Tom Clarkson sat on a picnic table in Delph Lake Municipal Park—ass on the tabletop, feet on the bench seat, elbows on knees, and chin in his hands. The sun shone on his brown hair streaked with blond. He wore sunglasses, a black sleeveless tee, ragged cut-off jeans, and flip-flops. In his ears were stainless steel, spear point earrings, and he wore a steel chain necklace. He knew he was handsome to a fault and, if this were California instead of the Midwest, he would have been taken for a model or movie star.
Tom wasn’t in the park to work on his dark tan in the warm late spring sunshine. He was there for a whole other reason: s*x.
Tom checked his watch: 9:55. He raised his head and looked around—nothing. No cars, no people. He sighed and leaned back on his hands.
It’s Monday, he th
