Jamie's Private Dancer
There is a new dancer at Jamie’s favorite club. He has the face of an angel, but the moves of a devil. The attraction between the two of them is undeniable, but can the sweet houri overcome his own personal demons? Will Jamie’s love be enough to help him heal? Or will the pain of his past keep him a prisoner forever?
Click on the picture above to look at this book, or just to check out my other website where I have many titles for sale, all for 1.99$ or less! If you like Slash Romances with a splash of Yaoi, this is the place to go!
Chapters 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 1617 18 19 20
A/N: Your author has been sick as a dog for four days. It's a hideous stomach virus. I ended up passing out in the shower; it's a wonder I didn't brain myself. Unlike poor Hillary Clinton, who is now concussed from a similar situation and this horrible virus. I spent most of the last three days sleeping, but in one of my bouts of consciousness this story sort of crept into my head and took hold. I wanted to explore what would happen if a raging homophobe were put in the position of being grateful to a gay man...anyway, I'm still tired and my stomach is a bit uncertain, but I am on the mend. And I would appreciate any reviews. Thanks -DL
"And all of these faggots are out on the streets, flaunting their sin for everybody to see! These queers really think they should have the right to get married like decent people? They are abominations, and the Bible says they should be stoned to death! They're just lucky that we don't do that nowadays, that they're free to corrupt people with their sickening lifestyles! They should all be locked up in mental health wards, rather than be allowed to live out in the world with the rest of us! Some good electro-shock therapy might cure those perverts once and for all! Anyway, all of you guys listening to me out there, I've gotta go. I'll see you again, same time tomorrow. This is Ricky Raynes, signing off for now. Stay strong, America!"
Ricky Raynes pushed the button on the console in front of him, ending his daily broadcast. His producer gave him the 'thumbs up' gesture, and he grinned and nodded back. His was one of the most popular 'talk' programs at this AM radio station. They loved him around here. He pushed back his chair, leaving the studio. He wanted to get to the bank to cash his paycheck before it closed. He had to hurry if he wanted to do that.
Ricky considered himself to be a man with a mission. Using his radio show, he was waging a war on the perversions that were taking over America. The biggest of those were the Godless gays, whose warped lifestyles were dragging both them and those around them down to Hell. God would not forgive people who tolerated such sin; he was sure of that. His fire-and brimstone parents had taught him well. How many times had he heard his father rage against those 'degenerate perverts'? Ricky had learned hate with his mother's milk, and he worked every day to make his parents proud of him as he fought the good fight against sin and corruption.
He screeched into the parking lot of the bank, hurriedly exiting his vehicle. He ran into the bank, knowing he only had about twenty minutes before it closed. He jigged impatiently in line, his eyes fixed on the teller. He was so focused about getting to the head of the line that he didn't notice anything going on around him, until a loud voice barked: "This is a hold-up! Everybody put your hands in the air!"
He froze, terror surging through him, unable to move. The black-clad man standing near the entrance swung the vicious-looking weapon he was carrying toward Ricky. '"I told you to put your hands up!' he yelled, his eyes narrowing.
Ricky couldn't get his limbs to move. He felt like a man trapped in a terrible nightmare, as the muzzle of the weapon was trained on his pale-as-a-sheet face. He was going to die. He was going to die because he couldn't move. Oh, sweet Jesus, he didn't want to die!
"Freeze!" another voice barked from off to their left. The bank robber swung around toward it, and Ricky dimly saw another man with a gun who was training it on the first man. He'd been quietly moving toward the bank robber, but he'd given up his advantage to stop the bank robber from shooting the helpless Ricky. "Drop your weapon!" the second man said commandingly. "You're under arrest!"
A cop? But he wasn't wearing any kind of uniform...this distant thought filtered into Ricky's brain as the bank robber screamed in rage. Instead of dropping his weapon, he pointed it at the second armed man and pulled the trigger. At the same time, the second man shot the bank robber square in the chest, making him drop his gun and fall to the faux-marble floor. He lay there unmoving. Ricky couldn't believe how quickly it had all happened. And he was safe! The second man had shot the bank robber! They were all safe! He felt dizzy with relief as his muscles finally started to work again.
"Somebody call 911! Get an ambulance!" someone screamed.
Ricky's head snapped around. To his shock and horror, he saw that the bank robber wasn't the only one who'd been shot! The second man was slumping over, half-supported by another man, with blood leaking out from under his fingers where he was clutching at his side. Oh, God! He'd been shot saving Ricky's life! He'd never felt more horrible than he did right at that moment. If he hadn't frozen up like that, then the second man probably wouldn't have been shot. This was all his fault...
Later, after the police cars and the ambulance had come and gone, and reporters had stopped swarming the bank, Ricky drove to the hospital. All that he could think of was the fact that he'd gotten that man shot. He felt ashamed and horrified. Apparently he'd been right - the wounded man was an off-duty cop. He'd gotten a cop shot. Ricky felt like the lowest of the low as he pulled into the parking lot of the hospital that the ambulance had taken the wounded cop to. If that man was badly hurt, or he died...Ricky knew he'd never forgive himself. Never.
He hurried into the hospital and asked the nurse at the entrance desk about the wounded cop who'd been brought in earlier. She looked him over. "Are you family?" she asked him.
"No," he replied. "But he saved my life in the bank. I'd just like to know that he's going to be okay."
The anxiety in his voice seemed to move her a bit. "Well, it looks like he's in surgery," she said, consulting her computer. "You could call later and ask about his condition - I'm sure we'll have more details later."
"All right," he said reluctantly. 'But maybe...I could wait here instead? Could you let me know if he's going to be okay later?"
"It might be awhile," she pointed out.
Ricky nodded. "I know that. I don't care," he said.
"All right. I can at least let you know when he's out of surgery. Please have a seat," she shooed him away, and he went. He sat down in one of the hard plastic chairs in the waiting room and stared dully at a ten-year-old magazine, stewing in his guilt and shame.
Sometime later, a had touched his shoulder. He raised his head, looking into the nurse's face. "Hey, I just wanted to let you know that the police officer is out of surgery," she told him. "I can't give you any more details on his condition, since you're not family."
"Thank you," he said. "That's enough to know. So he's going to live?"
"His condition is good," she replied.
"Thank God," he slumped in the chair, relief making him want to ooze out of it.
"You should go home, Sir. There's nothing more you can do here. You wouldn't be allowed to visit him anyway."
"O-Of course. Thank you," Ricky said again as he got to his feet.
He went home, to sit on his couch blindly staring at the TV screen. What a horrible day! He'd proved that he was a total coward, and he'd gotten a cop shot trying to save him, all in the span of five minutes! This had been the worst day of his entire life, bar none.
Ricky called in sick to work the next day. He just didn't feel up to going on the air today. Instead he went to the hospital, hoping to get more news about the cop. Any little snippet would help; he just wanted to know that the police officer would be all right. The man had saved his life, even though he didn't deserve it. When he asked the front desk nurse, she told him that the police officer was out of danger and had been moved out of intensive care already. Ricky felt nauseous with relief when she told him that.
"Umm...I don't suppose that there's any way that I could see him?" he asked her hopefully. "He saved my life yesterday; I just want to thank him."
"I can understand that," she replied. '"And since he's not in intensive care anymore, if he approves of it you can go and see him during regular visiting hours."
"Oh, man. Would you ask him if I can see him later?" Ricky pleaded.
"I'll call up to his room and ask him," she picked up the phone and made a call, and he tried not to be impatient as she spoke into it. "Officer Belmont? There's a man here at the front desk who says he was in the bank yesterday. He claims you saved his life, and that he'd like to visit you later to thank you. Can he?"
She listened, then nodded silently at Ricky. "All right, I'll tell him," she said. She hung up the phone as Ricky looked at her hopefully. "Officer Belmont says that it's fine if you want to visit him later," she told Ricky. "Evening visiting hours are from 5 to 7. It's Room 301."
"Thank you! I'll be back later!" he exclaimed, and she smiled at his enthusiasm.
Ricky went out and bought everything that he could think of for an invalid - balloons, fruit, chocolate, flowers, you name it. This wouldn't make up for what had happened, but he wanted to show his complete gratitude in as substantial a way as he could manage. Burdened with a large pile of things, he returned to the hospital at 5:30. He took the elevator to the third floor, finding Room 301. The door was open. He hesitated in the doorway, seeing a hospital bed with a man lying in it. "Hey," he said. "Umm..."
The man's head turned. "Hello," he said. "You're the guy from the bank, right?"
"Yeah," Ricky said. "Err...can I come in?"
"Sure," the cop replied, clicking off the television. "Nothing much on, anyway," he remarked dryly.
Ricky stepped into the hospital room. He lifted the stuff in his hands. "Where shall I put this?"
The cop eyed the mound of gifts. "Did you buy out the gift shop?" he asked incredulously.
"No. I bought these in a store...I just wanted to say that I'm sorry!" Ricky cried remorsefully.
The cop lifted his brows slightly. "Sorry? For what?" he asked.
"For you getting shot! It was all my fault!" Ricky said unhappily.
"Because if I hadn't frozen, you wouldn't have had to stop that bank robber from shooting me," Ricky replied miserably.
The cop sighed, shaking his head. "You're a civilian. You were scared. It happens. It's not that I wanted to get shot, but I'm alive. And so are you, and everybody else in the bank. It all turned out for the best."
Ricky blinked, holding back tears. "But if I weren't such a coward..." He sighed.
"Coward? Did you use a baby as a human shield? Yes, you froze. But it could happen to anybody in a dangerous situation that they haven't been trained to deal with," the cop said impatiently. "You're being too hard on yourself."
His brisk, no-nonsense words made Ricky feel a bit better. But only a bit. He went over to set the presents down on the side table, his fingers rearranging the bouquet of flowers. "I just never expected that to happen," he murmured. "I always thought that I'd be the strong one if something bad happened. Like my old man. He was in the Army. He has medals. And a son who freezes when somebody points a gun at him..."
"There could be worse things that his son could be," the cop remarked calmly.
"Like what?" Ricky started to ask. But before he could finish the question, a small crowd of people entered the hospital room.
"James!" one of them cried. "Oh, my dear, how are you?! We've all been so worried!"
Ricky gaped at them. Though not all of them were as flamboyant as the speaker, who was wearing make-up and three-inch heels, every one of the men who had just entered the hospital room of his savior were clearly gay!
Go to Next Chapter