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Drawing the Line

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Book: Drawing the Line


EXCERPT FROM BOOK

Chapter 1

Joe Scarbino parked his car on the curved driveway at the stately home in Beverly Hills. After a long week working with the LAPD’s Community Police Team, Joe was both bored out of his mind and exhausted at the same time. But…at least the weekend had arrived.
He shut his Dodge, Charger down and reached for a small cardboard box he had placed on the passenger’s seat. As he climbed out of his car, he felt the heat of the summer day still clinging on. When he drew closer to the front door to the multimillion dollar abode, it opened.
A flash of excitement washed over Joe as he admired his gorgeous Hollywood movie star boyfriend, Jeremy Runner.
“Hey,” Jeremy said softly as Joe approached. They kissed sweetly and Joe entered the glamorous old home, once owned by a grand dame of the movies, Greta Gable.
Joe followed Jeremy into the house as he made his way to the man-cave.
Feeling giddy, Joe held out the cardboard box to Jeremy.
“What’s this?” Jeremy smiled at him, his blue eyes bright.
Joe removed his gun-pouch from his waist, setting it on the side table near a double vibrating recliner. The room was filled with pristine vintage toys, pinball games, and a huge flat screen TV on the wall. “I bought you something with the windfall I got from that TV show.”
Jeremy held the small box. “That’s right. Your house was featured on some ghost hunting show.”
“It hasn’t aired yet. I think they said it’s going to be a two-hour long special.” Joe pointed to the box. “Open it.”
“Did ya eat dinner?” Jeremy started pulling open the tape at the seams.
“Yeah. I’m good.” Joe hopped onto the recliner and dragged Jeremy down with him.
Joe was paid five-thousand bucks from the Transport Channel. They wanted to tape a ghost hunting show at his home. The Van Nuys house had some odd things happening inside it, and Joe was happy he now lived in Malibu.
Jeremy stretched his arm towards a standing lamp and lit it, then continued to try and get inside the damn package.
Joe shifted on the recliner and dug into his pocket, removing a pocketknife.
Jeremy chuckled. “My boy scout.” He took the knife after Joe extended a blade.
“Yeah, that’s me.” Joe laughed at the irony. He watched Jeremy open the outer box and remove the inner one carefully.
Joe took his knife back, folded it and pocketed it.
Jeremy inspected the packaging of the inside box carefully and glanced at Joe. “You bought this?”
“Yes. Online.” Joe narrowed his eyes. “Why? You collect toys, right?”
Jeremy shifted to sit up higher on the seat and very carefully, opened the box. He removed a tin toy, one with a mouse on a steamboat. “What the fuck? How much did you pay for it?”
Joe tilted his head in confusion. “You can’t ask that!” he laughed, “It’s a gift!”
“Hang on.” Jeremy continued to inspect the toy. “This can’t be original. It’s a repop, right?”
“Huh?” Joe had no idea. He just thought it was cute. “I don’t know.”
Jeremy appeared confused and then, put the toy into the box once more, set it aside and pulled Joe to his mouth for a kiss.
Joe whimpered and slid lower on the recliner as his gorgeous movie star boyfriend made out with him. I knew it was a good idea to get you something. Ha!
Joe moaned and pulled Jeremy closer, digging his fingers down Jeremy’s pants.
~
The Nation’s top Male Model, Mark Antonious Richfield, carried his youngest son, Jacob Bentley Richfield, down the grand mahogany staircase in his mansion in Paradise, California. The little tyke was getting bigger every day eating Sierra’s amazing cooking. At ten-months-old, Jacob was beginning to crawl and standing in his crib.
Jacob’s brother, Isaac Milton Richfield, was already walking, speeding around the house like a windup toy.
Luckily Mark wasn’t alone and had help caring for his new sons.
Hearing giggling laughter, Mark paused in the large marble foyer, seeing his second husband, Stan Charles Richfield, chasing Isaac, or ‘Zak’, around the lower floor. Zak had recently figured out how to pedal his tricycle, and used it to ride down the long corridor of the first floor.
Stan was a strapping man, standing six-four with hazel eyes. He was only twenty-seven years old. He paused in his running after Zak and laughed at Mark at the effort it took to watch him.
“Hey,” Stan chuckled as he spoke, “I thought I was in shape!”
Mark kissed him. “You are in shape.”
“Daddy Stan!” Isaac called from the hall, “Where are you?”
Stan waggled his eyebrows at Mark and jogged off.
Mark smiled and shook his head, continuing to the nook with Jacob. “Your brother is silly, Jacob.”
The little one with the big blue eyes and fine blond hair wasn’t saying much yet. Mostly noises and ‘dada.’ He’d had a rough start to his young life. Mark had impregnated his mother, his ex-fiancé, Sharon Tice-Hill, in a church in Pasadena.
In Mark’s humble opinion, that woman was insane.
Mark slid into the nook with his little man and sat him on his lap.
Sierra, their wonderful chef, was busy preparing dinner for them. “Would you like a bottle, Jake?”
The little man nodded, one finger in his mouth.
Mark kissed his pudgy cheek and said, “And then, we’ll eat Sierra’s wonderful dinner.” Mark relaxed while he waited and gazed outside. From the nook’s bench seating area, he could see the entire back of his property; the newly remodeled stable, the outdoor paddock, where they housed four horses; the tennis and basketball courts, the outdoor pool, and the meadow and mountains beyond.
“Hey.”
Mark snapped out of his thoughts to focus his attention on his ex-husband, Steven Jay Miller. Steve lived with them at the thirteen-bedroom estate, and was now Mark’s business partner at Richfield-Miller International, a garment company Mark had inherited when his mother passed away.