Acrobat Read online

  Readers love

  MARY CALMES

  Mine

  “Mine has drama, sizzling sex, danger, excitement, and a riveting storyline that will grab you and hold you till the end.”

  —A Joyfully Recommended Read, Joyfully Reviewed

  Again

  “(An) incredibly romantic and sweet story with just the right side of drama.”

  —The Romance Studio

  Sinnerman

  “…packed full of intrigue, romance, excitement and hot steamy sex!”

  —Dark Divas Reviews

  After the Sunset

  “There’s just something about this well-developed and believable couple that pulls as the heartstrings.”

  —Literary Nymphs

  Change of Heart

  “Change of Heart will hold a special place in my TBR list for those occasions when I need to true love in all its many forms.”

  —Coffee Time Romance and More

  By MARY CALMES

  NOVELS

  Change of Heart

  Honored Vow

  Trusted Bond

  A Matter of Time, Vol. 1 & 2

  Bulletproof

  Acrobat

  The Guardian

  Mine

  Timing

  NOVELLAS

  After the Sunset

  Again

  Any Closer

  Frog

  Romanus

  The Servant

  What Can Be

  THE WARDER SERIES

  His Hearth

  Tooth and Nail

  Heart in Hand

  Sinnerman

  Nexus

  Cherish Your Name

  Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  Copyright

  Published by

  Dreamspinner Press

  382 NE 191st Street #88329

  Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Acrobat

  Copyright © 2012 by Mary Calmes

  Cover Art by Anne Cain [email protected]

  Cover Design by Mara McKennen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 382 NE 191st Street #88329, Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  ISBN: 978-1-61372-500-9

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition

  May 2012

  eBook edition available

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-501-6

  The idea for Acrobat was inspired by a painting of Steve Walker’s called Parallel Dreams. I saw it on his website and was moved to try and capture what led to the moment in the relationship of the two men, one of aching tenderness and trust. My version has its flaws, his artwork has none. When I finished the book, I asked if the picture might possibly be used for the cover and only then was informed that he had passed away. He will be missed, and I for one cannot thank him enough for all the wonderful ideas he gave me.

  —Mary Calmes

  The allure of the figure has been immortalized in painting and sculpture for centuries, yet few artists capture the quiet grace and vulnerability underlying the voluptuous musculature and sinewy lines of the idealized male nude. Through light and color, Steve Walker created warm, living, real men of beauty and emotion on the canvas, imbuing his figures with the subtle tenderness of shared love and quiet moments of reflection. As an artist, I cannot express how much his artistic voice has influenced my own, helping me to ground the idealized male physique in a language that conveys the sincerity of true emotion. The body of work he leaves behind in the wake of his short life is a treasure—not only for us in the art community, but for all who understand that underneath the chiseled physique of a Greek god is the warm, beating heart of a human soul.

  While I can never compare myself to your mastery, Steve, the cover art for Acrobat is a small token of thanks for what you’ve given us. You will be missed and loved, always.

  —Anne Cain

  I would also like to say a special thank you to Ariel for her words on wine. I needed her desperately since I am woefully uneducated there. And to Lidia who was my Italian translator and understood exactly what I needed.

  —Mary Calmes

  Chapter 1

  THERE was just no way.

  “You won’t know unless you try.”

  I turned to look at my ex-wife, who was still my best friend in the world. “Are you kidding? It’s hopeless.”

  “It’s actually kind of cute.”

  “Oh God,” I groaned and buried my face in my folded arms.

  We were having lunch on a Sunday at a bistro she liked that I, of course, had never heard of. But to say that she knew things about fine dining or even “chic” dining that I did not was the understatement of the century. She was more chateaubriand, and I was steak and potatoes.

  “Sweetie, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

  “I think there’s a code or something.”

  “What code?”

  “Thou shalt not covet your ex-s--students.”

  She laughed. “I think you made that one up.”

  “Oh God, it even sounds disgusting.”

  “It does not.”

  “Like you would know.”

  “Don’t be an ass just because you’re having a crisis.”

  I groaned louder.

  “You said you had him in class fourteen years ago? Is that right?”

  “I bet he doesn’t even know who Duran Duran is.”

  She started laughing. “So that makes him, what, thirty-two now? Thirty-three?”

  “Or a Rubik’s Cube.”

  The laughing got harder. “Even thirty-two is perfectly respectable for a man of forty-five.”

  “Oh God.”

  “You’re so ridiculous.”

  “That’s a thirteen-year age difference, Mel. I could be his father.”

  She was lost in a fit of giggles.

  “I could!”

  She just shook her head, wiping at her eyes. Christ, it wasn’t that funny.

  “Jared is closer to his age than mine.”

  “True.” She shivered slightly in the crisp November air.

  It made more sense for the man I had a very immature crush on to date my twenty-seven-year-old son. I was too old for him.

  “But your son isn’t gay, and Sean is, and so are you, my darling.”

  I lifted up my head, raked my fingers through my thick dirty-blond hair, and looked at her. “Do you mean to not help?”

  “Love,” she chuckled, “twenty-eight years ago me and my best friend got drunk off our asses, and because he was hot—still is, I might add—I jumped his bones when I had the chance and got knocked up just like the nuns said I would.”

  “Thank you for the recap.” I grunted, leaning back, looking at her.

  Her hand went to my knee. “And lo and behold, nine months later you did the right thing and made an honest woman of me because you loved me and fell madly in love with your kid the second you saw him.”

  “He was cute.” I sighed in memory.

  “He looked like an undercooked slab of meatloaf.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “But
true,” she added brightly. “And that cute little blob grew up to be a wonderful young man.”

  “Who will make an excellent wildlife biologist very soon.” I smiled at her.

  She made a noise that was not nice.

  “Oh c’mon, Mel, everyone takes a semester off when they’re getting their doctorate,” I defended my wayward kid. “It’s a lot of studying to do all in one shot.”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever. We’re not discussing Jare; we’re discussing you.”

  “Let’s not.” I exhaled sharply, picking up my menu. “What’re we eating?”

  She snatched the leather-bound piece from my hands, which should have been my first clue that I was out of my depth in the “bistro,” and smacked me with it.

  “Owww,” I complained loudly.

  She banged it back down on the table. “I want to talk about Sean.”

  “I don’t. I’m not ready anyway.”

  “No-no-no, you will not hide behind your dead relationship with Duncan anymore. It’s been over a year and a half, Nate. It’s time to dive back in.”

  “I have,” I assured her. “I’ve been on some dates.”

  “Who have you slept with?”

  “How is that your business?”

  “Nate, you need to get laid.”

  “Ohmygod, could you speak up, please,” I said sarcastically. “The people one street over didn’t hear you.”

  She tried not to smile.

  “Jesus, woman,” I scolded her.

  “It’s time to get back on the horse.”

  “Mel—”

  “Or back in the saddle, which is it?”

  I dropped my voice an octave. “Listen to me—”

  “Oh no, you did not just try and use your teacher voice on me.”

  I rolled my eyes at her.

  “How dare you.”

  “Can we just—”

  “You didn’t love him anyway.”

  Again with the same argument—she was like a broken record. “I did.”

  “You cared for him, but you didn’t love him. Someday, I hope, you’ll understand the difference.”

  “There isn’t anything to get,” I argued. “Caring for someone, being in love with them, it’s the same thing. You’re arguing semantics.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You’re so stubborn.”

  “And you’re in denial.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t see the difference.”

  “I know, and that’s the problem.”

  “Being in love the way you’re talking about is nothing but trouble.”

  “Spoken like a man who’s never been head over heels in love.”

  “Thank God. Have you read Romeo and Juliet?”

  She growled.

  “I cared for Duncan deeply.”

  She gave me a look.

  “Listen, what does it matter what it was called? I was invested in the man’s happiness. How is that not love?”

  “I hate it when you do that!”

  “Do what?”

  “You’re equating love and caring again, and we both know that love is more than caring, so therefore they cannot mean the same thing.”

  “I love you, I love Jare, hell, I even love Ben. I know what—”

  “I’m not talking about loving me because I’m your best friend and the mother of your child, and I’m not talking about loving your kid because you’re his father or the love you feel for your friends. I’m talking about romance.”

  “Fine. I had a romance with Duncan Stiel that unfortunately came to an end.”

  She huffed out a sharp breath.

  “You don’t like that description either?”

  “Listen, one of these days, you are going to fall madly in love with someone, and I pray to God I’m there to see it so I can point at you and yell ‘ah-hah’ at the top of my lungs.”

  “That’s very mature.”

  “Whatever,” she said dismissively. “All I know is it’s time for you to start dating again with a chance of it getting serious, and the handsome young doctor would be someone nice to start back up with.”

  “I’ve been on dates since Duncan,” I said again.

  “But you haven’t gotten laid. That’s the part that’s missing.”

  “How do you know?”

  Her eyes lit up. “You got laid? When? Who was it?”

  I was not about to discuss my sex life with her. “What are you, living vicariously through me?”

  She gave me a dismissive wave. “Instead of talking someone to death, have sex instead.”

  “You want me to be a manwhore?”

  “I want you to begin a new physical relationship with another man.”

  But that wasn’t just something I could jump into, at least not long term. One night stands were another area all together. “There has to be a deeper connection than dinner and a movie,” I told her.

  “Like love.”

  “Like caring,” I corrected her. “Like things in common, goals.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, who’s the romantic here?”

  “Nate—”

  “I saw him coming out of a bathhouse, did I tell you?”

  “Who?”

  “Duncan. God. Try and follow the conversation.”

  “Why do I care about Duncan Stiel anymore?”

  “Because he was coming out of a bathhouse!” I was indignant.

  “I hardly cared about him while you two were together. What makes you think I give a crap about him now?”

  “You are completely missing the point.”

  Her sigh was long and exasperated. “And what were you doing there?”

  “Where?”

  “Now who’s not keeping up?”

  “Oh, you mean at the bathhouse.”

  She widened her eyes and gave me the exasperated waggle of her head.

  “I wasn’t at a bathhouse; I was across the street buying porn.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “That I was buying porn?”

  The snort of laughter was not ladylike at all.

  “Shit.”

  She made a rolling motion with her hand for me to go on.

  “I can promise you, I no longer frequent bathhouses.” I smiled at her. “They’re gross.”

  “You’re a prude,” she pronounced.

  “I don’t want to catch a disease.”

  “That’s what condoms are for.”

  I squinted at her. “Who are you?”

  “Just—keep going.”

  “That’s it. I saw him there, my ex at a bathhouse.”

  “Oooh, was he carrying his badge and his gun? Was it a bust?”

  “No, it wasn’t a bust; you’re completely missing the point.”

  “I’m not.” She cleared her throat. “I get it, and I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. It’s just, you know, he can’t move in with me, he can’t be seen in public even holding my hand, but he can apparently fuck hundreds of nameless, faceless guys in bathhouses and clubs with impunity.”

  “In all fairness,” she said softly, “you knew the man was in the closet when you started up with him. He was very up-front and honest.”

  “Please don’t remind of the huge-ass hypocrite I am.”

  “That’s not what I meant to do. It’s just that if he can’t be in a loving, committed, grown-up relationship with another man since he’s in the closet because of work, he still has needs. What are his options, really, besides screwing in bathhouses and clubs? You have to think about it logically.”

  “True, it’s just that when I saw him leaving with that boy a couple weeks ago, I thought about how old I was, you know?”

  “Ohmygod, Nate, you’re not old!”

  “But I’m older than the guy he was with, and I was so way up on my moral high horse at that moment, and now look at me in the same boat, lusting after some twink who probably bottoms like a—”

  “Not a twink at all,”
she championed Sean Cooper, the man in question. “I met him, you’ll remember.”

  This was why she was badgering me; she had been with me when I ducked down the produce aisle a week ago, running around like an idiot because I had seen him first.

  “And I think the man’s a top, actually.”

  I put my head back at the futility of the situation. The young man who had made me tongue-tied in English 101 all those years ago was, in my opinion, absolute perfection.

  Sean Cooper was six feet two inches of heaven. He ran, he swam—had been, in fact, on the water polo team when he was in college—and was in possession of the most beautifully carved physique I had ever seen. The lines of him defeated me, but more than that was his kindness.

  He remembered everything anyone ever said, as evidenced when he caught me and Melissa in the wine aisle fifteen minutes after I had sought to evade him.

  “Doctor Qells.” He had smiled, and the light-blue eyes had glowed warmly.

  “Sean.” I sighed because the jig was up and I was caught.

  “Still hunting for the perfect merlot?”

  Fifteen years I hadn’t seen him, but he could still recall a small, insignificant detail from me fooling around in class with my students. It was heady stuff. The man was thoughtful and funny and sarcastic and smart. He was, he told me, an attending at the county hospital, having just moved back to Chicago from the West Coast, from California. He was going into pediatrics—he wanted kids. And that brought up a whole laundry list of other concerns, because I was forty-five and….

  “Forget it.” I shook my head. “It’s useless anyway. If I wanted to ask him out, I should have done it right then, when he was looking at me and…. But now what am I going to do, call him up out of the blue, ask to take him out? Really?”

  “Why not? All he can say is no.”

  “You know, why do women not get the whole horror of asking someone out on a date only to be shot down? Why? If I live to be a thousand, I will never get the whole quick shrug thing like it’s nothing. It is physically painful to be told no. Do you get that at all?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She lifted her hand to wave at her husband, who was coming up the sidewalk to meet us for lunch.

  “Don’t tell Ben,” I muttered before he got there.

  “Don’t tell Ben what?” the man in question said as he leaned over, kissed his wife’s cheek, and then came around the table as I stood up.