Free Handcuffs and Lace 32 -Ballsy by Mia Watts

Ballsy
A Handcuffs and Lace Story
By Mia Watts
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
http://www.resplendencepublishing.com
    Ballsy
Copyright © 2012 Mia Watts
Edited by Darlena Cunha and Venus Cahill Cover art by Les Byerley, www.les3photo8.com
    Published by Resplendence Publishing, LLC 2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349
Daytona Beach, FL 32118
Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-602-8
    Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Electronic Release: November 2012
    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
To Tessie Bradford who reminds me why I write and why I love this industry, every time I release a new title. And to our mutual friend, Mary, who always makes me feel like a rock star—even if I think she’s delusional for believing in me so much.
I love you both in a way that forever holds my gratitude and humbles my heart. Thank you for everything. Tell your families I owe them big for indulging me. Chapter One
    Steven Garvey hooked two amber bottles in one hand and deftly levered off the caps. He handed one to the guy he’d known since nursery school and turned back to the sizzling pan of stir-fry. His kitchen always felt smaller when Mark Huffman was in it.
    “I’m serious!” Mark characteristically waved his free arm in the air for emphasis. “What did we say we were going to do when we were kids? We were going to arrest sickos and fight fires. And look at us! Everyone else dropped their dreams of being President or astronauts. I think when you know, you know and not living up to that dream leads to a lifetime of disappo intment.”
    Steven shot him a look as he pushed up his glasses. “Well, you’re fighting fires anyway. Me? I’m just the desk-jockey.”
“An important desk-jockey whose job is critical to the arrest of sickos,” Mark clarified. He took a long drink before he continued. “God, you should have seen the blaze today.”
Mark still rode the adrenaline high. Even though Steven couldn’t smell the smoke on his freshly showered body, the gleam in his eyes gave him away. Mark on a high was enough to make Steven’s skin tingle. The man was a walking pheromone. Which meant later tonight Mark would grab some cute, eager college kid from a bar and fuck his brains out. A stab of jealousy twisted Steven’s gut.
“Tell me about it,” Steven encouraged, feeling like a glutton for punishment. “And while you’re at it, check the rice cooker.”
Mark circled the granite-top island, his arms in the air as he demonstrated the magnitude of the flames. Excitement lit his voice as he described busting through a window to get to a litter of kittens at the back of the warehouse. His voice, his personality, took up space, Steven realized. He didn’t just enter a room. Mark owned it and left you gasping.
“You take too many chances,” Steven complained. “Did you wait for back up before you charged in there?”
Mark shrugged. He glanced down at the tiny white pot. “Rice is done.”
He unplugged it and brought it to the island top where the salad, Chinese sticky buns and dishware had been laid out. Dinner together had become a twice-weekly tradition since college. Every night off Mark had, he found his way over to Steven’s, and Steven never failed to cook him dinner. It used to bother Steven, but in the eight years since they’d graduated and found jobs, it had become a hallowed tradition.
Steven took the wok off the burner and scraped the contents into a serving bowl. Mark handed him a large serving spoon without interrupting his story about the blaze.
“How many made it?” Steven asked