The Gloves Come Off

THE GLOVES COME OFF

"I'm not sure."

"Sheryl, you can't miss out."

She shoved a broom in my hand. When I didn't start sweeping, she made a grand gesture, stepping out of my way. Her gum smacked louder than the music on the radio.

"It's not going to sweep itself. Don't tell me you forgot how this works."

I huffed. I might as well have stepped into a time machine and traveled back to my childhood. There weren't many job opportunities for the kids of Firefly. Babysitting had been the occupation of choice, but the girls cornered the market.

When Mom told me I'd have to buy my own comics, I nearly fainted. Apparently, the tab at the grocery store had gotten out of control. Determined to keep myself drowning in superheroes, I went from one store to the next, asking if they had any work. Sheers by Sheryl had been my last stop.

"Geez, Sheryl, when was the last time you swept?" I could barely see the floor under all the hair. Either she had been going non-stop since she opened, or Sheryl needed to hire herself another shampoo boy.

She pushed those cat-eye glasses up her nose, making sure I could see the displeasure on her face. "This is why I fired you."

Sheryl, more than any other person in Firefly, had a rigid exterior, almost as rigid as the perm she had since the 80s. After weeks of scrubbing scalps and prepping customers for her scissors, I noticed things weren't as they seemed. When Carol came in, only weeks after her husband passed, Sheryl convinced her to try a new look. The boost of confidence had Carol smiling ear-to-ear. When I told her I was heading for college and had to cut my hours back to just weekends, she fired me.

"Did you ever think you'd go off to school only to come back and clean the floors again?" She picked up a can of hairspray and gave her hair a little spritz before giving it a little lift.

I pushed the broom around the two barber chairs. The amount of gray and white hair on the floor reminded me of who usually sat in these chairs, my mom being one of them. The older ladies treated Sheryl as one-part town gossip and one-part therapist with scissors.

"I have nightmares about cleaning hair out of the drains. "

"You and me both." Sheryl climbed into a chair. I had always wondered who did her hair? Nobody in Firefly had an answer, and that alone made the information worth gold. "I think half of it belongs to Sandra. She's done found herself a new man, and she wanted to switch it up."

"Did she shave it all off?"

"Almost!" Sheryl spun the chair around as I swept up the last of the hair. It was enough to make two wigs. The next time I did my laundry, it'd be caught in the lint trap, another thing that haunted my dreams.

"She got one of those pixie cuts. I was skeptical at first, but she's quite the hot momma now."

Sandra went to school with my mom. They had been rivals on the cheer squad. Mom still told stories about how Sandra once dropped her during a stunt. That's what happened when the coach appointed them as co-captains. She clung to that grudge as if it had happened yesterday.

"I would help my favorite shampoo boy in a heartbeat." It took a moment before I realized she switched topics to the convention. "There's nothing a crazy old woman with scissors can do at a comic book convention."

She had a point, but I wasn't leaving until she joined the cause. We had teenagers volunteering to help keep the event running smoothly. Sheryl would slap me silly if I had her working with a bunch of kids.

"Run the store?"

She raised an eyebrow at the suggestion. I put away the broom and sat in the chair next to her, spinning around in circles. "During the convention, I'm going to be busy. I can't be in Legends the whole time. You're not open on Saturdays. You could help Jon."

"Jon." She spoke his name with disdain. If I thought the grudge against my mom was hilarious, I wasn't sure about the one she held with Jon. When I didn't ask, she proceeded as if I had.

"He came in here one time for a haircut. He wanted the sides shaved, a little length on the top, nothing unusual." This was news to me. I didn't even know Jon spent time in Firefly without me. "I saw the bastard the next day at Walmart, and do you know what he did?"

"You're going to tell me, aren't you?"

She jumped out of the chair. "He shaved his head. If that's what he wanted, he should have asked. I can only assume he didn't like his haircut. The audacity of that little whelp."

Who knew hair choices created such hostility in Sheryl? I remember Jon and his bald phase. He regretted it. Not everybody has the skull to pull it off.

"So, I take it that's a no."

Her arms crossed over her chest as she shook her head from side to side. "Oh, I'm in."

"Huh?"

"Jon won't be able to get away." She picked up a pair of scissors off the counter. I could see her face in the mirror. It bordered on sinister. "I'm going to?—"

"You can't kill Jon."

Sheryl spun about. She opened her mouth before looking down at the scissors. Even her laugh had a sinister edge. "I'm not killing nobody. I'm going to give him the best haircut of his life."

It'd be a disaster, at least for Jon. I had little choice in the matter. I needed coverage, and I wanted as many people invested in the convention. Would I be coming back to Jon's body lying on the floor with a fresh haircut? Probably.

"I'll make sure he knows."

"Don't tell him," she said with a smirk. "I don't want him shaving his head to avoid me."

Today had taken a very weird turn, and it had barely begun. I offered Sheryl the broom. "Promise. I'll keep it a secret. I'll give you a call before the convention with all the details."

I had almost made it to the door when she shouted, "I'll see you at Bingo tonight?"

The best way to advertise the convention would be to meet them where they're gathered. I'd be a fool not to show up to Bingo and spread the gospel. More than that, a certain somebody needed to experience the grandeur of small-town living.

"Oh, I'll definitely be there." And I wouldn't be there alone.

I stood in front of the American Legion, watching as people filed through the front door. I must have been twenty years younger than the average participant at Bingo Night, but I wasn't nearly as rowdy. As Rupert held the door for his wife, Millie, I overheard her talking smack. She was going to bring Gladys's winning streak to an end.

I gasped when I spotted Simon. We had exchanged a dozen texts about the event, specifically about the dress code. My comment about looking like a lumberjack had been in jest. The way the red flannel hugged his upper body, I was already thinking about the wood I wanted him to handle.

"Do I look like I'll fit in?"

"We can skip Bingo."

"That bad?"

I adjusted myself. "That good."

Under the light of the American Legion sign, I watched his cheeks turn red. His humble nature only made him more appealing. Simon knew he was handsome, but he didn't think others agreed. I didn't care about their opinions. Right now, he was close to being thrown against the building and stripped naked.

Gladys strolled toward the door, slowing as she eyed the two of us. "Keep the hanky-panky out of Bingo." She smiled as I held the door open. "So says the reigning queen."

I gestured for Simon to head in. "What have you gotten me into?"

"Welcome to small-town anarchy."

We walked into a hundred people milling about. The only time I saw more Firefly residents in one spot was at a funeral. Thirty tables, three wide and ten deep, all facing the front of the hall. Each held a few old metal folding chairs. The die-hard players brought seat cushions. That's how you knew they were in it for the long haul.

A small speaker system had been set up, and the Bingo sign, with its glowing numbers, shone bright. It looked innocent enough, but if I waited, I'd see the glares between players. Any other night, they would be the best of friends, but on Bingo Night, only one person walked out the victor.

"Should we grab a seat?" He reached for a chair.

"No!" I pulled his hand away from the seat. "That's Millie's seat."

"I'm sensing there are a lot of unwritten rules."

"Be careful. This one time, Roger sat in her chair, and let's just say we haven't seen Roger since."

"She killed him?"

I laughed. "Nothing so sinister. Millie put salt in his birthday cake. Revenge is a dish best served baked."

I pointed to a couple of chairs. "Far enough away from the die-hards and the trolls."

"Trolls?"

I pointed to another table. Bingo was a game of chance, not skill. That meant everybody brought their luckiest of luck charms. Some had lucky rabbit's foot, others had a magical locket, but Ingrid brought a dozen of those toy troll dolls. It bordered on OCD how she kissed them between each round. So far, they hadn't gotten her very far.

"You're all crazy."

Simon took his seat while I went to the counter along the back wall. On Sundays, they had spaghetti dinners, giving the proceeds to families in need. It was one of the things I loved about Firefly. In a time of crisis, they banded together. Somehow, it always involved pasta.

In the pass between the kitchen and the dining room, Walter sold Bingo sheets. When he spotted me, his eyes lit up. I hadn't seen him since the park. He'd want details before he let me buy my Bingo sheets.

"So?"

"So?" I asked.

"How was your ‘not a date' date?"

I couldn't fight the smile. Which one? They had all been magical. When I didn't answer, Walter put his hands over his heart. "I know that look."

"Yeah, it went well."

"Get lucky?"

"Walter!"

"Just a couple guys talking?—"

"Nope. No. Never." I'm pretty sure my entire body had turned red.

"Can't kiss and tell. I respect that." He gave me a wink. I don't think I'd ever be able to play poker with him in the park again. I'd be just shy of giggling as they probed for information.

I dropped a ten on the counter. "What's the cause this month?"

"Uniforms for the band kids." I had never been a band geek, but I respected them. They were in every event on the green. If we had a parade, those band kids were front and center. For that cause, I dropped another ten on the table.

"He doesn't know what he's in store for," Walter said as he pointed to Simon. "If he survives this, I say he's a keeper."

He doled out a stack of Bingo cards. I didn't argue when he slipped me a few extras. Everybody knew with enough sweet talking, Walter would let you play for free. The first time is free, he'd say as if he were a geriatric peddling drugs.

As I returned to my chair, Simon spun about, taking in the scene. Every character in Firefly came out tonight. If he could endure a night of Bingo shenanigans, he'd survive the small-town life.

When I plopped down, splitting the cards between us, he leaned in. "Does that woman have an urn?"

I didn't need to turn. "Patricia swears her dog bends the laws of space and time to give her an edge. At least it's not the urn with her husband."

"I would say you're joking?—"

"And you'd be wrong," I said. "You'll get used to the weird. Eventually, nothing surprises you."

"And I thought cities had a monopoly on weird shit."

"They don't even—" When I turned, I spotted the open button on his shirt. Had I missed it before? Or had he unhooked another while I grabbed the cards? The split between the fabric allowed a glimpse of the white patch on his chest. I was saying something, but I'd be damned if I could remember what. Right now, I wanted to feel that soft tuft of hair against my cheek.

"If you keep staring, I'll button up to the collar."

I nodded. "You might have to. "

The lights flashed twice as the announcer called for people to take their seats. Chairs scraped against the floor as they sat down and started their good luck rituals. I reached into my pocket and pulled out two Bingo stamps.

"We can't have you using a pen like a virgin." I held up the blue and purple blotters. "Choose your color, good sir."

He grabbed the purple from my hand. "And I think we've established there's nothing virgin about me," he whispered. We had, but I think it was time to check again… for accuracy.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. I was about to say the evening was on me when he pulled out a pressed four-leaf clover and set it on the table.

"Daddy is in it to win."

If I thought back to that moment in the comic store, I hadn't expected anything more than an adventurous romp. Simon might be talking about Bingo, but right now, I felt like the winner.

"B 17."

Simon pressed the blotter on his paper. "Come on, Lady Luck."

"In your face, Simon."

Patricia pointed at Simon as if she were challenging him to a wrestling match. If I had to bet, she'd come out the victor. After winning three games in a row, she needed to remind Simon his beginner's luck had run out. She held up her Bingo card as it confirmed her victory.

"She has Bingo," Frank announced.

The crowd groaned. Patricia acted as if she spiked a football and followed up with a little dance. She might have won, but at the expense of her humility. People crumpled up their cards, already preparing for the next round. Thankfully, Frank called for intermission.

"It gets heated," I said. "This way, everybody can go out, have a cigarette and cool off. The second half of the evening is when the gloves come off."

Simon's eyes went wide. "This was the warmup? I don't think I'm ready for the main event."

We had played for the last hour and a half, and for a while, I thought he might have become Millie's new arch-nemesis. Thankfully, Patricia would have to face her wrath for the rest of the evening.

We had reached the end of our cards, and unless he wanted to see the dark underbelly of Firefly, it'd be the perfect spot to call it a night and duck out. "I think it's time we call it a night."

Simon slid the four-leaf clover into his wallet as he stood up. Sliding it into his back pocket, I couldn't help but stare at the backside of the bear. I had never considered myself a top, but if he wanted to satisfy a curiosity, I'd gladly step up to the plate.

As we ducked out, I caught Walter's eye. He winked and made a kissy face. I'm sure I'd be hearing about our premature departure tomorrow. The rumors would range from a standoff between Simon and Patricia to me salivating over him while Frank called the numbers. The second wasn't far from the truth.

When we got outside, it was the usual suspects. If this were the city, it'd be the type of gathering you'd expect outside a bar or club. In good ol' Firefly, our late-night entertainment always took place at the American Legion. More amusing was how the attitude changed the moment we exited the building.

"You're the new guy, right?" Patricia asked.

Simon would hold that title until a new new guy arrived. I couldn't help but be impressed with how quickly he rolled with it.

"I am indeed. You must be the beauty I hear all the gossip about."

Patricia's jaw dropped. It was probably the first time in years somebody called her beautiful and meant it. She stuttered, whatever sharp word lodged in her throat.

"Smooth talker," Millie said. "Patty, he's the guy who reopened Sunshine."

"Come on by, and I'll make sure you have a meal you'll never forget." Simon had charm. Bucket loads. When we left, they'd squawk about him for the rest of the night. "I'll make the Sheepherder's breakfast with extra love."

Before either could reply, the lights flashed. Whatever compassion they had mustered vanished as their game faces returned. Millie went for the door, but Patricia beat her to it. If they escaped the night without bite marks, I'd be shocked. When everybody had gone inside, I wrapped an arm around Simon's waist, bumping my hip against his.

"What did you think?"

"I think I am starting to understand this small-town thing. The brochure forgot some of the subtle nuances."

"You're winning them over." By them, I meant me. Simon had won me over. I didn't want to come off, as Amanda put it, a thirsty ho. "Sorry, you didn't have more luck tonight."

Simon looked over his shoulder, inspecting up and down the street. Had he heard something? He glanced at the door where Frank had already started calling numbers for the next game. I was about to ask what had him on high alert when he turned back to me.

"Could still get lucky tonight."

Oh.

Simon reached up and popped the next button on his flannel. With a shake of the shoulders, it opened enough to see the top of the lightning bolt. He didn't have to say anything. My imagination had already taken over.

I took him by the hand and dragged him behind me. We passed the dance studio and turned into a gap between the buildings. My childhood had been spent playing hide and seek on these streets. I had discovered every nook and cranny to slip away from prying eyes.

I pulled Simon into a vestibule at the back of the dance studio. Sheltered from prying eyes, I pinned him against the door. My hand ran up the softness of his flannel and when it reached the part in the fabric, I gave him a quick flash of teeth. "Been thinking about this all night."

"Seems my lucky charm worked." Lucky for him, or for me?

I kissed his chest before he used a single finger to lift my chin. He kissed my forehead, the tip of my nose, and then my lips. It could be described as chaste, but the slowness and the tender care made it anything but.

"Damn," I whispered.

"I think you have a phobia about beds." Funny. Not the first time I had heard that comment.

"Couldn't get away with this in the city, could you?"

His hand ran down the front of my jeans. There was no way he missed the stiffness of my cock. I sighed as he cupped it, giving it a slight pat. "You mean this?"

I opted for nodding instead of speaking.

We were like teenagers as we groped, eager to touch each other anywhere possible. He put a hand on my chest, turning us about before he pinned me to the door. His other hand undid the button on my jeans before sliding his hand inside.

I couldn't decide which was hotter, the bear pawing my cock or that a Bingo-goer could walk by at any moment. The former. Definitely the former. When his fingers wrapped around my shaft, my knees buckled, and I thought I'd slide down the door. Throwing my arms around his neck, I kept myself upright.

"Somebody's excited," he whispered.

He kissed my neck until he reached the soft spot behind my ear. I gasped. His hand didn't have much room to move. Had I known I'd receive a handjob, I'd have opted for roomier gray sweatpants. They were short motions, barely a flick of the wrist as he jerked me.

"Don't stop," I muttered.

He bit my earlobe, holding it between his teeth while he breathed in and out. It sounded like the roar of an ocean wave as the heat of his breath cascaded across my cheek. Simon defied any measure of sexy. If I ranked every man I had seen naked, there wouldn't be any competition. Simon could get me stiff with a sideways glance.

His lips moved down my jaw until we kissed. I wanted… needed him to know how amazing he was. The thoughts translated in my head, reaching my lips as I kissed with fervor. I moaned while his tongue danced with mine.

"Come for me." It wasn't a request.

I nodded, resting my forehead against his. Even with the dim light, I marveled at the intensity in his eyes. Simon was a man on a mission, and who was I to object? He supported my weight as I held on for dear life. My hips thrust into his hand.

We continued like this for another minute, our gaze never breaking. I bit my lip as the tingling started in my toes. My body stiffened, and the orgasm pulled my balls tight. I moaned when he swept in, locking lips to muffle my cries. He wrapped an arm around my waist, holding me in place as I shivered.

Simon continued milking my cock as I shot. With the amount of cum unloading in my briefs, I'd be surprised if it didn't leave a wet spot on my jeans. The tremors continued as my cock turned sensitive. It was almost too much, but I wouldn't tell him to let go. If he gave me a few minutes, I'd let him go a second round.

"That was hot," he whispered.

I yelped when he gave my cock a squeeze. I sucked in my gut as he pulled his hand free. He locked eyes as he licked his hand. Oh, my. As he sucked his finger clean, I wanted another round. Right now. Without haste. Spin me around and rail me. He could have made any demand, and I'd have nodded in agreement.

"Uh-huh." It was the best I could manage.

He let me go before reaching down and fastening the button. I was going to ask if it was his turn. By his expression, he had gotten what he wanted. I jumped as he gave my package a light pat. I'd go home tonight and jerk off again, thinking about his face as he manhandled my cock.

"Should we call it a night?" I asked. I feared the answer.

He kissed my forehead. "I'd prefer we didn't." Damn. Simon knew exactly how to send the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy. "But one of us has to be up at sunrise to bake the bread."

I didn't like it, and apparently, my face didn't hide my lack of enthusiasm.

"But I'd like to do this again."

"There are plenty of doorways we have yet?—"

"I was thinking dinner."

"I don't know. Looks like somebody got their dessert."

The smirk. He could try to be innocent, but so far, our get-togethers had mostly ended in fireworks. I wasn't complaining. As long as I got to see that handsome face, it'd be a perfect evening.

"Yes. I'd love another date, even if our clothes stay on."

"Whoa. I didn't say that." He gave my package another pat. "I'm finding it hard to keep my hands to myself."

"I'm finding it hard. Period." I couldn't help but snort. "Okay, that sounded cheesy, even to me."

When he wrapped his arms around my torso, squeezing me in a bear hug, I melted. The sex was great and the kissing top-notch. Sometimes, a man needs to be held. Simon's superpower must be reading my body language. His embrace was exactly what I craved.

A few minutes later, we left the alley holding hands. We had yet to part ways, and already I imagined our next encounter.