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Three of a Kind by Sean Michael Release Date: May 16, 2009
Publisher: Torquere Books
ISBN: 978-1-60370-713-8
ISBN (10): 1-60370-713-1
Publisher Link: http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=1971
Blurb: Zane is about to give up by the time his truck breaks down in Arizona. All he has in the world is the truck, less than fifty bucks, and more bruises than any one young man should have to bear. That's when he meets buff giant Butch, who takes Zane in, helping him get his life back together. Problem is, Butch already has a lover, an artist named Randy. Or at least Zane thinks it’s a problem. Turns out it's not the kind of trouble Zane thinks it is when Butch and Randy both take an interest in him. Can Zane let go of his troubled past and let Butch and Randy teach him that love doesn't have to hurt?
Excerpt:
Chapter One
Zane looked at the mile marker, then at the map.
Then at the big assed segauro outside, then at the white smoking pouring out of the engine.
Fuck a duck.
Zane looked at his fingers shaking and trembling against the steering wheel. There was a deep cut in one of his knuckles and it was red and raw. Hurt.
Didn't hurt as bad as some of him, but it was something to focus on. Something to look at while he sat in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere Arizona, trying not to run in blind circles, screaming.
Headlights lit up his rearview mirror, the truck slowing, pulling up behind him.
Zane grabbed his hat, pulled it on, told himself not to panic. Just a good Samaritan. Okay.
The guy who got out of the truck was tall, wearing jeans and a wife beater. He came up to the window. "Hey. You okay?"
Zane nodded, tugged the brim of his hat down a little. No. No, he wasn't okay, but he wasn't in Abilene anymore, so that was all right. His nose was broken, for sure, maybe his cheek and he was scared to try and take his shirt off. "Truck blew the water pump."
"I'm not surprised. This thing looks like it belongs in the junk heap. In fact I think I might have have a few there looking in better shape." The guy went around to the hood and put it up, checking out his engine.
Zane slid out of the cab, heading for the front. "I don't suppose you have some duct tape and water to spare? I'd be real grateful." He ached, deep inside, and just wanted to get to San Diego, see the ocean.
"I probably got the duct tape, but no water on me." The guy slammed the hood and bent a little, peering at his face. "You're almost in worse shape than the truck."
"I'll be okay. Someone'll be by with water. Thanks for stopping." He'd sleep in the truck and then figure shit out in the morning.
The guy snorted. "This time of night? You're lucky I happened by." The guy nodded at his truck. "Come on, I'll take you home and you can clean yourself up. Tomorrow I'll bring you out and the tow truck can get this puppy to the junk heap."
"I... If you've got a spare water pump, I could install it in the morning." If it cost less than the $37.50 in his pocket.
"Sure we can see what there is. Hell, it's a junk heap, there's bound to be something you can use." A square hand was thrust out. "Butch Serno."
He reached out, shook. "Zane Howell. Pleased."
Butch turned his hand. "That's a nasty scratch."
"Yeah. Been a long couple days." Real long.
"Well let´s see if we can end this one with a bit of antiseptic and sleep." Butch led the way back to his red pick-up.
"Y...you're sure? I... I ain't got much cash to pay for a night." God, he was tired and if this guy was going to hurt him, he thought he'd rather just lie down and die.
"Oh, I think I can manage to put a scrawny pup like you up for a night without expecting anything in return."
"Thank you, sir." He pulled down his hat again, grabbed the trash bag with what was left of everything he had, something deep inside him screaming as he lifted. Please, God. Let him get to wherever without breaking down.
The garbage bag was taken from him and put in the back of the truck and the passenger door opened. "You think you can get in without making a face like that again?"
"I'll give it my dead level best." He eased himself up, sitting gingerly.
Butch got up behind the wheel and started her up, heading back out onto the road. "How badly are you hurt?"
"I'm not fixing to die. Just real sore."
Butch nodded, quiet for awhile before they turned into a long lane into a junkyard. "I got a roommate. So you know."
"I won't cause no trouble. I swear. I'll be out of your hair in the morning."
"I just thought you'd want to know. Not have it sneak up on you." He got a measured look from dark brown eyes.
"Thanks. I. Hell, right now I'd sleep in the truck here, 'til morning." Zane turned his head, looking out into the blackness.
Lights were on in the large warehouse-like building where they pulled up, the front area full of strange looking mounds that he couldn't quite make out in the dim light.
"Oh, I think we can do you better than the truck." Butch killed the engine and hopped out, went around for Zane's bag of stuff.
Zane eased himself down, slowly followed Butch, running on adrenaline and autopilot. He refused to start thinking about what kind of a fool he was, what sort of a dead-on moron. He had the rest of his life to kick his own ass on that account.
