

“That I am,” Ezra replied, the agreed-upon answer that let his guards know he was alone, and that there wasn’t someone hiding somewhere—like in the trunk, he supposed. 

“Have a good evening.” James pressed the small control in his hand, and the tall silver and copper gate began to open. 

“You too, James.” Ezra 

That gate was one of Ezra’s prized possessions. He’d had it made by an artist he’d met in the Pearl district. It was an impermeable gate, solid and very heavy, not made from thin metal bars. The design on the front and back were the same, a scenic display of the sun and its coppery rays caressing a mountainous landscape. Off to one side was the dark form of a cat stalking unseen prey. 

The gate was priceless, and maybe someone else would have put it on display as art, but Ezra had bought it to use. He enjoyed the combination of beauty and functionality.

The driveway wound a half-mile down to his home. Rather than live in the most well-known and wealthy community in the San Antonio area, Ezra had opted to buy several acres north of the city and have his dream house built. He hadn’t wanted to deal with homeowner’s associations or anything else. 

The two-story house had five bedrooms and seven bathrooms—he’d wanted two not attached to bedrooms. The basketball and tennis courts were to the left and right of the house, respectively, and the large pool behind it, as was the jacuzzi and sauna. A small golf course was set beyond those, and he had a stable, corral, and horses not far from there. 

There were no trees or shrubs lining the driveway—security had recommended the removal of those and Ezra had complied without hesitation. Marco’s safety was more important to him than landscaping. There were a few oak trees elsewhere on the property but nothing more than those and grass. 

The garage door began to roll up as he approached it. Ezra parked his car and shut it off, unfastening his seatbelt before he cut the engine. He got out and made sure the garage was secured, then he stopped by the side door. It only took a second for the security device to scan his iris, then Evan was finally inside and headed to find Marco. 

Ezra paid little notice to the inside of the house itself except to note it was clean. The white carpet and furniture were pristine and kept from being dull by the splashes of color added here and there. 

But Ezra was looking for Marco, and he wasn’t on the couch or recliner; the TV that took up half the viewing room wall was off, and Marco wasn’t in there, either. 

No wonder. He just got out of the hospital again. Ezra hurried toward Marco’s room, which was downstairs and beside Ezra’s temporary bedroom. Although he’d been sleeping there for almost a year now, so it didn’t seem temporary anymore. But, he’d wanted to be close to Marco, and a flight of stairs up to the bedrooms hadn’t been something Marco could handle.

Before Ezra rounded the corner leading to the hall and the bedrooms, Danu, the night nurse, came around it. 

“Mr. Harrington, you’re back early.” Danu stopped and frowned. “I thought you said you’d be gone for six hours or so?”

“I was wrong in my assessment of the time I’d need to get things done.” Ezra started to fold his arms over his chest, then stopped himself. He had no reason to be defensive. 

Danu sighed and leaned against the wall. “Mr. Harrington, I won’t let anything happen to Marco. It’s important that you take care of yourself, too, not just your friend. Time away from the situation—”

“No.” Ezra bit back a scathing reply that would have had him asking where Danu got his psych degree. Being snobby and bitchy were two things Ezra tried hard not to do. “If it stresses me more to be away than to be here, that should tell you something.”

Danu nodded. “Yes, sir, it does, but I don’t think you’ll listen to what I have to say.” He stood straight. “Mr. Chacon is sleeping. He’s had his breathing treatment and antibiotics. Managed to eat a decent amount of dinner. We were discussing his recovery, or rather, I was talking about the recovery plan his doctors have outlined for him, and he said that he won’t agree to any more surgery. I didn’t press the matter right now.”

“Of course. I’m going to check on him.” Ezra moved past Danu and strode to Marco’s door. The surgeries Marco had refused weren’t all cosmetic. If he wanted to regain more mobility in his right hand—which was his dominant one—and arm, he’d need to have more skin grafts done. 

But Danu was right. Now wasn’t the time to argue with Marco. 

Ezra opened the door, not bothering to knock. He didn’t want to wake Marco up. The room was dark, as Marco preferred it. He didn’t like any light creeping in when he slept. 

Ezra was glad he had his cat’s ability to see in the dark, even when he wasn’t shifted. 

Marco was propped up until he was almost sitting, a position which the doctor had suggested since Marco was coughing a lot as his lungs cleared out.  Ezra had slept very little the night before, listening to every round of hacking that tore through Marco, wondering if he should go check on him even though Danu had been there. Marco hated it when Ezra hovered, though, so he’d stayed in his own room. 

But now he looked at Marco, at his profile, which Ezra had always thought of as regal with Marco’s high forehead, his deep-set eyes, long, down-tipped nose, full lips and strong chin. Throughout the thirty years they’d been friends, Marco had always been such a bright, loud person, one who radiated energy and determination even when not speaking. 

Until Evan had tried to kill him. It was a higher level of betrayal than Marco had come to expect from his wives, and he’d been married close to a half-dozen times, from what Ezra could remember.

Evan had almost extinguished the spark that was Marco, almost ended his life and snuffed out the vital, talented man. 

Marco tried to claim that man was gone, but Ezra didn’t believe it. If Marco wouldn’t fight for himself, then Ezra would. 

Giving up on Marco was something he refused to do. Come hell or high water, he’d help Marco shine again. 

Wednesday sneak peek--

First, thank you all for the kindness you've extended to me and my family. **huggz**

This week is going by quickly! I've been working on Cherri's book, all royalties of which will go to help cover the unpaid medical costs they garnered before Peyton was sent to St. Jude's. I'm also working on a short story follow-up to the Torq short I had out, How the Mighty Have Fallen. If any of y'all read that, you might remember Larry in there, the man who goaded Hadrian to make a play for the dom of his dreams. Larry doesn't allow sex in his scenes, and he has his reasons, but the right dom just might fulfill all his needs.

Back to Cherri's story, which will be the first in a series titled Wild Ones, and the book itself is Deadly Prey. It was only supposed to be about 30k, but it's looking to be between 40-50.

I mentioned this before-- its about coywolf shifters, and you can read up on coywolves here:

http://www.fieldandstream.com/blogs/field-notes/coywolves-emerge-as-super-predators?src=SOC&dom=fb

Here's a bit of rough cut from it, unedited of course.

Wild Ones
Deadly Prey

Copyright 2015
Bailey Bradford

Chapter One

Jack Tucker watched his brother retrieve the rifle from the gun cabinet. “Um. Rhett? What’re you doing?”

Rhett didn’t even glance back at him as he loaded the gun. “What does it look like I’m doing? You been living in the city so long you forgot how a Wyoming rancher lives?” Then he did look over his shoulder at Jack, and Jack kind of wished he hadn’t.

He hated seeing that judgment in his brother’s eyes, and knowing he’d never be good enough for Rhett, never be the man his brother was. “No,” Jack mumbled, “I didn’t forget.”

Rhett sighed and turned until he faced Jack. “Look, that was uncalled for. I’m…I’m sorry, okay?”

Jack was so startled by the apology that he gulped and couldn’t think of a word to say.

Rhett grimaced. “Yeah. Well, okay. Gotta check on some tracks Eddie said he found leading from his property to ours. I’ll be back in a few hours.” He left, striding from the room without seeming to hesitate.

Jack groaned and closed his eyes. Of course Rhett didn’t hesitate—he never had. Rhett always knew what to do, and how to do it, and who he was, and that he was right… Except, he apologized to me, and it screwed my head right up.

“Worse than it already is,” he muttered. Jack couldn’t stop himself from touching his left side, where his bruised ribs throbbed as the pain meds wore off. He was lucky, very lucky, that Rhett hadn’t pushed him on the ‘accident’ that had sent Jack running home from New York, and possibly into the unemployment line. His boss hadn’t been happy with Jack taking off, even with a medical note as an excuse. Jack hadn’t told Rhett much about any of that. As far as Rhett knew, Jack had fallen down some icy steps, and that was all he was going to ever know about the incident.

Jack replayed his brother’s apology in his head and somehow it mingled in with Alex’s. Cold fear trickled down Jack’s spine and his gut cramped hard enough to make him worry about the dinner he’d just eaten.

After several minutes of trying to calm himself down, Jack stood and left the office. He’d wanted to sit and talk with Rhett about finances and try to decide if he should offer to let Rhett buy him out. Jack wasn’t made to be a rancher. He wasn’t made to be a New Yorker, either.

Jack didn’t know what he was supposed to do in life, and at the age of twenty-seven, he kind of thought he should have had an inkling.

His cell phone was ringing when he stepped into his bedroom. Without looking, he knew it was Alex calling. “Who else would it be?” he huffed. It wasn’t like he had any friends left.

Rather than check to see how many times Alex had called and how many texts he’d sent, Jack turned the phone off then stuck it in the nightstand. He eased himself onto the bed, then took a couple of Tylenol 3’s and washed them down with the rest of the water he’d brought in earlier.

The glass was old and familiar, and he felt a pang of regret as he looked it over. Green glass, nothing special about it, yet he remembered so much as he stared.

He could see his mom in the kitchen, fixing a pitcher of tea, talking to him, and listening as he told her about his day at school or the chores he’d had to do around the ranch. She’d always been so kind and understanding, Jack had to believe she’d have been okay with him being gay. He’d spent many afternoons in the kitchen, helping her prepare meals or just basking in her presence. Losing her had almost broken him.

For a few more minutes, he let his mind go back to happy childhood days. His dad wasn’t in nearly as many of those good memories, but Chauncey Tucker hadn’t been a bad man. His dad had been more like Rhett—stoic, focused on the ranch and less on the people around him.

Jack ran one finger around the rim of the glass. He was surprised, really, that there were any of the old things left.

The sound of gunshot startled him so badly he jerked and nearly sent the glass flying.

“Shit!” He winced as he pushed it back, then stood as quickly as he could manage.

Another shot rang out, then a third, and fear quickly overtook every other sensation he’d felt until then.

Rhett had always been an ace shot. If he’d had to use three bullets, then there was something bad outside—a bear or a whole pack of wolves.

Jack didn’t like guns, but he went and got one from the gun cabinet anyway. He loaded it as he walked to the front door, and hoped like hell Rhett wasn’t hurt.

As soon as he stepped outside, the fine hairs at his nape seemed to stand up and vibrate, like some kind of primitive survival instinct warning alert system. Jack froze, his back to the door as his hear slammed hard against his ribs.

Another shot sounded, and it jolted Jack into action. “Rhett! Rhett!” He rushed down the steps and toward the direction the shots had come from. “Rhett! Are you okay?”

When Rhett didn’t immediately answer, Jack ran, careless with the gun, aware of that but unable to make himself do anything other than find his brother as soon as possible. “Rhett!” He stumbled over something on the ground and almost fell before he managed to flail enough to keep himself upright.

Pain tore down his injured side but he ignored it as he called out for his brother yet again. He cursed himself for not thinking to grab a flashlight. The sky was overcast and there was no moonlight to assist him in his search, and once he was past the barns there was no light coming from the house or other structures, either.

Jack realized that the cattle in the closest field were making enough noise to drown out his voice or Rhett’s, making it impossible for them to hear each other.

The sounds of the gunshots must have scared the cattle. Jack worried about a stampede, but he’d never seen any of the critters take out a fence, so he dismissed the idea. “Rhett!” His throat burned as he hollered again.

Lightning streaked across the sky, blinding Jack for a moment, then thunder followed and he couldn’t contain his startled yelp as his ears rang from the sound.

Or his shriek when six pairs of glowing yellow eyes appeared between him and the fence line.

“Shit!” Jack skidded to a halt and hoped he could steady his hands, and force himself to do what he had to do.

Snippets from Love In Exchange 10

I'm not settled on a title yet, though I'm mulling one over. We'll see what happens there. Meanwhile, here's the 3 snippets I've posted on FB-- unedited, of course:
(I will probably only be posting one more snippet after these three. I'm contractually limited to how many words I can share)

Copyright 2015
Bailey Bradford

Love in Xxchange 10

Snippet 1:

There was something familiar about the short, lanky man who entered The Xxchange. Xavier Talbot leaned back in the booth and nudged his husband’s foot under the table. “Chase? Does that guy look familiar to you?”
Chase Murphy looked up from the lighting catalogue he’d been studying. Though The Xxchange had undergone a rather elegant transformation five years ago, Chase was always looking for was to keep the place updated and hip—and classy. It wasn’t the hook-up, meat market, fuck in the bathroom or on the dance floor kind of place it had been once upon a time.
Now, smooth, live jazz music filled the place with warmth and a smoldering sensuality. People came here looking for a different kind of enjoyment than they used to.
But for those who missed the dim lighting and sweaty bodies, there was a club for them, too. Xavier and Chase had quickly developed enough business acumen to know they’d need the profitability of a place like that, and neither wanted to deny the hot and horny clubbers a place to go.
Chase stared at the newcomer for several minutes, not moving except for the occasional breath and a couple of slow blinks. The stillness with which Chase held himself was always an incredible thing to see.
It made Xavier want to spread his husband out on the table and fuck him right there, to chase that stillness away and replace it with gasping, moaning, curses fired by need.
Xavier shifted on his seat, reaching down to adjust his erection.
Chase smirked, one side of his mouth curling up. His gaze never left the customer who was hovering just beyond the bar.
“You do that whole serious, predator watching prey thing just to get to me,” Xavier accused.
“That’s just a benefit of me being a serious bastard,” Chase corrected, narrowing his eyes slightly. “We know him, somehow.” He dipped his head, gaze still on the man in question. Chase’s blond curls were caught perfectly in the overhead lighting, making the silky strands gleam.
Xavier itched to run his fingers through them. Of course, if he did so, he’d next be pulling Chase to him for a kiss. The kiss would lead to that exact fucking on the table Xavier had thought of moments before, and hadn’t the whole reason they’d re-branded The Xxchange was because he and Chase were tired of the old club being a tawdry place where people fucked…on the tables?
Xavier huffed and folded his arms over his chest. He forced himself to look at the man Chase was studying. Short, not even five-four if I’m right. Skinny, not necessarily the healthy kind, either. Guess he could just be one of those people who runs to scrawny no matter what. Asshole. Xavier tried not to feel jealous of the fact that the older he got, the harder he had to work to stay in shape. Mousy brown hair. Clothes are too big. They hang on him.
“He’s either sick or desperate,” Chase observed, speaking in his usual quiet tone. “Cheeks are hollowed out and he has deep circles under his eyes. Could be recovering from the flu or something. He’s nervous or high—I’m leaning toward nervous, though. His clothes are clean even if they don’t fit him, he’s not twitching like he’s agitated, but like he’s scared.”
“How can you tell the difference?” Xavier asked, trying to discern that himself. He saw the customer bite his bottom lip and glance at the bartender, Fred, as Fred prepared a drink for someone else.
“Just can,” Chase said.
Xavier glared at him.

Snippet 2:

Fred kept sneaking glances at Remy. His curiosity was growing by the minute. Remy was better looking now than he had been, except for the whole worn-out thing. Back when he’d worked at The Xxchange, Remy had bleached and died his hair, and he’d worn makeup that had made him look cute but kind of like a tart. Lots of the wait staff did the same. They’d claimed it earned them better tips.
And Remy, as Martine, had been flirty and snarky, and yeah, too pushy and grabby, but he’d been cute and he’d made good tips.
Without all the hair dye and makeup, Remy looked young and fragile, and hauntingly beautiful despite the circles under his eyes.
No. No, no, no. We are not going there. Fred kept telling himself that until they walked into his apartment complex. Remy shivered almost constantly, but he’d insisted on carrying in the drinks, which couldn’t have helped him warm up any at all.
“I wasn’t expecting it to be cold today,” Fred observed. He spotted Mr and Mrs Haverly. They were dressed up, Mr Haverly in a dark blue suite and Mrs Haverly in a dress nearly the same shade of blue. Fred waved at them. “Hey, Mr and Mrs Haverly! Y’all are looking sharp today.”
The Haverlys looked at him, then gave Remy, who’d stopped walking and was standing there, still as a spot-lit deer, a thorough once over.
Mrs Haverly’s eyes were red-rimmed and Fred knew he’d made a big mistake. The solemn color of their clothing as well as the lack of smiles from the generally happy couple all pointed to nothing good.
Mr Haverly patted his wife’s hand. “Now, Fred, we’ve told you to call us Ed and Mary.” He added a kindly smile. “It’s hell getting old. You lose so many people. Mary’s best friend passed away Friday. We’ve just on our way to her funeral. I know you didn’t know, so please don’t feel bad for being happy.”
Mrs Haverly sniffled.
Fred wanted to disappear, but he’d settle for not being an ass. One thing was certain, he sure wasn’t happy now. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs—Mary.”
“Me, too,” Remy said. He cleared his throat. “My condolences, Mrs Haverly.”
“What a nice young man you are,” Mrs Haverly said, her attention on Remy. “Fred, too, of course.” She gave Fred a wobbly smile. “You are always a treasure.”
Fred ducked his head and murmured, “Thank you.”
“What’s your name?” Mrs Haverly asked.
He watched her slowly cross over to where he and Remy stood. Her husband escorted her, one hand on her lower back, the other cupping her elbow. It was sweet to see the two of them together, still in love after so many years together. They’d had their sixty-second anniversary only a few months ago.
Remy still had the drinks. Fred took one of them so Remy could shake hands. “Remy.”
“Just Remy?” Mrs Haverly asked as Mr Haverly arched a brow at Remy.
Remy’s cheeks darkened with a blush. “Er, Baumgartner. It’s Remy Baumgartner.”
“Baumgartner—“ Mr Haverly tipped his chin up. “You’re not any relation to that Baumgartner--"

Snippet 3:

Fred shook off the unpleasant memories and focused on not acting like he was nervous. He smiled at Josh. “Haven’t seen you and Nick at The Xxchange in a while.” 
Josh was all but shining with joy. “No, no we won’t be hitting up clubs until the kids are a lot older.” 
“Everybody’s having kids,” Fred muttered, not unhappy for his friends. “I’m going to be the only single guy in town.”
“I’m single,” Remy said, then immediately coughed and jerked his hand away from Fred’s wrist. 
Josh snickered. “I remember you, Martine. Remy. Remy-Martine. What brings you back to town?” 
Remy’s eyes went wide and his complexion turned ruddy. 
Fred leapt to his defense, even though he wasn’t sure Remy was being picked on. “That’s kinda personal, isn’t it?” He tried not to sound snappish. 
Josh arched one thin brow at him. “Well, well. So that’s how it is?”
“How what is?” God, Fred was confused. 
Remy cleared his throat. “Can we maybe get out of the waiting room?”
“Ha!” Josh was back to smiling like everything in life was perfect. “Yeah, that’s a great idea, and sorry, Remy. I didn’t mean to poke my nose in your business. Well, I did, because that’s just me.” He batted his lashes ridiculously as they walked down the hall to a room at the end of it. “I talk all the time and want to know all the details,” Josh drawled, smirking unrepentantly. “But I only ask because, let me tell you, I give the best advice, so you feel free to come to me with anything you need.”
“Okay?” Remy asked, darting a glance from Josh to Fred. 
Josh patted Remy’s arm. “Okay, let’s check your vitals. Fred, you can have a seat right there.” He pointed to a chair a few feet away from the examination bed. “Remy, hop up here.”
Fred tried his best not to pay any attention to the questions Josh asked or the answers Remy gave, especially the ones that were really personal. When Josh started in about Remy’s sexual history, Fred excused himself from the room and hoped Remy wouldn’t get upset. 
He checked up front and made sure payment arrangements had been made—Xavier had said it’d be handled and Remy could make payments. The medical receptionist told him it was taken care of. Fred asked her to let Remy know he’d be waiting out in the car. 
Almost an hour later, Remy came outside, looking more worn than when he’d gone in. Fred contemplated getting out and asking if Remy needed help, but considering he’d bailed on the guy inside, it seemed dishonest to offer help now. 
When Remy got in, he sighed and leaned his head back. Closing his eyes, he groaned. “God, I fucking hate having blood drawn. I almost passed out. I was so humiliated. What a wuss.”