HEART2HEART

A CONTEMPORARY CHARITY ANTHOLOGY, VOLUME 7

ANNABETH ALBERT

AVRIL ASHTON

CHARLIE NOVAK

CORA ROSE

E.M. LINDSEY

FEARNE HILL

HAYDEN HALL

JACKIE NORTH

JOCELYNN DRAKE

K.C. WELLS

KELLY FOX

LESLIE MCADAM

Edited by LESLIE COPELAND

Copyright © 2024 Leslie Copeland (of the collection)

Copyright © of each individual work belongs to the respective author or artist.

Cover design: Sleepy Fox Studios, sleepyfoxstudio.net

Cover photo: CJC Photography, cjc-photography.com

Model: Dominic

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

CONTENTS

Thank You

Among Friends

Annabeth Albert

A New Thrill

Avril Ashton

Brie Mine

Charlie Novak

When CUPID Strikes

Cora Rose

Mixed Signals

E.M. Lindsey

August’s Thief

Fearne Hill

Skating After You

Hayden Hall

Wings Of Love

Jackie North

Love In Bloom

Jocelynn Drake

The Shape of the Heart’s Desire

K.C. Wells

Meat Cute

Kelly Fox

Mixed Motives

Leslie McAdam

A Letter From the H2H Team

THANK YOU

THANK YOU

Thank you to the hundreds of readers who submitted character and story ideas. Special mention to those whose creativity inspired a story or two in this contemporary collection: Sharon, Kristina, Taylor, Laura, Louise, Ariadna, Ellen, James, Cris, Kandice, Sammy, Amanda, Zena, Shirley, Shana, Bailey, Laura, Jenny, Kaylee, LeeAnn, Karen, Al, Margrite, Michelle, Sabrina, WeN, Heidi, Leanne, Molly, Heather, Kris, Bridget, and Elizabeth.

Thank you to Chris at CJC Photography for the donation of his skills in capturing the gorgeous image of model, Dominic, that graces our covers.

Thank you to Kelley at Sleepy Fox Studios for her patience and creativity with our double-release covers and promo materials.

Thank you to the beta readers, editors, and proofreaders who donated or discounted their services to help our stories shine: Charity, Joanna, Jen, Kirk, Janine, Mia, Becky, J.L., Sandra, Melissa, Karen, Amy, Abrianna, Courtney, Lori, and Kiki.

Thank you to our charities: the work you do is invaluable and we’re proud to support you with this project.

And, as always, thank you to those two little words, “what if.”

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AMONG FRIENDS

ANNABETH ALBERT

CHAPTER ONE

TENNESSEE

“This isn’t how I expected our date to end.” Carefully cradling my swollen wrist, I turned toward Gunter. He drove a souped-up Hummer, which should have been my first clue that our date was doomed.

“Uh-huh.” Thus far, the guy appeared to have a conversational vocabulary of twelve words, most of them grunted syllables. Gunter wore a too-small T-shirt advertising a popular gym chain under a thin windbreaker and his nylon track pants were no match for his thickly muscled legs. That should have been my second clue. Gunter was a jock, and I was…well me. Skinny, no muscles, and no idea what to do with weight machines. Oh, and on my way to the emergency room exactly seven minutes into our blind date.

“Maybe we could do dinner after my x-rays?” I didn’t hold out a lot of hope, but the CUPID algorithm on the Heart2Heart app had matched us, after all. CUPID was supposed to find soulmates for us lonely gay dudes—or so the app made it seem.

“Dude, I’m not waiting around.” For a supposed soulmate, Gunter had a surprising lack of soul. And heart. He followed the signs at the Mount Hope Regional Medical Center to pull up at the entrance labeled Emergency Room in giant red letters. “You can get out here.”

“Well, thanks for the ride.” I shrugged, which jostled my injured arm and made me wince. I supposed I should be grateful Gunter hadn’t made me use a ride-share app to get to the hospital. Or worse, call 9-1-1 for what could turn out to simply be a bad sprain. But if he was my soulmate, shouldn’t he want to wait with me? Or at least follow-up? Exchange contact info? Something.

“You sure you don’t want a raincheck? I figured since CUPID’s great track record matched us, you might want to try again?”

“Stupid CUPID is glitchy as fuck.” Gunter’s full lips twisted. He was disgustingly easy on the eyes. If one was into blond muscle-bound jerks, which I was decidedly not. “You’re the third match it’s given me this week. Soulmate finder. Hah. I can’t even get a decent hookup out of the app.”

Hookup was right up there with jock, muscles, off-roading, and gym on the list of words that didn’t apply to me.

“Ah. Good luck then.” I exited the Hummer, which wasn’t easy to do without the use of my dominant hand and with all my other bumps and bruises. Instead of an emphatic stomp off, I had to settle for awkwardly slithering to the ground and limping toward the wide double glass doors. For his part, Gunter zoomed away before I was fully on the sidewalk. Jerk.

 Much as I’d like to find my person, I’d settle for someone pleasant to talk with, someone who cared enough to text asking about my day. Someone who stuck around past a single date. Apparently, I’d set my hopes too high.

Or perhaps I was simply a too-nerdy flavor the CUPID algorithm had no idea how to match. A depressing thought. And likely what I got for assuming artificial intelligence could find me a soulmate. Or a date.

Instead, here I was, banged up and bruised in more than one way, entering the ER on a gloriously sunny February Saturday in the Columbia River Gorge. Predictably, the waiting room was packed. The clear day had lured a number of fresh-faced hikers and skiers out, and now they filled the room with hastily bandaged wounds or ice packs. There was also the usual assortment of sneezing and sniffling winter flu patients and injured kids from Saturday daredevil activities. A dude wearing a Kiss The Cook apron with missing eyebrows and singed hair had clearly used the good weather to barbeque.

As I searched for a seat, my gaze landed on a familiar-looking face. Around my age, the man was shorter with muscles for days. Not as thick as Gunter by any means, but someone who evidently knew his way around all those intimidating gym machines. Unlike Gunter and his Hollywood looks, this guy had a face more intriguing than classically handsome with a light golden complexion, mixed-race features hinting at both Black and Polynesian ancestry, and wide, mesmerizing dark eyes. However, before I could figure out why the man seemed so familiar, one of the women working the registration desk waved me over. The badge on a lanyard around her neck with a bored-looking ID picture said her name was Madeline.

Older with a clipped demeanor, Madeline asked the usual triage questions about whether I was experiencing any dire symptoms like chest pain or dizziness.

“Nothing like that.” I pursed my mouth. Perhaps I should have looked harder to see if Mount Hope had any freestanding urgent care options. Madeline’s brusque attitude made me feel guilty for not being more of a critical case. “It’s my hand. Or wrist. I don’t know. I felt a pop when I fell, and it hurts…a lot.”

“Sorry to say you’re likely in for a wait.” Madeline gestured at the full waiting room.

“That’s okay.” I prided myself on being accommodating, especially when a situation was out of my control, so I modulated my voice to be as soothing as possible. “I understand.”

“Do you have your insurance card with you?” Madeline’s tone was somewhat kinder.

“I just started a new job.” I stifled a groan because I hated making Madeline’s job more complicated. “The insurance company hasn’t mailed the card yet.”

“Let’s see if I can find you in the system.” Madeline clicked around on her desktop. “Name?”

“Tennessee Church Stayton.”

“Tennessee?” The man I’d noticed earlier was seated near the registrar. As soon as I said my name, he stood and walked closer. He wore a ski jacket opened to reveal a T-shirt supporting a cancer charity run. He was also holding his right arm, but it was his startled expression I noticed more. “Tennessee Church?”

“Um. Yeah. It’s Stayton now, but yeah.” I peered closer at the man, mind drifting back fifteen years to a much younger face I’d never forgotten. “Tate?”

“Yes!” The guy—Tate—beamed at my guess. “I’m Tate Johnson. And how the heck are you, man? Long, long time no see.”

“Tate.” I breathed his name, tasting A&W Root Beer, Jolly Rancher candy, and a whole host of other memories from my tween years and the best friend I’d never forgotten. “I…I thought you looked familiar.”

“Uh? Boys?” Madeline gave a little cough. Oh yeah. We were in an ER, not a class reunion. I gave a sheepish smile as she pointed at Tate. “Much as I hate to interrupt this little reunion, Johnson, I need you to sit your hot EMT ass back down.”

An EMT? I had a hard time reconciling this buff healthcare professional with the skinny kid I’d once known and shared a love of trouble and daredevil escapades with. TNT people had jokingly called us.

“Sorry, Madge.” Tate obviously knew her well enough to tease. “I’ll be good.” Turning that infectious grin on me, he added, “And I’m sure I’ll still be here waiting when you’re done, Tennessee. Save you a seat?”

“Sure.” I turned my attention back to Madeline, who’d successfully located my health insurance information. Not continuing to glance at Tate took a lot of willpower, especially when I relayed my address and phone number for Madeline to enter into the computer. The Tate I’d known would have totally kept on listening in, but perhaps this adult version had better impulse control.

After I finished the check-in process, I rewarded myself by scanning the room for Tate. Sure enough, he’d saved me a seat next to him—one of the few open chairs. Not taking advantage of it would be rude, but my stomach fluttered the whole ten steps or so it took to stand in front of him.

“Um. Hi.” Slick. I was so slick. It was no wonder my blind date ditched me at the ER.

“Hi.” Tate was as friendly as I remembered and patted the chair beside him. He’d always been the extrovert to my introvert, my ticket to a larger friend group. “You’re back in town? For good?”

“Yeah, finished my move last week.” Cautious of my injuries, I gingerly sat next to him. “I’ll be working with the local CASA office as an attorney for child welfare cases. I always liked it here, so when I saw the job opening…” I trailed off because having fond but distant memories of a place sounded like a wacky reason to move half a state away. However, perhaps Tate didn’t agree because he kept right on smiling.

“That’s awesome, man.” He narrowed his eyes as he peered closer at me. “But why not tell anyone you’re back in the area?”

“Who would I tell?” I wasn’t playing stupid. My phone truly did lack a single Mount Hope contact, and I knew down to the minute the last time I’d spoken to anyone from here.

“Dude. We were best friends. Practically brothers. TNT. Remember?” Smile fading, Tate made a face like he’d gotten raisins in a cookie instead of chocolate chips. “And then you up and moved. Didn’t tell anyone. Not even the teachers could say where you went.”

Three-fifteen on October eleventh of our sixth-grade year, I’d stepped off the school bus and shouted goodbye to Tate. A big black car had been waiting beside our old white trailer outside Mount Hope’s city limits, and that was it: the last time I’d seen Tate Johnson and Mount Hope both.

“I was taken into state custody.” I was an adult now, pushing thirty, well over fifteen years past that day, and still, my voice shook. “The DHS worker decided the best placement was the family of a second cousin I’d never met down near Eugene.”

“Oh, Tennessee.” Tate croaked like words were fuzzy, oversized things. I sympathized. Tate shifted in his chair as if he might be about to touch me, then winced and rubbed his right arm. “I knew things were never great at home. But that bad? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I couldn’t,” I whispered, not feeling very adult at the moment.

“My folks would have wanted to help.” Tate leaned forward, winced again, then rubbed his closely cropped hair with his left hand. “I would have tried to help. So many people would have helped.”

“I work for CASA. I know all the resources for kids in the system now, trust me. But at twelve? I wasn’t going to tell a soul how out of control my parents’ drug problem had become.” I paused to try to slow my heart rate. Tate wasn’t lying. His family would have readily offered assistance. But their warm and loving vibe with an always-welcoming house was precisely why I hadn’t been able to say anything. “I was scared and confused and ashamed.”

“Ashamed?” Tate sucked in a harsh breath. “You thought it was your fault? God, kid logic is the worst. I’ve seen it on duty, and I hate how kids always seem to blame themselves for bad shit. Hate that you couldn’t tell anyone.” He tried again to touch me but recoiled as soon as he moved his arm. “Ow. Fuck.”

“Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” He offered me a far gentler smile, and I could see how he was likely good as an EMT, making people feel calmer with a simple sympathetic look. “The curse was because I tweaked my injured wrist. But whatever went down, it absolutely wasn’t your fault.”

“Thank you.”

“You were never tempted to reach out?” Using his left hand, Tate pulled out a shiny phone with a rugged case, staring at it like he expected my pic to pop up. “I looked for you on social media a few times over the years, but I didn’t know the new last name. ‘Tennessee Church’ got nine zillion hits, none relevant.”

“My last name changed when my foster family adopted me. And I’m not really much on social media stuff.” I stared at my swollen hand, studying the bruising rather than trying to figure out what it meant that Tate had searched for me. “I share pictures of my cat once in a blue moon, but otherwise, I tend to forget the accounts exist. Also, for a lot of years, I felt misplaced shame and guilt over how I was forced to leave. Then I saw the job opening here, and it seemed like a sign.”

“Absolutely.” Tate was back to beaming, voice warm and welcoming. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Thanks.” A family of four trekked past us, jostling my arm as they passed. “Ow.”

“Oh crap.” Tate glanced down, seemingly only now noticing my injury. “Your right arm is hurt like mine? What happened?”

“It’s a long, rather embarrassing story.”

“I’ve got nothing but time. And I’m an EMT. I’ve heard worse, I’m sure.” He winked, an absolutely devastating addition to his charm. “And done worse. Likely today. Spill.”

CHAPTER TWO

TATE

Tennessee was back in Mount Hope. I’d spent fifteen years wondering what had happened to my best friend, and now that he was here beside me, I was practically giddy. Who cared that we were in an ER waiting room? It was Tennessee, and somehow, I’d known from the instant he’d walked in. He didn’t look much like his twelve-year-old self, what with a fuzzy beard and long hair in a neat ponytail and all, but he had the same straw-colored hair and pale-blue eyes with a sharp nose. Same tall, skinny build. My mom would be beside herself, wanting to feed Tennessee up the same as before. I wanted to hear everything he’d been up to, starting with how he injured his arm. It was more than a little funny that we had similar injuries on the same exact day, no less.

Tennessee took his sweet time answering my question. But I remembered his long pauses from the past and was patient without rushing to fill the silence.

“It was a terrible blind date,” he said softly. Too softly. My overprotective hackles went up, and I leaned forward.

“Did someone hurt you?” I demanded. I had plenty of friends on the police force for our small town…but forget an official investigation. I’d handle this one myself. I hadn’t been able to protect Tennessee when we were younger. I hadn’t known how bad things had been for him, a fact that made my chest ache worse than my sore arm. We might not know each other as adults yet, but no way would I let anyone harm him now.

“Chill. Nothing like an attack or something.” Tennessee groaned before shifting in his chair, clearly embarrassed. “This artificial intelligence app promised to find me a soulmate. And I stupidly believed it could.”

“Oh.” My eyes widened. I had a hunch, and honestly, if I hadn’t been so gobsmacked to see Tennessee here in Mount Hope again, I might have guessed sooner. “The CUPID algorithm?”

“You’ve heard of it?” Tennessee studied me closely. Very closely. With anyone else, I might call it a once-over, but Tennessee was too earnest to be truly checking me out.

“Of course.” I held his gaze. I had zero qualms about coming out to him, even if he hadn’t given me a clear clue first. “The queer community around here is small but mighty, and the Heart2Heart app keeps me connected with everyone and my Portland friends too.”

“Ah.” Tennessee swallowed hard and licked his lips. Like his eyes and hair, his lips were pale, a soft carnation pink, and I couldn’t help wondering if they turned darker after kissing. “I…uh…um…”

I chuckled. “Apparently lots we both didn’t know back in the day.”

“Indeed.” He coughed, cheeks turning almost the same shade as his lips. “Anyway, the algorithm promised to find me a soulmate by Valentine’s Day. And CUPID arranged a blind date for me, which turned out to be skating downtown by the carousel. I should have known it was doomed.”

“That doesn’t sound too heinous of a date location.” Downtown Mount Hope by the riverfront had several historic attractions, including a large old carousel that had been well-maintained for decades. In the winter months of recent years, the park that surrounded the carousel offered ice skating and a pop-up hot chocolate food truck. “I can think of way worse ideas.”

“For people with any sort of coordination, sure.” Tennessee slumped in his chair. “But somehow, I managed to face plant mere seconds after stepping on the ice.”

“Oops.” I tried not to laugh, but Tennessee had always had a reputation for being the clumsier one. Across from our seats, the wannabe grill master had been called back to an examination cubicle, but the waiting area stayed bustling. In the distance, sirens sounded. Usually, the sound would make me eager to be on shift and part of the action, but surprisingly, I was right where I wanted to be at the moment. “Hey, where’s the date now? Your soulmate?”

If CUPID had picked him for Tennessee, the dude had to be impressive. I’d heard of several happy matches started by CUPID. However, Tennessee made a sour face, nose wrinkling and lips pursing. His mouth wasn’t particularly full, but his upper lip formed a perfect little bow. I hadn’t noticed Tennessee’s appeal when we were preteens, but then I’d been a bit of a late bloomer when it came to hormones and figuring out what made my motor rev.

“Some soulmate he turned out to be.” Tennessee all but spat the words. “Gunter is definitely not my ideal match. He dropped me at the ER and split.”

“Gunter? Gunter who owns the CrossFit-clone gym downtown? CUPID gave you him?” I shook my head. The algorithm had to be malfunctioning. “He’s a jerk.”

“To be fair, I hardly gave him reason to stick around.”

“Basic decency should have been reason enough,” I said firmly. The queer scene in the Gorge was small, and I’d seen Gunter in action plenty. Not that I was the pretty-boy type Gunter went for, but I preferred to steer clear of his mountainous ego. “And I remember you being pretty fun to be around. We got up to some great adventures.”

“We did.” Tennessee offered me a small sentimental smile that made my heart swell. “I’m not nearly as daring these days though.”

“That’s a shame, but maybe you simply haven’t had a good reason.” My tone had tipped into flirty territory, so I tempered it with a friendly grin. “I remember you climbing trees and jumping off high dives.”

“Maybe I haven’t had a you pushing me to take risks.” His smile wasn’t at all flirty, but it was warmer. He was gradually becoming more comfortable, and I’d take that over any amount of banter. I nodded encouragingly as he continued, “Tell me your injury story is worse?”

“More boring. It was the annual Lonely Hearts Day at the ski slopes, and a bunch of us hit it up to snowboard.” Nearby Mount Hood had been a popular winter sports destination for generations, and this time of year, I was a regular on my days off. “I was showing off⁠—”

“Still Tate, I see.” Tennessee’s laugh was close to a giggle, which was adorable.

“Yep.” I stuck out my tongue to see if I could get another laugh. “Anyway, I misjudged my trick and took a header while trying to avoid a pack of newbies who shouldn’t have been on the larger hill.”

“I sympathize. With both you and the newbies.” Yep. There it was. Another chuckle. His laughter managed to erase the last decade and a half and made me remember how much I loved being silly and joking around with him.

“Yeah, well, usually I’m made of rubber. But I guess I’m getting old or something.” I looked down at my arm. I knew how to fall, knew not to stick my hand out, and what had I done? Stuck my hand out as I fell and likely horked my wrist as a result. “Pretty sure it’s a clean break at least, but it doesn’t feel like a normal sprain. And fuck me—sorry. Language.”

“Cursing doesn’t bother me.” Tennessee’s prim and proper appearance in a white button-down shirt, dark pants, and wool coat made me doubt his words.

“Ah. Good to know.” I examined my swelling. Yep. I’d messed something up good. “If my wrist is broken, I’m looking at weeks of light duty, which sucks.” I had sick leave, but likely, my boss, Heather, would be able to find tasks for me around the station. Maybe if I was lucky, she’d let me drive, but usually, we needed our drivers able to lift in an emergency. “I’d rather be out there working, especially since we’ve been shorthanded lately.”

“That does suck. Luckily, I’ll be able to work regardless, although typing will be a challenge. And everything else involving my dominant hand.” Tennessee gave a dejected sigh. “At least you’re left-handed.”

“You remembered.” I brightened at the revelation. Around us, more patients had filtered in while others had been called back. Some of those had arrived after us, but I was enjoying talking with Tennessee far too much to be impatient.

“Of course.” Tennessee gave another of those soft, small smiles. “Maybe mine is just a sprain. No idea how I’m going to tie my shoes, let alone pop the top on Clifford’s cat food if they put me in a cast.”

“Clifford?” I laughed because, naturally, Tennessee had a ridiculously named cat. He’d always been an animal person like me, and his parents’ rural trailer home had included any number of barn cats. I’d often helped Tennessee in his efforts to care for them when no one else seemed to bother.

“Clifford is a big orange-red cat who thinks he’s a golden retriever.” Tennessee’s tone turned fond. “He plays fetch and loves going for walks on his harness.”

“That’s too perfect. I’ve got a dog⁠—”

“Can’t imagine you without one. What did you rescue this time?”

“A dainty little terrier named Mouse, who’s afraid of everything and rather aloof, but we’re working on it. I joke she’d make a decent cat, actually. She’s probably asleep on the back of my couch right now.”

“Aww.” Tennessee’s gaze caught mine, and the direct eye contact gave me pause. I liked him like this, warmer and looser, less anxious than he’d been at first. And the warmth and caring in his baby-blue eyes made me wonder what else I could do to earn his affection.

“Johnson?” A nurse I vaguely recognized called me from near the double doors leading to the back with the examination cubicles. “Let’s get your vitals and get you off to radiology.”

“Quick. Give me your number.” I flicked my phone open to my contacts screen.

“My number?” Tennessee’s eyes went wide like I’d asked his underwear preference.

“Yeah. For after we’re both done. I’ll give you a ride and help you with the cat food. And anything else.” If I was going to be out of commission as an EMT for a while, I’d have plenty of time on my hands, and there was nowhere I’d rather spend it than getting to know Tennessee all over again.

CHAPTER THREE

TENNESSEE

I didn’t truly expect Tate to wait for me. Sure, he had messaged several cheery updates while we were in separate exam rooms. And we’d passed in the hall on the way to radiology with our respective attendants. But somehow, I expected him to have better things to do than follow through on the ride home and the help he’d offered. However, there he was, waiting on a bench near the main lobby when I finally emerged.

As I approached Tate, I held my arm up. I had an ugly black cast with Velcro straps stabilizing my wrist, the same as him. “We match.”

“We do.” He held his own cast aloft. “Hairline fracture of the radius.”

“Buckle fracture.” I made a face. “I have to see an orthopedist next week for a consult.”

“I know a good one.” He smiled broadly at me. “Mine should be fine in six weeks, but six long weeks of light duty, damn it.”

“Poor baby. Less work and taking it easy sounds miserable for a go-getter like you.” I smiled back. Despite all the years that had passed, he was still delightfully Tate. “The doctor said my cast should take six weeks as well. Maybe we can meet up again for a cast-off celebration?”

I hoped that sounded friendly and not suspiciously date-like. We might be old friends and both queer, but that didn’t mean anything.

Tate snorted. “Ha. You’re kidding yourself if you think I’m letting six weeks go before I see you again.”

“I guess we do have some catching up to do,” I said slowly. I wasn’t entirely sure how to take his enthusiastically possessive reply.

“And it sounds like you might need help feeding Clifford.” Standing, he pointed in the direction of the signs leading to the parking garage.

“You remembered my cat’s name?” I wasn’t sure why I was surprised. Tate had always had a good memory. “And I really can get a ride back to my place. I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble.” He continued his confident march to the parking facility, leading me to a bright-orange midsize truck.

“And you’re okay driving one-handed?”

“Of course.” He gave me a withering look as he used his left hand to dig out his key fob. “My truck is automatic, so hopefully, shifting won’t be a hassle. Hurt a bit driving back from the mountain, but I managed. And I better figure it out because no way am I going six weeks without driving.”

“I might,” I admitted. I’d almost volunteered to help shift, but that sounded way too suggestive even in my brain. “I suck at anything left-handed.”

“Is that so?” Tate sounded more than a little flirty, but then he shivered and tugged his ski jacket closer. Maybe he was simply cold. Or something. People didn’t usually get flirty with me, hence looking on the Heart2Heart app for my soulmate. Before I could figure out Tate’s intent, he unlocked the truck. “Come on, get in.”

“This is definitely your vehicle.” I laughed as I glanced around. Of the two of us, I’d always been the neater one, using order in my room and belongings to mask the chaos of my home life. Tate, like his siblings, had done his share of chores, but his room had been comfortably messy. Likewise, his truck wasn’t filthy, but it featured a dog seat harness and open gym bag in the backseat, several hoodies next to the bag, and a few assorted energy drink cans on the floor.

“Yup.” Wincing slightly, Tate put the truck in gear. “Now, where to?”

“525-A Prospect Place. It’s downtown in an older home converted into a three-plex.” I reached for Tate’s navigation screen, but he waved my hand away.

“I know exactly where it is.” Tate was nothing if not confident, and I was rapidly discovering that I really liked seeing his tween cockiness translated into adult swagger. “I love that little street and all the historic homes.” He paused to wait for the gate to lift to let us out of the parking structure. “One of our senior paramedics lives on Prospect as well. That’s part of why we’re short-staffed right now. He’s on leave while his doctor husband battles cancer. It’s not looking good.”

“That’s terrible.” My stomach twisted. Hearing such grim news made my own search for a soulmate seem trivial.

“Yeah.” Tate nodded as we headed away from the hospital and toward the Mount Hope historic downtown. “My mom’s sent food a couple of times. I’d like to send them my famous brownies, but my studio apartment’s oven is teeny and unreliable.”

“I have a pretty big kitchen.” I tried to sound all casual and not like I was busy dreaming up more excuses to see Tate. “My unit is downstairs and includes the original living and kitchen area, so it’s pretty spacious. And if you’re going to help me with Clifford, the least I can offer is a loan of my oven sometime.”

“Nice.” We stopped for a red light, and he beamed at me as he flipped his turn signal. “Would you mind if we swung by my place first so I could grab Mouse?”

“Your dog?” I bit my lip. I wasn’t opposed to the request, but I was a bit confused. “You can just drop⁠—”

“And let Clifford or you starve?” Tate scoffed, shaking his head. “Hardly. I want to help. I really do, but I don’t want to leave Mouse alone too long either.”

“Well, all right then.” I’d forgotten how easy it was to let Tate have his way. We might have been known as the TNT duo, but all our adventures had been Tate-initiated with me happily along for the ride.

“My studio is between here and your apartment anyway. My brother—you remember little Ricky—let the dog out a couple of hours ago, but it’s been a long day for my baby.”

“For all of us.” I agreed as Tate pulled into a newer apartment complex on the eastern edge of downtown. After parking, he was as fast as promised, darting into the building to return moments later with a small terrier with gray wiry hair, wide expressive eyes, and pointed ears tucked under one arm.

“Meet Mouse.” Tate buckled her into the dog seat harness, which let Mouse safely look out the window. Mouse didn’t bark at me, but she did give me a heck of a scowl, which made her look even more like her rodent namesake. “Hope she doesn’t upset your cat, but I can keep her on her harness.”

“Awww. She’s cute.” I smiled at the dog, who seemed in no hurry to warm up to me. “Clifford likes dogs, generally. He’s pretty fearless.”

“Mouse is not very brave, but she’s too standoffish and nervous to give chase to a cat. She’ll likely give Clifford a wide berth.”

“It’ll be fun to see how they both react,” I said as we continued our journey to Prospect Place, a treelined street a few hilly blocks beyond downtown. When I’d last lived in Mount Hope, I couldn’t fathom residing in this neighborhood of well-maintained, larger older homes, many of which had been turned into multi-dwelling units for young professionals eager to be within walking distance of the vibrant downtown coffee shops, eateries, and brew pubs. As a kid, the rural outskirts of town seemed the best I could do. When I found the listing for this apartment, I jumped at the chance to further distance myself from the past.

“Park in the back.” I directed Tate to the spot next to my small compact. The carousel and skating rink were close enough to my place that I’d opted for a chilly stroll downtown rather than trying to find parking for my date with Gunter.

I waited for Tate to unclip Mouse and place her on a hot-pink harness before I led the way to my apartment. The stately late-Victorian-era home had a single entrance. Once inside, the grand staircase led to the two smaller upper units while my apartment occupied the whole lower floor.

“This is a nice place.” Tate looked around my spacious living room, which featured a non-working brick fireplace, numerous built-ins, and hardwood floors. Beyond, a short hallway led to the bathroom and bedroom while the nearby dining room flowed into a remodeled version of the original kitchen. “Wow. You almost never see actual dining rooms in apartments.” He whistled low, continuing to glance around. I’d positioned my gray fabric couch near the bay window with the TV and my Swedish-style recliner opposite. My too-small table and chair set occupied the large dining room. I didn’t own much stuff, but what I did have was neatly arranged. “You’ve already unpacked?”

“Boxes make me nervous,” I admitted. Not only did I have issues with clutter and mess after living with my parents, but boxes meant moving and instability. “I never sleep well until I’m fully unpacked.”

“I can see that.” Tate set Mouse on the floor right as Clifford ambled into the room, yawning and stretching like he’d left a prime napping spot on my bed.

“And here’s Clifford.” As I’d predicted, the large orange cat wasn’t in the least bit intimidated. He went right up to Mouse and gave her behind a generous sniff, which made the dog jump and Tate burst out laughing.

“Okay, you were right. He does think he’s a dog.” He kept chuckling as Clifford circled Mouse, who attempted to retreat behind Tate’s muscular leg. Finding the dog less than amenable to his overtures, Clifford stalked to the couch and flopped onto the cushions. Tate turned back toward me. “Food for the cat or food for the humans first?”

“Not sure what I have in the way of human dinner food. I need a big grocery run to stock my new kitchen here.”

“I can help with that,” Mr. Confident bragged. “I know a dude with a truck. And I’m on dinner as well. You still eat meat?” As soon as I nodded, Tate clicked around on his phone. “Tacos will be here in twenty minutes.”

“How is it possible you’ve become even bossier?” My tone was more awestruck than complaining, and Tate simply grinned wider.

“Maybe I’m simply that awesome.”

Not sure what to do in the face of all Tate’s sunny energy, I went to sit next to Clifford on the couch and bent to untie my shoelaces, only to wince as I tried to use my right fingers. The black cast further restricted my range of motion, and I made a frustrated noise.

“Here, let me help.” Tate knelt in front of me, far more agile with his cast, and before I could protest, he’d removed both my shoes.

“Thanks,” I whispered. I had no idea why I’d lowered my voice, only that the moment suddenly seemed big and important. Our gazes met. Held. I inhaled sharply. Tate on his knees on the rug in front of me was pure fantasy material, but it was his expression, joyous and sentimental at once, that made my heart tug with longing.

“There.” He set my shoes aside before removing his own and hefting himself beside me on the couch. “Together again. TNT. What sort of trouble do you want to get into first?”

I gulped. Was he flirting, or was he simply being Tate? I hated that I couldn’t tell, but as in the past, I was more than ready to follow him into whatever adventures he dreamed up.

CHAPTER FOUR

TATE

The winter sun shone bright as Mouse and I waited on Tennessee’s front porch on Sunday morning. My wrist still throbbed, but my step was light and my heart hopeful. Having Tennessee around again gave me a new purpose.

“Good morning!” I chirped as Tennessee swung open the door. He wore flannel pants and an inside-out T-shirt, and his long hair flowed around his shoulders. Oops. I might have forgotten that not everyone was used to working my crazy hours. I was blessed with being able to be alert on night, day, or swing shifts, but Tennessee had rather clearly been sleeping in and still looked groggy.

“Uh.” He rubbed his fuzzy beard. Adult Tennessee had this whole hippy Jesus look going on that I surprisingly dug. “Good morning to you.”

“Donut?” I handed him the white bakery box from House of Donuts downtown.

“Um. Sure.” He awkwardly accepted my offering with his left hand and set the box on the nearby entryway table. “You came over at eight on a Sunday to bring me donuts?”

He sounded more than a little confused. Probably my fault for not making my intentions to see him again today clearer, but I’d been riding a high of good tacos and great conversation. We’d had so much to talk about, from my EMT work to his law school and clerkship experiences. Leaving after dinner had been hard, but eventually, I’d run out of excuses to stay. I had, however, promptly dreamed up my plan for this morning on the drive home. And more accurately, I hadn’t told Tennessee because I didn’t want him to put me off. Grownup Tennessee was as polite and unlikely to ask for help as kid Tennessee had been.

“No, I came over to ensure Clifford had a fresh can of food.” I smiled encouragingly as I, Mouse, and my big bag made our way into the apartment. I’d offered to open a can for the cat’s breakfast and leave it in the fridge, but conveniently, Tennessee had said Clifford was unlikely to eat it cold and pre-opened. “You said he was finicky.”

“I did.” Fishing a hair tie out of his pocket, Tennessee smoothed his rumpled hair into something of a presentable ponytail. Darn. I’d been having fun imagining that hair falling all over my skin. Tennessee, all prim and proper, didn’t serve my purposes nearly so well. “Thank you for thinking of Clifford.”

Said cat was lounging on the couch, soaking up the sun, and hardly looked in danger of starving. He had to be a good fifteen pounds, at least, and definitely weighed more than Mouse, who gave the air a delicate and haughty sniff. Tennessee moved the donut box to the dining room table, so I followed him, dragging a reluctant Mouse along. For a dog, she could be as stubborn as a mule and definitely as stubborn and reluctant to follow orders as most cats.

“Of course.” I undid Mouse’s leash so she could go hide under the couch. She’d spent most of the night before there, no more interested in the cat than in making friends with Tennessee. Unlike me. I had plans. “And the donuts are a bribe.”

“A bribe?” Eyes going narrow, Tennessee pursed his lips.

“You sound like you need coffee.” I reached into the bag of groceries to remove the thermos of French press brew I’d packed. “Luckily, I brought some of that as well.”

“Thank you.” He fetched two cups and two small plates from the kitchen and set them on the table. “Explain the bribe.”

“You said I could use your oven,” I said airily as I poured each of us a cup of coffee. My mom liked to say I was a human bulldozer when it came to getting my way. She wasn’t wrong, but in this case, my forwardness was motivated by the weird certainty I’d had since I laid eyes on Tennessee yesterday. We were supposed to be best friends again. Maybe more. Was like at second sight a thing? I hoped so. Tennessee nodded before sipping his coffee carefully, so I continued, “And tomorrow and Tuesday, I’m scheduled for light-duty shifts, so I was hoping that after I feed Clifford, I could whip up two batches of my famous brownies. One for us and one for the family I was telling you about down the street.”

“Are your famous brownies the same rocky road variety you invented at eleven?”

“Sort of.” I grinned because the Tennessee I knew was a total chocaholic. No way could he resist me. “Those first batches started with a mix and my mom’s pantry.” I unpacked my bag onto his table, revealing high-quality dark chocolate, local nuts, gourmet marshmallows, and other key ingredients. “The ones I make these days are a from-scratch evolution of that general idea.”

“I’m in.” He nodded—exactly as I’d hoped—before drinking more coffee. “I remember being impressed your mom let you experiment with food. And the results were pretty good.”

“I’ve only gotten better with age.” I winked, loving how Tennessee turned four shades of purple before busying himself with selecting a chocolate-maple donut. “And my mom wasn’t about to let any of her kids out of the house without basic cooking skills. You should have seen her when she heard my apartment stove only has two burners.”

“The horror.” Tennessee managed to sound a lot like my mom, who’d never met a stranger she didn’t want to feed.

“I know.” Chuckling, I glanced toward Tennessee’s spacious kitchen. “But I work so many hours that paying for more than a studio doesn’t make sense. Mouse came along more recently, though, and that’s been an adjustment, having a dog in studio living.”

“Mouse might like a yard.” Tennessee nodded thoughtfully before pointing at the door in the rear of the kitchen. “Mine is shared with the upstairs tenants, but it’s fenced if Mouse needs to go out while we bake.”

“Perfect.” I loved how Tennessee had effortlessly included himself in my brownie plans. “Do you take Clifford into the yard?”

“Only on his harness.” Tennessee blushed and took another big bite of donut. “Someday, I want to build him a cat patio.”

“A catio? I love that idea.” A shiver raced up my back as I helped myself to a strawberry-sprinkle donut. I swore I could see an older ranch home with a deck out back with one of those cat enclosures and Tennessee in the kitchen with me. I wasn’t sure whether it was a glimpse of the future, though, or a particularly vivid memory. “Remember when we used to dream about remodeling the house next to my folks?”

The old owners had moved out the summer between our fifth- and sixth-grade years, a hot, sticky summer that had stretched on and on. We’d had numerous adventures on the vacant property until flippers bought the place. Spying on the remodel turned out to be way more interesting than climbing the back cherry trees.

“We were going to be roommates.” Tennessee’s nervous laugh was adorably close to a giggle.

“We were funny.” I laughed along with him. “Maybe our willingness to live and work together should have been a clue we weren’t straight?”

“Probably.” Tennessee blushed again and studied his remaining half-donut like it was a textbook. “How did your parents take it when you came out?”

“Ha.” I loved this memory, so I smiled broadly. “I didn’t so much as come out as announce I was taking a dude to prom and ask to borrow Dad’s Charger.”

“Balls.”

“Yep. Didn’t earn the car and got a really embarrassing safe-sex lecture, but that was that.” I shrugged and downed the last of my coffee. “Mom bugs me monthly about settling down with the right person, but that’s moms for you.”

“Yeah.” Tennessee’s voice went faint and distant. Oh right. Not everyone had a mom to nag them and love them and bake them casseroles and all that.

“Sorry.” I set aside my donut. “I forgot⁠—”

“Don’t apologize.” He held up a hand. “I’m glad families like yours exist. And my foster mom, Barbara, is amazing. She and her husband fought to adopt me, and we talk on the phone all the time.”

“That’s awesome. Are they sad you moved back here to Mount Hope?”

“I don’t think so. Their family moved south of Portland a few years ago when my foster dad’s company relocated him. I’ll be able to visit often.” Tennessee’s voice was stronger now, more thoughtful. “And Barbara says the move is good for me. Something about coming full circle.”

“I like that.” I peered deeply into his pale-blue eyes. Why hadn’t I ever noticed how hypnotizing they were? And I did love the idea of us also coming full circle. We’d started here, and after Tennessee up and disappeared, we’d had unfinished business. Now, as adults, the nature of that business had shifted. We’d been TNT once before, and it felt gravely necessary to find out if we could be explosive together. If our potential was as great as I was coming to suspect.

The moment dragged on, and I stepped closer to Tennessee. Cautiously, I touched his shoulder, outlining the exposed seam with my left thumb.

“Get dressed in a hurry?” I asked in a husky whisper, liking the idea of him sleeping shirtless.

“Oh. Uh. Yeah,” Tennessee stammered. “I should put some real clothes on.”

“Need help?” I waggled my eyebrows, delighting in the choking sound that escaped Tennessee’s throat. “I meant because of your cast, but you’re fun to shock.”

“Glad to amuse you.” He beat a hasty retreat to the dining room entrance. “Be right back.”

I left him have his escape. I could have followed, and he likely wouldn’t have pushed me away had I made a pass, but even I had limits. I’d let Tennessee warm up to the idea of us as more than friends and happily enjoy his company and the delicious anticipation in the meantime. He emerged in jeans and a U of O law school T-shirt, and after a brief stint in the yard for Mouse, we started the brownie recipe.

“So, what’s the plan for CUPID?” I asked as I measured cocoa powder, careful to avoid sprinkling my cast and not even trying to hide my fishing expedition about his personal life. “Gonna get back on the app?”

“I am one hundred percent done with app dating. Never again.” Tennessee was super cute when he got all dramatic.

“Good to know.” I nodded sagely. “I had a similar revelation last year, much to my mom’s dismay. No more apps.”

“Better single than another bad match.” Tennessee walked right into the trap I was laying. Now, all I had to do was show him that we would be the furthest thing from a bad match.

“Word.” I grinned at him as I incorporated the cocoa into the sugar and butter mixture. “But that means you’re free on Wednesday night.”

“I am,” Tennessee said slowly, eyes narrowing.

“Good.” I wasn’t about to be deterred by his skepticism. “Wanna have a Pal-entine’s Day outing?”

“Like what?”

“Geez. So suspicious.” I waved the wooden spoon I’d been stirring with at him. “Pal-entine. Two pals who’d rather not be alone on the day of hearts and roses. I’m off at three-thirty that day, but I assume you work until five?”

“Yeah.” His tongue darted out to lick his lower lip. Predictably, heat gathered low in my stomach. Lord, I had it bad already.

“Good. I’ll pick you up at six. Dress warmly.” I chortled happily to myself. Let my plan to show Tennessee I could be his perfect Valentine begin.

CHAPTER FIVE

TENNESSEE

Valentine’s Day dawned like the prior two days—sunny and with a cheerful message from Tate. He’d stayed most of Sunday at my place, helping feed Clifford, baking brownies, and watching movies we remembered from middle school while the treats cooled. Then we’d walked the dog up the street to deliver the brownies to his coworker’s front porch and ordered Thai takeout for an early dinner because we couldn’t live on chocolate and sugar alone. He’d left late in the evening with a promise to text while on duty the next two days, and he’d been true to his word.

Morning! Had a quiet shift. Nothing like doing supply inventory to make me itchy to get back out there. Hope you have a good day saving the world! See you at six.

My stomach fluttered as I placed my phone near the computer on my desk. The birds outside my office window seemed as unusually cheery as I felt. The local CASA office was located near downtown in an older brick building across from the square that housed the county courthouse.

I liked how impressed Tate was with my work for CASA. He appreciated how my job was to advocate for kids in the DHS system. I hadn’t had unconditional support like his in a while. Most of my law school friends had gone on to well-paying big firm jobs, and my love of nonprofit work was a bit of an oddity. My foster parents were great, but they also worried about my choice of a low-salary career path. Tate’s cheerleading was more than welcome, but I was also giddy for his Pal-entine’s Day plans.

Not a date. Not a date, I reminded myself for the hundredth time. But regardless of knowing Tate’s interest was likely purely platonic, a rekindling of an old friendship and a chance to help me out while I was injured, I couldn’t help the spark of hope every time he messaged. And several times on Sunday, I’d caught him staring at me with what seemed like more than friendly intent.

However, I was notoriously bad at telling when someone was interested, and the last thing I wanted to do was make Tate uncomfortable. I’d been trying to avoid flirty comments or unnecessary touches.

By six, I was dressed in a nice blue sweater and thick jeans, following Tate’s orders to dress warmly. I’d also learned since Saturday that clothes with buttons were my enemy, as were shoes with laces. Luckily, my winter boots were zipped up, not tied, and I managed my coat zipper right before Tate buzzed my apartment doorbell.

“You’re ready.” His clear pleasure at my punctuality made my chest expand. He also wore a thick coat and jeans. A hint of a red sweater peeked out from the coat, and unlike me, he’d figured out how to do hiking boot laces one-handed. “You probably won the graduate school attendance award.”

“Almost.” I returned his smile. “Lateness makes me anxious.”

“I know. Which is why Mouse and I are on time.” He gestured down at the dog, who wore a pink quilted coat and an unhappy expression.

“Mouse looks like she’d rather skip whatever outdoor activity you have planned and lounge on the couch instead.” As soon as I said the words, the dog tugged on her leash, doing her best to get over to the couch where Clifford was sprawled, grooming his nether regions, not a care in the world.

“Probably.” Tate frowned before reaching down and unclipping Mouse. “Maybe I should leave her here with Clifford, pick her up after our…thing.”

“That works.” Trying not to dwell on whether a thing was in the same universe as date, I moved a fuzzy throw blanket from the back of the couch to the seat next to Clifford, making a little nest for the small dog. “There. All set.” I returned to the doorway and Tate. “Still not going to tell me where we’re going? Please don’t say ice skating.”

“No, not ice skating, although I do think you deserve a better experience than your one disastrous date.” Tate ushered me out of the house and toward his truck. “I bet you could get the hang of it if I helped.”

“I wouldn’t take that bet.” I wasn’t entirely sure whether he meant ice skating or dating, but either way, my hopelessness would be no match for Tate’s enthusiasm.

“Ha. I’m a good teacher.” He paused by the truck to give me a pointed look that made heat zoom to all sorts of under-used locations. I wasn’t a virgin, but I wasn’t that far off either. However, even I, the walking dating disaster, could hear the flirt in Tate’s voice and see the heat in his eyes.

“I’m sure,” I mumbled, knowing full well I was blushing yet again. My thoughts shifted from whether Tate was flirting to why. Was this all simply part of helping me out post-injury? Was anyone truly that helpful? Or was there something else at work here, something born in that long-ago friendship? My pulse galloped like someone had cranked the carousel downtown to high speed.

“You look warm,” Tate said as we climbed into the truck. “I better turn the heater down before you overheat.”

“Thanks.” Spontaneous combustion was indeed a distinct possibility, but not for the reasons Tate assumed. I adjusted my coat before buckling my seatbelt. I half expected him to head downtown, where most of Mount Hope’s non-chain restaurants were located. Instead, he pointed the truck toward the rural road leading out of town, where scant few houses and orchards gave way to Christmas tree farms before the landscape shifted into what seemed like endless state-owned forests.

I wasn’t as familiar with this part of the Mount Hope outskirts. My parents had lived on the eastern edge of town, where there were fewer orchards and more derelict mobile homes and acres of invasive blackberry vines taking over flood plains for the area’s many rivers and streams. Thus, I didn’t guess our destination until Tate pulled into a deserted parking lot for a state park trailhead.

“We’re climbing Promise Point?” My voice went up a few notches. The weather was clear but decidedly nippy. And dark. Very dark, with only the truck headlights to cut through the forest. “At night?”

“Relax. It’s an easy walk, and I brought a flashlight.” Tate parked with his usual confidence. And he was likely right. A few solar lights dotted the parking area, so it wasn’t as pitch black as it had first seemed. I hadn’t done the trail myself, but it was popular with tourists to the Gorge. Rather than miles and miles long, most of the trail’s difficulty was in the steep steps up the rocky butte to the vantage point at the top. If we weren’t each already sporting injuries, I might be less apprehensive. Tate patted my leg, pitching his voice more soothing. “Trust me. The view of the town is more than worth the steps.”

Tate was, as always, right. Most of the area’s snow was in the upper elevations and surrounding mountains, but the steps were still slick, making for a slow climb. He’d come prepared, though, in sturdy hiking boots and with a high-powered flashlight for each of us. More than once, Tate had to steady me, not that I was going to complain about his hands on me. And after we made it to the top of the incline, I certainly wasn’t going to complain about the spectacular view of downtown Mount Hope twinkling beneath us.

“I’ve never been up here.” I gazed around in wonderment. The flat circular area was ringed by a low stone wall, and a few scattered rustic benches added to the sense of a hidden oasis. We were a scant fifteen minutes from downtown yet a world away.

“I figured as much.” Tate dusted the leaves off one of the nearby benches before gesturing for me to sit with him. The stone was dry but freezing, and I shivered. “Here.”

Tate put an arm around me, pulling me in against him as naturally as if he’d been doing it for years. His cast was a heavy weight on my shoulder that strangely reassured me. This wasn’t just anyone I was alone up here with. It was Tate. TNT. Nothing bad had ever happened with him along for the ride, and all week, I’d felt buoyant, blessed to have found him again in the ER of all places.

“I like this,” I whispered.

“Me too,” he whispered back with a little chuckle. “After dark, when the weather is warmer, this is mainly a teen and amateur photographer hangout, which is a shame because more people should know what a cool night view this is.”

“It really is.” I sat quietly, trying to take in all the glittering details of the valley below us. I also breathed deeply, absorbing Tate’s nearness and warmth, his woodsy scent and soft exhales. The view wasn’t the only thing worth memorizing.

“I forgot how pretty Mount Hope is,” I said softly after a while. “Forgot how much I liked it here. But now I’m so glad I saw that job announcement.”

“I am too.” Tate shifted, turning more toward me. “Welcome home, Tennessee.”

The air was frosty enough that my cheeks and nose stung, but still, I couldn’t look away from Tate, who was suddenly way more compelling than the world-class view. He was close enough now that I could feel his warm breath. Time slowed along with my heart, which threatened to pound out of my chest, a bass drum marking each second of Tate’s approach. He moved with glacial precision, his destination beyond obvious but his pace such that I could easily pull away.

As if.

I’d waited my whole life for this moment without even knowing it.

CHAPTER SIX

TATE

I’d brought Tennessee up a mountain or, more accurately, a very large hill merely for the chance for the perfect first kiss. And sitting side-by-side on the bench with the city of Mount Hope below us, the moment wasn’t going to get any better than this.

I moved in slowly, putting the brakes on my usual pedal-to-the-metal approach to life. Not only was Tennessee skittish, similar to my dog and her timid disdain for change, but he also deserved a gentle wooing, not a steamroller. I needed him to want this as much as I did. I could be happy with the privilege of being his best friend again, but now that I’d met his grownup self, I wanted so much more.

I wanted everything.

But I could be patient.

So, I waited, mouth millimeters from his. So far, so good. He didn’t pull away. And then he did something even better: he smiled.

A happy, shy little grin before a chuckle escaped his lips.

“Don’t be nervous,” I whispered.

“I’m not.” He was lying, but under the nerves, the adorable eagerness in his eyes was all the encouragement I needed.

“Good.” And then I kissed him. A soft brush of lips. His fuzzy beard was an unexpected delight, one of a dozen new things I loved about adult Tennessee. I couldn’t wait to add even more things to the list.

Tennessee’s laugh turned to a gasp, then a small moan as he leaned in to meet me partway. “Yes.”

I traced his lips with the tip of my tongue before deepening the kiss. He tasted like Valentine’s Day—a mix of mint, chocolate, snow, and earthiness. Sweetness and lust mingling. I’d had other first kisses, but I couldn’t recall a single detail right then. Rather, I wanted a snapshot of this exact moment for the rest of my life.

The certainty I’d felt ever since Saturday intensified with every movement. My chest ached from holding back the rising swell of my emotions. But somehow, I simply knew.

This was my last first kiss.

I was determined to take my time. He made a delighted noise as I explored and tasted, making it harder to go slow, but if this was the first kiss of the rest of my life, I could damn well make it last.

And last it did, Tennessee clinging to me with his left hand as I gathered him even closer. We kissed as the night sky darkened, more stars arriving to observe the shift in my universe. We kissed as we both shivered and laughed and kissed and shivered some more.

“I don’t wanna move, but I don’t want to turn into a snow cone either.” I gave a frustrated moan, reluctantly letting my good sense return. “Want to warm up in the truck?”

I stood before I could give into the temptation of more chilly kisses and offered him a hand.

“Is that what the kids of Mount Hope are calling it these days?” Chuckling, Tennessee let me tug him off the bench.

“Follow me, and I’ll show you.” Flipping on my flashlight’s high beam, I carefully led us down the rocky stairs. Our competing injuries made it nearly impossible to hold hands, but I kept close and paused at the base of the stairs to steal one more kiss. He greeted me like I’d been away weeks rather than three minutes, and his eagerness was a better aphrodisiac than anything ever dreamed up for Valentine’s Day.

“Did you bring me up here to make out?” He laughed, but there was an underlying seriousness. Tennessee had a big, vulnerable heart, and he needed to trust that I wouldn’t hurt it.

“No. Well, yes. The kiss was planned, but I brought you up here to formally apply for the position of boyfriend you have open.” Keeping my voice all professional, I met his gaze before smiling hopefully.

“Soulmate.” His tone was somewhere between confused and censoring. “The CUPID algorithm was supposed to find me a soulmate.”

“Oh.” All the air left my chest at once. Tennessee didn’t want to date me. He wanted to hold out for his supposed soulmate. “I understand.”

“I don’t think you do.” He awkwardly reached for my left hand with his. “The algorithm may have glitched, but somehow I keep thinking…maybe. Like this could be it? For both of us?” He gulped loudly. “Sorry. It’s way too soon and⁠—”

I cut him off with a swift kiss before he could ramble himself into more doubt. “Not too soon at all. I feel the same way. Like this was somehow destined. Like I’ve been waiting for your return.”

“Yes.” Smiling broadly, he was the one to initiate the next kiss, which lingered, going from sweet affirmation to sexy promise. I would have happily kept going until our flashlight batteries ran out right there at the base of the trail, but Tennessee shivered.

“Some boyfriend I am if I let you freeze before dinner.” Chuckling, I pointed at my truck, flicking my key fob for remote start. “Into the truck with you.”

“There’s dinner?” he asked as he climbed into the passenger side.

“It’s Valentine’s Day. Of course there’s dinner.” I gave him a pointed look. I might not have that much personal experience with long-term relationships, but I’d watched my parents and other happy couples over the years. I wanted to make Tennessee feel valued and treasured, not only on holidays. “But you have to guess where I made reservations for us.”

“Reservations?” Tennessee’s expression turned befuddled. Understandable. Mount Hope was small enough that few places even took reservations. “Tell me you didn’t make your mother cook on Valentine’s Day.”

That earned a huge belly laugh from both of us as I cranked the truck’s heater. Tennessee had always loved her cooking and had proclaimed hers the best food in Mount Hope more than a few times.

“I thought about it,” I admitted. Tennessee’s love of her fried rice dishes and barbeque chicken was almost enough to have had me making the call. “My dad’s taking her out for Japanese steak, but she would have happily cooked for us. She’s going to be delighted we’re dating.”

I was more or less assuming that Tennessee’s lack of argument and repeated kisses meant he was on board with my plans, but I was still relieved when he nodded. “You think so?”

“Me with a boyfriend? Winning. Me with a boyfriend who happens to be you? She’ll be dancing down the aisles at church and calling wedding planners.”

Tennessee made a strangled noise as he blinked a few times.

“Breathe.” I patted his thigh with my hand, flexing my fingers against my cast. “No one’s proposing. Yet.”

“Yet.” Eyes wider than fried eggs, he swallowed hard but didn’t break eye contact.

“Yet,” I assured him with a huge grin. Removing my hand, I put the truck in Drive. “Now come on, keep guessing about dinner.”

Mouth twisting, Tennessee thought for several long seconds as I headed into town. Deciding to give him a clue, I hummed a line from an oldie I knew he’d recognize.

“No way.” He smiled slowly, head tilting. “Pinball Pizza? Is that place even still open?”

“Yup.” I beamed at him. The seventies-era pizza place had been largely untouched during our childhood—plastic chairs, scarred wooden tables, lots of ancient video games lining the walls, and mediocre pizza heavy on traditional favorites like pepperoni. We’d loved it. Tennessee’s family never ate out, but my mom had always made sure to include him in our celebrations there.

“And they take reservations?” His tone was understandably skeptical.

“They’ve remodeled. Gone upscale like the rest of downtown. We probably could get a table without reservations, but they are pretty popular these days. New ownership with a liquor license. New menu too, with gourmet toppings and a wood-fired crust. Refurbished game machines, but same building. Same name.”

“Same us.” Tennessee gave a happy sigh.

“Same us,” I agreed. Pausing for a stop sign near town, I met his gaze. “New start?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, voice sounding decidedly dazed. “This is turning out to be some date.”

“We haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.” I waggled my eyebrows at him.

“Oh.” His mouth made a perfect circle, pale skin looking even more so.

“Chocolate, Tennessee. Chocolate.” I pitched my voice soothingly. I’d already figured out that Tennessee wasn’t the hookup type and likely had far less experience than he’d admit. “There’s a candy store near the pizza place, and I picked up some truffles for dessert. I’m not expecting sex, promise. We can take things slow.”

“Hmmm.” He considered this for a few more blocks. “What if I don’t want slow?”

“Then we can take it fast but make it last.” I beamed at him. “We can set whatever pace you want.”

“We want. Our pace.” He exhaled hard. “I think I like the hurry-up-but-make-it-count plan. I’m not feeling all that patient.”

“Me either.” Chuckling, I gave him a heated look. “How fast can you eat pizza one-handed?”

“Very.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

TENNESSEE

I’d never scarfed down pizza as fast as I did that Valentine’s Day with Tate. The special was a delightful heart-shaped pie with a chicken, fig, arugula, and balsamic topping. A far cry from the pepperoni and pasteurized mozzarella of our youth, but I doubted either of us fully appreciated the pizza or the ambiance. The remodeled space was fun with lots of classic pinball and video games, but the only playing I was interested in was more kissing with Tate.

“We’ll have to go back to Pinball Pizza soon. I want to challenge you to that rare street fighting game they’ve got in.” After parking the truck, Tate led the way back to my house. “But right now, I’d rather wrestle you for fun, not points.”

He laughed, and so did I, but my stomach also quivered. Tate undoubtedly had way more experience than me, and while I was desperate for whatever we were about to do, I was also a little nervous.

Okay. A lot nervous.

“You’re probably way better than me at…wrestling,” I murmured.

“What? No way. You never met a video game you couldn’t best me at. You’re the strategy king.” Completely missing my attempt at innuendo, Tate waited for me to unlock the front door, then my apartment door. Thankfully, neither of the upstairs units had lights on. A little auditory privacy might be nice if I could ever get a handle on my nerves and racing pulse.

But then again, if I had a cardiac event, I did have a trained EMT to give me mouth-to-mouth. The thought allowed me to relax while we removed our coats and shoes and made our way into my living room.

“Aww. Look.” Tate stopped in front of my couch. Unlike most canines, Mouse had stayed on the couch rather than greeting us. Clifford had joined her in her blanket nest, spooning behind the small dog. He opened an eye, daring us to disturb their domestic harmony. “They’re cuddling.”

“They are. I like it.”

“Hate to kick them off the couch.” Tate winked at me. Couch. The spot where one might reasonably assume we could make out. Or more.

“I…um…” I glanced over at the hallway. Maybe more kissing and making out was too juvenile anyway. If Tate were truly my boyfriend now, he didn’t need me all Muppet-flail at the thought of sex. Which I did want, especially with Tate, as opposed to some random hookup, which had never once interested me. But the gulf between wanting sex and doing sex was relatively unchartered territory for me. “We can…that is, I have a bed.”

“I’m sure you do.” Tate chuckled and stretched to give me a fast kiss. He was shorter, a fact I kept forgetting because he was far broader and more muscular. And commanding. Few people I’d met could take up space like Tate did, which threatened to overwhelm me every time we touched or kissed. “We’ll get there as far as bed, but remember what I said. There’s no rush.”

And with that, he backed me against the wall near the door, more barely there soft kisses and touches on my neck, shoulders, and upper arms. Like me, he was limited by the cast on his other arm, but unlike me, it barely seemed to hamper him. In fact, his left hand was so talented that I found myself relaxing way more than I’d thought possible.

I was dangerously close to purring like Clifford simply from Tate petting me, and like a cat, I stretched into the contact, inviting more. Tate seemed to instinctively know that light touches and kisses worked far better for me than groping and intense tongue action.

“This is nice.” I sighed happily, sagging against the wall. My knees were deliciously rubbery, brain cells all muddled, and I barely registered Tate steering us over to my Swedish chair. As competently as he did everything else, Tate managed to arrange us both in the chair with no one landing on the floor. I reclined as Tate straddled me, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

“See? No need to rush to bed.” He grinned down at me. “This is cozy, and the pets don’t have to move.”

“True.” I smiled back until the chair gave an ominous squeak. “This isn’t exactly designed for two…”

“Relax.” Tate cupped my face in his hands. I loved how he made me feel precious and fragile yet strong. “I’m an EMT. If it dumps us on the floor, I know first aid.”

“Kiss it and make it better?”

“Exactly.” He proceeded to do exactly that, kissing me until I was certain there wasn’t much better on earth.

And then he moved.

Subtly at first, little shifts as he ducked his head to kiss my neck or stretched to lick my ear. Then more deliberate rocking against me, the sort of rhythm I couldn’t help but mimic. We might well break the chair, but hell if I could be bothered to care. Two broken wrists? A minor price to pay for how amazing this felt.

Heat bloomed all over my skin, every nerve ending on red alert. I was achingly hard, and being able to feel his erection against mine, even through our jeans, was almost unbearably erotic. My breath came in little pants. I could come only too easily from this kissing and friction combo, but I wanted more.

Skin. Skin would be good. But when I reached for his sweater, my cast got in the way, and while my left hand was decent at skimming over his sides and back, it lacked the sort of dexterity necessary for complicated clothing removal shenanigans.

I made a frustrated noise. “I’m not sure how to do this.”

“It’s okay, Tenn.” Tate soothed me with a sweet little forehead kiss as he swept his thumb over my bearded jaw. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“I’m ready.” I groaned, more frustration seeping into my tone. “I mean with our casts. They keep getting in the way.”

“Agreed. But I’m rather…handy one-handed.” Eyes sparkling, he made a jerk-off motion with his left hand.

“Goof.” I laughed even as my dick throbbed. Yeah. That. I wanted his hands all over me, my cock very much included. “I think I’m ready to show you my bed.”

“Are you?” Tate bounded off me and offered me a hand out of the recliner before following me to my bedroom. He waited patiently while I flipped on the light, which suddenly seemed far too bright for the small space. My double bed was neatly made with a gray comforter set, and the only other furnishing in the room was a secondhand nightstand with a goose-neck lamp. “Nice bed.” Tate remained way too close to the door, regarding me through cautious eyes. “Is that all you want to show me?”

“No.” All my nerves came rushing back. I fiddled with the edge of my fuzzy sweater. Skin. I wanted his skin and mine touching, preferably on the bed, but getting there seemed like a huge leap. “I want to do things too. Not just show.”

I glanced up at the overhead light, praying for guidance to sound less like a teen virgin and more like the professional I was. I could be so well-spoken in court and yet so out of my depth here.

Thankfully, Tate finally took pity on me and entered the bedroom. He flipped off the big light before turning on the bedside lamp and pointing the beam down at the floor, giving the room a dusky glow. Not dark, but not nearly so overwhelming either.

“That better?”

“Yes, thank you.” I met him halfway, pulling him close, putting all my relief and desire for him to lead into my kiss. I gave a contented sigh when he did exactly that, taking over the kiss until my thoughts were pleasantly jumbled again. Drunk on kisses and without the harsh light, undressing seemed far more manageable, especially with Tate leading the way.

My curiosity over his body overcame my own insecurities. I might be skinny and pale, but Tate was worthy of all the admiration—thick, surprisingly fuzzy chest, dark nipples, beefy biceps, and lean abs. A tattoo graced his upper right pec, and I gasped.

“Is that a stick of dynamite?”

Chuckling, he glanced down at his thick and heavy cock. “Pretty sure it’s just average⁠—”

“I meant your tattoo.” I reached out to touch the design featuring a popular cartoon character getting ready to light the dynamite. “You got a TNT tattoo?”

“I did.” His face darkened, a rare blush, as he glanced away. “I always was the reckless one.”

“I love it.” I dropped a reverent kiss onto the tattoo. Maybe he was right, and this thing between us was simply meant to be. Destiny.

I kissed his mouth next, and he kissed me back with a new intensity. He toppled us both gently onto the mattress, solving my question of how to make it to the bed. Looming over me, he gazed down tenderly.

“God, you’re so hot. How did you get so hot?”

“Hey, I’m wondering that too.” I laughed and touched his tattoo again.

“We can kiss all night.” He dropped a light peck on my nose before claiming my mouth again. “Heck, simply cuddling would be awesome.”

“You’re sweet.” Smiling, I kissed him back. “But I do want…more. Just not sure what. Not a lot of…imagination.”

“I’ve got you, Tenn.” He touched me lightly all over—my beard, then my collarbones, each nipple, my quivering abs, and at last, my aching cock.

“Yes.” I stared down my torso at my cock in his hand. Tate’s hand was big and broad and utterly perfect. My hips jerked upward, not waiting for permission. “Oh yes.”

“Easy.” Tate loosened his grip right before I was about to shoot on the second pass of his hand. “Not yet. I’m trying to go slow here.”

“Go fast instead,” I begged.

“How do you do it when it’s just you?” he asked conversationally as if inquiring about the snow forecast.

I made an impatient noise. “I haven’t managed to jerk since breaking my wrist.”

“Poor baby.” He tortured me with more feathery touches along my cock, not nearly enough to make me come, but plenty to drive me crazy.

“But when I can jerk, it’s always my right hand, usually with lotion.” My face heated. I couldn’t believe I was revealing all this. “I’m pretty boring.”

“You are not,” Tate scolded. “Show me the lotion.”

Figuring this was about to head all sorts of good places, I fished the small bottle out of my nightstand with minimal embarrassment. This was Tate. It was difficult to stay too self-conscious.

“Oh, I like this.” I moaned as he gripped me with a slick fist. This was going to be over in three point four seconds, and I hadn’t even touched him yet. I reached between us, trying to match his rhythm, but the angle was all wrong for using my left hand. I huffed out a breath. “I want something for you too.”

“Trust me that anything I do to you is for me as well, but let me show you something else?”

“Gladly.” I happily let him arrange me on my side, him spooning me from behind. “We’re like our pets.”

“We are.” He matched my silly tone before further adjusting us. And then there was no room for silliness, only sexy, him angling his cock between my thighs while stroking me with a slippery hand.

“Oh, this works.” I closed my eyes and sank further into the sensations of him behind me, warm and urgent. His woodsy scent was stronger like this, and the faint tickle of his body hair revved my nerve endings even higher. He lightly nipped at my shoulder blades as he held me tightly.

“Yeah it does.” Groaning, he moved faster against me, grip tightening on my cock.

“I’m not going to last,” I warned. It had been too long since I’d done this myself, let alone with another person, and much as I wanted to go all night, my body had other ideas.

“It’s okay, baby.” Tate licked my spine. “Go fast, then slow later.”

“Later.” I breathed the word like a promise. “I’m… Tate.”

Being this close to the edge, sharp and unknown, was scary and intense. Pleasure washed over me, and I shuddered hard.

“That’s it. You’re so perfect.” Tate kissed every bit of my back he could reach, reassuring me with his touch as much as his voice. “Tighten your legs for me. That’s it.”

“Are you…?” I trailed off as another wave of good feelings carried me higher. I wanted him to come too, preferably first, but I was already right there. My whole body tensed, ready, but not quite⁠—

“Come on, Tenn. Come.”

“Yes. Oh. Yes. God.” That was exactly what I’d needed—his command, permission to shut off my always-thinking brain and come in gloriously abundant spurts all over his fist and my stomach. My brain short-circuited, and all I knew was pleasure, overwhelming pleasure. And Tate. He surrounded me, turning all those scary feelings into something warm and wonderful. I came so much that I was still cresting as he sped up, thrusting hard and fast against me, grunting softly.

“Me too. Me too.” He groaned loudly a final time as he came, hot and sticky between my legs.

The mess should have been slightly off-putting, but it wasn’t at all. Made me want to experience that inside of me sometime soon as well. But like he’d said, we had time.

All the time in the world, hopefully. I stretched, content, as Tate fetched a small towel from the nearby bathroom. He cleaned us both up before cuddling back in.

“Now what?” I whispered. Was I supposed to say good night? Ask him if he’d brought a toothbrush?

Before I could let my brain get out of control again, however, the animals both wandered in. First, Clifford jumped onto the foot of the bed, and then Mouse came and delicately arranged herself under the nightstand.

“Well, Mouse clearly thinks she’s in for the night, but in a minute, I’ll find pants and take her to the backyard so she doesn’t wake us at five.” Tate gave my neck a friendly lick. “Okay with us staying over?”

Ah. That. That was what came next, and I liked it. Easy and wonderful, like everything else with Tate.

“Please.” I smiled up at him as he hefted himself upright.

“Good.” He bent to kiss my mouth. Lust momentarily dampened, the kiss was more affectionate, but I reveled in its quiet familiarity. “In the morning, I’ll make you coffee. Send you off to save the world with a smile.”

“You’re already the perfect boyfriend.” I smiled so hard I had to be almost literally glowing.

“Yep.” Tate laughed before he sobered. “In all seriousness, I’m not perfect. I’m messy. I can be bossy.”

“You think?” Sitting up beside him, I dropped a kiss on his bare shoulder. “I should have said that you’re perfect for me. Because I know you’re not some fantasy dude dreamed up by an algorithm. You’re Tate, my best friend. And you’re the perfect boyfriend for me.”

“Awww.” Tate’s features went soft with more emotion than I could remember ever seeing in his dark eyes. “You too, Tenn. You too.”

“Me?” I knew Tate was a catch. But me? “Even CUPID was stumped by me.”

“Yes, you.” He lightly nipped my neck. “And maybe CUPID led you straight to me. I’ve never met anyone with as big a heart as yours, who cares as deeply. You’re hot, sexy, amazing…”

I cut him off with a fit of laughter. “I’m already yours.”

“I know.” He kissed me soundly on the mouth. “But I’m going to keep on making sure you know it. Deal?”

“Deal.” I kissed him back. Funny how he’d only been back in my life for a matter of days, and now he felt like home. Like my whole future too. TNT. Together forever.

EPILOGUE

TENNESSEE

One year later

“Don’t let me fall,” I begged as I took my first wobbly step or, rather, slide onto the ice rink. “I don’t want another cast.”

“As if.” Tate scoffed, but he did hold my arm that much tighter, tucking me against him. “And you look so sexy in black.”

“Tate.” I tried to sound stern but failed miserably. Ever since the rink had opened at the park in December, he’d been on me to come skate with him. Finally, he’d worn me down by claiming all he wanted for Valentine’s Day was hot cocoa and ice skating. I would have eventually agreed, regardless, but he said he wanted to replace my disastrous last skating outing with a new, better memory. Which had made a lot of sense until I was actually here: thin blades on my feet, ankles feeling more like bobbleheads, sitting seeming like the far more prudent course of action.

“Skate with me.” He used the same cajoling tone that had worked on me so many times the last year. Hiking the falls. River swimming. Getting on a boat. Snowboarding. Moving in together. Whenever I’d had nerves, he’d had certainty and swagger. He didn’t doubt, and following him inevitably led to fun new TNT adventures. “One turn, and then I’ll get you the biggest hot cocoa they offer. Promise.”

“Whipped cream?” I let him guide me a few tentative inches. The rink was more crowded than when we’d walked Mouse and Clifford at the park. They had matching snow booties and seemed to enjoy their outings as much as we did. The rink was usually the territory of young families, nervous tweens, and giggly teens, but today, there were a lot of spectators around the edges and more skaters than I’d expected. Valentine’s Day rush, probably.

“Yep.” Tate waggled his eyebrows at me. “And the rest of the night is all yours. Pizza, brownies, and that new legal drama you like.”

“I do like correcting their mistakes.” I grinned and managed another fraction of an inch of forward momentum.

“I know you do, baby.” Tate tugged me a little harder. We moved, but I managed not to yelp and let him lead, as always. “Now, hold on tight. Right foot. Left. Slow and easy.”

“We’re doing it.” A shaky giggle escaped my throat as we made actual progress, making it past the first turn. “Oh my gosh, we’re really doing it.”

“We are.” He beamed at me, pride clear in his shining eyes. But then he stopped.

“Hey,” I protested, looking around, not seeing a reason for the pause. “Why are we stopping?”

“Now he wants to keep going.” Tate gave me an epic eye roll. “Of course. See? Just like snowboarding.”

“Maybe,” I allowed.

“Probably.” Tate grinned more at me and then carefully let go of the death grip I had on him and dropped to the ice in front of me.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Tate said with way more patience than I likely deserved. “What do you think I’m doing?”

Laughter sounded from the spectators nearby, and for the first time, I looked past my fear of falling and recognized faces. My boss from CASA. A few of Tate’s first responder friends—who had become my friends too—Tate’s parents. His siblings. Even my foster parents had made an appearance. Everyone who’d mattered to us over the past year, including Madge, our favorite ER clerk.

“Here?” My voice was shakier than my knees, which was really saying something.

“Here.” Tate was, as always, the firm one. “Told you. The proposal was a when not if.”

“Wow.” My head swam, vision blurring a tiny bit before I blinked.

“Breathe,” Tate ordered as he pulled out a simple gold ring. “Tennessee, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I love you more than I ever dreamed possible, and you make me so happy. Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” Finally, something I didn’t have to think about and a challenge I’d gladly accept. “Yes. A million times, yes.”

I reached for him, forgetting I was on skates, and wobbled like a tray of Jell-O squares.

“Careful.” Straightening, Tate steadied me before kissing me soundly. “I’ve got you.”

“You do.” I kissed him back, and the whole rink cheered. “Did you really tell the whole town?”

“Most of it.” Tate shrugged. “They love us.”

“You’re easy to love.” I touched the back of his neck, brushing his closely cropped hair.

“You too, Tennessee.” He turned to peer deeply into my eyes. “They all love you. This is your hometown too.”

He was right. I’d come back to Mount Hope for a reason, and I’d found exactly what I hadn’t known I was looking for.

“And you’re my soulmate.” I kissed him again. “Turns out, breaking my wrist was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Me too.”

* * *

And they lived happily ever after. Stay tuned for more Mount Hope stories from Annabeth Albert!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ANNABETH ALBERT

Annabeth Albert is a multi-published Pacific Northwest romance writer. Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny stories are her favorites both to read and to write. Her work has been praised by the New York Times, ALA Booklist, Publisher's Weekly, Library Journal, among others. Fans of quirky, Oregon-set books as well as those who enjoy military heroes will want to check out her many series.

Connect with Annabeth

Website: www.annabethalbert.com

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A NEW THRILL

AVRIL ASHTON

CHAPTER ONE

Paxton checked his phone again. It was 8:26 p.m.—a minute since he’d last checked. Clearing his throat, he lifted his gaze from the device in his hand and glanced discreetly around the busy restaurant.

He’d been surprised, pleasantly so, when his date had told him he’d made a reservation for them at The Vinery. Pax had always wanted to come to the upscale spot but had never gotten around to it. Didn’t want to come all by himself.

Didn’t want to feel pathetic sitting all alone.

Just as he was now.

He blew out a breath and took a sip of his water before snatching his phone back up and opening the CUPID app. Dating again, after his most recent experience, had not been an easy choice. But he’d grown tired of being alone. Of coming home to his cat, Delina—named after one of his favorite perfumes, Delina Exclusif by Parfums de Marly—and he’d wanted to prove that he was over it. Over him. Meeting people in his day-to-day life hadn’t worked out, so for the past month he’d been chatting with Noel via CUPID. The dating app boasted an enormous database with the most accurate compatibility-detection technology ever created.

Whatever the hell that meant.

All Pax knew was that they’d matched him with Noel, pronounced Nole. The two of them had the choice of allowing CUPID to set them up on a blind date or chat first to test things out. They’d chosen the chat first option and after a stinted and awkward start, they’d hit it off. It’d taken a while for Pax to bite the bullet and gather up the courage to meet.

How ironic that it was on Valentine’s Day.

His date was supposed to have met him twenty-seven minutes ago. But he hadn’t texted or messaged to let Pax know he was running late. Nor had he answered the two messages Pax had sent through the app.

But they’d been read.

He tapped agitated fingers on the table. Was he being stood up? After he’d finally gotten over him and managed to put himself back out there, he was being stood up? In this fancy fucking restaurant where the hostess and waiter kept eyeing him? Was that why they wore those soft, pitying looks on their faces?

He dropped his gaze.

It’d taken a lot to create the profile on CUPID. Even more to respond when he’d matched with Noel and the other man had messaged him. He’d ticked all the boxes. Blond and with blue eyes in deference to Pax’s request for no brown eyes. He had brown eyes. Noel worked at a plant nursery and had honesty and looking to build a relationship as part of the must haves that he wanted in a partner.

Just like Pax. After the deception of his last relationship, he required honesty moving forward. He’d stressed that to Noel. They’d connected. Or so he’d thought. When Pax had been hesitant to meet, Noel had assuaged his fears and offered to handle everything.

Which was why he now sat at a table in the middle of a fancy restaurant, wearing his one good shirt and the pants he’d worn to his grandmother’s funeral. He’d been excited but nervous. Ready to put everything that had happened behind him. Except he’d been stood up.

“Sir?”

He jerked his head up. The waiter stood over his table, wearing that same pitying expression.

“Will your plus one be joining us?”

“Um.” Embarrassment washed over him in a hot wave and he licked his lips, gaze darting away. “I’m—I’m not sure.” He brandished his phone. “But I already checked the menu and I would like to order.” He was here, might as well feed himself. He could splurge on a dinner; at least it should stuff him enough that he wouldn’t feel the hollow rejection in his gut.

The waiter nodded. “Very well.”

“For starters, I’ll take the fried⁠—”

“Sorry I’m late.”

Paxton’s eyes widened, everything around him falling away as someone slid into the chair opposite him. Another man, but it wasn’t his date. He shot to his feet when brown eyes clashed with his own. “No.”

“Oh, your guest is here.” The waiter smiled. “Do you need a minute to place your order?” he asked the newcomer.

The other man flashed a bright smile and a nod. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“No.” Paxton shook his head. “No.” How could he—Why was he there? Pax had thought he’d finally gotten rid of him, but he was there, sitting as if he belonged, a small smirk on his face. Pax tore his gaze away, struggling to deal with the rapid beating of his heart.

The waiter glanced between Pax and him, expression hesitant. Clearly the situation was making him uncomfortable. “Um, should I come back?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

They spoke at the same time.

“Pax.”

Fists balled, Paxton forced himself to meet that gaze. Slightly mocking, a whole lot daring.

“Why don’t we let the waiter give us a minute, huh?” He didn’t look away from Paxton when he addressed the waiter. “We’ll need a few minutes.”

“O-of course.” The waiter disappeared until it was just the two of them.

“You should sit down. People are staring.”

That fast, Pax dropped his ass back into the seat. He didn’t like to draw attention. Didn’t like to make a scene. That fucker knew that. “Why are you here?” His voice shook, hands fisted atop the table. He couldn’t even look at his lying, deceitful face for too long. “Didn’t I get rid of you?” He’d tried, but they both knew he hadn’t done all he could to get rid of the other man. “You’re interrupting my date.” He’d hoped that last bit would wipe the smug smile off his face, but the bastard only smiled harder.

“Date?” He lifted a brow. “Oh, you mean with Noel, pronounced Nole?”

Paxton narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah.” He shrugged, lips curving. “That was me.”

What did he mean that was— “You catfished me?” he hissed, leaning over the table. “You catfished me?” His voice broke, and never had he felt more pathetic than right at that moment. Noel hadn’t been real. He’d been a mirage created by the man who’d broken his heart and he’d gotten suckered in—again—by Jameson Sinclair-Roson.

“It was the only way I saw to get you to talk to me.” Jameson’s expression turned serious. “You blocked me on everything, Pax. What was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to leave me alone!” Paxton’s voice rose and he inhaled sharply, trying to calm himself down. Trying to think. “I want nothing to do with you after the way you played me. After what you did.” Just thinking about it made him want to scream.

Paxton had fallen in love with the kind, soft-spoken stranger who’d helped him through the ordeal of his bank getting robbed. When a gun was shoved into Paxton’s face because he was trembling too hard to speak, the stranger—who’d been in line when three masked men strode into the bank where Paxton worked as a teller—defended Paxton. He’d been the only lifeline Paxton had when panic made it difficult to breathe, let alone think. In the aftermath, after the men had escaped the bank, leaving their traumatized victims behind, Paxton had found himself bonding with the stranger.

Jameson, he’d said his name was. He had deep, smooth brown skin covered in colorful tattoos from his wrists to his throat, thick coily hair braided in medium plaits, and soulful brown eyes with a mole in the middle of his chin. He had full lips, scruff on his jaw, and soft words of comfort. He’d been that in the days and months afterward when the authorities had gotten no closer to finding the robbers and Pax had struggled to sleep at night. Jameson would sit on the phone with him all hours of the night, laughing, talking, and soothing him.

Paxton fell in love with him.

He’d thought the other man felt the same.

And so, he’d agreed on a date, which turned into multiple, which then turned into them falling into bed together. He’d thought they were building something and had considered himself lucky to have found a bright light in an otherwise fucked-up situation. Six months they’d been together. He even grew close to Jameson’s parents and twin sister.

Then he’d walked into Jameson’s penthouse on the night when his boyfriend was having a kickback with some friends. A small group of friends, all laughing and joking. They were all strangers to Pax, but one voice rang out among the rest. So familiar, that the hairs on his body had immediately stood at attention. So familiar, his body had frozen mid-stride, his heart banging in terror. He would never forget the voice of the man who’d shoved a gun to his temple while demanding money in a menacing, blood-chillingly calm tone.

The pieces started coming together then. And when Pax gathered up the courage to confront his boyfriend, Jameson hadn’t denied it. He’d been part of the robbery—No, not just part. He was the mastermind. The ringleader. But he hadn’t meant to get close to Paxton, he’d said. Hadn’t intended for them to get into a relationship. His confession had shredded Paxton, who’d immediately broken up with Jameson and left his place, intent on going directly to the police.

Except on the way there, he’d started thinking: what if they thought Pax had been in on it too? What if he got caught in the crossfire? What proof did he have, really? He’d immediately made a U-turn and taken his ass back home, where he’d crawled into bed and hadn’t come out for a week. He’d blocked Jameson on everything. But in the days following, Jameson had shown up everywhere Paxton was. His home, the grocery store, his job, even his fucking dentist’s office.

Jameson claimed he wanted to make things right, but Paxton wondered if it wasn’t that the other man just wanted to protect himself. He wanted to ensure Pax didn’t go to the cops.

It’d been six months since he’d last seen Jameson. But here he was when Paxton was finally making moves to get over him.

“I have nothing to say to you,” he told the other man. “I want nothing to do with you.”

“Pax, please. Let me explain.” Jameson leaned closer. “I’m fucking sorry about the way things went down between us. Let me make it up to you.”

“You’re sorry?” Paxton scoffed. “Or is it that you want to make sure I don’t go spilling your secrets to the authorities?” he asked in a loud whisper. He should have done it. Should have rolled the dice and gone to the cops, told them what he knew, and let them investigate. They would have found out the truth, surely.

“Will you?” Jameson asked, voice low. “Will you turn me in, baby? Because it’s been months. What’s the hold up if you hate me so much?”

Pax glared at him, teeth bared. His body trembled with the strength it took to sit there and pretend to have a casual conversation with someone who’d hurt him so badly, who’d played him so deftly. When he looked at Jameson, Pax saw all the ways in which he’d deluded himself into thinking that a man like that could truly be into him. Once they’d started getting to know each other, he’d realized Jameson was practically royalty. His family was wealthy in ways Pax could never wrap his mind around and very much into philanthropy. As far as the public knew, Jameson Sinclair-Roson was a real estate mogul in the making. Already he owned nightclubs, lounges, restaurants, and bars.

Those were the legal businesses. But Pax knew about the not-so-legal ones too. Like the one that had given him nightmares for weeks after. The most terrifying moment of his life and it was all thanks to the man who slept beside him at night.

How hadn’t he seen from the beginning that he’d been a mark?

“Pax, talk to me. Please.” Jameson stretched out a hand across the table reaching for Pax, who yanked himself away.

Spotting their waiter headed in their direction, he pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “Stay away from me,” he spat before turning and rushing out of the restaurant, tears obscuring his vision.

CHAPTER TWO

Jameson allowed the door to close behind him with a loud bang. He leaned against it, pinching the bridge of his nose and tilting his head back with a defeated sigh. He didn’t know exactly how he’d expected his reunion with Pax to go, but that wasn’t it.

He’d waited as long as he could, giving Pax time to make his move. Jameson had put his family on alert from day one that Pax had discovered their secret. They had contingencies upon contingencies in place to protect themselves, so it had all been a matter of waiting for Pax to make his move, but he never did. And in all that waiting, Jameson missed him so much.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

“I take it things didn’t go well?”

He hadn’t turned on the lights when he’d entered his condo, but judging from the direction of his sister’s laconic tone, he knew Maye was posted up over in the game room and was likely doing that online gaming shit that she was so fond of. He ignored her, making his way into the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. He took a deep swallow and then stood there with his head bowed.

Seeing Pax again, being so close to him after so long was…torture and pleasure at the same time. He looked skinnier, and his multicolored eyes—the left one a blue-gray and the right almost but not quite green—appeared duller. Dressed in the conservative way Pax preferred, a style he’d adopted from being raised by a no-nonsense grandmother, that belied the black nails and multiple piercings in his ears, he was still so beautiful. His curly afro was bigger, as if his hair had grown out, his delectable lips framed by a thin mustache—his only facial hair—but Jameson couldn’t help but compare the Pax he’d seen earlier to the man he’d been before.

Before Jameson entered his life and fucked it up.

He hadn’t meant to. He’d been at the bank for the job because that was his role as the head of his team. But Pax had been so scared, standing there shaking in khakis that were about a size too big and with a coffee stain on his white shirt. Something about him had called to Jameson and he’d found himself breaking character—ignoring the rules he’d set in place—and comforting Pax.

And then he couldn’t stop. Pax had intrigued him. Entranced him. Jameson had ignored his parents’ warnings—even Maye’s ass had warned him—and went about building a relationship with the cute bank teller. Pax was everything Jameson wasn’t, but somehow they’d fit, they’d made it work. Everything about Pax had been unexpected, but it was only after Paxton walked away that Jameson truly appreciated what they’d had. Growing up with well-known parents, rubbing elbows with the uber-wealthy and famous, all Jameson knew were people who were after something, aside from his family.

His exes wanted the money and the connections. Friends wanted a come-up off him. There’d been no safe space to just chill and just be…until Pax. Pax hadn’t even known who Jameson was until he’d been introduced to Jameson’s parents and even then, he hadn’t even cared. He’d only wanted Jameson, and Jameson had tried so hard to be the same thing for Pax. Pax gave him safety, and Jameson liked to think he’d injected some excitement into Pax’s life. They’d traveled constantly, Jameson taking them on impromptu trips to New York, Vegas, and Punta Cana. Knowing Pax wanted nothing from him but his time and attention had made Jameson shower him with gifts.

They’d been amazing…except for that bit of information he’d been keeping from Paxton. Jameson had been too afraid of losing him. Knowing that what he’d done had caused Pax to have nightmares wrecked Jameson and he’d tried his best to make Pax feel safe, to apologize with his actions. Pax recognizing the voice of one of the guys on the bank job had been a blow. When confronted, Jameson had been unable to prolong the deception.

Pax breaking up with him was a wound he still felt, but he deserved it. He’d caused it, after all.

He rubbed the middle of his chest with another deep sigh.

He’d been trying to make his way back to Pax, to explain, to beg for forgiveness. He wanted Pax back, but his ex wasn’t having it. The hurt in his eyes tonight…

“Hey.”

Jameson stiffened when Maye touched his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

He turned to her with a frown. “Why aren’t you at your own place?”

She shrugged, staring back at him with his own eyes. The eyes they’d inherited from their dad. “I wanted to see how things went.”

Maye was his twin, older by twelve minutes, shorter than him by two inches. They shared their mother’s complexion—smooth nutmeg brown—but all other features they’d gotten from their father, such as his broad nose, full lips, and jawline.

“How did it go?” Maye prodded.

Jameson grunted. “It went the way you would expect it to go. He hates me.”

“Hmm.” She pursed her lips. “Is that why he has yet to go to the cops? Because he hates you?”

That baffled Jameson too. But Paxton hadn’t given him a solid reason why he’d never taken what he knew to the authorities. “I don’t know, Maye. I just…I want him back.” The Sinclair-Roson family wasn’t new to the bank-robbing business. That was the family’s legacy, after all. It went all the way back to Jameson’s great-great-grandparents on his mother’s side. The family was insulated. Protected. If ever the cops came knocking, Jameson would never see the inside of a jail.

But he’d walk himself into fucking prison if it meant he’d get Pax back.

“Ugh, look at your ugly self.” Maye wrinkled her nose. “Moping again. Just get your man, bruh. Damn.” She shook her head.

“Okay, mind your business.” He tweaked her nose and she batted his hand away in disgust.

“You are my business, with your big-headed ass.”

“We have the same size head,” he reminded her.

“No, the hell we don’t. Don’t put that curse on me.”

He snickered. “You get your head from your daddy, girl. You see how big that man’s head is?”

“Ooh, I’m gonna tell him you said that.”

He rolled his eyes and sucked his teeth. “G’head then. Tell him. You think I’m scared of you and your daddy?” He grabbed her in a loose headlock, tweaking her nose again because he knew how much she hated that. “Tattletale ass little girl.”

“J!” She squealed, trying to get away from him.

He let her go finally and she stood back, narrowing her eyes as she studied him. “Are you okay, though? This Pax thing⁠—”

“I’ll deal with it.” He didn’t want to talk about Paxton with anyone. He just needed a moment to think, to figure out his next move. “I’m gonna grab something to eat, then take a shower. You staying here tonight?”

“Nah, got a date.” Maye glanced down at the phone in her hand. “I’m gonna head to my place to get ready.” Jameson owned the building, and she had the entire floor below him to herself.

He scowled. “How come I haven’t heard of this date before now?”

“Because you don’t know all my business, J. Damn.”

“I better know all your business. Send your date’s info to my phone,” he told her. “Headshot too. And make sure your location is being shared between me and our parents.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know I’m the older one, right?”

“And? What that mean?” As far as he and their parents were concerned, Maye was their baby. He didn’t give a fuck what she said or how much she complained about them being all up in her business.

“Bye.” She turned away from him, flipping him the middle finger.

“Aye. Get your ass back here.” His sister grumbled but did it anyway and he tapped a finger to her nose with a smirk. “Enjoy your date.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you, big head.”

“Love you too, ugly.”

He locked up after Maye left, then ate some leftovers his mother had sent over a few days prior before taking a shower. Afterwards, he fell onto his bed completely naked, skin still wet.

He missed Paxton.

He regretted a lot of things that happened between them, but he couldn’t regret them. Pax had been a welcomed distraction. His parents had encouraged him to break things off in the beginning, warning him that it wouldn’t lead anywhere, but Jameson was too stubborn to believe that. The time he and Pax spent together was magic. The way conversation just flowed, the way they’d gravitated to each other. They were always together. He’d had to force himself away from Paxton many times just to give the other man a breather. To give himself time to miss Paxton.

Jameson had grown obsessed with the way Paxton made him feel—with everything about Paxton—and he’d conveniently forgotten the truth of how they’d come to be that had hung over their heads like a swinging fucking blade.

Paxton walking away from him had left him physically ill and he’d found himself on his knees, hugging the toilet and emptying his stomach. The panic hadn’t been about Pax going to the cops, although Jameson had expected that of him. No, the panic had been about not having Pax, not getting to climb into bed with him at night or wake up next to him in the mornings. The panic was about not hearing Pax call him “J” in that low, breathy way he did when Jameson was deep stroking it the way Pax liked.

“Fuck.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and grabbed his phone, pulling up the Cupid app and going to Pax’s profile. Jameson had a few burner profiles on there, just to keep an eye on Pax. He’d lost his fucking mind when Maye had told him that Pax was out there trying to date. His sister was a computer whiz and she’d made sure to keep an eye on Paxton’s online activity, just in case. When she’d alerted Jameson to Pax being on the dating app, he’d immediately asked Maye to get him on there as well and to do her magic to match them.

The thought of Pax being with someone else—that shit hurt in ways Jameson couldn’t handle. He’d fucked up, he knew that, but he wanted to make it right. He wanted Pax to know that he hadn’t meant to hurt him, to hurt them. And for him to also know that nothing about what they’d shared had been a lie or a cover.

Jameson had wanted him then.

He wanted him now.

He didn’t know how he would get Pax to forgive him, but he wasn’t giving up. Before Pax, his love life had been nonexistent. Nothing came before the family business. Yes, they each had legitimate businesses. His father was James Roson, a famous high-powered attorney. He was constantly in the news, on magazine covers, and on TV because of his multimillionaire and billionaire clients. His mother was Marie Sinclair-Roson, world-renowned trauma surgeon. Maye had founded a software company after graduating from Spelman College and Jameson dabbled in properties. He’d gotten his degree from Morehouse, but discovered a love for properties. His company owned bars, nightclubs, restaurants, and hookah lounges and was now branching out to residential properties.

His parents had stepped back from the illegal stuff for the most part, leaving it to Jameson and Maye to run. Jameson had put together a small group of trusted people to work with and you had to have been with the family for over five years to be included on his team. They kept their circle small for a reason.

They protected themselves and never hit the same place twice. Money wasn’t the goal, not anymore. With their legal and illegal activities combined, their family was set for generations to come.

When Jameson pulled a job, it was purely for the thrill and to challenge himself. He’d lived for that, for excitement. Hell, he bore the scars from chasing excitement. He’d celebrated his twenty-first birthday in Jeffrey’s Bay in South Africa, surfing, and ended up getting mauled by a fucking shark, of all things. The scar on his left thigh was long healed but he still grinned whenever he saw it. That had been a wild ride.

But being with Paxton had been the biggest risk and he’d failed at that. He’d found the man he wanted a future with and Paxton wanted nothing to do with him.

But Jameson wasn’t giving up, not so easily.

His phone vibrated in his hand and he held it up, grimacing when he saw it was his father calling. “What’s up, old man?”

“Hey, son. How did the dinner go?”

There wasn’t anything he didn’t share with his family. With the kind of family they had, the shit they got up to, it wasn’t good to keep secrets. So he’d told his parents about his plan of trying to win Pax back. He knew they would’ve preferred that he let the whole thing go and just be grateful that Pax hadn’t made a big stink with the cops. But he also knew they loved and supported him in whatever he wanted to do.

“It went as well as can be expected, I guess.” He swiped a hand over his jaw. “The way he looked at me, Pop.” His voice cracked. “He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” his father responded. “You’re my son, no one can hate you. He’s hurt because you broke his heart. He thinks something that we both know isn’t true. He just needs time.”

“Time?” Jameson lurched upright. “I gave him time, Pop. It’s been months, man. I can’t—I need him.”

“I know, but this isn’t about you. He’s the one who’s been wronged,” James reminded him. “Not you. But he’ll come around. I know it.”

Jameson blew out a breath. “I hope you’re right.”

“I’m always right. Listen, I’mma let you go but your mother wants you to get your ass to the house for Sunday dinner. Don’t make her send me to chase you down.”

He missed one single Sunday dinner and his mother acted as if the world was coming to an end. “You can tell your wife I’ll be there.”

James chuckled. “Yeah, aight. I love you, son.”

“Love you, old man.”

He ended the call and tossed the phone to the side. Time, his father said. Jameson had given Paxton six months. If he kept letting time and space build between them, he feared Paxton would indeed move on without him.

And that, he couldn’t fathom.

CHAPTER THREE

“You haven’t told me how your date went.”

That was because Pax had been trying to forget all about that stupid date. But he couldn’t escape his friend and coworker, Shell, who he’d been so careless as to share his new dating adventures with. He’d spent the weekend in a funk of anger and hurt, and now with the start of a new work week, he was doing all he could to forget the unfortunate incident.

Except Shell stood in front of him, ambushing him as he made his way back to his office, and he was forced to think about it.

To think about him.

“Hello?” The snapping of Shell’s fingers brought him out of his reverie. “Paxton, you with me? How did the date go?”

“Oh. Uh…” He shifted from foot to foot, rubbing a hand over his head. Shell’s eyes narrowed. “He didn’t show.” No way was he about to share that he’d been catfished by his ex, the same man who’d robbed their bank. Shell knew nothing about that, and he wasn’t about to start sharing.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Shell threw an arm around his shoulders. “Fuck him then.” Peering down at him through the lenses of their bedazzled pink-framed glasses, they asked, “Are you okay?”

Pax nodded. “Yeah. But maybe this online dating thing isn’t for me. Maybe I’m not ready.”

“No, you’re not going to let a loser stop you from getting back out there.”

They entered Pax’s office and he went to his desk, taking a seat while Shell stood facing him with their arms crossed, frowning. Their curly blond hair was shaved on the sides and the longer tresses combed to fall over their right eye. Today, Shell was dressed as they always were, in some variation of pink: white shirt tucked into a pink pencil skirt, pink tie, and white heels that helped to bolster their height that was all of five foot nothing.

“It took a lot of courage for you to even put yourself out there after you and Jameson broke up,” Shell said. “And I’m proud of you for it. So again, fuck that guy.”

Shell was a good friend. It was too bad Pax couldn’t tell them the full truth of what happened with Jameson. All they knew was that Jameson had lied to him. The secrets Pax held burned in his chest. There was nobody to share them with, no one to help him unload. Not when the load he carried had the possibility to get him in trouble as well.

He was innocent, but he doubted the authorities would think that.

Fuck Jameson for putting him in such a predicament and fuck him for coming back, begging for Pax’s forgiveness as if he deserved it. “Thanks, Shell.” He’d tried not to bring his relationship shit to the job, but Shell had been there with him when they’d gotten robbed. They’d seen the connection Pax and Jameson had shared. They’d cheered them on. And now Pax was too ashamed and embarrassed to admit that he’d been played by a goddamn professional.

“Paxton Reyes?”

He jerked his head up, frowning at the guy who stood in his office doorway, a huge arrangement of flowers in his hands. “Uh, yeah?”

“These are for you.” The guy—delivery guy, apparently—smiled. “Sign here, please.”

“Uh…” Pax gaped while Shell stood next to him with their eyes bugging out. “These are for me? Are you sure?” Who could be sending him flowers?

“They are, yes. Someone must really like you.” The delivery guy nodded as Paxton signed for the flowers, then flashed a dimpled grin. “Enjoy.” He placed the flowers down on Pax’s desk and then left as Pax and Shell stood there staring at the gorgeous arrangement. Pale pink tulips. Pax’s favorites.

“There’s a card.” Shell smacked his arm lightly, not doing anything to hide their curiosity. “Read the card.”

Right. Pax retrieved said card and read it aloud. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” The card fell from his suddenly numb fingers, floating to the floor.

“Sounds like your date is apologizing for standing you up.” Shell snatched the card off the floor and glanced at it. “Wait. Jameson?” Their gaze jumped from the card to Paxton then back again. “Your ex? This is from your ex?”

Paxton didn’t want to speak. He feared if he opened his mouth, he’d spill everything—all the secrets, the hurt, the pain that still sat so heavily on his chest.

“Pax?”

Ignoring Shell, he picked up the flowers, those eye-catching tulips in their pretty vase, brought them over to the trash can, and dropped them inside. Then he made his way back to his desk, arranging and rearranging shit on there as if that was his actual job. Anything to distract himself, to keep busy.

“Pax, are you okay?”

He looked up at Shell, who watched him with open concern. “I’m fine.” He managed a wobbly smile. “Everything is fine.”

“Um, yeah but⁠—”

“Delivery for Paxton Reyes?”

Both Paxton and Shell turned toward the doorway. A young lady stood there, wearing a hat and jacket that bore the name of Paxton’s favorite sushi restaurant.

“Yes, this is him.” Shell pointed at Pax, who frowned, waving weakly.

“I have an order for lunch.” The young lady glanced down at the phone in her hand. “For the entire office.”

Fuck him. Pax didn’t have to ask to know this was all Jameson’s doing.

Shell must have come to the same conclusion because they spun to smirk at Pax. “Ooh. That man definitely wants you back. Flowers and food? Hmm, I would at least hear him out.”

But Pax didn’t want to hear him out. He didn’t want to see Jameson, let alone talk to him. He wanted to hold on to the anger. The betrayal. He needed reminders because otherwise he might stare into Jameson’s eyes and forget all the shit he’d done. All the ways he’d lied and used Pax. He couldn’t be naive again, and he refused to be swayed by pretty flowers and fucking spicy tuna rolls!

“Lunch on Pax’s ex, everyone!” Shell called out to the entire office, and he couldn’t bring himself to reprimand them.

Instead, he managed to thank the delivery person and offer a tip that she declined, telling him that had all been taken care of. He also managed to smile when his coworkers thanked him—and his ex—one by one for the free lunch. And when they were all too busy crowding around the spread that was laid out for them, he escaped inside his office and locked the door.

Fuck. He buried his face in his hands.

What the hell was Jameson trying to do?

The phone on his desk rang before he found an answer to that question. He snatched it up. “Paxton Reyes speaking.”

“Congratulations on your promotion to manager. I know how much you wanted that position.”

His chest tightened at that voice, so low and filled with innuendo. Pax tightened his grip on the phone receiver as déjà vu flashed over him: The long hours they’d spent conversing over the phone. The butterflies. That breathless feeling.

They flooded him now.

“Enjoying your lunch?”

“What do you want from me?”

“Did you like the flowers?” Jameson dodged the question.

Goddamn it. “Jameson. Answer me. What do you want from me?”

“I want a chance to show you that I’m sorry. I want a chance to fix what I broke between us. I want a chance.”

A chance. How much of a sucker would Pax be to give a bank robber a chance? He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to go there with this man. Didn’t want to hold a long conversation with him because all it did was remind him of things he had no business remembering. “It’s been six fucking months,” he hissed. “Six months. Why now?”

“I wanted to give you time.”

Pax opened his eyes with a scoff. “Or more accurately, you wanted to see what I would do with the information I have.”

“I don’t care what you do with the information you have,” Jameson said, flinging Pax’s words back at him. “I just don’t want to lose you, Pax. Shit. Look, I know I fucked up. I shouldn’t have—it shouldn’t have happened, but it did, and I can’t regret it because I met you. You were unexpected but welcomed, Pax. You have to know that.”

Pax could feel himself softening, but he refused to go out like that. “What I know is that some tulips and food will not fix it.”

“Then what will?” Jameson asked. “Tell me and I’ll do it. Please.”

“I would be a fool to trust a thief and a liar,” Pax whispered. “I can’t not know what I know. I wish I could. You have no idea how much I wish I could.”

“I’m sorry,” Jameson said plainly. “I’m sorry, Pax. Just…Just know that.”

Pax hung up the phone, blinking rapidly. The parts of him that had fallen for the stranger named Jameson wanted to believe the words this version of him spoke, but he hardened himself against them. Hardened himself against the token gestures Jameson made in an attempt to win him over.

It wouldn’t be that easy.

Correction: it’s not happening at all!

* * *

As a distraction from all thoughts of Jameson, Paxton forced himself to go out on another date the following week, this time with a guy he’d met at work. All the way through their dinner, he kept waiting, anticipating Jameson showing up like he’d done previously.

Except he never did.

The date was fine, from what Pax could recall of it. He was ashamed to admit that he hadn’t given the guy—Cal—his undivided attention. He’d been too busy staring at the restaurant entrance, hoping to spot Jameson. That was a dick move, the way he’d treated his date, and in the end, he’d had to offer up an apology in the form of a second date. A do-over.

He never got a chance to stop thinking about Jameson though, because every day, like clockwork, Pax would get a delivery of flowers. And the office would get lunch.

Jameson got them Italian, pizza, tacos, soul food, Jamaican.

All the things Pax loved to eat, Jameson provided it.

If only he’d provided the truth just as easily back then.

CHAPTER FOUR

It’d become Pax’s habit to check the news religiously for any word on bank robberies—the local and national news as well as the internet. But so far, nothing. There’d been no arrest for any of the robberies and the news had long cycled past anything regarding his bank or any of the other banks he knew of that had gotten hit.

Still, he couldn’t break himself off from leaving the TV on, tuned to one of the twenty-four-seven news channels. It had become his background noise as he went about his apartment, ignoring the tulips that he’d fished from the trash at work.

They now resided in the middle of his dining table.

This evening, he sat on the couch with a bowl of cereal in his lap and his cat, Delina, at his feet. He’d come home late, exhausted from work, and couldn’t be bothered to stop anywhere to pick up food or to cook when he got in, so cereal it was. He ate as he scrolled on his phone, the news on in the background. His grandmother would not have liked that. If Gracie Reyes was still alive, Pax would’ve had to turn any electronic distractions off while he ate.

His lips curved into a smile.

He missed her and though it hurt that she was no longer with him physically, her memory brought him happiness. Gracie raised him by herself when Pax’s mother—Gracie’s only child—died during childbirth. He never knew his father, and his grandmother hadn’t either. Apparently, Pax was the product of a one-night stand. Maybe he got his weird eyes from his father’s side of the family. He didn’t know. He just knew he’d grown up with a Dominican grandmother who’d taught him to be proud of his dark brown skin and eyes which were two completely different shades. She’d been strict but still taught him to be proud of himself, period. He’d gone away to college to study accounting and returned home when Gracie was diagnosed with breast cancer his junior year.

Just like she’d done for him, he’d nursed her. Stayed at her side and encouraged her to let go when her body could no longer fight.

With his only close family member gone, he was truly alone, which was why he’d gone out and found himself a cat. He’d learned to enjoy his own company, dating here and there, but he’d never connected with anyone the way’d connected with Jameson.

He was so freaking glad that the weekend had arrived. He had no plans but to remain in bed for the duration.

Except for that date with Cal.

Right, he’d forgotten about that. The second date to make up for that disaster of the first one where he’d ignored the poor guy. Fuck. He didn’t actually want to do it a second time, if he was honest with himself. Cal was a great guy on paper, but he wasn’t…

Well, he just wasn’t what Pax was looking for. Maybe he should cancel? He thumbed through his contacts to find Cal’s info, staring at it. Cal was tall and lanky, with a head full of curly brown hair, green eyes, and freckles. A good guy. Polite, funny, engaging.

And for some reason, Pax’s stomach knotted at the idea of seeing him again.

Shit. He rubbed his forehead just as his doorbell went off, startling him. Delina hissed and got up, strutting toward the door. He wasn’t expecting anyone, so who the hell was that? He got up, phone in hand, and went to the door, peering through the peephole.

Jameson stared back at him as if he could see Pax.

Pax flinched away from the door, stumbling back a few steps. What the hell was Jameson doing there? Pax covered his mouth with a trembling hand, staring wide-eyed at the door.

“Pax.”

His body jerked as if Jameson’s words were strings and Pax was the marionette dancing for him.

“Pax, can you open the door?”

No, he couldn’t. That was the last thing he should do.

“I want to see you, baby.” Jameson’s voice was so smooth, so soft. “We need to talk.”

Hadn’t they already done that? They’d said all that they needed to. Pax didn’t want Jameson in his space. It’d taken too long for him to make it through the memories of the time they’d spent together in this very apartment. He couldn’t handle a return.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jameson told him through the door. “I’ll stay right here for as long as it takes for you to talk to me.”

Fuck. He knew exactly how to get to Pax. He knew Pax didn’t like to draw attention to himself. If Jameson remained out there, the neighbors would talk, and that wasn’t something Pax wanted.

He buried his face in his hands, forcing himself to breathe. “It’s okay,” he muttered. “I can do this.” He could stand face-to-face with Jameson for however long he needed to and walk away unscathed. He was strong. He could do it. Lowering his hands, he took a deep breath, releasing it as he went to the door and pulled it open.

Jameson stood there wearing a suit, looking as if he’d just come from some kind of important meeting, and a crooked smile. “Pax⁠—”

Pax held up a hand. “You have ten minutes.” Then he stepped aside, allowing the other man to enter. Jameson did, his cologne—a sensual fusion of citrus, spices, and leather—wrapping around Paxton as he stepped past him.

“Delina!” Jameson dropped to the floor, scooping up a meowing Delina, traitor that she was. She’d always loved Jameson and had been nicer to him throughout their relationship than she’d been to Pax, who’d been the one to rescue her. “I missed you too, girl.” Jameson buried his face in Delina’s black fur with a laugh that rang loud with happiness.

Pax tore his gaze away from them, ignoring the way his heart just turned to fucking mush, and returned to his seat on the couch. He picked up his cereal from the coffee table and resumed eating as he waited for Jameson to join him. He did eventually, sitting in the armchair opposite Pax with Delina curled on his lap.

Pax threw her the evil eye but all she did was yawn. He turned to Jameson. “What do you want?”

Jameson eyed him, gaze somber. “How was work? I see you’re still doing the cereal thing, huh?”

Pax glanced away from him. Jameson used to always get on his case for not taking the time to eat properly. He’d never liked that Pax would allow himself to get so distracted at work that he forgot to eat. “Work was fine,” he mumbled.

“Hmm. Nice flowers.” He gestured to the vase on the dining table.

“Can you just say what you came here to say so I can go back to enjoying my evening?” Pax blurted out.

Jameson held his stare for a beat before he nodded. “Okay.” He flicked a glance at the TV and then returned his gaze to Pax. “What I do, what you found out about me, it’s a family thing.”

Pax frowned. “What?”

“My maternal great-great-grandfather started it. The family then was dirt poor, struggling to make ends meet with young kids and jobs that broke their bodies but could never stretch to keep them fed. One day, he got frustrated and just—” Jameson shrugged. “—did what he had to do. Once he saw he could get away with it, he continued. Always careful, never being too greedy. He then handed it over to his son, who handed it to his son, my grandfather, and he handed it over to my mother. Then it became my turn.”

Pax gaped at him. “What? I don’t—” Jameson’s mother, Marie Sinclair-Roson, reminded Pax of the replacement Aunt Viv from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air while James, her husband, could be the twin of gospel royalty Bebe Winans, one of Pax’s grandmother’s favorite singers. Such a good-looking older couple. Then there was Jameson’s twin sister, Maye, who was the most beautiful, chaotic beauty he’d ever laid eyes on. He couldn’t wrap his mind around what Jameson was telling him.

“Your family?” The thought had never crossed his mind. Though in the early days after he’d learned the truth, he’d wondered if Jameson’s family knew about his criminal activities. He’d briefly entertained telling them, but had thought better of it.

Imagine if he’d done it. If he’d gone to them and told them that their son was out there robbing banks. They would have laughed at him.

“But your mom is—and your dad…” Jameson’s parents were famous, like a Black power couple. Fucking royalty, at least to Pax. He’d watched them interact, seen how much in love Jameson’s parents still were, how down-to-earth, and had imagined having that with Jameson at some point.

“They’ve stepped back from the bank robbing business to focus on the more legitimate side of things.” Jameson nodded. “But ten years ago? They were the ones doing the work.”

Doing the work. Pax scoffed, shoving aside his cereal. “That’s your family legacy? Hurting people? You sound proud.”

Jameson shrugged. “We do our best not to physically hurt anyone. We’ve never had to. I can’t say that I wasn’t sitting on the sidelines anxiously waiting for when my turn would arrive. I wanted nothing more. I watched my parents do their thing and I wanted to be like them. They made sure Maye and I were ready before they allowed us to step up. I loved it.” He held Pax’s stare. “And when it became my turn to call the plays, I was in fucking heaven.” He paused, flashing a crooked smile that didn’t linger. “At least, I thought I was. Because when we met, to me it felt as if nothing else mattered but you. I admit I never gave the jobs much thought after their completion, but seeing the aftereffects of what we’d done to you so up close and personally? Knowing that you were having nightmares because of what I’d done? I’m so fucking sorry.”

Pax didn’t respond.

“I haven’t pulled a job since that day.”

Pax hated the surge of satisfaction those words sent through his body.

“I didn’t expect you.” Jameson lifted Delina off his lap, placing her gently on the floor, then got down and knee-walked over to Pax. “I didn’t expect to meet you.”

“Why were you in line as a customer and not participating?” Pax had always wanted to ask that question. This was the first time he found the words.

Jameson let out a soft chuckle. “We always have someone mixed in with the customers. Just a precaution. But I dunno why I decided that I’d be the one that time. I’m never that person. But during the planning phase, my instinct just said I should be the one in the crowd.” He gazed up at Pax, eyes soft. “I always trust my instincts.”

“But you’ve made it so that I’m afraid to trust mine now.”

“Why?” Jameson took Pax’s hand. “Why? We were attracted to each other. You were good for me, to me, and I’d like to think that I was the same for you.”

Pax didn’t speak.

“Baby, listen to me. I didn’t set out to find you or to lure you into some sinister plot. I just met you and we forged a connection, that’s it. I knew that I couldn’t tell you the truth of how we came to be if I wanted to keep you. And Pax…” His hold tightened on Pax’s wrist. “I wanted to keep you. I still do. Always will.”

Pax couldn’t deal with hearing that. Instead, he asked, “Everything you just told me about your family, aren’t you afraid I could tell somebody, the cops, about this?”

“You could, yes. But I trust you. I am putting my trust in you, Pax, to prove that I’m not fucking around. You have information that could destroy not just me, but my family. My family is everything to me,” Jameson said huskily. “I would kill for them, but I’m here, willingly giving you the rope you could turn around and use to hang us.”

“Why?” Pax whispered through trembling lips.

“Because I want you back.” Jameson cupped his cheek. “It was real between us and it’s still there.” He placed a palm on Pax’s chest and Pax’s breath hitched. “I’m sorry I hurt you. Sorry I made you feel like you were being used or played. None of that is true. I just want you, Pax. I just want to be with you.”

Moisture flooded Pax’s eyes. He wanted to believe everything, every word Jameson just uttered. He wanted to believe it so badly.

Jameson leaned forward, putting his forehead against Pax’s, inhaling deeply. “I miss you. I miss your scent and your touch.” His lips touched the corner of Pax’s. “I miss your kisses.”

Pax whimpered. He missed all of that too, so much. But he couldn’t speak, couldn’t form the words. Not when Jameson’s mouth was on his. Soft at first. Hesitant. Then harder, more insistent, and Pax parted his lips in a gasp.

Jameson’s tongue invaded him, slick and practiced. Pax moaned as Jameson’s hand left his chest, moving up to cover his nape, fingers pressing into his flesh as he delivered the kisses Pax had gotten hooked on, the kisses he’d mourned and dreamed about. Jameson kissed him as if he were on a mission, on the hunt, full of intent and promises.

Pax clung to him, trembling, moaning, eyes squeezed shut to block out the world. All he wanted in that moment was Jameson and the kisses that tasted so good and felt even better. His body had been without any of this for so long that he felt himself coming alive, blooming under those urgent kisses and biting fingertips. He gave as good as he got because he wanted Jameson to remember how they were. How good they’d been.

Had he missed Pax the way Pax missed him?

His kisses said he did. The way he growled into Pax’s mouth said he did. Jameson shifted between Pax’s knees and Pax spread wider, allowing him to come even closer. The press and strain of their bodies, the thudding of his heart—all of it was so familiar, it was like déjà vu, swamping Pax’s senses.

Taking him down memory lane.

He couldn’t breathe but that didn’t matter. Not when Jameson was rocking against him, the evidence of his arousal right there. Pax rocked on him, his own body hard to the point of that sweet pain. So good. He hungered for all the things he’d missed out on in the past six months. He wanted⁠—

Jameson pulled away, breaking the kiss with a wet sound.

Pax whimpered, lashes fluttering and then lifting. Jameson gazed at him with wet lips and hooded eyes.

“My ten minutes are up,” Jameson uttered softly. “I’m gonna go.”

No. Pax didn’t want that, but his lips were kissed raw, and apparently his tongue was useless.

“Call me.” Jameson released him, getting to his feet. His erection was right there, in Pax’s face. Jameson didn’t make a move to hide it and Pax couldn’t stop staring at it. “Hey.” Jameson cupped his chin and Pax’s gaze flew to his. “Think about what I told you—” He licked his lips. “—and call me when you want to talk.” He winked then walked away, letting himself out while Pax sat there frozen.

CHAPTER FIVE

“You did what?”

Jameson did a double take at Maye’s loud shriek. “What?” He lifted a shoulder. “I told Pax⁠—”

She held up a hand, effectively stopping his words in their tracks. “Uh-uh. Nope. We’re gonna wait until your parents get here so you can repeat what the fuck”—she leaned over the table and whispered that part—“you just said to me.”

“Maye, c’mon.” She already knew he would do anything to try and get Pax back. “Why are you surprised by this, and matter of fact, why are they my parents and not ours?”

She sipped her lemon drop and smacked her lips. “Because after they murder you, my twin, in broad daylight, I’m gonna be forced to disavow them.”

He rolled his eyes at her theatrics. “Man, our parents aren’t gonna do anything. Let’s not act as if Pop wouldn’t go all out to get his woman back.”

“First of all⁠—”

He stiffened when he heard his father’s voice over his shoulder as his parents joined them in the private dining room in one of the restaurants that Jameson owned.

“—I wouldn’t be dumb enough to do anything that would make my woman leave me.”

“Tell him.” Marie gassed her husband up as she faced Jameson with a smirk.

“And second—” His father pulled out a chair for his wife and then helped her sit, brushing a kiss to her temple before he also sat. “—I damn sure would do whatever it took to get this fine woman back if, God forbid, she lost her mind and called herself trying to leave me.” He nuzzled Marie’s neck and she simpered, clutching him to her with one hand dripping in jewels.

Jameson met his twin’s gaze, rolling his eyes while Maye pretended to gag. Their parents had been together for over thirty years, having met when they were in high school, and they still acted as if they were teenagers. Most of the time Jameson loved to see them together. He loved the way his father doted on his mother, putting her first, being her biggest fan and cheerleader, and spoiling her rotten. But there were times, like now, when seeing them together reminded him of what—or rather who—he didn’t have. He’d always wanted a relationship like his parents. One where he and his partner remained head over heels in love even after decades together with children and their high-powered careers.

Not to mention their illegal side hustles.

He wanted that. His folks’ relationship was the blueprint as far as he was concerned. They showed him and Maye every day what it meant to love and be loved, and he appreciated them for it. He also appreciated that they hadn’t batted an eye when he’d come out as gay to them at seventeen. He’d had his share of relationships through the years, but they were all short-lived, and none of his boyfriends had ever known his secrets.

Paxton was special, that was for sure.

“So.” Done kissing up on her husband, Marie pulled a compact from her purse, redoing her lipstick while James stared at her as if they’d just met. “What did you do now?” Of course she directed that question at Jameson.

When Pax found out the truth about him, Jameson had to go to his parents and tell them what was happening. His father had freaked out for a moment because he knew how much Jameson felt for Pax, but Marie had kept her cool. She’d been the one to ask Jameson the tough questions, such as what he wanted to happen to Pax, and what was he willing to do if worse came to worst? She’d been the first to agree when he’d told his family that he wanted to be with Pax, no matter what.

“He told Paxton about us,” Maye blurted out.

“Maye! Goddamn, your big-headed ass can never hold water.” Jameson glared at her and she flicked him the middle finger.

“Boy, don’t talk about your sister’s head,” Marie chastised Jameson. “You’ve both got your father’s head, which is perfect. Now, what the hell does she mean by you told Paxton about us?”

Throat suddenly feeling parched, Jameson ignored his parents’ heavy stares and gulped his drink. “I told him our family history,” he confessed softly. “I want him to come back to me, and if I want to build trust between us, I have to let him in.”

His father leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “You know this could go all the way left.”

Jameson nodded. “I know.” But it was like he’d told Pax; he was trusting him. “What do you think?” he asked his mother. “Was that the right move?”

She shrugged. “You made it, so it must have been the right one for you. I agree that if you want him back you need to be honest, but you could’ve given us a heads-up so we could put safeguards in place.”

“Safeguards are in place, Mother,” Maye said. “I’m on top of it.” She was monitoring Pax’s communications via phone and emails, plus she was also in contact with the family’s people inside law enforcement. “It’s been two days and he hasn’t done anything.” A weird expression crossed her face, then immediately disappeared.

Jameson didn’t like that Maye had to keep tabs on Pax, but that was his family’s ask in exchange for backing him on this. They wanted to be sure Pax could be trusted, and since Jameson’s ass wasn’t the only one on the line, he’d agreed. But that shit would be coming to an end soon.

“We want you to be happy.” Marie reached for Jameson’s hand, squeezing gently. “Are you sure that this—him—is what you want?”

“I’m sure.” He cleared his throat. “I also want us to revisit what we talked about last Christmas.”

Everybody at the table stilled.

Paxton had discovered the truth about Jameson two weeks before Christmas, so the get-together at his parents’ house had been dismal for him. There’d been lots of discussions and brainstorming to find solutions in order for Jameson to get back the man he loved. Lots of shit had been thrown out but only one thing had made sense.

They’d vowed to revisit it at a later date. Now, Jameson was bringing it up.

“We should talk about putting an end to the family business.”

CHAPTER SIX

Another date night.

Paxton sighed as he spotted Cal standing outside the movie theater waiting for him. They’d opted to meet each other there with plans to catch a movie and then get tacos afterward. Pax had just begun to revisit dating again, and already he was exhausted by all of it even though he hadn’t done much dating. But it all felt so much like work.

And he found he had to psych himself up every time before he went on a date with anyone who wasn’t⁠—

“Paxton!” Cal beamed at him when they stood face-to-face. “Glad you could make it.”

Pax almost hadn’t, but he didn’t tell the other man that. Instead, he accepted the hug Cal doled out, giving him a smile that felt painful on his face. “Of course I’m here.” He gestured. “I can’t wait to watch this movie.” That at least was true. He’d had the romcom on his watchlist for a while.

“Well, come on.” Cal took his hand, leading him inside. “I’ve got our tickets. Do you want some snacks?”

Pax opted for a bottle of water and candy before they made their way to their seats.

All during the movie his mind drifted to where it shouldn’t have, to the man he shouldn’t be thinking about when his date sat next to him, their knees and shoulders brushing. He did nothing but think about what Jameson had shared with him the last time they’d seen each other.

When Jameson had kissed him. And Pax had returned that kiss way too eagerly. He’d beaten himself up for that. And for not insisting Jameson stayed and continued doing that thing with his mouth.

Ugh.

Cal nudged him, putting his mouth to Pax’s ear. “Are you okay?”

Shit. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.”

Cal smiled and resumed watching the movie with stellar concentration. Why couldn’t Pax be attracted to him? Cal ticked all the boxes, and he’d shown Pax nothing but positive things. Although he knew from experience that that could always be a smokescreen. Still, his gut told him Cal was a good guy.

But hadn’t his gut said the same about Jameson? And look how that turned out.

Wasn’t Jameson a good guy? Until Paxton learned the truth about the robbery, all he’d gotten from Jameson was love, attention, and amazing sex. Jameson had spoiled him in the months they’d been together. He hadn’t made Pax feel anything but like his man, claimed and possessed, but in that sexy way that made Pax’s skin tingle and his dick hard.

Don’t think about your dick while you’re sitting next to another man, in public.

Jameson had doted on him. He’d always been around. They were always together, if not at Pax’s place, then at Jameson’s. They’d made plans for the future, to travel so Pax could see the world since he’d never done that. It’d been because of Jameson that he’d finally gotten his passport. He’d felt adored, respected, and taken care of. Nothing and nobody could convince him that he hadn’t hit the boyfriend lottery.

And then he’d walked into Jameson’s loft one day and Paxton’s world had gone to shit.

He gulped his water.

If he hadn’t gone to Jameson’s that day, Pax might have never known, and they would still be together. Loving each other. Jameson wanted them to return to that. Pax couldn’t lie, sometimes—always—he wanted that too. But he couldn’t unhear what he’d heard, couldn’t purge everything he knew from his mind. And Jameson had piled even more on with what he’d recently shared.

A family business. Robbing banks.

Pax shook his head. That was…crazy. Jameson had shared that information so easily. As if he wasn’t in actuality handing Pax the means to destroy his family. His father, who was a titan in the courtroom. His mother, who was something like an artist in the operating room. Hell, documentaries and TV specials had been made about Marie Sinclair-Roson, about how gifted she was. The many lives she’d saved as a trauma surgeon.

And the whole time she was out there moonlighting as a bank robber?

That shit was so crazy it made his head hurt.

But he already knew there was no way he could destroy those people. He should want to, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He forced himself out of his thoughts and back to his date and the movie. Since he hadn’t been paying attention to the screen, he was lost as hell on the storyline, but he managed to fake it until the credits rolled.

They left the movie theater and as they approached Pax’s car, Cal touched his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “What’s up?” Pax asked.

“Uh, so…” Cal swallowed. “You know we don’t have to do this.”

“What? I⁠—”

“I just get the feeling that you don’t really want to be here.”

Well, shit. What could he say to that? “Look, Cal. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you think that.” He paused. “But I am dealing with a bit of a situation, and maybe it wasn’t fair of me to agree to do this with you.” He sighed. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Cal shook his head. “I don’t consider it a waste of time. I’ve seen you at the office and always wanted to ask you out but couldn’t find the courage until I finally did.” He smiled and God, why couldn’t Pax like him in that way? “I’m glad I did. I’m glad we got to spend a little time together. If you ever get your issue taken care of and want to try again, you have my number.”

Now Pax felt so fucking bad. “You’re a good guy.” He kissed Cal’s cheek. “You deserve someone who can give you all that you need, and I know that person is out there for you.” Disappointment flashed in Cal’s eyes for a moment, then disappeared, and all the other man did was nod and smile. “Take care of yourself, Cal.”

“You too.” Cal touched his shoulder briefly. “See you around.”

Pax turned away and made his way to his car, getting in and then driving away while Cal watched. Well, that had been a disaster. All because he couldn’t keep his mind off the one man he knew he should. No matter what Pax did, Jameson would always intrude.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he instructed his phone to make a call, tightening his grip on the steering wheel as he waited for it to connect.

“Pax.”

He could never get enough of the way Jameson said his name. “Meet me at the corner of 4th and Summer in twenty minutes. We need to talk.” He hung up before he said anything else—like how much he missed Jameson and what his voice did to him.

Pax headed to the location he gave Jameson, parked, and got out to sit on one of the tables. Business wasn’t heavy tonight for the taco truck that was parked there. The line was short, an unusual sight. This was one of Pax’s favorite spots and it was one Jameson had introduced him to one night in their early days of dating—when they’d spent hours on the phone just talking about random shit—after Pax had confessed how much he loved tacos. Jameson had told him to get dressed, that he’d be by to pick him up in fifteen minutes. He hadn’t told Pax where they were going but he’d driven them directly to this spot.

As Pax had shoveled tacos al pastor into his mouth, he’d stared across the table at Jameson with the realization then that he was going to love that man. And he had. He’d given Jameson his trust, his heart, and his body.

Pax got up and went to the ordering window, placing his order before retaking his seat. He didn’t know what he wanted to say to Jameson. He just…wanted to see him? Wanted a reminder of the good times? He couldn’t say for sure.

The sleek black Bentley pulled up twenty-one minutes after Pax called Jameson, parking behind Pax’s silver Audi A5. Jameson got out, black ball cap pulled low over his forehead, wearing a white t-shirt and black joggers with white socks and black slides. He made Pax’s mouth water as he strode over and sat opposite him on the stone picnic table, gaze intent.

“Were you asleep?” Pax asked, because the attire Jameson had on was what he would normally wear around the house.

“Nah.” Jameson shook his head. “Maye and I were handling some business.” He glanced around and then speared Pax with a hot gaze. “How was your date?”

Pax reared back, squinting at him. “How—How do you know about that?” He hadn’t met Cal through the dating app where Jameson was apparently stalking him, so how could he know Pax had a date tonight?

Jameson inhaled then exhaled deeply. “When everything went down the way it did between us, I let my family know. I had to. But I also told them that I would do everything I could to get you back. They weren’t on board with that. The only way I could get their support was to agree to have Maye monitor you.”

Pax’s mouth hung open.

“They wanted to make sure you could be trusted or in the case that you—” He cleared his throat. “—told your story, they wanted to have a way to get in front of it. I’m sorry.”

Pax just stared at him. What the fuck? So, they’d been really stalking him, checking his emails and texts and shit?

“Pax, say something.”

“That’s how you knew I was on the dating app, and why you catfished me.”

Jameson sighed. “I was giving you time, you know. Giving you the distance you asked for. But six months? Baby, you didn’t answer any of my calls or texts. And I’m sitting there, waiting for you to come to me so I can explain, try to make you understand, but then Maye tells me you’re on some online dating app?”

“Order number 73,” came a voice over the taco truck’s loudspeaker. “73.”

Grateful for the reprieve, Pax jumped up and went to get his order. When he returned to the table, he placed the food between them and gestured at it. “I got enough for both of us.”

The adoration in Jameson’s eyes lit Pax up inside. “Thank you.”

That was all that was said as Pax busied himself eating, keeping his head down to avoid Jameson’s stare.

“Pax, tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Your sister told you about my date with Cal tonight?” He lifted his head in time to catch Jameson’s nod. “So why didn’t you crash it like you did the other one?”

“Because I don’t want to do that anymore. I shared some shit with you the other day. Shit that’s detrimental to me, most importantly my family, and you haven’t spoken to me since.” He shrugged. “I can’t force you to forgive me. I can’t make you understand or want to resume a relationship with me. I realized that tonight.” He chuckled, the sound filled with self-deprecation. “While I sat with my sister, doing my hardest to distract myself from the fact that after I gave you the means to destroy my family and me, you went out on a date with someone else. A second date.”

Okay, Pax hadn’t looked at it like that. “You’re right.” He sighed. “I didn’t—The first time I went out with Cal, I was a horrible date to him. I just sat in that restaurant staring at the door waiting for you to come in and interrupt. I felt like I owed him a do-over.”

“And tonight?”

“Tonight I sat next to him in that movie theater and thought about you the whole time.”

Jameson lowered his drink, staring unblinkingly at Pax. “So, what does that mean?”

Pax lowered his gaze. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah, you do.” Warm fingers, a little rough, touched his chin, tipping his head up. Their eyes met and Pax wanted to crawl into Jameson’s lap the way Delina had the last time he was at Pax’s place. “You do, so tell me.”

“I miss you,” he blurted. “It means I miss you.”

Jameson inhaled shakily. “Do you forgive me?”

“Yes,” he whispered. He had, a long time ago. He’d just been clinging to his stubbornness to keep Jameson at arms’ length.

“I miss you too,” Jameson told him. “So fucking much. There’s been no one else in my life from the moment we met. You’re the only man I see, the only man I want. That will always be true for me. And I’m sorry again that I hurt you. I’m sorry I made you question us. I love you, baby. Haven’t stopped.”

Fuck. “J.” He couldn’t help the whimper and he felt the responding tremor that ran through Jameson, who released him and stood abruptly.

“We should take this food to go.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Paxton barely had time to place their food in the fridge before Jameson was on him, lips on his neck, hands tearing at his clothes. He found himself shoved up against the fridge, Jameson’s body pressed into him from behind.

Teeth tugged on his earlobe. Tongue flicked and glided over his skin.

He tossed his head back with a moan, impatient hands helping Jameson undo Pax’s jeans and push them down his hips. Pax panted, toes curled inside his shoes. A groan left him when Jameson bit down on his neck, hard cock rocking against him, pushing into his ass.

Pax arched for him, eyes closed and teeth in his bottom lip.

“Fuck, baby.”

He loved the way Jameson sounded in the throes of his passion, how his voice got all low and rumbly, slightly panicked. Pax had missed that as much as he’d missed the other man’s touch and taste. He hadn’t tried hard to get over Jameson because he’d known that was an impossibility. Signing up to CUPID, and going on the dates, had been performative at best.

This was the real thing. This was what Pax had been needing and silently begging for, and now he had it.

Jameson spun him around and when they faced each other, Pax couldn’t help his smile as he took in Jameson’s eyes that were heavy with his arousal. He was naked; Pax hadn’t even been aware of him undressing. And now Pax was the one with clothes on, shirt all wrinkled and missing some buttons, pants bunched around his ankles, shoes still on.

Jameson cupped his cheek. “You here with me?”

“Always,” Pax whispered. “Always.”

Jameson kissed him then, tongue delving into his mouth, drinking him up. Pax clutched him, rubbing his hard dick against Jameson, desperate to scratch the itch, to douse the fire. Jameson touched him all over, hands gliding over his back and his ass, cupping and squeezing. Pax rose onto his tiptoes, moaning into his mouth, body shaking. His mind knew he and Jameson had been apart for months, but his body felt as if no time at all had passed since the last time Jameson touched him.

Since the last time they’d been in a similar position.

Jameson broke the kiss, dropping to his knees and undoing Pax’s shoes before yanking them off. Then he removed Pax’s socks before tugging his pants and underwear down the rest of the day and tossing them off to the side. Pax stared down at him through heavy eyelids, licking his lips, a hand on the fridge at his back to maintain his balance.

Jameson gazed up at him as he wrapped a fist around Pax’s dick.

“Ungh.” Pax bucked, knees turned liquid. “J.” He swore Jameson shuddered, but then the other man leaned forward and put his lips on him, and Pax didn’t know shit after that—only the warm wet suction of Jameson’s mouth. Only the tight, slick grip he had on Pax’s dick as he stroked him from root to tip. Stroked him, licked him, sucked him. And Pax gripped the other man’s head, hips flexing, surging in and out of that mouth that took him so greedily.

It was an experience, always had been, Jameson on his knees, Pax’s dick in his mouth. He was so good at it, using everything in his power to unman Pax, who welcomed it.

He loved everything about it. The wet fingers—slick with lube Pax had yet to see— that slid under his balls, probing at him, pressing into his hole. He went up on his toes, gasping for breath, pulling on Jameson’s braids, then lowered himself on the two fingers that breached him with a burn that wet his eyes and sent goose bumps rolling over his skin. His eyes crossed the deeper those fingers dived into him, his panting getting louder and louder as Jameson thrust in and out.

Then the fingers disappeared and Pax found himself bent over the kitchen table, Jameson’s face in his ass, and just like that he was coming, shouting, begging. He was a writhing, vibrating mess by the time Jameson was on his feet, fingers slicker than ever as they stretched Pax that much wider. Then they were replaced by Jameson—the thick, blunt head of his cock.

Pax held on to the rounded edge of the table with both hands, desperate for it, Desperate for Jameson to fill him up. But Jameson took his time, inching inside while Pax couldn’t even find the breath necessary to beg the other man to just fuck him already. Slow wasn’t gonna cut it. Slow wasn’t gonna douse the fire.

Jameson reared back. Pushed in. Pax yelped, body going slack.

“Fuck, baby,” Jameson murmured in his ear. “Missed the hell outta you.”

Pax pressed his forehead to the table’s flat surface with a groan.

“Open wider for me.”

Shit. He was stuffed full. Every inch of Jameson’s heavily-veined thickness was inside him. But Pax still arched his back, still went up on the tips of his toes as he reached behind to grip his ass cheeks and pull them apart to give Jameson what he wanted.

“Mmmmph. Goddamn,” Jameson growled as he stroked in and out. “So good.” The words were slurred against Pax’s neck. “You’re doing so good. Fuck me, baby. Ride it.”

Pax did, rolling his hips, rocking back. Taking. Giving. Soon Jameson was all out of words too. Only the slap of their bodies and the rocking of the table filled the air. Their jerky pants and moans as the strokes went from slow and meticulous to fast and uncoordinated as Jameson lost control. Pax took the punishing strokes with a blissed-out smile on his face that fell away the closer to orgasm Jameson dragged him. When Jameson squeezed a hand under Pax’s body and stroked his dripping dick, Pax’s movements stuttered, breath disappearing as an avalanche hit him.

The orgasm took all of his senses, but Jameson kept fucking him through it, harder and harder until his body froze up too and he was filling Pax with his cum.

Pax’s body gave out and he sprawled out face down on the table, Jameson’s limp body on top of him. Pax couldn’t move to save his life, but Jameson managed to use the hand not still wrapped around Pax’s dick to link their fingers.

Pax squeezed him. That was all he could do, honestly. His ears still rang, his side hurt where the edge of the table pressed into his body, and his throat felt raw, but he just wanted to maintain that position with Jameson’s weight on top of him, the other man’s ragged breaths in his ear.

“You wanna take this to the bedroom?” Jameson asked after a while.

“Y-yeah,” Pax managed. “But I can’t walk.”

“I got you.” Jameson retreated, his softened dick leaving Pax empty as he staggered upright and scooped Pax up in his arms bridal-style. He pressed a kiss to Pax’s forehead. “You good?”

Eyes closed, Pax snuggled into his chest. “Mm-hmm.” He’d never been better. He felt safe. Taken care of. Jameson always took care of him. All Pax had to do was let him.

In the bedroom, Jameson placed him gently on the bed and then cleaned him up before kissing his closed eyelids, his nose, and his lips. “I love you,” he murmured against Pax’s lips. “I know how much you value honesty and I just want to tell you my truth. From here on out, that’s all you’re gonna get from me, I promise you. I love you.”

Pax lifted his lashes. “I love you too.” He smiled, cupping Jameson’s face. “Climb on top of me…” He spread his legs wide. “That declaration deserves a round two.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

For a while there, Pax struggled to catch his breath. But from the beginning, Jameson had that effect on him. It’d been a while since Pax had felt like that though. He’d missed it. All of it. Even the parts of his body that ached, that were so tender after not having been touched, tasted, and penetrated since the last time the two of them were in his bed.

So he snuggled up to Jameson, inhaling the scent of him—the scent of the two of them—and taking it into his lungs with his eyes closed and limbs still weak from the orgasms. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, but Jameson somehow managed to wring three orgasms from him.

He was talented like that.

With his fingers and his mouth and his dick.

Only their panting breaths broke the stillness. Their bodies were still damp with sweat and other body fluids. They should clean up, but Pax didn’t want to move. He’d just toss the bedding in the washing machine when he eventually managed to tear himself away.

Right now? He couldn’t. He just wanted to lay up under Jameson and make up for all the times when he didn’t have this. Another body—his body—in his bed.

The last time, when he’d run away from Jameson’s condo as if the cops themselves were hot on his heels, Pax had been dead sure that they were done. That this, them naked in bed with their trembling bodies entwined, would never happen again. But here they were, and he couldn’t say he regretted it. In fact, he just needed to get his breath back so they could go again. What would it be this time? The fourth round?

He couldn’t lie. Maybe he was being hella selfish right now, but he didn’t care. He wanted his man back. He’d had a taste of what life would be like without Jameson and he didn’t like it. Oh, he’d faked being okay, but he never was. Not ever. He’d tried dating but his heart was never in it. Obviously. Because he’d wanted this back.

How fucked up was it that he fell for the man who’d robbed his bank? Could he build a life with Jameson, knowing the truth of what he did?

A hand stroked down his spine in a languid caress and Pax couldn’t smother the moan or the way his body, still so sensitive, undulated. His fingers fluttered over Jameson’s left hip, down to his thigh, tracing the scar the other man had gotten from a shark bite when he’d gone surfing in South Africa for his twenty-first birthday.

“Hmm. Hey.” Jameson peered at him, one eye open. “You good?”

He was more than good. “I’m perfect.” Because that was the truth. That was the way he felt.

Jameson grasped him with a lazy, crooked smile, dimples winking at him. “Fuck yeah, you are.” He clasped Pax’s face, kissing him. Not hungry and desperate this time, but savoring. Exploring. “I missed you so much,” he muttered against Pax’s lips.

And all Pax could do was moan for him. Because yes, he knew all about missing someone. He knew all about the lonely nights wishing he could have just another minute of this back.

Still holding on to him, Jameson sat up, taking Pax with him. Jameson tugged the covers over their lower halves and then released a deep breath. “So, I know we need to talk about some things.” He hesitated. “Namely, the elephant in the room. I want⁠—”

“I understand it’s your family’s legacy.” If he allowed himself to think about it clearly, it was kind of cool to have that kind of history. All Pax got from his mother’s side of the family—the side he was familiar with—was a family history of diabetes and a pinky toe that was almost as long as the big toe on his left foot. “I just want you to promise me that you’ll be safe.” He sat, climbing onto Jameson’s lap and taking his face in his hands. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, shaking Jameson a little as he stared deeply into his eyes “Promise me that your shit is airtight and that the cops won’t come knocking one day.” He wouldn’t be able to stand it, Jameson locked up and away from his family. Away from Pax.

Jameson smiled at him, lips trembling a little. He cupped the back of Pax’s neck, leaning forward so their foreheads could bump. “Thank you for supporting me.”

It took a lot for Pax to get to this moment, but now that he was here, he didn’t know why it’d taken him so long. “I love you,” he answered simply. “I want to be with you. And I will take you however I can get you.”

Jameson just looked at him, wearing that little crooked smile on his face as if the sun rose and set on Pax. “After each job we do, we hold a family meeting. The day we met, I went home and told my family that I had met the man I was going to marry.”

Pax gaped at him. “No.”

“I did.” Jameson nodded. “And for the very first time, I broached the topic of retiring the family business.”

“What?” Pax blinked.

“They weren’t onboard with me then. My dad told me to give it some time, that things with you and I might not work out. So I did what he asked.” Jameson wrapped an arm around him, returning to stroking Pax’s naked back. “I waited. And then you found out. I brought it up again because I couldn’t let you walk away. I wanted to do anything I could to keep you with me.”

Pax held his breath, heart thudding in his chest.

“Since you left me, I’ve been working slowly, but methodically, to phase out that part of the business. Last night, my family finally agreed that it was time for us to go dark.”

“You—” Pax didn’t dare to hope he’d heard correctly. “You’re done?” Jameson nodded. “Just like that?” His voice shot up several octaves, breaking in the process, but Pax didn’t care. He wanted to hear it. He needed to be sure. “You’re done?”

“I’m done, baby.” Jameson hugged him close, both arms around him, lips brushing Pax’s neck when he repeated, “I’m out, for real. The day we met was the last one.”

“Holy fucking shit!” Pax yelled, jerking away from him and rolling off the bed onto the floor. “Are you sure? Are you sure?” He’d done it. Jameson had done it for them? Pax had been prepared to accept him, all of him, but Jameson had sacrificed— “Wait.” He held up a hand, standing naked at the foot of the bed as Jameson sat up. “Why did you want out?”

“Because I want a chance at a life with you,” Jameson told him. “And I know it would be hard for you to reconcile yourself with what I did. But also, there used to be this need for it, the thrill, the rush I would get during planning and the execution. And I haven’t felt that at all. Not since we met.” He shook his head. “Not for a job, at least. I felt it, I feel it, when I look at you. When you touch me. You’re my new thrill.”

Pax licked his lips. “I don’t want you to resent me. Your parents, your sister.” Fuck. “I don’t want them to hate me for this decision. It’s your family legacy, J. And now you’re just gonna end it for me?” God, he couldn’t imagine what Jameson’s family thought of him.

“Babe. Stop. They don’t hate you. They think it’s a good idea, and they know I didn’t do it just to be with you. It was always walking a tightrope for my parents, balancing those two worlds. Maye’s attention is on her company. She’s been fielding offers to sell for a while now. And I just—I want something that I can actually be proud of. That I can talk about with you, with our children when we have them one day.” He went to Pax, wrapping his arms around him. “It was the right decision.”

He mentioned children and Pax didn’t hear shit after that. They’d talked about it, about having a family. Pax had told him about wanting a big family after growing up an only child. And here Jameson was, talking about a future, their future, as if it were a foregone conclusion.

“I don’t want to be just a thrill for you,” he muttered against Jameson’s neck. “Those things lose their appeal after a while, don’t they? The attraction burns out and all that’s left is regret.”

“You’re the man I love,” Jameson said against his temple. “My future. There’s nothing just about you, Paxton Reyes. Now, come back to bed so we can get it in one last time before we grab some rest. I have a surprise for you tomorrow. And besides, my parents want to have brunch with us.”

Ah, jeez.

CHAPTER NINE

Brunch with Jameson’s family would not have been high on the list of things Pax wanted to do. Not that the family hadn’t been warm and accommodating to him in the past. He just felt…a bit weird that for six months he’d kinda held the knowledge of their extracurricular activities against them. He’d definitely looked at them differently once he’d learned the truth of what they did.

They had to be looking at him differently too. Jameson had reassured him that the family didn’t blame him for the disbandment of said extracurriculars, but Pax wasn’t sure.

He sat in the beautiful kitchen of Jameson’s parents’ home and tried not to fidget. He and Jameson were the first ones there. They’d just arrived in fact, and were waiting for Maye to show up.

“Paxton, tell me, how have you been?” Marie smiled at him from across the table. “It’s been a while since we’ve all seen each other.”

He cleared his throat. “It has been a while. I’ve been good, thank you for asking. And congratulations.” When she lifted a perfectly arched brow, he elaborated. “I saw you on a magazine cover the other day. You looked spectacular.”

“She sure did!” Maye entered the room the way she always did, like a hurricane. “Hey Pax, long time no see.” She winked at him and then nudged her brother. “Hey, ugly.”

“Maye, you’re late,” Marie scolded as Maye rounded the table and kissed her mother’s cheek.

“I’m always late, you know this.” Maye hugged her father then dropped into the chair to Paxton’s left. “What did I miss?”

Jameson rolled his eyes. “Decorum. Manners. You missed those.”

“Aye.” James slapped a hand on the table. “I’m sure you two can manage to act like grown-ups for a second.”

“Yes, sir,” the twins responded in unison, but as soon as James turned his gaze elsewhere, they were making faces at each other.

Pax smothered a smile. Honestly, he’d always been kinda jealous of the relationship Jameson had with his sister. They acted as though they got on each other’s nerves but the love, admiration, and loyalty they had for each other was clearly there. They were best friends and Paxton loved that. He’d never had that growing up and had always yearned for it, which was why he wanted a big family of his own.

“Jameson tells us you two are back together,” James directed to Paxton, who nodded.

“Yes, sir.” He glanced at Jameson, who sat to his right, and immediately got lost in his eyes. “I love your son.”

“And my son loves you.” There was a threat in there, and Paxton wasn’t the only one who caught it. Jameson’s eyes narrowed.

“Pop,” he said in warning.

“We support your relationship,” James told his son. “Your mother and I are rooting for you.”

“But?” Paxton asked.

“But we can’t ignore the elephant in the room,” Marie spoke up.

Pax couldn’t be mad at them for wanting to protect their son. He already knew he would be the same way whenever he had kids. “I accept Jameson, all of him. And I support him in whatever he wants to do. All I ask is that he protects himself. And us.”

“And he accepted me before I told him about our decision to change direction.” Jameson took Pax’s hand in his, linking their fingers. “So you guys can ease up now.”

“J,” Pax said, reprimanding him for giving his parents attitude. “It’s okay. I understand.”

“We want our children to be happy,” James said. “It’s clear, and has been from the moment you two met, that you make Jameson happy. That’s all we want. This isn’t us being hard on you, Paxton. This is us welcoming you, truly, into the family. The last time we were introduced, certain things were still secret. But now you know exactly who we are. Now, you’re family.”

Pax gazed around the table at the people who smiled back at him, tearing up. “Thank you.” He squeezed Jameson’s hand tightly, holding on to him for dear life. “I’m honored to be considered a member of your family.” He touched his chest with his free hand. “Thank you.”

“Alright.” Maye rubbed her hands together. “Now that that’s out of the way, let’s eat. I’m starving.”

Brunch was fun, filled with laughter and tales about the family’s escapades that they shared as freely with Pax as they did everything else. He appreciated it so much that they didn’t mince words or hold anything back. He truly felt like a part of the family.

“Okay.” Jameson pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “We gotta go.” He held out a hand to Pax, who frowned.

“What? Go where?” He didn’t know they had plans other than this one.

“Remember I told you last night that I had a surprise for you?” When Pax nodded, Jameson said, “Well, this is it.” He glanced at his watch. “Our car is out front waiting for us.”

Pax got to his feet. “Where are we going?’ He glanced down at the t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers he wore. “Am I dressed appropriately?”

“You’re fine,” Maye told him as she stood as well. “Go on already.

“Wait, you know where we’re going?” He took in everyone else’s face. They all smiled at him as if they knew something he didn’t.

“Hey.” Jameson tugged him into his arms. “Remember the promise I made you?”

Pax frowned. “That we’ll have three kids?”

The others laughed.

Jameson chuckled. “Not that one. The other one—that I’d take you to one of my favorite spots in the entire world.”

“Um, the one in the Maldives?”

Jameson nodded.

Pax’s jaw dropped. “You’re taking me to the Maldives?” His voice rose. “When?”

“The plane leaves in two hours.”

“What?” Pax shrieked. “What?” He shoved Jameson away and then spun around. “How is—” He faced a grinning Jameson. “J, no.”

“Yep.”

Oh my god! “But…I’m not prepared. I don’t have anything. My passport, clothes.”

“All taken care of, baby. I just need you.”

“J.” Pax jumped into his arms, kissing him, forgetting for a moment that his man’s family was right there watching the whole thing go down. “You’re really taking me to the Maldives, J?”

“Sure am.” Jameson kissed his nose. “You coming with me?”

“Fuck yes, let’s go. Shit!” He slapped a hand over his mouth and turned to face Jameson’s parents. “I’m so sorry for cursing.”

Marie waved off his apology, “We’ve heard worse. But make that the last time.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grabbed Jameson’s hand. “Let’s go. The plane will leave without us.”

“Nah, the pilot knows better than to leave without the man who cuts his checks,” Jameson said. “But yeah, we should head out.”

“Okay, let’s—Delina!” Pax stopped in his tracks, eyes wide. “Oh my god, J. I totally forgot about Delina.”

“I didn’t,” Jameson reassured him. “Delina will be Maye’s guest for the week.” He nudged Paxton. “Give her your keys so she can go pick her up when she leaves.”

Paxton handed Maye his keys and gave her a quick hug. “Thank you, Maye. I appreciate you doing this for me.”

She granted him a smile. “You’re welcome. Enjoy your vacation.”

Jameson’s parents offered up the same sentiments and Pax couldn’t help hugging them too, giving them his thanks. And then he was striding out of the house hand in hand with his man, headed to the snow-white chauffeur-driven Maybach waiting for them out front.

“Damn.” Pax whistled as he got into the back.

“Anything for you,” Jameson said as he joined him.

As they drove off, Pax climbed into Jameson’s lap, dropping kisses on his face. “Thank you for this,” he murmured. “But mostly, thank you for being patient with me and for not giving up on us.”

“I love you,” Jameson told him. “I’m here to stay.”

And Pax believed him. Because he felt the same way.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

AVRIL ASHTON

A Grenadian transplant, Avril now lives in Tucker, GA, with a madly tolerant husband. Together they raise an eccentric daughter who’s pretty meh about reading and school. Avril’s earliest memories of reading revolve around discussing the plot points of Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys with an equally book-minded mother.

Always in love with the written word, Avril finally decided to do the writing in August of ’09 and never looked back. She’s been nominated for numerous awards, including Best Author, Best series (Brooklyn Sinners), and Favorite All-Time Author. In 2013 Avril won Evernight Publishing’s Reader’s Choice Award for the LGBT (Male/Male) category. She also took home the Golden Ankh award for best Male/Male romance for her bestselling novel, Sinner’s Fall.

Addicted to cake, the ID Channel and the UFC, Avril writes Gay and Erotic Romance with happy endings; she remains a believer of love in all its forms.

Connect with Avril

Website: avrilashton.com

Newsletter signup: subscribepage.com/x0l6y1

Facebook reader group: Avs Gang

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BRIE MINE

CHARLIE NOVAK

CHAPTER ONE

BENEDICT

“You’re going to have to talk to him at some point.” My brother’s teasing words, spoken right next to my ear, made me jump out of my skin and fumble the enormous wheel of Yorkshire Wensleydale I’d been unpacking.

“Jesus Christ, Iggy,” I said, grabbing the cheese before it hit the hard tile floor of our small family cheese shop and turning to look at my older brother, whose thick golden-red curls and freckled nose made him look like a laid-back lion. “Can you fucking not?”

“Not what?”

“Lurk.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t lurk if you didn’t keep staring out the window,” he said. “I wanted to see what you were looking at.”

“I’m not staring at anything,” I said defensively as I reached into the box and pulled out a second wheel of Wensleydale to put in the chiller. The local cheese was always popular with locals and tourists alike, although there weren’t a lot of the second around this time of year when it was cold, wet, and blustery. “I’m just… thinking.”

“About how pretty Mr. Record Shop’s butt is?” Iggy asked as he opened another box and removed some local blue cheese made just down the coast near Heather Bay. “Or whether you prefer his green hair over the pink he had last week?”

“No!”

“Really? You’re not thinking about him at all?”

I opened my mouth and then closed it again. I wasn’t going to give my brother the satisfaction. He’d been on my case to start putting myself out there again ever since the new year, because I’d apparently spent longer than was healthy moping over my last relationship. According to Iggy, I needed to get laid to take my mind off the fact my cheating ex-boyfriend had fucked off to London with some pretty city boy at the end of last summer.

Deep down, I thought Iggy might have a point, but I wasn’t going to admit it.

It was easier to stare at the gorgeous guy who’d spent the whole of January renovating the empty shop across the road, turning it into a gorgeously cosy record shop, and fantasise about what could be rather than talk to him and face down reality.

After all, not many people wanted to date the eccentric weirdo who ran a cheese shop with his brother and collected vintage china teacups and old vinyl records.

And while I was desperate to go and explore his shop, I hadn’t plucked up the courage to go anywhere near it because I was sure as soon as I opened my mouth, I’d put my foot straight in it.

“How many more boxes are there?” I asked, picking up a couple of the cheeses and heading towards the giant chiller at the back of the shop.

“That’s not answering my question.”

“I know.”

“You’re going to have to talk to him,” Iggy said as the shop door opened, the bell above it tinkling gently as three people stepped inside. “Or I will.”

“No, you won’t,” I said, levering the chiller door open and using my foot to push it wide, knowing Iggy couldn’t keep arguing with me. I wasn’t going to admit he’d been right on the money with his questions. I’d been looking at the man’s new hair and the way his cargo shorts hugged the curve of his thick thighs and round ass. Because of course he was wearing cargo shorts in fucking February.

If I’d ever had a weakness, it was big men in casually sexy clothes, like vest tops and shorts or joggers—things where they weren’t even making an effort. I’d always found clothes like that far sexier than suits. Getting scrubbed up for date night in a shirt and tight jeans sounded like a fucking nightmare, and while I’d tried to do that for boyfriends in the past, I’d never been the sort of man who owned an enormous wardrobe full of clothes from brands I couldn’t even pronounce.

But every time I saw this man, he was wearing shorts and old band T-shirts with bracelets on his wrists and piercings running up the side of one ear. His hair was short and brightly coloured, but he seemed to change the colour fairly regularly since it had gone from purple to pink to, most recently, deep green since the start of January. He intrigued me in a way a man hadn’t in a long time, and that frightened me. I didn’t want to get attached to someone I couldn’t have.

Or couldn’t keep.

I kept thinking about the man from the record shop while I unpacked the rest of the cheese, leaving any customer service to my brother and hoping it would keep him busy enough that he wouldn’t be able to bother me.

And it worked… until lunchtime.

“Here,” Iggy said, handing me my phone, which I suddenly realised, with bone-deep horror, I’d left unsupervised on the counter all morning. Well within the reach of my brother’s sticky fingers. And because I was a fucking idiot, the passcode was the same one I’d been using for the last ten years… “I signed you up for Heart2Heart. Apparently they’re doing a special Valentine’s event. Maybe that’ll help you find someone else!”

“What the hell, Iggy?” I snatched my phone out of his hand, staring at the app currently open on my screen. I’d heard of Heart2Heart, but I’d never really ventured into dating apps beyond occasionally perusing Grindr for hookups during the summer when I’d been desperate and my hand had no longer been cutting it. “Why would you do that?”

Iggy shrugged. “You need to get laid and staring out the window at Mr. Record Shop’s butt isn’t doing you any favours. You need to move on from whatshisface”—he waved his hand dismissively—“and have some fun. And you know, you might actually find someone better.”

“Iggy, I love you but we live in Whitby. It’s not exactly the queer capital of Europe. Half the population are only here for six months of the year. At most. And I already know virtually every single queer person living here. I’ve hooked up with half of them. And the rest of my potential dating pool is tourists and seasonal workers, both of which happen to be in pretty short supply in fucking February. A dating app isn’t magically going to summon some new permanent resident who’s queer, single, finds me attractive, and wants to do more than hook up a couple of times.”

My brother raised an eyebrow and sighed. “Of course it’s not going to work with that attitude! Jesus, Benny, I know you’re cynical about this shit, but you could at least give it a try before you totally dismiss it. It’s nearly Valentine’s Day—maybe something will change? I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life alone and miserable.”

“You’re single. How come you’re not alone and miserable?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest.

“Who said I’m single?”

I stared at him and he grinned mischievously. “Seriously? Who?”

“A gentleman never tells,” he said, tapping his lips.

“It’s Anna, isn’t it?”

Iggy stared at me in disbelief. “How did you know?”

Now I’d thought about it, it was obvious. “You’ve been bringing ice cream back virtually every afternoon for two weeks,” I said. “Of course it’s Anna.” I smiled softly at him. Anna ran the tiny ice cream shop at the end of our street and Iggy had been pining over her for years.

I could understand why, because Anna was sweet and kind and always looked so pretty in her bright knitwear and patterned dresses. I was almost surprised Iggy had finally plucked up the courage to do something about his feelings, but mostly I was stuck on the realisation my brother’s newfound confidence, and romance, was going to have wider ramifications than daily ice cream.

Starting with his decision to sign me up for online dating.

“I’m happy for you,” I continued. “I hope it all works out.”

“Thanks,” Iggy said, a beaming smile lighting up his face and scrunching up his nose. “I hope so too!”

“And if you’re going to see her today, I’d like a cone with white chocolate and cinnamon.”

The Heart2Heart app burned a hole in my pocket for the rest of the afternoon, and I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to explore it or delete it. Distracting Iggy with questions about Anna had worked well enough that I didn’t have to put up with his interference, but leaving my brain alone to think about it was proving to be just as bad.

Part of me wanted to log in and explore because I was curious to see who else was on it. I was pretty sure I’d know all the locals, and while I’d told Iggy I wasn’t interested in hooking up with anyone, a little voice in the back of my head whispered it wouldn’t be the worst thing to see who was out there.

Another part of me thought it would be better to delete it and forget Iggy had ever mentioned it. Because, realistically, what were my odds of finding more than a casual fling? And sure, the app might promise to find the person of your dreams, but that sounded like marketing bullshit to me. Especially around Valentine’s Day.

Maybe age was making me cynical. Or maybe it was one too many heartbreaks over the years. Either way, I was starting to wonder if it was worth putting myself out there at all.

By the time we closed up for the day, I was sick to death of my own thoughts and worries. I wished there was a way to turn my brain off, even if it was only for half an hour, just to give me some peace.

And maybe there was…

At the end of the small street where Iggy and I lived on the outskirts of town, where we could look down across Whitby and across to the abbey ruins on the far side, someone had turned an old red phone box into a little free library.

Books had always been an escape for me, ever since I’d been old enough to understand what books were, and I’d loved spending hours in libraries reading everything and anything I could get my hands on. I had less time to read now than I’d have liked, but that was mostly because adult life insisted on getting in the way. But the little library had rekindled the burning desire deep in my chest to spend all day and all night lost in books.

I was always happy to take books down and fill up the phone box’s small shelves, and I loved seeing what people had left in return. Sometimes I liked trying to guess who might have left what based on what I knew about my neighbours, but it didn’t always pan out.

“What have you got for me today?” I asked the library as I propped the door open with my bag so I could peer at the shelves. There were a few things I’d already read and returned, a few children’s books, some non-fiction, and a few crime thrillers that didn’t particularly appeal.

And a whole shelf of romance novels.

I’d never read much romance. But there was a first time for everything.

I hummed to myself as I reached out to pick one up, looking at the illustrated cover… which had two men on it. I frowned, somehow stunned by the idea there were queer romance novels. Logically, I knew there had to be. Queer people fell in love all the time. And in the back of my mind there was a nagging suspicion that I’d heard of a recent queer film based on a popular novel. But somehow, I’d not put the pieces together until now.

I put the novel into the crook of my arm, starting my pile of books to take, and began to look through the rest of the shelf.

There were four queer romances out of the seven that had been left, so I took all of them because I figured that if I didn’t like one of them, then at least I’d have other options to try.

The sun was sinking below the horizon, illuminating the sky in a vibrant display of pink, orange, and gold as the sea breeze fluttered around my legs. It was cold but not as bad as it had been recently and for once it wasn’t raining, and I didn’t fancy going home quite yet. Instead, I packed up my bag, my new stack of books tucked under my arm, and followed the road along the cliff to where there was a small park and a few benches overlooking the bay.

The benches were a little damp but it was worth getting a wet bottom to enjoy a little bit of fresh air. As I sat down, carefully putting my book stack on my lap, my phone bumped against my leg, and when I pulled it out of my pocket and unlocked the screen, I saw the Heart2Heart app staring up at me. I bit my lip as I gazed at the rainbow heart icon, my head and heart restarting their argument about the best course of action.

Then I looked down at the stack of romance novels sitting in my lap. And tapped the icon to open the app.

CHAPTER TWO

SAGE

Someone had taken the queer romance books I’d left in the phone box library.

I smiled to myself as I scanned the rest of the shelves, seeing if there was anything that grabbed my interest in return. No more romance novels, which was a pity, but there were a couple of Anders Flynn fantasy novels and I was pretty sure I hadn’t read either of them. Although with the way my brain was currently resembling soup, I wasn’t sure if I could remember my own name, let alone every book I’d read in the thirty-odd years I’d been reading.

I’d known opening my own business in a space needing a serious makeover was going to keep me busy, but fuck me. I hadn’t expected this. Even working Christmas in Hamleys hadn’t been this bad. My whole body ached and my brain was fried, and while I loved seeing the shop come together, I was looking forward to when everything, including the bloody online shop, was finished. Just so I could sit down for five minutes without my body crying.

Maybe my sister Rose had had a good point when she’d said I probably needed an extra pair of hands or two to help with the shop fitting and setup. But that hadn’t been in the budget and I’d never met a challenge I didn’t relish taking on, so doing it myself was the only thing on the cards.

And at least this way, I’d been able to get it exactly the way I wanted it.

But I had a blissful fourteen hours before I had to be back, and apart from the six or so I intended to use for sleeping, the rest was mine to do what I liked with. And that meant forgoing any semblance of adult responsibilities and spending most of it with my nose in a book. I probably needed to shower at some point and eat something too, but my idea of cooking for myself after a long day was beans and cheese on toast. It might not be considered a culinary masterpiece, but it was tasty as fuck and took less than ten minutes to make, which made it a winner in my eyes.

Gathering my newly acquired treasures, I took a deep breath of the salty sea air, letting it seep into my bones. There was nothing like the freedom of the sea. I’d first come to Whitby as a child for a summer holiday and by the end, the place had sunk its claws into my soul and whispered playfully for me to come back. My family had returned many times over the years, and every time leaving had felt harder.

I’d spent the last five years scrimping and saving and trying to work out a way to make a permanent move here. Most of my adult life had been spent as a carefree drifter, allowing the world to pull me along from one destination to another, but Whitby had always been there, calling to me softly in the depths of the night.

It had been hard work to scrape together the money for the store even with a business plan and a bank loan, but I’d never been the sort to back down from what I wanted. Maybe I’d watched too many Disney movies as a child, but I was a firm believer in the power of dreams. And this shop, this place, was my dream.

All I needed now was someone to share it with.

The last of the sunset hadn’t completely vanished, although it wouldn’t be long until the only light would be the yellow glow of the streetlights. But after spending all day inside, I wanted space to breathe and think and wind down from everything. Especially because I couldn’t do any work out here.

As determined as I was, building a web store or ordering stock on the cracked screen of my phone was beyond me.

Instead, I followed the winding road along the top of the cliff to where there was a small park and cluster of benches looking out over the sea. There weren’t many people around, which wasn’t surprising considering it was cold and nearly dark, but one of the benches was occupied by a man I recognised from the cheese shop opposite the record store.

He was wrapped up in a dark, puffy coat with a book open on his lap. His long deep brown curls spilled out from under a black beanie, his eyes focused on the pages and his freckled nose wrinkled in amusement. I’d seen him so many times since I’d moved here and always thought he was sexy as fuck, but I’d never found the time, or courage, to say hello.

I wanted to get closer and see what he was reading, but I didn’t want to disturb him. Especially since there was practically a neon Do Not Disturb sign hanging in the air above his head, glowing brightly in the oncoming darkness.

Instead, I walked down to another bench, an empty one this time, and plonked myself down, screwing my face up when I realised the seat was wet. It was too late to do anything about it, though, because my ass wasn’t magically going to dry if I stood up, so I kicked my legs out and took a deep, slow breath.

The sea stretched out before us with Whitby to the right, the river cutting through the middle of the town and leading down to the ocean. The beach was a thin strip of sand winding along the coast, the evening tide lapping against the shore with soft, white-tipped waves. Seabirds wheeled overhead and in the half-light I could see a few bobbing along the damp sand searching for food, their beaks dipping in and out as they sought out molluscs or small crustaceans. Most of the seagull population was very adept at blatant thievery from tourists and restaurants, but not all the local wildlife was so brazen and it was nice watching them potter along the beach rather than being shooed away from the doors of shops and food huts.

On the other side of the bay, Whitby’s famous gothic abbey stretched into the sky, the ruins illuminated by floodlights. And not far from it, just atop the 199 steps, was the Church of St. Mary sitting on the clifftop and gazing out across the water.

I could see why both had inspired Bram Stoker. There was something hauntingly beautiful and lonely about them, and it made me want to walk all the way across town and climb the stone steps just to be near them.

My phone vibrated in the pocket of my cargo shorts, but I ignored it and opened one of the books perched on my lap. It was only a notification, probably telling me I had a message from Rose, which was most likely more photos of my eight-month-old nephew.

I loved both of them, but I didn’t need to see every single tiny thing he did. I’d hoped by this point the novelty would have worn off, but if anything Rose was sending more photos than ever.

I assumed her sleep deprivation had started to fade. Either that or she’d adapted to living on three hours’ sleep a day and if that was the case, I was terrified for the world.

It vibrated again and I shook my head. The photos of my nephew covered in colourful pastes could wait until later.

For now, I had a book to read.

I stayed on the bench until the only light available was the nearby streetlight and the temperature had dropped enough I’d lost feeling in my toes. My stomach was rumbling loudly, making it sound like I’d stuffed a small alien up my hoodie.

Sticking an old receipt from my wallet into the pages as a quick bookmark, I gathered up my stuff and stood, wiggling my toes and wincing. The one saving grace about sitting up here was I was less likely to find sand in my underwear later, although living near the sea meant sand in your butt crack became a pretty standard affair.

As I walked back towards the small flat I was renting, I finally reached for my phone. A surprised frown knotted between my eyebrows because the notification wasn’t from Rose. It was from the Heart2Heart app.

Apparently, I had a match.

I’d signed up to the app on a whim, not really expecting anything and not even sure if I had space in my life for another commitment outside of work, but they’d said their latest update and newest technology could find me a partner and it wasn’t like they could do any worse than me. Perhaps it was time to put my trust in technology since I’d failed at finding anything long-term on my own.

Tapping the notification, I pulled the app up and selected chat first, because as good as their CUPID bot was touted to be, I’d never been a fan of blind dates.

My match’s details appeared on the screen and I scanned through them. The profile picture wasn’t the best because I couldn’t see their whole face, although it didn’t help that my phone had a massive crack in the screen where I’d dropped it on the shop floor at just the wrong angle.

But the rest of the details intrigued me: Benny, thirty-three, pansexual, a Leo, a collector of china teacups and vintage vinyl records, and a book lover. So far he was ticking every single one of my boxes. Apparently, he lived locally too and ran his own business, which made things even better because he’d hopefully understand everything I was going through. Or at least, maybe he’d get I couldn’t be attached to him at the hip like some guys I’d dated before had wanted.

I squinted at his picture again, trying to see if I could recognise him from around town. But it was no use. The picture was badly lit and my phone screen was cracked in just the wrong place. I really needed to see about either getting the screen replaced or buying a new phone. I couldn’t remember how long was left on my contract, but if I was lucky, it wasn’t another year because if not it’d cost me a fortune.

I’d reached my flat by this point, so I dug my keys out of my bag and unlocked the door, climbing the stairs to the second floor. My flat was a little chilly because I was trying to save money by not putting the heating on too much, so I made my way into the kitchen to flick the kettle on and start making tea.

Putting my phone on the counter, I tried to think of something to message Benny. I didn’t want to come on too strong or make a big deal about the fact an algorithm named CUPID supposedly thought we were the perfect match, but I also didn’t want it to seem like I didn’t give a shit. I hated guys who played it so cool they practically breathed ice. How was I supposed to know if they were interested if they replied with one-word answers and expected me to do all the work? And while I could talk for Britain, I needed something back. Otherwise I might as well have just stayed at home and talked to my bedroom wall.

I agonised about potential opening lines until I sat down on the battered sofa that’d come with the flat, cup of tea in hand. As long as I didn’t open with a single word or a cringey joke, it would be fine.

Taking a sip of tea for luck and then hissing when it scalded my tongue, I hit chat and tapped out my first message.

Sage Hey! So apparently the app thinks we might have things in common and I see you like books. This is my current read - have you read it before?

I snapped a photo of the Anders Flynn novel sitting on the seat beside me, receipt still poking out of the top, and attached it to the thread. Then I practically threw my phone onto the sofa like I was expecting it to bite me.

Had that been too much? Should I have not mentioned the app? He’d probably think I was a proper weirdo and block me. Why the bloody hell was this so hard? Talking to people wasn’t something I’d ever found difficult before, but suddenly I had no idea how to even put a sentence together.

I sipped my tea again, glancing at my phone suspiciously. I wanted to keep reading but my simmering nerves wouldn’t allow me to do anything except sit and stare as if that would magically make him respond to me.

I’d just swallowed the last dregs when my phone vibrated, shaking on the seat and making me jump. My fingers trembled as I reached for it, convinced it’d be my perfect match telling me to fuck off.

Benny Hey! Yeah not sure about this whole perfect match bollocks to be honest, I’m mostly here because my brother signed me up. Apparently being single on Valentine’s Day is a cardinal sin or some shit! But I have read that book! I’m a big fan of Anders Flynn and although that’s not my all-time favourite, it’s still really good.

I laughed, relief making my skin tingle. Okay, he didn’t think I was a complete twat, which was a good start. And I didn’t mind him being cynical either. But I did now have one burning question for him.

Sage Haha how dare we be single for Valentine’s! Although the good thing about being single this time of year is going around on the 15th and buying all the discounted chocolate. This is my first Anders Flynn but I’m loving it so far. I’ve got to ask what your favourite one is though, so I can add it to my TBR.

Sage Although, full disclosure, my TBR is massive and will never end and I can’t guarantee I’ll actually read it.

Benny Anyone with an empty TBR is not to be trusted. There are too many good books out there! And my favourite is In the Shadow of the Gods - it’s a few years old but I fucking love Thorn. He’s such a grumpy bastard and I’m a fellow member of that club.

Sage It’s definitely going on the list then! And yeah, it’s like people who only listen to one band or artist. I mean, it’s cool and each to their own, but there’s so much incredible music out there, how could you deprive yourself like that?

Benny Exactly. I’ll listen to anything once, even… idk… that weird asmr shit. Doesn’t mean I’ll listen to it again though.

Another laugh bubbled out of me, glee racing around my chest. My stomach rumbled insistently and I debated ignoring it so I could keep typing, even though making beans and cheese on toast didn’t exactly require two hands and exacting concentration.

I bit my lip as I stood and stared at my screen as I drifted towards the kitchen.

I definitely wasn’t getting any more reading done tonight.

CHAPTER THREE

BENEDICT

“Are you talking to your mystery man again?” Iggy asked, trying to lean over my shoulder and read my screen. I locked my phone and put it face down on the counter next to the stock check I was meant to be working through.

“He’s not a mystery man,” I said. “He has a name.”

“What is it, then?” I sighed and raised my eyebrow at my brother, who shrugged. “What? If you two get married or something, I want to be able to take full credit. I signed you up for the app, so if you meet your true love on there, it’s all thanks to me.”

“Or maybe I should give the algorithm credit since it matched us,” I said.

“Nah, where’s the romance in that,” Iggy said with a grin.

I rolled my eyes and went back to my stock list, but only until Iggy wandered towards the chiller to fetch some more local cheddar. I flipped my phone back over to see if Sage had responded yet. We’d been chatting constantly for the past few days, from the moment we woke up until the moment we finally fell asleep, and I’d never felt this excited about talking to anyone before. His messages made me feel almost giddy, and that was odd as fuck because giddy was not a word I’d ever associated with myself before.

Even when I’d been a teenager and I’d gotten my first crushes, I’d never have described myself as anything other than interested. Maybe I’d felt warm and fuzzy about a couple of people in the past, but nothing on this level. It was almost frightening because I hadn’t even met Sage in person yet. I didn’t even know much about him, if I was honest.

We’d kind of skipped over the details about where we lived, what we did for work, and boring shit like that, and gone straight to things that interested us. We’d swapped book and music recommendations for hours, talking about our favourite authors and artists, the books that had changed things for us and the albums we could listen to on repeat without ever getting bored. We’d talked about gigs we’d been to, and Sage had told me about some book signings he’d attended and the ones on his bucket list.

He was a huge romance fan and had been very excited when I’d told him about a couple of the titles I was working my way through. I’d finished the first one from the stack and had nearly finished a second, interspersing them with an old Anders Flynn title I’d had a need to re-read since Sage had mentioned him.

I’d told Sage I’d never read much romance before and it was never something I’d even considered, and he’d sweetly typed out a whole slew of excited messages about why it was his favourite genre. I had to admit that while I hadn’t loved the two romances as much as my normal fantasy reads, Sage’s enthusiasm had made the whole reading experience so much sweeter.

Every message he wrote just burst off the screen, sparkling and dancing around me like his words were made of stardust.

I kept trying to find a way to ask him if he wanted to meet, even though it seemed like he had a busy life or at least a job that took up a lot of his time. But the one thing that stopped me was what if things were different in reality?

What if, outside of the app, we didn’t click?

After all, people presented themselves differently online, and while I didn’t want to believe Sage would be a completely different man in person, there was always a chance.

The thing that worried me most, though, was what if he thought I was different? And what if he didn’t like what he found?

Chatting through the app’s messenger meant I could think about what I said before I hit send. I could tone down some of the gruffness and the snark and smooth out some of the rough edges that people had bounced off throughout the years. It was like putting a filter over my personality, and while I didn’t want to admit I was any different in person, I knew I was.

I wanted Sage to like me because I’d never felt this way about anyone before. But there was a hideous nagging feeling deep in my gut that, once he met me in reality, any vague affection for me that might’ve been building would wash away faster than a sandcastle at high tide.

There wasn’t a response from him, which was understandable if he was busy. My eyes wandered from the stock list to the window, where thick grey clouds swirled lazily across the sky, threatening rain. I could see the owner of the record shop talking to someone, gesturing with his hands as he spoke, a bright smile lighting up his face.

I felt almost guilty for looking at him, but I still hadn’t plucked up the courage to go and talk to him. Maybe, if things fell through with Sage, I’d finally wander across and see what records he had in stock.

The bell above the shop door jangled as it swung open, welcoming in a couple of our regulars, and I was happy to put the stock list to one side to serve them instead.

I kept myself busy for the rest of the day, trying to ignore my brother’s unsubtle hints and pointed questions. Turning the conversation back on Iggy worked a few times, but at some point in the afternoon he clocked what I was doing and with a triumphant laugh, like he’d suddenly solved a heroic mystery, he began throwing things back at me.

I was glad when we closed and I could escape, knowing Iggy was going to see Anna and I’d get a few hours’ peace at the very least.

The threatened rain still hadn’t materialised beyond a few splattered spots on the ground, so I wandered down the street to the little library in search of more books. I had two of the romances I’d finished in my bag to put back on the shelves since I didn’t have room at home to keep them, as well as a couple of books from my shelves I’d bought on a whim but not enjoyed. I figured that even though I hadn’t liked them, someone else might, and it was better than them sitting in my room collecting dust.

Since Iggy and I shared a small two-bedroom flat, I had a limited amount of space, which meant only keeping books I adored and would read again and again. Anything else was just taking up room.

When I got to the library, though, there was already someone there. The man from the record shop.

He was holding a copy of Anders Flynn’s Stars Like Bones in his hands and just as he was about to slide it back onto the shelves, he reached into the back of the book and pulled out a crumpled receipt that he’d been using as a bookmark. I frowned because I was sure Sage had done something similar, or at least it’d looked like he had when he’d sent me the picture of his current read.

Which was the same book the man was holding now.

Surely it had to be a coincidence? It couldn’t be that they were the same man.

He must have noticed me hovering as he glanced at the shelves because he turned to me and smiled brightly. “Oh, sorry,” he said in a warm voice with an accent that clearly wasn’t local. Somewhere on the south coast maybe? “I didn’t see you there.”

“No worries,” I said, wondering if there was a way I could ask him about the book. “Did you enjoy it? Stars Like Bones, I mean.”

“Yeah, I did, thanks! Fantasy isn’t usually my cup of tea, but I really enjoyed it. I’ve got another one of his on my list to try that someone recommended me, In the Shadow of the Gods. Have you read it?”

I swallowed and nodded, my heart thudding like I’d run up the 199 steps to the abbey. “Yeah, it’s one of my favourites.”

“Awesome. I’ll have to get myself a copy. I wonder if the library has it.”

“They might,” I said. If this man was Sage, I’d offer to lend him my battered copy. But would it be weird to ask him his name? Round here, it was pretty common to ask your neighbours all sorts of questions, but I didn’t want him to think I was intruding. Instead I said casually, “Sorry, but do you run the record shop on Church Street? My brother and I run the cheese shop opposite you.”

His smile widened and his eyes lit up. They were a beautiful deep blue, almost like the night sky, and framed by long lashes. “Yeah, I do! Sorry, I should’ve introduced myself. I’m Sage.”

I stared at him, not able to hear anything over the sound of blood pounding in my ears. “Sage…” The name tripped off my tongue softly. “Hey… I’m… I’m Benedict… Benny… I think we’ve been talking. On Heart2Heart.”

It was Sage’s turn to stare now, his eyes roaming over me, and I wondered if he was trying to work out if I was joking. It sounded like a joke. Or something out of one of the romance novels I’d read. Maybe he was the one who’d left them here, and the idea that we’d accidentally shared books we loved with each other flooded my chest with warmth.

“Benny… hey,” he said softly, a breathless laugh of disbelief following his words. “It’s you. Shit… I… kept wanting to ask if you wanted to meet but…”

“I was the same,” I said as I took half a step towards him. I couldn’t believe it was him, the man I’d spent five days pouring my heart out to. My fingers trembled and twitched, wanting to reach out to make sure he was real. Because this couldn’t be real, could it? Things like this didn’t happen in real life.

Or maybe they did. They’d just never happened to me before.

“Your profile picture is terrible,” he said, laughing again. “I couldn’t see your face.”

“In my defence, my brother set the picture. It was whatever he could take without me noticing.” I grinned. “Yours isn’t much better. Your face isn’t even in it.”

“Well, it’s not my best feature. Maybe I should’ve done that straight fuckboi pose with a mirror, or something like holding a fish. Not sure where I’d get one, though.”

I chuckled. “You live by the sea. There’s plenty of fishmongers.”

“Not really my style,” he said. “Does fish and chips count?”

“I don’t think it matters either way now,” I said, inching forward again. He’d moved too and the gap between us was smaller than it had any right to be.

He was even more gorgeous up close, with those dancing midnight blue eyes, full mouth, and soft features, his short hair dyed a deep forest green. He was about my height too, but broader in the shoulders and across the chest, with a round stomach and thick thighs that I wanted to run my hands along and squeeze. He was wearing a dark orange hoodie and cargo trousers, and it made me smile that the weather had finally defeated him and turned cold and wet enough to force him out of shorts. Although it made me wish it would warm up again soon, if only so I could see him in shorts up close.

“No, I guess it doesn’t,” he said. “Did you… do you want to get something to eat? Or a drink? I don’t know if you have any plans.”

“I don’t. Have any plans, that is. I was just going to return a few books and see what was going.”

“What were you bringing back?”

I reached into my bag and pulled out the two romance novels and Sage’s face lit up. “Oh my God… I left those! So when you were telling me about them… you were reading mine.”

“I didn’t know they were yours,” I said. “But yeah, I guess I was.”

His smile was so bright and beautiful it was like looking at the sun, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away. He held out his hand for them. “I think I might need to give them a reread now. Just because.”

My mouth curled into a smile and I held them out. “They’re yours then. And I’ve got a copy of In the Shadow of the Gods you can borrow.”

“I can’t wait,” he said. He took the books out of my hand and then slid his fingers into mine, sending a shock wave running down my arm. “What shall we get for food? Do you fancy fish and chips? Now I’ve mentioned them it’s kind of all I want.”

I squeezed his hand, marvelling at the warmth of his palm against mine and the way his fingers slotted into place like they belonged there. “Sure,” I said. “We can get fish and chips.”

CHAPTER FOUR

SAGE

Every inch of my body tingled with joy as Benny and I walked hand in hand back towards town. I’d recognised him from the cheese shop when I’d first seen him outside the little library, but I’d never have put two and two together without his prompting. I was glad he’d said something, though, because I’d have felt like a right twat if I’d eventually agreed to meet up with him and realised we’d been standing right next to each other without noticing.

His hand burned hot against mine, like someone had stuck one of those mini hand warmers against my palm, but there was a solid weight to his grip that anchored me to him. My body might have felt as light as air, but Benny’s grip kept me tethered to earth, stopping me from floating off into the atmosphere.

“Okay, so, fish and chips,” he said as we followed a narrow, steep path past a selection of houses. “Any preference where we get them from? Do you have a favourite chippy?”

“No,” I said. “I only moved here in January and I’ve mostly stuck to ready meals, pasta, and beans and cheese on toast because I’ve been so busy. It sounds like you have a favourite, though.”

“Yeah, Sean’s. Best chippy in the world.”

“The world?”

“Hundred percent,” he said, and in the glow of the streetlamps I could see him grinning. “I’m guessing you’re not veggie if you want fish and chips?”

“Nope.” I shook my head. “I like veggie food—nothing in the world beats a good cheese pizza, especially if it’s got garlic on, and I love vegetable curries, but I’m not a full-time vegetarian. Why?”

“Sean adds beef dripping to the fryers. It’s fucking amazing but not great if you’re vegetarian.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I imagine not.” We walked on a little further, Benny steering me down a couple of side streets, away from the main part of town. “How long have you lived here?”

“Since I was about nine,” he said. “Mum works for English Heritage and she ended up getting a job at the abbey. Dad’s an accountant, so he can pretty much work anywhere, but they really liked it here, so they stayed. And my brother and I did too.”

“You run the cheese shop together, right?”

“Yeah. His name’s Iggy, Ignatius if you want to annoy him.” He chuckled softly. “I love my parents, but honestly, who the fuck names their kids Ignatius and Benedict?”

“My siblings and I are all herbs,” I said. “Sage, Rosemary, Basil, and Thyme. My mum’s really into gardening.” Benny snorted and I smiled. “My sister broke the trend with my nephew, though. He’s called James. Mum was so upset—she thought it was very boring.”

“Sometimes boring is good.”

“Exactly, like having an unusual name is fine sometimes, but God, sometimes I wished I could just be Andrew number three in my class.” I’d once had a massive fight with my mum about it back when I was a teenager. She’d told me if I hated it that much, I could change it when I was eighteen, and for six months I’d been convinced that was what I’d do.

But by the time I’d reached eighteen, I’d mellowed out and started growing into myself. It’d helped I’d found the emo and alternative scene and from there ended up in folk metal and pirate songs, and nobody there had batted an eye at my name except to tell me it was cool. “I like Sage now, though. And I have a running joke about being good with sausages.”

Benny threw back his head and laughed, the sound rippling through me like a fresh spring breeze blowing all the cobwebs away. “Well, if you can’t make a good meat joke now and then, what’s the point?”

“Exactly, and I do love a good sausage.”

We walked a little further, our conversation turning to food until the delightful smell of frying fish and potatoes wafted onto the street. I took a deep breath and looked at Benny imploringly. “Please, please tell me that’s where we’re going?”

“Yeah, that’ll be Sean’s,” Benny said, tightening his grip on my hand and steering me towards a gap in the road I hadn’t seen that seemed to lead down a dark alley. It would have been suspicious if I couldn’t smell food, hear a gaggle of voices, and see bright lights. We turned a corner and in front of us sat a low building that looked like an old, converted garage or shed with a queue of people spilling out of the door. There was a sign above the door and window that said Sean’s in enormous blue and white letters, with what looked like a cone of chips as the apostrophe and golden spotlights above it that illuminated each letter in the darkness.

“How did you find this place?” I asked as we joined the queue. “I’d never even have known this was here.”

“Got my first job here at sixteen. Used to spend hours peeling potatoes for chips.”

“They make their own chips?”

“Yeah, Sean doesn’t fuck around. There’s a reason I think it’s the best chippy in the world. I think they’ve won a few awards now, which pissed Sean off no end because they got even busier and he said he couldn’t be arsed with all the attention.” He shook his head fondly. “I think he secretly likes it, though. He’s proud of what he’s done here.”

“Sounds like he should be,” I said, my mouth watering as the queue moved and we stepped closer to the door. From here I could peer inside and read the menu on the far wall. “What are you going to get?”

“Probably same as I usually get: medium haddock, chips, and some mushy peas.” He frowned and then added, “The portions are pretty big. I don’t know how hungry you are, but we can always get a large portion of chips to share. I mean, the fish is usually the size of a small whale, even if you order a medium, and I don’t think Sean’s ever measured a portion of chips in his life.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said. “Are you a salt and vinegar person, though? Because if so, we’ll need separate ones because I hate vinegar.” I screwed up my face and shuddered just thinking about it.

Benny chuckled and pulled me against him. He put his arm around my waist and gently kissed my temple. “We can just get salt. I’ve got vinegar at home.”

I froze, my brain trying to process what had just happened. I felt Benny tense beside me, his arm suddenly hovering as if he wasn’t sure whether to lift it away. I didn’t want him to do that, though, so I leant into him, feeling the solid warmth of his body pressed against me. “Excellent,” I said softly. “Are you okay taking them back to yours? If not, you’re welcome to come to mine.”

“We can go to yours,” Benny said, an uncertain note in his voice that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Iggy’s out for the evening with his girlfriend and I’m not sure when he’ll be back. It feels a bit early for me to start inflicting my brother on you. Especially since he thinks he should get all the credit for the two of us meeting.”

“Is that because he signed you up for the app?”

“Yeah.” He sighed, but it sounded more fond than exasperated. “Apparently, he’s the master matchmaker now. The fact the app’s algorithm matched us had nothing to do with it.”

I snorted. “Does he always meddle in your love life? Both my sisters have tried in the past, but my brother is more of a live and let live person. Mostly because I think he doesn’t want to get involved and draw their attention.” Basil was quite happy staying out of the way and letting me be the subject of Rose and Thyme’s matchmaking efforts. But if things worked out with Benny, I couldn’t see him avoiding their attempts much longer. Although since he was currently backpacking around Australia, the time difference would probably keep him safe. That and his ability to never answer his fucking messages and then pop up two weeks later with a picture of some random animal he’d seen.

“Not usually but apparently I’d spent too long moping over my ex,” he said dryly. “And according to Iggy, I shouldn’t be alone for Valentine’s Day or I’ll spend the rest of my life lonely and miserable. Or some shit like that.”

“Ouch,” I said, biting back a smile as I sucked in a breath. “That’s a bit harsh.”

“Just a bit,” he said. “I know I’m a bit of a grumpy bugger, but still.”

“I don’t think you’re grumpy.”

“You haven’t seen me in the morning.”

I grinned at him slyly and lowered my voice a notch. “Not yet, but I’d like to. And if you’re coming back to mine anyway…”

“I could be persuaded,” he said with a soft, warm voice that sent heat running down my spine.

“I’ll do my best to persuade you then,” I said. “And we don’t have to hook up or anything. We can just watch a film or sit and read or talk. I’ve got records too and⁠—”

Benny squeezed my side. “What if I want to?”

I let out a stuttered breath. “Then we can totally do that. Yeah… I’m… absolutely.”

“Good.”

The queue moved again, ushering us inside the chip shop. It was hot in here and smelt even more delicious than it had outside. It was busy too, and several people moved around behind the counter, including a large man with a shaved head and faded tattoos wearing a navy T-shirt with the shop’s name across the chest.

“Ey up, Benny,” he said in a booming voice with a thick Yorkshire accent and I assumed this had to be Sean. “’Ows it goin’? Not seen you in a while.”

“Reyt good thanks,” Benny said. He’d released my waist and instead taken hold of my hand. “Sean, this is Sage.”

“Hey,” I said. “Benny said you make the best chips in the world.”

“Does he now?” Sean said with a gruff laugh. “He should know. He peeled enough spuds in his time.”

“Till I couldn’t feel my fingers,” Benny said, adding his own chuckle to the air.

“And you’re still whining about it.”

“Can’t not remind you.” Benny grinned and glanced at the menu. “Can we get two medium haddock, a large chips with salt, no vinegar, and some mushy peas, please?”

Sean nodded and called out the order to one of the teenagers manning the counter before running the total up. I reached into my pocket to pull out my wallet but Benny had already produced his card and was tapping it on the machine. “Are you sure?” I asked. “Do you want me to send you some money?”

He shook his head. “Course not, it’s fine.”

“Did you want anything specific to drink?” I asked, glancing at the fridge full of cans behind the counter. “I’ve got a few things, but it depends what you want.”

“Do you wanna grab some cans?” Benny asked. “Unless you want to stop somewhere and get beer or cider?”

“I’m fine with Coke.”

“Me too.”

We grabbed a couple cans of Coke and another two of Lilt, because I hadn’t had any for ages, and Sean put everything into a plastic bag before handing it to Benny.

When we got outside, it was finally starting to spit with rain like it had been threatening to do all afternoon. I pulled my hood up with one hand, my other still tightly wrapped in Benny’s. He hadn’t let go of it since we’d walked into Sean’s.

“Where are we going then?” Benny asked, his smile just visible in the low light. “I’m guessing you’re up near me since we both use the little library?”

“Yeah, I’m in the flats on the corner, near the shop.”

“I know where you mean.” He started walking, pulling me gently along with him.

It should have felt strange how quickly we’d slotted together, but instead it felt completely natural. Like there’d been a Benny-shaped hole in my chest and I’d only just realised it.

My heart started to glow as I walked beside him, the two of us chatting non-stop like we had been all week, and for the first time in a long time, I felt complete.

CHAPTER FIVE

BENEDICT

Sitting on Sage’s sofa eating fish and chips while chatting and listening to David Bowie’s Hunky Dory on the old record player in the corner was not how I’d pictured spending my evening when I’d left work. But I wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

Everything between us felt so natural and unforced, and I didn’t know if it was because we’d already been talking, so we didn’t have to go through that awkward introductory stage, or if it was something else. I’d never believed in love at first sight—it sounded like nonsense to me. But I couldn’t deny there was something between us. Even with my exes things had never felt this easy, and I’d been with some of them for months.

I didn’t think that if Sage and I carried on, things would always be easy—life didn’t work like that—but would an easy start mean our relationship was doomed? Would it mean we’d flee at the first sign of trouble? I didn’t think I would because I was a stubborn bastard, but saying and doing were two different things.

And maybe I was getting ahead of myself.

Thinking about how things might end, or the way things could go wrong, was probably not the best way to start anything. Some amount of foresight could be helpful to stop me falling into traps, but if I looked too far ahead and focused too much on the future, I’d miss everything right in front of me. And I didn’t want that to happen.

“You look very deep in thought,” Sage said, gently nudging my ankle with his toes. His socks were bright orange. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I said with a nod as I picked at the last of my chips on my plate. I was glad we’d gotten a large to share because Sean had given us a small mountain of chips and even split between us they’d still taken up half the plate, piled high. “I was just thinking about this. About us. How it feels… easy. I’m not sure that’s the right one but it’s the only one I’ve got.”

“I know what you mean. Talking to you… it’s so simple, like we’ve known each other for years instead of a few days.” He chuckled. “I know the joke is that queer relationships move fast, like you meet someone and ten minutes later you’re balls deep inside them or lying on their sofa at midnight collectively sharing all your trauma and insecurities, but maybe there’s some truth in that.”

I snorted. “We’ve not gotten to the balls deep part yet. Or the trauma. Feels like we’ve skipped the crucial bits.”

“Oh shit, well, I hate unreliable people because my parents got divorced when I was nine and my dad couldn’t keep a promise after that to save his life. I don’t think he made a single birthday party, school concert, or the first gig my shitty teenage emo band played.”

“Teenage emo band?”

“Yeah, we’ll gloss over that part,” Sage said dryly. “Although I have a horrible feeling Rose has tapes somewhere. And the only thing I’ve got on her is a video of her in her nursery nativity play where she was a shepherd and fell asleep on stage.”

“Don’t worry, if she somehow finds a way to show it to me, I’ll pretend it’s the greatest concert since Queen at Live Aid.” I nudged him playfully and smiled. “What did you play? Or did you sing?”

“No, thank fuck. I was the drummer. I lacked the coordination or skill for anything else.”

“You’re doing better than me,” I said. “I have zero musical ability. I tortured my parents with a recorder in primary school and that was enough.”

“Oh God, primary school recorders,” Sage said with a laugh. “Why did teachers think that was a good idea? Who in their right mind wants to hear a group of seven-year-olds murder ‘Three Blind Mice’ in the most pitchy and out of tune way ever?”

“Probably why my dad told me it was very nice but hearing it once was enough.”

Sage leant against me, still chuckling softly. “That’s more tactful than I’d have been.” He rested his head on my shoulder and looked up at me. Up close, I realised his deep blue eyes had little flecks of grey scattered across them, almost like stars. His mouth was round and full with a soft Cupid’s bow, and I was suddenly struck by the need to feel it against mine.

I tilted my head and leant closer slowly, just in case he wanted to stop me. My lips brushed against his in a gentle kiss and Sage let out a tiny moan that ignited a fire in my blood. I grabbed the plates off our laps and shoved them onto the floor, pushing them far enough out of the way that neither of us would accidentally step on them, and when I turned back to the sofa, Sage was stretched out waiting for me.

His thighs had fallen apart and I slotted between them, heat radiating from his body as he hooked one foot around my knee and drew me closer. There was a wicked smile dancing on his face as he reached up and tugged at my T-shirt, pulling me down and closing the last few inches between us.

Sage kissed me hungrily, his other hand sliding around my neck and into the back of my hair. His fingers tangled in the curls and his short nails rubbed against my scalp, sending a shiver of pleasure racing down my spine. I gently pulled his bottom lip between my teeth before pushing my tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss.

Each kiss got sloppier and more desperate as desire overtook us. Sage’s hand slid down my side to the bottom of my T-shirt, his fingers working their way underneath and caressing my hips. His foot was still hooked around my knee, keeping me against him. I wanted to be able to touch him, tease him, but it was hard because I was using both my hands for balance.

So I did the only thing I could think of: I rolled my hips and ground down against him.

Sage gasped, his hips bucking up, and I felt the hard length of his cock rubbing against mine. The layers of fabric between us added to the friction and I groaned as I rolled my hips again.

“Fuck,” Sage said, the word deliciously breathless. “I need you to be wearing less.”

“I need the same.”

“Just undo your jeans,” Sage demanded. “I don’t have the patience for you to strip.”

I wasn’t going to argue. Instead I lifted myself up enough to pop my jeans open and tug the zipper down over my straining bulge. I shoved the jeans down below my ass, giving me enough room to reach inside my boxers and pull out my cock.

Thank fuck I’d recently gone through my underwear drawer and finally thrown out all the old pairs with holes in the crotch.

Sage was smirking at me. “Nice dick,” he said as he lifted his hand and trailed a finger lightly down the underside of my shaft. “Later, you’re definitely putting it inside me. As long as you top, obviously. I’m vers, but I do love getting fucked when I’m in the mood.”

“I’m vers too,” I said with a shuddering breath as Sage wrapped his fingers around my cock and stroked it slowly. It had been too long since I’d had someone else’s hand on my dick. “But I’ll definitely fuck you. Your arse is too perfect to resist.”

“Good. I’m holding you to that.”

“No need, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Sage hummed and reached for the waistband of his cargo trousers, slowly popping the button open and sliding the fly down. “Mmm, that’s giving me all sorts of ideas.” He wiggled his trousers slowly down, taking his underwear with them and exposing his cock. It had a fat shaft with a slight curve, a few drops of precum beading at the slit. Sage saw me looking and ran his thumb across the head of his cock, collecting his precum on it, before lifting it to his mouth and sucking it noisily between his lips.

Fuck, that was hot.

My eyes were fixed on him and all I could think about was him sucking my cock between those plush lips. I wondered how much he’d be able to take before he gagged. Would he let me fuck his face? Or would he make me sit there, in patient agony, as he took what he wanted from me?

Sage’s other hand was still on my dick and I groaned as he gently tugged it, pulling me on top of him. He moaned as our cocks bumped together, his fingers releasing me as he rolled his hips up to frot against me. It was a little dry but the friction somehow made it sweeter. But then he spat into his other hand and slid it between us for a moment, rubbing his saliva on our shafts.

I groaned and thrust my hips, rubbing my cock against his as he pulled his hands out from between us and instead reached for my hair, tugging me down for wet, messy kisses. He moaned and rolled his hips again, the pair of us losing ourselves to desperation as we frotted together. Need bubbled through me, strengthened by the heat of the friction between us. It was wild and frantic, both of us needing to get off and wanting nothing more than to do it together.

Sage gasped and moaned into my mouth, the sounds driving me wild with lust because fuck, I’d never heard anything sweeter.

I fucked against him over and over, pleasure sliding down my spine as my balls tightened. “Mmm, ’m close,” I said, practically breathing the words into his mouth. Sage groaned and gave a half nod, his fingers tightening in my hair and foot drawing around the back of my thigh to keep me against him as he chased his own release.

“S-Same,” he murmured. “Don’t stop. Please.”

I wasn’t going to stop. I didn’t think I could have.

My orgasm hit me with overwhelming force, rocketing through me like a shock wave as my cock pulsed, slicking our skin with my release. Sage groaned and thrust up harder and faster, desperate to come. He gasped out and shuddered as he came and I pulled my head back just far enough to see the expression on his face as his cum mingled with mine and pooled between us.

Sage smiled at me softly before leaning up to kiss me. “That was fun,” he said with a breathless chuckle.

“It was,” I said, kissing him again. Our cum was starting to cool and stick, and it sent an unpleasant shiver running across my skin. “We should clean up before…”

“Yeah, good idea.”

I sat back, my thighs feeling slightly like jelly. My jeans were digging into them, so I shoved them all the way down. Sage wiggled out from under me and finished removing his trousers. The curtains were still open but I doubted anyone would be able to look in and see us.

“You know… I probably need a shower,” Sage said slowly, standing up and pulling off his hoodie and T-shirt, dropping them on the floor to stand before me in all his gorgeous, naked glory. “Want to join me? Then maybe we could go to bed? I distinctly remember you promising to put that perfect cock of yours in my ass.”

I grinned and stood. “Hmm, I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes. And I always get what I want.” He winked at me and turned away, walking towards the living room door.

I watched the way his arse wiggled and imagined pulling his cheeks apart to lick and tease his hole, making him moan before sinking my dick deep inside him.

I couldn’t throw the last of my clothes off fast enough.

CHAPTER SIX

SAGE

I frowned as I stared at the Valentine’s gift I’d bought Benny, which was currently sitting on the shop’s counter and staring right back at me. We’d barely been together for two weeks, and technically we’d never really had the conversation about whether this was a relationship or just friendship with spectacular benefits.

I’d wanted to get him something, though, just to show him how much he already meant to me. Because I’d never clicked with anyone so fast or met anyone who felt so right for me. Being with Benny was as simple as breathing.

The vintage teacup and saucer I’d found for him were sage green and gold, and I hoped they’d look nice on the long shelf he had of them. He’d been a little defensive the first time he’d shown them to me, like he was expecting to be mocked, and that had made my heart ache because I hated the idea of anyone teasing or bullying him over his hobby.

But when he’d allowed me to dig deeper, he’d told me about the collection being started by his granny and all the fond memories he had of spending time with her as a child—from baking cakes on Saturday afternoons, to running around her vegetable garden, to helping her carefully wash each of the teacups and saucers while she told him the stories of where she’d gotten them and what they meant to her.

“I couldn’t bear to get rid of them when she died,” he’d said. “So I brought them home and put them up. I get new ones every so often when I see them in charity shops. At first it was kinda like keeping her here with me, but now… I don’t know, I kind of like them.”

Seeing him be so open with me had made me fall for him even harder and had led to me spending hours scouring Etsy and eBay and specialist websites for vintage china to find something I thought he’d love.

“Okay,” I muttered to myself before carefully picking up the teacup and saucer and slotting them gently into the small box they’d arrived in, which I’d had to dig out of a larger box filled with a million packing peanuts and half the world’s supply of bubble wrap. I didn’t have any wrapping paper or a gift bag, but I did have a little bit of red ribbon I’d found in a drawer. I had no idea where it’d come from, probably off another present or a box of chocolates, but it was a nice colour and I didn’t want it to go to waste.

It took a little bit of fiddling around to get the ribbon tied neatly around the box since it was about half an inch too short, but I made it work. Now all I had to do was give it to Benny.

Pretending I was tidying stock, I walked over to the shelves near the window, adjusting some records absent-mindedly with my fingers as I looked across the road. The cheese shop looked warm and welcoming from here, the bright light inside shining out against the dull grey February weather. There wasn’t a window display since the window was smaller and flat, with individual rectangular glass panes inside a wooden frame, but I noticed there were a few window stickers dotted around. There were a couple of mice rolling a huge butter-yellow cheese across the bottom panes as if they were stealing it and two more mice at the end sitting on top of an illustrated stack of various cheeses. Near the door were some stickers related to hygiene and ones that I assumed were memberships to various organisations.

And nestled amongst them was a round sticker with the progress pride flag on it.

I smiled to myself as I watched the window, trying to see signs of Benedict moving around. I’d seen Iggy a few times, with his mane of ginger curls, but not Benny. Maybe he was doing a stock take? I couldn’t see a lot of the shop from the window, especially from this distance.

I checked my watch. It was nearly twelve. Maybe in half an hour I could close up for an hour and venture across to see if he was around. We’d gone for lunch together a few times, and now I even had a neat sign to put in the door to explain I’d be back soon, which was much better than the scrawled note I’d written the first day.

Walking back to the counter, I grabbed the small list of online orders I’d received and began to potter about the shop collecting various records to pack up and ship out. I hummed to myself as I worked, floating through a random medley of my favourites and throwing in the odd word here and there for good measure.

I was so lost in thought I didn’t hear the door open or the buzzer above it ringing. I didn’t hear the footsteps on the floor either. All I heard was soft words spoken behind me. “I love that song.”

“Shit!” I gasped, spinning around to see Benny stood behind me, watching me with a fond smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Where did you come from?”

He chuckled and pointed at the door. “The door. It’s a way one gets in and out of buildings.”

I rolled my eyes, my heart rate finally starting to subside. “Ah yes, a door. I’ve heard of these. Seem to be quite the novelty.” I closed the gap between us, still holding an armful of records, and brushed a kiss across his mouth in passing. He put a hand out to catch my waist and stop me in my tracks. “Not sure they’ll catch on, though. Especially if they don’t warn me about people trying to sneak in.”

“Darn, I must be hearing things then because I’m sure there was a bell.”

“It’s a buzzer actually.”

“Potayto, potahto,” he said, kissing me again. “Had a busy morning?”

“Not too bad,” I said as I pulled away to walk over to the counter so I could put the records down with the order list on top of them. “Just collecting some things together for online orders. I’m surprised by how many I’ve gotten, to be honest, but I’m not complaining. How about you?”

“Yeah, pretty busy. We’ve had quite a few people coming in to pick up the last of the Valentine’s cheese and wine hampers.”

“I thought you sent those off a couple of days ago?”

“Yeah, the ones for delivery, but we offer collection too for locals.”

“Ah, so have you been flooded with amorous cheese lovers?”

He snorted. “Something like that.”

I glanced at the box I’d left next to the till, with its slightly wonky red ribbon tied around it. Nerves fizzed in my chest as a surge of doubt rose up inside me. What if he didn’t like it? Would everything fall apart before we’d even started?

No. I refused to believe that. Not this time.

Not with him.

“So…” I said as I scooped the box up and turned slowly to face him. “I know we haven’t exactly known each other long and we’re… I don’t know… are we⁠—”

“I thought you were my boyfriend,” Benny said with such deep certainty that I felt it anchoring me to the floor. “That’s what I told Iggy.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.” He raised a confused eyebrow. “Was I not supposed to?”

“I… no, I like that. Boyfriends.” A smile spread slowly across my lips. “Well, I know we haven’t been dating for long, and I know Valentine’s is kind of cheesy, but I wanted to get you something.” I took a step closer and held out the box. “Here.”

Benny’s expression softened and he lifted it carefully out of my hands, his fingers sending a wave of warmth up my arm as they brushed against me. “Are you sure? You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Can I open it?”

“It’s a bit pointless if you don’t.”

“I suppose,” he said. “Thank you. This is… thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” I said, suddenly shy. I didn’t want him to make a big deal out of it, like I’d bought him the Mona Lisa or something.

“It’s not nothing. Don’t say that.”

“You haven’t even opened it yet.”

“It can’t be nothing,” he said firmly as he closed the gap between us. “Because you bought it for me.” He leant down and kissed me, and that deep certainty I’d heard in his voice poured into me like fine wine. “And I know whatever you do, you think it through. You care, Sage. So I know that whatever’s in this box, you’ll have put more thought and effort into it than anything else. I don’t think you’re the last-minute box of chocolates from Morrisons type of man.”

He pulled gently on the ribbon, letting it fall into his hands. Then he carefully opened the top of the box, folding back the cardboard and peering inside. His eyes went wide as he reached inside and slowly extracted the teacup, holding it carefully. “It’s… you got me…”

“Yeah,” I said. “I, er, didn’t think you had one like this. And it’s a sage green. I thought it might be… fitting… There’s a saucer too. At the bottom…” I trailed off, not really sure what else to say.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He put the cup back into the box and then stepped to the side so he could put it on the counter, away from the edge where it couldn’t get knocked. He turned back to me and put his arms around me, pulling me against his chest until we were nose to nose. “Thank you,” he said again. “You really are special, Sage. Nobody’s ever bought me a teacup before.”

“Really?”

Benny chuckled at my surprise. “Really.”

“But you collect them? You love them. It’s the obvious choice.” At least, it was to me.

He gave a half shrug. “Maybe to you, but not to anyone else. You’re different, and I… I like that. A lot.” He leant in and kissed me softly, and I felt the raw emotion behind his touch. There was an intensity in it I’d never felt before, and it made fireworks burst inside my chest.

“I have something for you too,” he said. “It’s, er… hang on. Fuck, I left it in the shop. Two minutes.”

“Do you want to get some lunch?” I asked as he picked up the teacup box and headed towards the door. “I can close up while you go back.”

Benny nodded and I laughed as I watched him run across the street, throwing open the cheese shop door like something was chasing him. I stacked the records on the counter neatly and grabbed my wallet, keys, and the sign for the door, and by the time I was ready, Benny was back, his chest heaving.

“You didn’t have to run,” I said fondly.

“I’ve done it now,” he said, holding out one of the brown paper bags they used for the cheese shop. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to wrap it. Iggy made me stick it in a bag. I hope it’s all right. If you don’t like it, I can get you something else.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I’d be a shit boyfriend if I didn’t. Especially after you got me something.”

I took the bag and peered inside it, seeing the familiar shape of a paperback book. My mouth puckered in surprise as I lifted it out and saw a copy of Ella Fox’s You Spin Me Round, which was a gay romance novel about a guy who ran a record shop… I had a couple of her books on my shelf, but not this one since it had only come out last month.

It was one I’d told Benny I’d been reading…

“Open it,” he said softly.

I flicked the front page open and stared in shock at the looping message written across it.

Sage, Let love spin you round, Love Ella x

P.S. Your man ordered this especially for you. Happy Valentine’s Day <3

“You got it signed,” I said, looking up at Benny. There was a pleased smile on his face, a hint of relief in his eyes.

“Yeah, I got it off her website.”

“But… you must have ordered this ages ago.”

“Not ages,” he said with a shrug. “It was a few days after we met.” He stepped close to me again. “Like I said, you’re special, Sage. And I’m going to do everything I can to show you that, every single day for as long as you’ll have me.”

“And what if… what if I want that to be a long time?”

“Then I’d say good, because that’s what I want too.”

I leant forward and kissed him, my emotions threatening to overwhelm me. But I didn’t care if they did because Benny was right. This was special.

And it was going to be that way for a long, long time.

EPILOGUE

BENEDICT

Two Years Later

The bell on the cheese shop door tinkled softly and I glanced up from the mountain of brie hearts I was preparing to pack for Valentine’s Day. Trust bloody Iggy to vanish off on his honeymoon at one of our busiest times of the year. And he wasn’t doing himself any favours by sending constant photos of him and Anna sitting on a beautiful, sunny beach sipping cocktails.

We had a bloody beach here, but apparently February in Whitby wasn’t a suitable honeymoon destination.

So now he was in Hawaii and I was here with a mountain of cheese, a list of orders as long as my arm, and, since about ten o’clock this morning, two feet of bloody snow.

The only thing that made it better was seeing the man who’d just walked through the door.

“Are you here to save me from a slow, agonising death by cheese?” I asked with a grin as I leant on the counter, careful not to send the pile of soft cheese toppling onto the floor.

“Sadly not,” Sage said, his own smile warm and comforting. His dark blue hair was dusted with snowflakes, which he reached up to brush off absent-mindedly. “But I am here to help. I closed up for the afternoon—I thought you might need a hand since Iggy sodded off on holiday.”

“That is why I love you,” I said, walking out from around the counter to kiss him soundly. “You’re bloody brilliant, you know that?”

“You might have said it a few times.”

“I’ll say it again. You are bloody brilliant and a fucking lifesaver.”

“I think it’s part of the boyfriend job description,” he said with a soft chuckle. “And because I love you too.” He pressed a quick kiss to my lips, his own still cold from his brief dash across the street. “Right, where do we start?”

The hampers weren’t difficult to pack, but they were time-consuming since we offered three different sizes, each with progressively more elements. In hindsight, offering the different sizes had been a mistake but by the time I’d realised that, it’d been too late to change it. I was ridiculously grateful to Sage for giving me a hand because otherwise I’d have been here all fucking night.

I knew he said it was because he was my boyfriend, but that didn’t mean I’d expected him to help me. That was just Sage, though. He was always there when I needed him, even when I hadn’t asked him.

The past two years had been nothing short of amazing. I’d never thought I’d click with anyone like I had with Sage, and if soul mates were a thing, then I’d have said he was mine.

That wasn’t to say we hadn’t had our ups and downs. We’d dealt with everything from Sage’s dodgy washing machine setting his kitchen on fire to the birth of his niece, Iggy’s and my landlord deciding to tell us he was giving us notice to move out by sticking a whacking great For Sale sign outside, our suitcases getting lost the very first time we’d decided to go abroad together, and spending four days in Scotland at a romance book convention getting bloody, blistered feet while lugging round an actual fucking suitcase full of signed books. Although watching Sage nearly combust with excitement when he’d met Ella Fox had been worth the pain inflicted upon me by the new trainers I’d thought would save my feet.

The sweetest part had been she’d remembered the order too and had taken a picture with us because she’d wanted to remember it.

Life might have tried to throw some shit our way, but we’d made it through everything. And I’d never been happier.

I’d told Sage on our first Valentine’s Day that he was special, and I’d meant it, but I didn’t think I’d realised just how special he was. Sage was everything to me, and he brightened up every day, good or bad, just by existing.

“How many have we got left?” he asked as he closed the lid on the hamper he’d been packing. “It can’t be that many. We’re running out of the hearts.”

“We’ve got another three boxes in the chiller,” I said, trying not to laugh at the dismayed expression on his face. “Don’t worry, they’re for the collection orders. Not these. And I can pack them slowly over the next week once these have gone.”

“You bastard,” he said, giving me a playful nudge and grinning.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Your face was a picture.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get my revenge.”

“Will you now,” I said, nudging him back. “How?”

“I’ll think of something.” He leant against me for a second and then tilted his head to kiss my cheek. “Fancy getting fish and chips when we’re done?”

“That sounds bloody marvellous,” I said, kissing his temple. “We’ve only got ten left to pack. We can be out of here in twenty minutes.” I peered out of the window. “Is it still snowing?”

“Looks like it,” Sage said as his eyes followed my gaze. “I can’t imagine a little thing like snow stopping Sean from opening, though.”

“I can’t either. We can get some to take home, then crash out.” I stretched and groaned as my joints popped and clicked. I was glad Valentine’s Day wasn’t for another week, although I didn’t really expect things to quieten down between now and then since I still had collection orders to pack and there were always people coming in looking for last-minute things.

I was also glad because another week would give me time to plan my surprise for Sage.

One that involved another signed book from Ella Fox. And the ring currently hidden in the desk drawer in my office.

Maybe next year it would be my turn to sit on a beach in the sunshine with Sage and some cocktails while Iggy filled orders and cursed me for disappearing. It’d only be fair.

“Twenty minutes,” Sage said, taking a deep breath and squeezing my hand. “We can do this!”

“We can! Just think of the fish and chips,” I said as I looked at the order form and reached for an empty hamper.

The End

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHARLIE NOVAK

Charlie lives in England with her husband and two cheeky dogs. She spends most of her days wrangling other people’s words in her day job and then trying to force her own onto the page in the evening.

She loves cute stories with a healthy dollop of fluff, plenty of delicious sex, and happily ever afters — because the world needs more of them.

Charlie has very little spare time, but what she does have she fills with baking, Dungeons and Dragons, reading and many other nerdy pursuits. She also thinks that everyone should have at least one favourite dinosaur…

Connect with Charlie

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WHEN CUPID STRIKES

CORA ROSE

CHAPTER ONE

ARASCHD

“Fuck me,” I think as I look into the mirror and notice that the beard I’ve been attempting to grow for the past week is merely a hair. One single hair. And it’s not even long, only about an inch. It protrudes from my cheek and waves at me mockingly.

“Fuck you,” I grumble as I poke at it. Why can’t I grow a damn beard? My whole family is hairy. Hairy arms, hairy backs, hairy pits. And here I am. One single hair flapping in the wind on my face. Smooth as a peach. I swear I’m adopted. There is no way that I am genetically related to these people.

Even my mom has more of a mustache than me.

I’m never gonna get laid, I think as I turn my gaze away from the mirror.

Besides the sad lack of a beard, I’m decent enough looking. Thin and trim with curly brown hair and bright green eyes. I have freckles lining the bridge of my nose and long, dark lashes. I’ve been told a few times that I’m pretty in an eclectic kind of way.

Well, I’d like to be a little less pretty. I want to be rustic and masculine. I want to grow a beard down to my knees.

At this rate though, that beard is gonna be one long hair instead. Just a single strand.

I should name it. A nice companion name to my actual one.

Araschd.

A family name. One passed down from generation to generation.

A name I cannot live up to without the damn beard.

My phone beeps, and I glance down at it. My heart thumps in my chest, and my hairless jaw is forgotten.

I have a date. Well, not a date, but at least a match for Valentine’s Day. So I won’t be all alone and sad.

To be honest, I figured I was destined to be matchless. Perhaps the man I meet up with will be intrigued by my one-haired jaw.

I’m like a pirate with both eyes but one single hair instead.

I snort a laugh and then force myself to read the message that’s sitting there waiting for me. I signed up for CUPID after a lonely and miserable night, after staring at my hairless jaw for far too long and realizing that I’m going to die smooth, alone, and dateless on Valentine’s Day. My sad, hairless body would be getting no action if I didn’t do something about it.

I’m a college graduate, a successful one too. I’m a librarian at the public library in our bustling Southern California city and happen to have grown several community programs. I’m known for my innovative and creative ways to reach people, and yet I can’t seem to reach someone in my personal life.

Well, enough is enough. I’m gonna find someone or die trying.

And the CUPID app is the answer.

I will not spend my Valentine’s Day alone. I refuse.

I stare down at the notification on my screen, which shows me that I’ve matched with someone. I can either communicate via messenger first or go on a blind date.

I fiddle with my lone hair and then sigh. I don’t want to wait and chat. I want to meet and see if we’re right for one another. I don’t want to spend hours conversing with someone only to meet them in real life and find out they’re scum.

“No scum for me today,” I say to myself as I hit the link, accepting the invitation for a blind date. I’m gonna do this. Gonna just see if this app is the real deal because me and my hairless jaw ain’t got time for any of it.

I want to meet my man and be done with it.

Excitement bursts through me as I pack up and leave for work, feeling slightly optimistic about my future. The man I meet on this blind date could change my life. I could be married this time next year. I could be a dad.

I put a slight skip in my step and end my day at work in a fabulous mood.

Nothing could go wrong. I’ve known so many people who have had such great success with CUPID. And I will too, I just know it.

As soon as the workday is over, I pull up the app and glance down at the message waiting for me.

A blind date. One that the app chooses for me. A date, a time, a location. I don’t have to do anything but show up.

My lips turn down as I read the notification. Friday afternoon. At a doctor’s office across town.

I huff. Well, that’s not romantic at all. I’ll have to sit through traffic to get there. I’ll be frazzled and smelly and not in a good mood.

But do I really want to give up my future because of Los Angeles traffic? Because I can’t stand to sit in my car for longer than an hour?

Fuck it.

I’m gonna do it.

I’m gonna suck it up and meet the man of my dreams.

* * *

I’m a grumbling mess Friday afternoon. Not only is it Valentine’s Day, which usually puts me in a mood, but to top it off, the hair on my jaw was wrenched out this morning while I was drying my face. The towel just exfoliated it straight off. It was a weak hair, apparently, and now I am completely smooth once more.

Not to mention the fact that I just sat in an hour’s worth of traffic to go to a doctor’s office.

And it’s not even a real doctor’s office.

New Age Healing Center.

I stare at the words and sigh. Well, at least I’m not at some kind of proctologist. Although I really wouldn’t be opposed to any sort of anal probing. Would probably like it too much.

I could be abducted by aliens and do quite well for myself. Probably would never want to go back to Earth.

“Hello,” the woman at reception says, a slight haze moving off her body. It’s like she’s made of incense. I can smell her from here. I glance around and notice the green walls, the bamboo shades over the windows, and framed pictures of rivers and stones adorning the walls.

Kind of relaxing, actually. I already feel a little healthier in here.

Maybe CUPID got this right. I need to chill the fuck out.

“Hello there. I’m here…” I pause. Well, I really didn’t think this through. What the hell do I say? That I’m here to meet a date? That I don’t actually have an appointment?

For fuck’s sake. I was so frazzled after leaving work late and getting stuck in traffic that I’m just a blubbering mess.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asks, smiling kindly at me.

I sigh and shake my head, pulling out my phone and pretending to text an imaginary friend. Maybe she will give me a minute to come up with a reasonable explanation.

Just as I do, the door jingles behind me, and I watch a handsome man in a three-piece suit walk through the door. He’s wearing glasses and an expensive watch. His dark brown hair is perfectly combed, and he has a delicious beard on his face.

Searing jealousy soars through me.

Must be nice.

My eyes trail up and down his body, and those dark eyes meet mine, narrowing slightly at my obvious perusal of his body. Well, I know I don’t look like much in my rainbow overalls and Converse shoes, but I was working with kids today. We made little Valentines, and I am pretty sure that white stain on my shirt is glue. I didn’t have time to go home and change either. Whatever. I am who I am.

“Hello there. Do you have an appointment?” the woman behind the desk asks the man. This time, it looks like she’s puffing out smoke from her nostrils, and for a moment, I wonder if she’s a dragon of some sort. It would make sense. The walls do look a little charred.

“I don’t. I’m meeting a date, actually,” he says, dismissing her and his eyes falling onto me in disapproval once more.

I square my shoulders and glower at him. I give him the biggest stink eye I can fathom before his words settle into my brain.

A date.

He’s here for a date.

Well, fuck me.

I blink and blink some more and then purse my lips.

“Seems I’m the one you’re meeting,” I say, and the man’s eyes narrow to slits.

“No. You’re mistaken. You’re a man.”

I roll my eyes dramatically. “I am.”

“I’m not gay.”

Well, I’m not quite sure how in the hell that happened, but apparently, he made a mistake and wasted my fucking time. That’s an hour in traffic I’ll never get back. And another Valentine’s Day ruined.

He slides his hand into his suit pocket and pulls out his phone, his thumbs sliding smoothly over the screen, his brow furrowed.

“Damn.”

“Yes, damn. I just drove all the way over here on a Friday for a mistake.”

I run my hand through my curly hair, and it flops down on my head, a disheveled mess, but I don’t care. I’m not here to impress anyone, least of all Mr. Richy McNotGayPants.

“It must be. I clearly didn’t click that I’m interested in men.”

The woman behind the counter leans to the side, and I wonder if she’s going to keel over, but she only reemerges with a potted plant in her hand.

I stare at it a moment, and she smiles at me, one tooth slightly crooked and offset.

“You’re both giving off some really negative energy. Melinda is gonna help take that out of the air.”

The man huffs behind me, and I let out a small giggle.

“I am never negative. I am always positive. Light and sunshine, that’s me.”

The man behind me huffs and puffs again, and I turn toward him, pursing my lips.

“But this one, this one’s a bad apple, and I can feel the negativity wafting off him. Like a bad fart.”

“I don’t fart.”

“Oh honey, you do. And I bet they stink.”

The dragon receptionist interjects. “Alright, you two. Perhaps you’d like to take this outside. Melinda is about to wilt.”

I glower at the man and stomp past him, waiting outside just because I want to give him a piece of my mind. But just as the door closes behind me, it starts to rain, and not a nice Southern California rain, but a full-on downpour.

Well, fuck me twice. This has been an utter disaster.

Apparently, my hairless chin is meant to be single forever.

“This is all your fault, you know. My Valentine’s Day is a disaster,” I say as soon as the man appears at my side. He looks unruffled and perfect, and I hate that he’s not into men.

But even if he was, I wouldn’t go for him. I can tell he’s a grump and a snob, and I don’t do men like that.

Never.

Well, I may do them, but not like a relationship. No, never a relationship.

“How is this my fault?” he asks, his voice low and rumbly.

And not at all sexy.

Disgusting, really.

“You made me come all the way out here for nothing, and I’m upset. I’m in a mood, Mr.…”

I don’t even know his name.

He straightens his suit jacket. “Alastair.”

Well, fuck me. Even his name is hot.

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t want to tell you, but I will because I’m generous and kind. Araschd.”

“Hm. Interesting name.”

“Yes, well, it’s unique. Like me. But because it’s hard to say, most people just call me Ara.”

He eyes me, and I make sure to meet his stare.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, and I arch an eyebrow at him.

“Because I’m upset. I’m giving you bad vibes. Even Melinda the fern can’t help you now.”

His lips twitch, and he faces forward.

“Well, it seems that I’ve had about enough bad vibes for the day, considering that I’m here with you instead of on a date with a woman. And it’s Valentine’s Day too.”

“Yes, well, apparently, CUPID sucks ass.”

“Apparently.”

We’re silent for a moment, and he sighs. “How about we at least grab something to eat. I already have a reservation. Perhaps putting something in that sour mouth of yours will do wonders for your mood.”

I roll my eyes. I am absolutely not going out to dinner with this man.

“Where to?”

* * *

I meet Alastair at a fancy French restaurant across town. Well, it was only three miles away, but it took another twenty minutes to get there. Not to mention the fact that I didn’t bring an umbrella—I mean, who has one of those in LA—and my hair is a floppy, soggy mess on top of my head. I look like a wet bird.

And my rainbow overalls do not fit the vibe of this fancy restaurant. I should have dressed better. But then again, I didn’t expect CUPID to match me with a rich dude. I expected someone more like me.

I mean, CUPID is supposed to have unparalleled success.

I figured I’d go for a walk along the beach or maybe to a wine-and-paint event. Not a French restaurant that I could never afford.

“I can’t afford this,” I whisper as the hostess takes us toward our table. “I’m a librarian, for fuck’s sake.”

“Ah, yes. Makes sense.” Alastair’s eyes sweep over me once more, and I try not to scowl. Yes, I know I look like one. He should see me in my long, flowing skirt and knit sweater. I even have the cat-eye glasses to go with it.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

His lips twitch again as we stop at a small romantic table. In the middle is a flickering candle with two empty wineglasses just waiting to be filled.

Sigh. Such a waste, I think as Alastair moves to pull my chair out for me. Like a complete gentleman.

It’s so unexpected that I just stare at him.

“I may not be gay, but I still have manners.”

“Well,” I huff and then sit down, letting him push my chair in. I watch as he slides his sexy suit into the chair opposite me and unfolds his cloth napkin, placing it across his lap. I do the same, not wanting to seem like a heathen. Because let me tell you, when it comes to food, I can totally be unpleasant.

One time, I found taco shells in my hair after eating. I am a barbarian. Not that I’m going to behave like one here. I will have decorum and class.

I will be the classiest librarian he’s ever seen.

The waiter appears suddenly, making me jump slightly, and offers us a choice of wine.

Alastair asks me what I want, and I shrug, not really wanting to admit that my wine selection at home resides in a box.

“Whatever you think is best,” I say, and he utters some foreign words, and the waiter nods, scurrying off.

Well, that was not hot. Not hot at all.

CUPID must have a real sense of humor to make me sit through this dinner with a man I can’t have.

My eyes move to the menu, and I realize I can’t make out half of this stuff. It’s in French, of course, and I took Latin in high school. A total waste, if you ask me, and completely useless in this situation.

“Well, Alastair, I think you’re gonna have to order for me,” I say, fiddling with my utensils. “I can’t read this.”

Alastair wets his lips and nods. “I can do that. Do you have any preferences?”

“I eat anything.”

He nods, and his eyes swoop down to the menu once more. His thick lashes are criminal behind those glasses. And that neatly trimmed beard is sinful.

This man is too good to be true. Yep, CUPID did me dirty, showing me exactly what I can’t have.

“So what do you do?” I ask when I finally have my wine in front of me. I take a sip and nearly pass out from how good it is. My boxed wine doesn’t taste this good. Seems this date is giving me expectations.

Shame.

It’s easier when you don’t have them at all.

“I’m a lawyer.”

“Ah. I can see that.”

His lips twitch again, and I push my hair back, trying to get it to settle on my head, but to no avail; it just flops around. Has a mind of its own, really. His eyes trace my face before falling back to the menu.

“What kind of law do you practice?”

“Patent law.”

“Oh. Very cool.” I have no idea what that is, but it sounds…boring. Yes, that’s what it is. This man is boredom personified.

See? I can make myself feel better about this Valentine’s date with a straight man.

“I deal with copyright infringement and licensing of products. Things like that.”

“Ah.”

Silted awkward silence permeates the space between us, and I sip at my wine.

“So, what do you do as a librarian?”

Before I can answer, the waiter appears once more, and Alastair orders us both dinner, speaking French in the most delicious way. Makes my dick twitch in my pants. Which is very unfortunate, seeing as I’m getting nothing out of this but delicious wine and a sexy dinner.

Might as well make love to my plate when it comes.

That’s as much action as I’m going to get tonight.

“So, what do you do at the library?”

“I run a few programs. Community-based ones.”

Alastair nods, those lips sipping at his wineglass, his eyes intent on me.

“What’s your favorite one?”

I’m not expecting this kind of questioning, and it’s making my heart flop around in my chest at the interest he’s taking in me. And it’s not a flippant one either. He seems genuinely interested.

“I quite like working with kids, actually. I currently run a reading program at the library, with weekly classes for kinder through sixth grade. I also run a tutoring program and after-school homework program.”

“Fascinating,” he says, and he utters it like he means it.

“Well, I think so,” I say, blushing. His eyes fall to my cheeks, and I find that they redden even more. Must be the wine. It’s expensive and potent.

I’m probably drunk and don’t even know it.

“So, have you lived in Southern California for a while?” I ask, and he nods.

“I have. What about you?”

“Yeah, grew up in the desert and moved out here once I finished college.”

“Do you like it?”

“I do.”

We stare at each other for a moment, his eyes so intent on me that I’m the first to look away.

“So what do you do for fun?” he asks.

“I read.”

“I do love a good book.”

I smile at him, and he blinks at me. So damn pretty.

The appetizer comes, and I divert my stare down at the three plates before me. He ordered a shit ton of food. A man after my own gluttonous heart.

“I’ll have you know,” I say as I pick up a plate and fill it with one of each of the things before me. “I might be skinny and small, but I can really put stuff down. You’ll be impressed. I’m like the Cookie Monster. I can really gobble it all up.”

His lips turn up at the corners, and saints help me, he looks even hotter when he smiles.

I turn my gaze away and focus on eating instead, letting out an indecent moan when I take my first bite of a bacon-wrapped prune. Can’t eat too many of these, or I’ll be shitting myself all night. And that is not the impression I want to make. Even if this is a one-off.

“Good?” Alastair asks, shifting slightly in his seat.

“God, you know it. You snob.”

He lets out a low chuckle that goes straight to my balls. Unfortunate. Very, very sad for me.

“What the hell is this?” I ask as I pick up another round food item. I could identify the prunes, but not this.

“A cheese ball.”

“Oh, I love cheese.”

I gobble it up, flavor exploding on my tongue, and my eyes roll back in my head. I sink back in my chair and let out a sigh.

“This is too good. How am I ever going to go back to normal food after this?”

Alastair shrugs as he nibbles on a piece of bread. Those lips go back to his wineglass, and I watch a little too intently on the way his tongue peeks out of his mouth.

“I can’t wait to see what you ordered for me.”

He nods and sets his wineglass down, those long, lithe fingers tapping a rhythm on the table.

“I can’t wait to see what you think.”

I smile at him and continue eating, trying to behave, but the occasional moan slips from my mouth. I can’t help it. It’s too damn good.

When the main course finally comes, I’m almost full from putting down most of the appetizers. But I manage to knock out half of it. An impressive display of gluttony, I’m sure. Alastair is probably really impressed by my skills.

Well, at least I impressed him with my conversational skills. Between bites, I managed to divulge everything about my life to this man. Like how many men I’ve dated, how many sisters I have, that one time I got stuck in traffic and had to pee on the side of the road. I did all this probably because I knew I’d never see him again, so why the fuck not? He now knows all my secrets. No wonder he’s a lawyer—he’s very good at getting strangers to spill all the dirty details.

I should get him to sign an NDA.

He told me a few things about himself too, little silly details, like how much he loves snails, that only made him more endearing, but I did the majority of the talking. Not that he seemed to mind. Either that, or he’s a very good liar. He seemed rapt, a very good listener. It’s hard to find that these days.

“Well, I guess now that you know my entire life story, all I have to say is that this meal was so fucking good,” I say, rubbing my stomach. “And I can’t possibly eat another bite.”

He arches an eyebrow at me. “Not even dessert?”

I groan at that because I am pretty sure I’m going to have to drive home sans overalls with the way my stomach is protruding, but I still let him lure me into ordering some kind of chocolate delicacy that has me nearly drooling. And divulging the time I decided it was a good idea to try and each chocolate off my date’s dick and ended up unintentionally biting him a little too hard in the process.

His cheeks flush at that, and I wonder if I’ve offended him, but then he tells me about the time a date of his wore edible underwear and he choked on it.

I about die of laughter, imagining it.

Fuck, this guy is hot and funny. What a damn shame.

When the check comes two hours later, I’m about to go into a food coma, and yet, I don’t want this date to be over.

No. Not a date. This meetup. On Valentine’s Day. With a man who I could be friends with.

“Let me split the bill,” I manage to say, even though I’m sure I can’t afford it. I mean, I have savings, but I won’t have him pay for this all on his own.

“No. I insist. I picked the restaurant. This is my treat.”

I try to peer at the check, but he won’t let me see how much he’s spending, just slips a black credit card into the folder and hands it to the waiter.

“Well, thank you. That’s very kind. If we ever happen to meet up again, I’ll take you to a nice hole-in-the-wall I can afford. Then it will be my treat.”

He nods and then finishes his wine, adjusting his tie and running a hand across his beard.

“It was very nice to meet you, Ara. Even if it was unexpected.”

“Same, Alastair. I wish you much luck in the dating scene.”

“You too.”

He walks me outside, straight to my car, and even opens the driver’s-side door for me. And it must be the wine I drank earlier, but I stand on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek.

“It was lovely to meet you.”

He just stands there a moment before shutting the door for me, his hands in his pockets as he watches me drive away.

Well, it didn’t go as expected, but at least I now know that I should have standards. Very high ones. Alastair showed me that tonight.

Maybe tonight wasn’t a total waste after all.

CHAPTER TWO

ALASTAIR

I find myself completely at a loss. Araschd—Ara—has been on my mind for the past week, and I can’t get him out of it.

It was the most unexpected meeting, and yet I had more fun on that one night than I have in ages. He’s alluring in a very unique way, one that made something stir within me. Something dormant that I didn’t even know I possessed. I can’t even put a name to it. But there it is.

The beginning of an unexplained obsession.

It’s why I had my assistant research all the libraries in the greater LA area to find out at which one he worked. She looked at me oddly when I put in that request but didn’t say anything. It’s none of her business.

And it’s really no one’s business that I’m now inside the library and watching as Ara reads a book in front of a bunch of giggly, squirmy children. He’s wearing a bright-colored shirt and a flowing skirt, his curly hair pulled back into a small ponytail, and cat-eye glasses propped up on his nose.

I’ve never seen a man dress like this before, and I’m so fucking intrigued.

Why is he like this? It’s so unique.

It makes something flutter in my chest, and I rub at it.

I can’t be feeling these things, can I?

I’m too fucking old for this realization.

He finishes reading the story to the squirming children and then walks around the room, holding out a basket full of noise makers. It’s only when he passes the door that he notices me lurking there. His steps stutter, and his lips pull up into a brilliant smile, those green eyes twinkling.

“Well, look who it is,” he says in that snarky tone of his. It’s teasing but still makes me slightly nervous. The noise starts up in the background, and he bites his bottom lip, moving toward me.

“You here to see me, or are you here to do some research on snails?”

I let out a low chuckle, feeling almost at ease. “Research, of course.”

“Of course. Well, if you want to wait around, I can show you where to find that information.” He holds out two wooden sticks. “You could join me in a nice demonstration up front since you’re here. You seem very much like you need to bang two sticks together.”

“I can’t—” I begin, but Ara is already pulling me up in front of everyone, grabbing a tambourine and banging it loudly and dancing around. I stand there, watching him before clapping my two sticks together, feeling like a fool. But when I look around, I see that all the kids and the parents are having a great time. So I let loose, banging those sticks together with a purpose until it suddenly ends.

I help collect the instruments and clean up the mess the kids made, making sure to not look at Ara’s ass through that skirt before following him out into the aisles of books.

“So you really came all the way here to get a book about snails?” he asks, leading me all the way to the back of the library. It’s a bit dark back here and quiet. A complete contrast to the class we just came from.

I shuffle on my feet and run a hand across my beard. “Yeah. Snails.”

His eyes twinkle, and he nods. “Remind me. You have some as pets, right?”

“Yes. Three.”

He laughs softly at that, and then his hand trails along a line of books on a shelf. He has very delicate fingers, his nails painted a green to match his eyes.

It’s intriguing.

He’s intriguing.

“Ah, here they are,” he says and pulls out a book, handing it to me.

I glance down at it and then meet his stare.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. I live to serve.”

He bites his bottom lip again, and I stare at it. This isn’t the first time I’ve thought about that mouth. Nor will it be the last.

“I’m off in an hour. If you want to wait around, I can take you to a hole-in-the-wall place. Really good food and cheap. My treat.”

I wet my lips and nod. “I can do that.”

He beams, showing me his slightly crooked smile, his cheeks flushing a pretty pink.

“Perfect. I’ll meet you outside in an hour.”

I nod once more and then find myself moving to the front desk, where I get a library card and rent this damn book. I know everything about snails. I don’t need this, but I read it anyways while I wait. When Ara makes an appearance in front of me an hour later, I nearly drop the book.

“Hi. Ready?” he asks, and I nod, standing up and brushing against him by accident. It burns, in a good way, and makes my skin positively light on fire. I catch my breath as I follow him outside, hoping the cool air will help my molten skin, but it does nothing. Just makes it worse. It’s like an itch that can’t be scratched.

“It’s right up here. We can walk.”

He sticks his stuff and my book in the back of his car and then holds out his hand. I shouldn’t hold it. I absolutely shouldn’t. I don’t hold men’s hands. But I do. For just a minute.

He has soft hands, and a few slim rings on his fingers push against my warm skin.

But he lets it drop once we turn a corner and we see people. My first thought is that he’s ashamed of me, but then I realize he’s probably just trying to protect me.

It makes me like him even more.

A librarian with a heart of gold.

So unlike me. Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to him.

Maybe that’s the reason I’m entertaining thoughts of a man all fucking day long.

“Right up here,” he says, his shoulder brushing mine. I can smell something floral as he does it, and I shake my head. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he had wildflowers under that skirt of his. He pulls open the door for me, and I walk through, Ara trailing in behind me.

“Martin!” Ara says with a bright smile as soon as he’s inside, rushing up to the counter and pulling the man behind it into a hug. I feel an irrational surge of jealousy push through me at the way Martin looks at him.

Studies him.

I want to be the only one studying him tonight. I drove all the way here for the opportunity. Snails be damned.

I move up to his side and glance at the menu, pretending that’s the reason I’m standing so close. And not the fact that Martin is still touching him.

“Oh, Martin. This is Alastair. I’ve brought him here to try your tacos. The salsa is to die for. I swear. I dream about it.”

I eye him and then nod. “You can order for me, then.”

He beams and then turns back to the man behind the counter and rattles off a list of things before paying. I almost protest but let him do this. He seems excited, and I don’t want to dim the light in his eyes.

“Want to eat here?” he asks, and I shrug.

“Whatever you want.”

He mulls it over before saying, “Let’s get the order to go. I have something I want to show you.”

My heart thumps at that, feeling lighter than I have all day.

As soon as our food is packaged up, he grabs onto it and then moves toward the door, holding it open for me.

I walk through it and follow him down the street, turning down an alleyway.

“I know it’s a bit creepy, but just you wait,” he says, glancing over at me with a smile. It’s absolutely brilliant.

We continue walking for a few blocks until we come to a small park with a bench overlooking a pond. A fountain runs in the middle, and I feel immediately at peace.

“This is a little hidden gem. I come here on break sometimes.”

“With your tacos?” I ask.

“Yeah, with all the tacos.”

“And Martin?” I blurt, and Ara tilts his head before shaking it.

“No. We’re just friends.”

That settles my soul a bit, and I sink down onto the bench next to him. The sun is starting to set as he unpacks our food, and we dig in. And he’s right. These tacos are amazing.

I gobble three down in quick succession and watch as Ara puts down three more. He really does eat quite a lot and still manages to be lean and lithe.

A very nice body indeed.

“God, I’m full,” he says as he takes a sip of his drink.

“Me too.”

He smiles at me and then leans back on the bench, his hair rustling in the slight breeze.

“So what are your plans for the rest of the night?” he asks, turning his head to look at me.

I was hoping it would be you, I almost say but change my mind at the last minute.

“I don’t have any plans.”

He smiles at me. “If I bring you back to my place, you won’t be offended, will you? Like I’m trying to hit on you? Because that’s not what I’m doing.”

I swallow and shake my head. “No.”

“Well, then. Wanna come see my place? We can watch a film and just veg? Or you could tell me all about your fascination with snails.”

“It’s just a small hobby,” I murmur, and he beams at me.

“Come on, let’s go. The night is still young.”

After a quick detour back to the library for our cars, I follow him back to his place, a small row of apartments on the other side of town. Not the nicest place to live, but not the worst either. I realize what a snob I’m being, shutting down that line of thought immediately. Not everyone grows up with money like me. The only reason I was able to afford my place was the nice trust fund my parents gave me when I graduated from law school.

“I know it’s not much,” Ara says, looking almost bashful. “But it’s all I could afford.”

I glance around his small studio apartment. His bed, nightstand, and dresser are in the far corner, furthest from the windows, with a folding screen to separate it from the living room. A small kitchen, sofa, TV, and a tiny two-person table complete the rest of his furniture. There’s only one other door in the apartment, which must obviously lead to the bathroom. It’s clean and well-kept, and the longer I look around, the more I notice the way he’s made it his own with the pops of color everywhere, the vase of flowers on the counter, and the fridge full of colorful drawings—probably from the kids at the library.

“I love it.”

He blushes and then sets his bag down. “I’m gonna go change.”

I watch as he grabs some clothes from his dresser and then disappears into the bathroom. I take off my suit jacket and lay it on the back of his chair, undoing my tie slightly and rolling up the sleeves of my shirt.

When Ara reappears a moment later, his eyes track over my body quickly, a puff of air moving out of his lungs before he turns away from me. He’s wearing a tight tank top and lounge pants, which show off his ass.

“Alright. What do you want to watch?” he asks as he settles onto the small floral sofa.

I lower myself next to him, his legs almost touching mine.

“Whatever you want.”

“I mean, what do you normally watch?” He looks at me and then purses his lips. “Let me guess. Historical documentaries.”

I chuckle. “I do enjoy those. I’m a fan of the nature ones as well.”

“Ugh, okay, but like, do you ever watch fictional stuff?”

“At times.”

He eyes me and then snuggles a little deeper into the couch, his feet brushing my legs as he does so. His toenails are painted the same green as his fingers. He has cute feet, I think.

Everything about him is cute.

A man has never been cute to me until him.

“Okay, how about something really fun. Like horror.”

I run my hands down my thighs, trying to be a man. I fucking hate horror films. They scare the shit out of me.

“Sure. I love horror,” I lie.

“Yeah? Oh good. You’ll love this one—about shat my pants when I watched it the first time.”

“I can’t wait,” I lie again and then sink down further into the sofa cushions as he presses Play.

God help us all.

CHAPTER THREE

ARASCHD

Sometime during the first fifteen minutes of this horror film, Alastair slid over to me and hasn’t moved away.

His head is tucked beneath a pillow and my arm, and anytime there’s a suspenseful moment, he jumps.

“You okay?” I ask.

Alastair just nods, clearing his throat and sitting upright, only to slouch into me a moment later.

I have a very good, sneaking suspicion that he isn’t a fan of horror movies.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“Want me to turn it off?”

“No. I’m loving it,” he rasps, and I chuckle a bit.

“Would it help if you sat in my lap?” I tease, and he glowers at me.

“I’m perfectly fine.”

He says it so snootily that I only grin a bit wider. “Alright, big man. Whatever you say.”

He continues to crowd me, and by the time we reach the halfway point, he’s practically on top of me.

I mean, I’m not complaining. I like the way he smells, feels.

This straight man is doing things to my heart. To my dick.

I rub at his back, feeling the warm heat of his skin through his shirt, his muscles flexing and bunching beneath my palm.

“Let me turn it off,” I say softly. “You’re obviously scared.”

He grunts and presses into me further. “I’m not scared.”

I snort a laugh and turn it off anyways, the silence in the room almost deafening. The only thing I can hear is my heartbeat and the sound of our breathing. He hasn’t moved yet, just continues to press against me, his face in the crook of my neck.

“Poor baby,” I croon, and he scoffs, sitting up slightly, his face hovering over mine.

A piece of his nicely combed hair falls over his forehead, and I reach up and brush it away.

His eyelashes flutter behind his glasses, and his tongue pokes out of his mouth, wetting his lips.

His eyes flash down to my own lips, and I stop breathing for a few seconds, wondering what the fuck is going on.

Nothing’s going on.

Nothing.

He clears his throat and sits up, shifting away from me slightly and running a hand across his jaw.

“I should get going.”

I nod, sitting up as well and willing my erection to go down. It’s not my fault. This gorgeous man was all up in my business.

“Sure.” I watch as he grabs his phone and moves toward the door, running a hand through his hair. I follow a few steps behind him.

“This was nice. A really nice night.” He clears his throat as his eyes slide across my face. “Thanks for the invite.”

“Of course. Anytime.”

He nods and then opens the door, lifting a hand in a short wave and then disappearing down the stairs.

I watch him go and sigh.

Well, that took a surprising turn. And one I shouldn’t get excited about. The only reason he ended up on top of me was his fear of horror movies. Something he didn’t disclose to me before I turned it on, which I found adorable. So determined to be brave.

I huff a small laugh and then close myself back inside my apartment, pressing my back against the door. My eyes land on his jacket draped across my chair, and I smile.

“Lucky. Me.”

* * *

“Hi, I’m Ara. I’m here to see Alastair,” I say, feeling ridiculous in my blue jean jumper and knit sweater. My hair is in disarray due to sleeping in a little too long this morning. I didn’t have time to tame it.

The woman behind the desk must glue her hair to her head because it doesn’t shift an inch when she grabs the phone and speaks into it.

“He’s in a meeting but will be with you shortly.”

I sit down on a hard, squeaky leather chair in the lobby of the fancy office building, Alastair’s suit jacket lying on my lap as I wait.

And wait.

It’s nearly an hour before he makes an appearance, looking slightly frustrated, and I wonder if perhaps I shouldn’t have come. But we don’t have each other’s numbers, so I had to literally stalk him to find him. And stalk him I did. All the way across town.

“Ara,” he says, running a hand down his chest, straightening his tie in the process. “I’m sorry that took so long.”

He looks delectable in a dark grey suit. His eyes meet mine behind his glasses, and I wave him off.

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have just shown up, but you forgot this. And it looks expensive.”

He nods and takes it from my hand. “It is. Thank you.”

I shift on my feet, feeling dumber and dumber for actually showing up now. My eyes sting, and I wave my hand around my face.

“God. I shouldn’t have just shown up. I should go.”

He nods, and then when I turn to leave, he grabs onto my arm gently, stopping me.

“Actually, want to go grab a bite to eat? It is lunchtime.”

I nod and watch as his lips twitch.

“My treat, of course.”

“Of course,” I say, feeling my heart rate increase. He doesn’t want me to leave. He wants me to stay. Fuck, this man is doing things to my insides. I’m all fluttery and jittery.

“I need to wrap something up in my office before I go. Come on.”

He presses a hand to the small of my back and leads me down the hallway toward a large office. As soon I step inside, I gasp.

“Oh my god, this is gorgeous,” I say, taking in the view of the city from the full-paned windows. “You must be like a partner or something, right?”

He nods, blushing slightly. “Yes. I am.”

“Oh god, and there you were watching me bang a tambourine in a library,” I say with a snort. “Jesus, what must you think of me.”

“I think very highly of you, actually.”

His words stop me, and I blink at him. “Really?”

He clears his throat. “Yes, really.”

He doesn’t make eye contact after that. Just sits down at his desk, his gaze turned toward the computer in front of him. He spends a few minutes clicking away while I peruse his office, my eyes tracking the different kinds of books on his shelves and a few awards too. A short time later, he turns the screen off and motions for me to follow him.

“There’s a nice tapas bar just down the road. We can walk there.”

“Perfect. I love tapas.”

“I think you love all food.”

I grin at him. “I do.”

We make our way out of the office and into the tapas bar, where we proceed to gorge ourselves with food. The entire time, we chat about silly things, and I find that I like making him laugh. It seems like it’s a rare thing, and I treasure each grin.

When it’s time to head back, Alastair almost looks reluctant to let me go.

“Would you like to spend the evening with me, at my place?”

I nod before even thinking twice about it. “I’d love to.”

“I can give you the code to my place. When you’re there, feel free to look around. I have to finish up here, and then I can meet you?”

I nod, feeling much too comfortable with spending time in his place alone. But then again, that means I can snoop. And I do love a good snoop. Plus, it’s not like I can drive home and then come back later. That would be hours spent in traffic. It’s better to just hang around here until he’s off work.

He gives me directions to his place, a loft in a ritzy place downtown. He even called the security guard to let him know that I’ll be arriving. I mean, I knew Alastair was fancy—look at his name, for fuck’s sake—but when I arrive at his luxury complex, I nearly choke on my water.

Jesus. This is nice. Alastair is seriously rich.

The security guard glances at my ID and then shows me to the elevator, scanning a key card and pressing the button for floor 25.

And then up I go.

The elevator stops just inside his loft, and when the doors open and I walk in, I just stand there for a good twenty minutes, taking it all in. Light wood floors, full-paned windows overlooking the city, marble counters, and custom cabinets. Everything looks so expensive.

Even the snail enclosure is nice. Rent for those fuckers costs more than my apartment, I guarantee it.

I don’t even want to breathe, let alone snoop. What if I break something? What the fuck would I do then? I couldn’t afford to replace anything in here. It would cost a year’s salary.

Finally, I manage to move, setting my bag down on the floor near the door and toeing off my shoes. I move around the space carefully, tracing my hand over the sleek marble counters and up the railing leading to the second floor. It’s here that I find his bedroom and bathroom. I spend a little too long smelling the shirts in his closet and the soap in his bathroom.

If he has cameras here and sees me doing this, he will be assuredly creeped out. Doesn’t stop me though. I am so fucking intrigued.

How did CUPID manage to set me up with this guy? We don’t fit—we couldn’t be more different if we tried, and yet here I am. My third time out with this guy.

And he’s not even gay.

I sigh and freeze when I hear the door open below me. I peek my head down the stairs and see Alastair stride inside. He pulls his jacket off just as he looks up at me, a grin breaking out on his face.

“I see you snooped as much as you could.”

I roll my eyes as I make my way down to him. “I mean, what did you expect?”

He chuckles and undoes his tie and the top button of his shirt. I stare a little too long at the exposed skin there.

I have to remember this man is straight.

That nothing is going to happen between us. We are just friends.

“Did you want a drink? We could sit on the balcony and just chill.”

“A balcony? I didn’t find that during my long snoop,” I say and follow him into the kitchen, watching his ass flex as he reaches for two glasses and a few bottles of alcohol.

“Yeah, a balcony. Sometimes I like to go out there and just watch the sun set.”

“Fuck yeah,” I say, pulling out a stool and perching on it as he makes me a drink. Doesn’t even ask what I want, just decides for me. And for some reason, this is too damn sexy for me at the moment.

I usually don’t like my men to make decisions for me, but with Alastair, I don’t mind it.

“Here, let me know what you think.”

He hands me my drink, our fingers brushing as I take it from him. He lets out a shaky breath and grabs his own. We sip it simultaneously, and I let out a low moan.

“God, is everything you touch amazing? Because this is the best damn drink I’ve had in a long time.”

He beams at me. “It’s my specialty.”

“Apparently so.”

He smiles at me and then gestures toward a door on the far right. “Let’s go outside.”

We walk onto the balcony, and I breathe in the cool evening air around us.

“Well, this is gorgeous.” I take in the city below me, the potted plants on the edge of the spacious balcony making it seem more private than it is. I glance to my right and see that there is a hot tub in the corner.

Shit. I love a good soak.

Alastair settles into a chair, and I gesture toward the hot tub.

“You go in there often? I mean, I can’t really picture it.”

He smiles, sipping on his drink. “I do. Sometimes. When the day is really long.”

I take another sip of my drink and then sigh. “Let’s go in now. It’s been a long-ass week.”

His eyebrows rise. “But you don’t have a suit.”

“Who needs a suit?”

His cheeks flush, and I shrug. “If it makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to.”

“No.” He clears his throat. “No, let’s do it. We’re adults. We can behave.”

I beam at him and then tell him to close his eyes as I undress, my drink settled on the table. I strip down until I’m completely naked and then slide into the steaming hot tub, sighing. Bubbles float around me, and I lean back, grabbing my drink off the table, my eyes catching on Alastair’s. His gaze is hooded, his cheeks flushed as his fingers fiddle with his drink.

“Your turn.”

I close my eyes, sipping on my drink while I wait. I can hear him undress and then the splash of water as he enters. It’s only when he tells me to that I open my eyes. They immediately slash down to his exposed chest. I gulp.

Okay, this was a bad idea. A very terrible idea. Because now my dick is hard, and my thoughts are not friendly. Because he has a very nice, manly chest. One with hair on it.

I want to run my fingers through it and grind myself on his lap.

I gulp some more of my drink, trying to keep my thoughts in check. He’s straight. He’s not interested in me.

We are friends.

This is a friendly naked night in a hot tub.

“So now that we’re naked, I have a question. Do you have tattoos?” I ask, trying to change the subject, only to realize that this was a dumb thing to ask because now I’m thinking about all of his body parts.

“No. Do you?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

He takes a sip of his drink, spreading one of his arms out behind him.

“Want to show me?”

“Pfft. No. It’s near my dick.”

He rolls his lips between his teeth. “That’s okay. Show me.”

I shake my head and gulp down the rest of my drink, pulling an ice cube into my mouth and chomping down on it. “I can’t.”

Listen. It’s not a lie. I can’t stand up because then he’d see my hard dick, and I can’t explain that away.

“Why not?”

I shrug, pretending to play it cool when my cock is throbbing. “Just can’t right now.”

I know my cheeks are red, and I hope that I can explain my blush away as because of the steam.

He sips on his drink and then glances away from me, his eyes on the horizon.

“I haven’t had anyone over in a really long time.”

I eye him. “Why not?”

“My job. It’s taxing. I work long hours.”

“What about family?”

He shrugs. “They live in the Midwest now. I only see them during the holidays.”

I wonder for a moment how lonely he must be. Working all those hours and coming home to an empty place. I mean, I do too, but I have friends and family nearby.

“Well, I’m glad I’m here, then.”

His eyes swivel to mine. “Me too.”

We smile at each other, and then when I decide that my dick has calmed down enough, I stand up, cupping my junk in my hands and pulling my leg to the side.

Alastair stares at the large tattoo, which is inked from mid-thigh up to my groin.

“What’s the significance?” he asks, leaning a little closer.

Well, shit. He’s a little too close now. My dick twitches in my hands, and I give it a good mental slap.

You will not get hard and scare this straight man away. Just because he’s breathing a little too close to your bare skin at the moment.

“The head is a Greco-Roman one I saw when I traveled to Italy, and the lines are from my favorite novel.”

He nods at my explanation, his finger reaching out and tracing a line across the ink. I let out a shaky breath before falling into the water with a splash.

“You okay?” he asks, and I breathe shakily.

“I’m fine.”

He watches me for a moment and then cocks his head. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” I laugh softly. “You’ve done nothing wrong but match with me on CUPID.”

He chuckles at that and sits back, once more stretching out and sipping at his drink.

“Still don’t know how that happened.”

“Me either. But maybe it knew we both needed a friend.”

His eyes slash to mine. “Yeah, friends.”

I smile at him, and then we continue our conversation about work, our families, and our most recent dating disasters. That one has me in stitches.

“Are you serious? She tried to leave with all of your silverware?”

“Yeah, and a few pots and pans.”

I gasp for air, imagining a woman tiptoeing out with a bag full of rattling forks.

“You must have some nice utensils.”

“They’re just generic.”

I press a hand to my chest, trying to breathe. “I’ll have to see these for myself.”

He shrugs and then stands up, exposing his ass to me, and I go completely quiet.

“Let me grab a towel.”

He says it like it’s no big deal, just walking away, completely naked. Doesn’t even ask me to close my eyes. So I don’t—I eat him up, that muscular ass, that strong back, until he’s out of sight. He returns a moment later with a towel around his waist, handing me one.

I don’t ask him to turn around either, just stand up and move out of the hot tub. His eyes are on me, curious more than anything, so I let him look. Thankfully, the towel in my hands hides my erection, which I wrangle into place as I wrap the towel around my waist.

“Okay, show me that silverware,” I say as he leads me into the kitchen and pulls open a drawer.

I peek inside, trying to focus on the silverware but really only able to focus on the fact that Alastair is right there.

I turn to look at him, about to make a snarky comment about how plain his forks and spoons are, when his hand moves up to my face, rubbing across my smooth skin.

I lose the ability to breathe as he swallows roughly and then lowers his mouth to mine.

It’s a short, soft kiss, but I will remember it until the end of time.

He pulls away after a minute, and his eyelids flutter.

“What was that?” I whisper, and he shakes his head, his eyes falling to my mouth once more, and then he kisses me again.

I’m shocked at this entire thing. It’s so totally unexpected that I just stand there immobile, not quite sure what to do, but when he tilts his head, his hand grabbing onto my chin and arching me just the way he wants, I moan into his mouth and clutch onto his head. His tongue sneaks into my mouth, and I gasp, letting my own slide against his.

He lets out a rumbling groan, and I feel my entire body light on fire. For fuck’s sake. This is all kinds of right.

I want more. Need more.

He shifts closer, his hand moving down my side to my ass, and he grabs onto it, squeezing gently. I press into him, my cock hard and throbbing. He must feel it. He has to. I’m not able to hide it beneath this towel.

He moans again, our tongues tangling, our groans bouncing off the tiles in the kitchen.

When he finally pulls away, the entire room swims, probably from a lack of oxygen.

His eyes are settled on my swollen lips before they move up to my eyes.

“I—”

“You don’t have to explain. It can just be this and nothing else.”

I don’t want him to stop whatever that was, whatever it could progress to be, but I also don’t want to pressure him into something if he’s not ready.

He lets out a shaky breath, and then he’s on me again, pressing me up against the counter and sealing his lips against mine. I open for him, our hands sliding against our bare skin. And when he lifts me onto the counter, my legs wrap around his waist, my ankles linking behind his back.

His lips move down my neck, his beard scratching at my skin. Fuck, he feels good. This man who said he was straight last week is now making out with me. In his kitchen. In nothing but a towel. This is wrong in the most right way.

“Oh god, Alastair,” I groan when he pulls me against him, and my cock slides against his abdomen.

He moans at that and then bites down on my ear. “You drive me crazy. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

I let those words settle inside of me and hold on for dear life when he picks me up and brings me to the couch, setting me down and then crawling on top of me. He’s between my legs now, his mouth seeking mine once more, and I just let him in, let him kiss his way across my lips, biting, sucking, licking until I’m close to coming just like this.

I’ve never been more turned on in my life.

We grind against each other, both of our towels open and exposing our cocks. I can feel the hard length of him slide against me, and I arch into each forward thrust.

Almost like he’s fucking into me.

“I could come just like this. Tell me to stop,” I say, not wanting to freak him out.

He groans but doesn’t stop. He’s almost frantic with need now, his body writhing against mine. The friction, the sounds, the smell of him push me over the edge. I explode across my stomach with a cry, and he grunts, following me over a minute later.

Then it’s quiet, Alastair just staring at the mess he made and me staring at him.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, and I feel my heart sink.

“A good fuck or a bad one?” I ask, feeling suddenly nervous.

He swallows and shakes his head. “I—I don’t know. Good, I think.”

I sigh and then push at him, needing to leave. I don’t want to be here when he has the realization that this was a mistake. It’s best to cut my losses and let it be. It’s only fair. I don’t want him to be pressured into doing something he doesn’t want to do.

That something being me.

“Wait, where are you going?” he asks as I cup the mess we made on my abdomen and walk quickly to the kitchen, grabbing a napkin and wiping myself up.

I sigh. “I figured I’d go home.”

He frowns, adjusting his glasses on his face. “Is that what you want? To fuck and run?”

He seems angry, and I feel my cheeks heat at the possible misunderstanding.

“I figured that’s what you’d want. To have a freak-out in private. It’s your first time with a man. I don’t want to be here when you come to the realization that you don’t want me.”

He runs a hand over his beard and then shakes his head with a lost look in his eyes. “Yeah. You’re right. Maybe it’s for the best.”

I nod and find my clothes, pulling them on with stinging eyes. When I’m fully clothed, about to make my way out the door, he stops me with a hand to my arm.

“I had a good time tonight. Really. I did.”

“Me too.”

His hand squeezes me gently. “Will I see you again?”

“Maybe when you come to return the book about snails.”

His lips twitch, and his eyes fall to my mouth. But he doesn’t kiss me this time. Just opens the door for me and watches me walk away.

CHAPTER FOUR

ALASTAIR

Well, fuck me. That was hot. Hotter than I expected it to be. And now it’s all I can think about. Three days have passed, and we’ve managed a few friendly texts, but all I can think about is his mouth, his body, his cock.

I love how smooth he is, his soft, plush lips. He mentioned how he was trying to grow a beard unsuccessfully. I don’t want him to do that. I love the way he is. Exactly how he is.

I like how he makes me feel, how he listens to me intently and makes me laugh.

I like everything about him. The fact that he’s a man makes no difference to me. Which should be surprising to me because I’ve never been into men. But it’s not. For some reason, Ara makes sense. He fits me perfectly.

He also fit perfectly underneath me as well.

I wonder how he’d fit on top of me…

I pull up our conversation from earlier and lean back in my chair. My cock is half-hard in my pants just from thinking about him, and I decide to do something about it. I know he left early that night because he thought I was freaking out. And I did, for a minute, before jacking off at just the thought of him.

Then I felt stupid for sending him away when he could have been with me. When we could have recreated the couch scene over and over.

Fuck. I’m not making that mistake again. I’ve learned my lesson.

I send Ara a text and then put my phone down, hoping he answers before I leave work tonight. I don’t want to go another day without seeing him. I stand up, adjusting myself to hide my erection. I button my suit jacket, making my way out of my office to a meeting. Damn things. They’re never-ending. But it will keep me occupied so I don’t sit here thinking about whether or not Ara is going to accept my invitation.

My very desperate invite.

I slog through the meeting, doing my best to stay focused when my mind is solely on one person. And when I arrive back at my phone hours later, I see that he’s responded. A smile lights up my face.

Fuck yes.

He’s giving me another chance.

* * *

I’m not as nervous as I should be.

More excited than anything.

I take the steps to his apartment two at a time, the food clutched tightly in my hands. Thai food, something exotic. Something that Ara would like. He’s so fucking fun.

“Hey there,” he says when he opens the door for me. He’s wearing loose lounge pants and a tight shirt. It accentuates all of his lean muscles, showing off his body in the most delicious way.

I swallow roughly. “Hi.”

His eyes slide over mine, a piece of his curly hair falling over his forehead. He pushes it back, and my gaze drops to his lips. Those lips that I’ve kissed. Male lips. Soft lips.

Shit.

“I guess since you brought me food, you should come in,” he teases.

“I should,” I say, and he smiles at me, stepping out of the way.

I set the food on the counter and fiddle with the bag. I don’t even want to eat anymore. I just want to press my mouth to his, to push myself against his body and arch into him.

“Need help with that bag?” he asks, moving up closer to me.

He smells floral, wild. My dick perks up even more, and I let out a shaky breath.

Fuck.

His hand brushes against mine, and I snap. I’ve been holding back for days, and I feel like I’m combusting.

I grab onto his wrist and push him against the counter, my hips pressed into his.

“Oh fuck,” he murmurs when my hand slides into his hair, tilting his head back just enough for me to have access to it.

“I want you.”

“Have me,” he breathes.

I slam my mouth onto his, our bodies rocking into one another as we seek to satiate the need within us.

As my tongue slides into his mouth, I groan at how good he tastes. Like honey, like sugar. My hand tightens in his hair, and my other hand slides down to his ass, pulling him further into me. Needing the friction of his body against mine.

He pants and whines, his fingers clutching at my shirt, almost like he needs me to hold himself up. My mouth slides off of his and across his smooth jaw and to his neck, wanting to taste more of him. Need it. Need it. My teeth nip and bite at his exposed skin, and he groans.

“Fuck, Alastair. I thought this was going to be just dinner.”

“Want me to stop?” I ask, licking my way to his ear and pulling the lobe between my teeth.

He shakes his head and grinds up into me.

“No. Never stop.”

So I don’t. We stand there in the kitchen kissing, slowly working ourselves toward orgasm until we finally pull away. Our chests heave, our bodies warm and shaking.

My eyes meet his bright green ones, and I let out a trembling breath.

“I want more.”

He swallows and nods. “I do too.”

“But I don’t know how.”

He nods again, licking his lips. “I can show you.”

He grabs onto my hand and leads me toward the bed. We stop beside it, and his hands smooth across my chest, pushing my jacket onto the ground before those nimble fingers work my shirt open. My heart is thundering in my chest, unable to believe that this is happening. I’m sure he can feel it pounding against my sternum.

“Do you want this?” he asks as he pushes my shirt down my arms and then presses his lips to my chest, dragging his mouth and teeth across my overheated skin.

“Yes.”

His eyes peek up at me. “Tell me you want me.”

I thread my fingers through his hair. “I want you, Ara.”

He groans as he steps away, pulling his shirt over his head and shucking his pants off in one swift movement, leaving him completely bare to me.

My eyes swivel down to his cock, and I feel my entire body tingle with appreciation. He’s so beautiful, so perfect. I reach a finger out and slide it up his hard length. His eyelids flutter closed, and I cup him in my hands, squeezing him gently.

So different and yet so familiar.

But then again, everything with Ara has been enlightening and yet so damn easy.

“Fuck me. Please,” he whispers, and I nod, unzipping my slacks and pushing them down my legs. I’m suddenly so fucking nervous that my hands start to tremble.

But then Ara kisses me again and grinds up against me, our naked bodies pressing against one another, and I forget it all, the fact that I’ve never done this, that I might fuck it up.

We fall onto the bed, and I feel every inch of him, warm, soft, mine.

“Oh god,” he moans when I start to arch up into him, my hips canting back and forth, like I’m fucking into him. “Please. Please.”

I love how he begs, love the sounds he’s making. It’s addicting.

His fingers crawl toward the end table near the bed, and he grabs onto a condom and some lube. I feel my skin heat even more when I see these things. I’m actually doing this. A week ago, I was sure I only wanted women, and yet here I am with the most beautiful man. About to fuck him. About to slide my cock into his hole.

Shit.

I sit up on my knees and watch as he pulls his legs up to his chest and slides a wet finger into his ass. My breathing is stilted as I watch that hole swallow him up, one finger, two, until he’s three fingers deep and groaning.

My fingers tremble as I open the condom and roll it onto me, wanting to be ready, wanting so badly to enter him.

“Please,” he says as his fingers slip from his opening, leaving it gaping wide for me. I stare down at it and press my finger to it. He gasps when I push my finger inside of him, feeling the warm heat of him enveloping me.

“God, Alastair.” He opens his legs even further, and I remove my finger from him, slotting my cock at his hole.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” I say, and he shakes his head, his chest heaving.

“Never too much. I can take it.”

I push into him slowly, watching as my cock slides into his hole, one inch at a time, until he’s completely engulfed me. I’m balls-deep in a man, and I can’t breathe.

It feels too good, too hot, too tight. I’m not going to last.

I fall onto my elbows, my arms bracketing him, and kiss him deeply. His legs wind around my back as I shift my hips slightly and then press back in. He moans wantonly as I slowly fuck into him, our lips never leaving the other’s until I’m coming inside of him. My face presses into his neck as I unload into the condom.

It was too fast, too much, and too good. I couldn’t hold back, couldn’t stop myself.

When I glance down at him, he smiles softly up at me.

“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat. “It was too fast.”

“No. It was perfect.”

I feel his hard cock pressed up against my abdomen, and I close my eyes, feeling embarrassed.

“It’s okay, Alistair. Please don’t worry,” he says, his hand touching my cheek. “It was your first time with a man, and it was perfect. In fact,” he says jokingly, trying to lighten the mood a little, “I take it as a compliment. I was so good that I completely blew your mind. How about when you get hard again, I ride you. Use you how I want.”

I let out a low huff of laughter.

“Yeah, okay. Sounds fair.”

I pull out of him and toss the condom into the trash before moving back to his side and kissing him deeply. We make out like that for what feels like hours until he’s back on top of me, my cock buried deep within him as he rides me.

My hands are clutching onto his hips as he pounds down on my sensitive cock. Fuck, I need to hold out, need to make sure he comes this time.

I close my eyes to shut out the vision of him because he’s too damn much to look at. The way his hair falls around his face, the blush on his cheeks, the fine sheen of sweat on his body that almost makes him glow. But closing my eyes doesn’t help because I can hear him more clearly this way. The pants and groans, the squelch of our bodies as he slams down onto me.

My eyes pop open, and I watch as his head tilts back, his cock bouncing between us. I grab onto it and work it in time with each thrust.

He cries out, his cum spurting across my chest, and I finally give in. I come for the second time tonight, my cock twitching against his clenching hole.

Ara falls onto me, panting heavily as he tries to catch his breath.

“Fuck. Yes. That…that was amazing.”

My hand slides up his sweaty back, bumping along the ridges of his spine.

“Was that good for you?” he asks, leaning up to look down at me.

I nod. “Hell yeah.”

He rolls over onto his back, and our faces turn toward one another. He’s so beautiful, all that curly hair with his pink, pouty lips.

“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, and he blushes.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

I smile widely at him and then pull him into a gentle kiss.

CHAPTER FIVE

ARASCHD

Well, that was unexpected, but in the best way. I was honestly just expecting to eat dinner and watch a movie. The fucking was a wonderful surprise. The two fucks. God, my hole is sore in the best way.

I stare at Alastair as we sit on the couch, each with a box of noodles in our laps, eating them slowly. We worked up an appetite. And to be honest, even though I’m sore, I could go again.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.

“Your shirt is off, and you’re hot,” I say around a mouthful of food.

He blushes, and I nudge him with my knee.

“You are. I can’t stop looking at you.”

His eyes trace across my face and then drop to my exposed chest. I try and suck in my stomach but realize that I have a food baby at the moment, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

But he seems to like what he sees because he adjusts himself in his unzipped pants. God. I love him all put together, but sitting here all messy and wrinkled is a good look too.

“So where do we go from here?” he asks.

I shrug as I shovel more food into my mouth. My heart thunders in my chest because I know we just met, but I like him. A lot. “Where do you want it to go?”

He looks away from me and adjusts his glasses. “I’d like to keep seeing you.”

I grin and then nod. “Same.”

His eyes meet mine, and his lips twitch. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He chuckles and then leans forward, kissing me softly. “Good. Does this mean we’re like…boyfriends?”

“If you want a label,” I say, feeling my heart flipping. I love labels. Fucking love them. Even have a label maker in my desk drawer for funzies.

“I want the label.”

“But you’re not gay.”

He shrugs. “Apparently, I’m something. I’m not going to put a name to this thing between us. All I know is I want you.”

I smile at that because that works for me.

I shift on my seat and then wipe my mouth. “And you’re okay with people knowing about me?”

“I’d be proud for them to know about you. You’re a prize, Ara.”

I blush at that, but then again, those could just be words. I honestly don’t quite believe them until his actions are tested later that week. I show up at his work as a surprise, lunch in my hands because I miss him. The receptionist looks at me as I give her my name and tell her who I’m here to see.

I don’t say that Alastair’s my boyfriend because I don’t want to out him in his place of work, but I was worried for nothing because as soon as Alastair appears in the lobby, he pulls me in for a short kiss. Right on the lips.

The receptionist gapes slightly at us, and I feel myself blush.

Alastair isn’t even bothered. He just pulls me into his side and looks at the woman behind the desk. “Beth, this is my boyfriend, Ara.”

Beth waves at me with a smile on her face, and I bury my own in Alastair’s jacket. I’m suddenly feeling shy and underdressed. If I’d known he’d tell everyone I was his boyfriend, I’d have put on something nicer. First impressions and all that.

But Alastair doesn’t seem concerned with it, just walks me back to his office, introducing me to a few people who are mingling in the hallway. And each time we pass someone new, he tells them that I’m his boyfriend.

I think he surprises them all with his proclamation.

I’m in that boat too. I’m so fucking surprised.

“How is it so easy for you?” I ask when we settle down in his office, the door closed behind us. I hand him his sandwich, and he shrugs.

“You mean telling everyone that you’re my boyfriend?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know. I guess I don’t much care what people think of me.”

I laugh at that and then nod, taking a large bite of my sandwich. “I can see that.”

He chuckles lowly and then hooks his ankle with mine as we work our way through lunch.

“And you know, they’re all secretly wondering how I managed to get someone like you.”

“You think so?” I ask, feeling almost giddy.

“Yeah, you’re way out of my league.”

I snort at that as I clean up the mess from lunch and then sit on his desk, spreading my legs and holding out my arms.

“Come here and kiss me, Alastair.”

And he does. He kisses me long and hard. I’m so glad that CUPID put us together. Perhaps that app knows what it’s doing after all.

I’ve never been so damn happy.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CORA ROSE

Cora Rose loves any kind of romance and consumes way too many books each year. She currently lives in the U.S. and spends her days daydreaming about the characters inside her head.

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MIXED SIGNALS

E.M. LINDSEY

CHAPTER ONE

“Put your trust in Cupid and click here to sign up,” Piper read slowly off Phoenix’s phone screen. “And that’s it?”

“It also says something about romantic destiny,” he answered. Glancing up at his brother’s frown, Nix fought back a sigh as he tapped a pattern on his leg in a self-soothing stim. “You’re the one who convinced me to sign up on this app.”

“Yeah,” Piper said. He dropped down into the chair, the feet making an uncomfortable squealing noise on the old linoleum floor. “I just thought it would be more…I don’t know, complex than click a button and boom, here’s your soulmate.”

“There is more to it. I had to fill out this form that I swear was never going to end, and then I had to choose between chatting and blind dates.” And then, yeah, it was a bit like boom, here’s your soulmate. But Nix didn’t feel like saying his brother was right.

He stretched his arms over his head, then took a breath and grimaced at the weird smell of old chemicals and mildew. The breakroom desperately needed updating, but Nix knew any free funds in the center’s budget would go to the eye-sore commercial space crap that Ellis Husk was trying to promote. Nix had long since stopped trying to petition for better accommodations for the employees and was just grateful the tiny room had air conditioning.

Besides, his afternoons consisted of driving a tour bus between complexes and dropping random info about space travel in the 1960s, so he didn’t have to put up with the nastier parts of the space center. And, if he was being honest with himself, it was probably the best gig Nix would ever get.

Although most people didn’t realize he was Autistic, they still thought he was too “weird” for customer service at most jobs. He’d never been great at masking, and as hard as he tried not to info dump on total strangers, he failed most days.

He’d been working for below minimum wage while Piper was up at the space station, and when he came back to see that Nix was living in an apartment with no running water, he snapped into action. He pulled some strings and made sure Nix could both pay his rent and put food in his belly every month.

It had been a while since Nix worried about hunger pangs and keeping the utilities on, but with that stress off the table, he was feeling something else. Something a little like loneliness. And Piper had noticed, which was why Nix was now staring at his phone wondering for the fifteenth time that day if signing up for this soul mate Cupid app thing was the worst idea ever.

“It just seems like a weird way to spend the holiday,” Piper started but stopped when Nix rolled his eyes.

“I don’t even care about Valentine’s Day. You know it’s a made-up holiday, right? Chaucer…”

“I know,” Piper interrupted, not cruelly but making it clear he’d heard this story about a thousand times. “But your last date was a goddamn disaster because people are assholes, and I’m tired of watching you get hurt.”

Nix stared down at his phone screen and the choice he was being asked to make. Heart2Heart had matched him with someone, and now he needed to decide whether he was going to go into it sight unseen or if he was going to take the leap and talk to the guy first.

“What’s that look on your face?” Piper asked.

He’d helped Nix fill out his profile and answer all the questions. He was good about pointing out things about Nix that even he wasn’t aware of. Like how he needed a partner that understood and appreciated people for their differences, not in spite of them. And had a sense of humor.

And a love for Xena: Warrior Princess.

Oh, and someone who would never, ever say Batman was better than Superman. Especially in the newer, queerer comics that finally allowed Nix to feel seen…and a little bit special.

He drummed the fingers on his right hand against the table, the other flexing on his thigh. He hummed under his breath until the tic passed, then cracked his neck and winced at how sore it was. “I have to put in my choice about chatting first or a blind date.”

“Second option,” Piper said, then shoved a whole Oreo into his mouth.

Nix pulled a face. “Those are bad for you. And do you really think it’s a good idea to just…spring me on someone?”

“I think talking to people lets them jump to conclusions about who you are,” Piper pointed out. “You tell people you’re Autistic and they think you…”

“I know what they think,” Nix interrupted. His brother didn’t really seem to get how much it hurt for Nix to hear that crap out loud. They thought he was strange, and that he’d have a meltdown in public. They thought he’d make a scene if something didn’t go his way.

They thought he’d be socially embarrassing.

Nix sighed and hated that every now and again it was true. He’d been lucky enough that he’d only had a couple public meltdowns. The worst one had been during a pep assembly during his freshman year in high school. It had already been a bad day, and when his teacher refused to let him go to the library and skip all the noise, he’d lost it. He’d been entirely overwhelmed, and he hadn’t even realized he was melting down until the resource officer was dragging him from the gym.

He’d gotten a detention and eventually, a diagnosis.

But things hadn’t gotten better for him after it was official and on paper. It just made him more of a freak, and his dating life had always suffered.

Now he was a twenty-six-year-old virgin hoping he could score a date for Valentine’s weekend from an app that promised even people like him could find their soulmate.

“Why are you freaking out about this?” Piper asked, forcing Nix out of his thought spiral.

“I just don’t know that this is going to work. I don’t trust algorithms,” he said.

“Really? You’re gonna knock science and statistics here? Right to my face?” Piper demanded.

Nix rolled his eyes. “I’m sure the app is right, but it relies on people being both honest and accurate.” He hummed and fought back the urge to start rocking a little. God, he needed a nap. “If it wasn’t for you, half my info would have been missing. How’s the app going to find me the right person if it doesn’t have all the right info? And who’s to say people aren’t lying on every question?”

“There’s no way to guarantee that, but it’s not like you’re obligated to marry the guy, right? You can start over if it’s terrible.”

Nix wasn’t sure he wanted to be subjected to something like that over and over. He was pretty sure he’d rather be alone, but Piper seemed bound and determined to get him married off like some old Victorian spinster. Especially after Piper’s last physical exam had shown just how much of a toll his time in space had taken on his health.

He was acting like he had one foot in the grave and couldn’t let go until he was sure Nix had met his happily ever after.

“I’m gonna choose blind date,” Nix finally said.

Piper grinned. “I don’t think you’ll regret it.”

Nix wasn’t so sure, but he hit the button anyway, and his stomach swooped when he got an almost immediate message back.

H2H Cupid: Thank you for using Heart2Heart. We will be in contact within the next 24 hours with the time, date, and location of your meeting. Here’s to soulmates and happily ever afters.

* * *

Name: Jasper Fletcher

Age: 27

Occupation: Sports Reporter

Likes: Star Wars, sea salt caramels, East Coast beaches

Dislikes: Someone who lacks a sense of humor

Nix drummed his fingers on the table as he stared at the bio. This was his soulmate. Or at least the app said he was. The background of the website was decorated with faint little hearts and cupids, and he couldn’t help but wonder for the thousandth time if he was making a huge mistake by listening to his brother.

Nix wasn’t exactly the most trusting guy in the world, considering how the rest of the world had treated him when he was growing up. He hadn’t even really been given the chance to show he could be a good partner because no one had been willing to give him a chance.

Objectively, he was a good-looking guy with rich, thick curls, olive skin, and honey-brown eyes. He worked out because it helped keep his mind from going off on random tangents, so he was lean and had at least a four-pack of abs, which men seemed to enjoy.

He didn’t have trouble getting dates.

He just had trouble keeping them. Which was why he was a blushing virgin at his age.

And this app was supposed to solve all that.

“Jasper,” he said aloud, trying the name on his tongue.

He’d never met a Jasper before, but he sounded like a romance novel villain, which didn’t bode well. Sitting back, he cracked his neck a few times until the muscles in his upper back relaxed.

When the microwave dinged, he pulled his little frozen-dinner tray off the glass disk and onto the counter. Nix’s sensory processing disorder made eating more a chore than a pleasure, but in the privacy of his home, he could eat whatever the fuck he wanted without judgment.

But food stuff was one more thing he was going to have to face when it came to this supposed soulmate. In theory, anyone who was perfect for him wouldn’t mind, but Nix had never met anyone who hadn’t made it their mission to comment on his inability to just eat whatever was in front of him.

“Tell me I’m not crazy,” Nix said to his little white cat with orange ears. Bucky stared back at him with a look of disdain, and Nix sighed. “I should have just invited him to come over here and meet you. You’d tell me if he was a giant douche, right?”

Mrow.

Nix picked off the corner of his breaded fish, blew on it, then offered it to the cat. “I mean, really, what kind of name is Jasper?”

His phone buzzed again, and he jumped in his chair before pulling it close.

H2H Cupid: When: Saturday, February 12. Time: 7:00 p.m. Place: Food Truck Winter Festival. Location: Marge’s Frozen Lemonade

Nix felt a pulse of anxiety rise in his chest like a heavy rock he couldn’t breathe around. He didn’t do festivals or carnivals or any of that stuff. That wasn’t his thing. It was loud, and chaotic, and there were people everywhere. And it would take him at least an hour to work through all the menus to find something he could eat, and…

And…

God, it was going to be a disaster.

Picking up his phone, he tapped his brother’s contact before digging his fork into the fish and forcing himself to take a few bites. It was one of his safety foods, but it was bland as shit and dry going down.

“Crisis time?” Piper said by way of answer.

Nix rolled his eyes. “Not every late-night phone call’s a crisis.”

“No. But this one is,” Piper said, his voice thick and sleepy.

Nix felt a little wave of guilt for being such a goddamn burden to his brother. Piper had already been through enough with his health. He didn’t need Nix’s petty problems about feelings. “It’s actually fine. I should⁠—”

“Nixy,” Piper said, using the nickname he had for Nix when he was really little. And he said it with the same tone he’d used back when Nix was thirteen and listened to “Space Oddity” for the first time, convinced the moment Piper went into orbit, he was never coming back. He’d damn near hyperventilated until Piper had talked him down with his patient tone and strong arms that hugged the terrified thirteen-year-old boy until he could breathe again. “What’s wrong?”

Nix pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. His free hand shoved his little plastic food tray a few inches away from him, the smell suddenly unbearable. “His name is Jasper.”

“Okay,” Piper said slowly.

“Doesn’t that sound like the world’s douchiest name?”

Piper laughed. “I feel like you and I aren’t exactly in a place to judge someone’s name, Phoenix.”

Nix scoffed but mostly because his brother was right, and he hated that. “He says he likes Star Wars.”

“You like Star Wars,” Piper pointed out.

That was true, but he hadn’t put it on the form. “What if he lied about everything?”

“Then he lied about everything, and I doubt it’ll take long to figure that out,” Piper said entirely too reasonably.

“He wants to meet at the food truck festival,” Nix said, softer this time.

Piper was very quiet for a while. “Can’t you message someone on the app and send a request for a different location? You could give them a list of places you⁠—”

“No,” Nix said sharply, then took a breath. “I mean, yes. I probably can. But he’s going to bail on me, Piper. I’m too fucking high maintenance.”

“You’re not high maintenance, Nix. You are who you are, and the right person will get that.”

He sat back in his chair and rocked back and forth gently, but it wasn’t enough to take the edge off his building fears. As he cracked his neck and squeezed his hands into fists, he let out a frustrated whine. “I’m going to tell him why I’m so…why I can’t just…eat things. And you know what always happens when I tell people I’m a⁠—”

“You’re not a freak.” Piper sighed very softly. “And it’s not going to be a deal-breaker for everyone. You’ve had some bad luck with dates, but there are decent people in the world who won’t care what you eat.”

Nix didn’t have it in him to argue. And hell, maybe his brother was right. Maybe Jasper was the damn unicorn and this app just happened to have him in the database. “Our date is on Saturday.”

“That’s tomorrow,” Piper pointed out flatly.

Nix shuddered through a few more of his body tics, then sagged against the table and let his forehead rest on the cool wood. “Yep. It’s tomorrow. It’s gonna be fine, right?”

“You know I’m never good at predicting these things, but I have a gut feeling it’s going to go great.”

Nix wasn’t as on board as his brother was, but he was ready—at the very least—to take a leap.

CHAPTER TWO

“Please tell me Autolycus is in your pocket.”

Maddox turned to see a frantic Lyra walking toward him, and he quickly leaned against his left crutch and held his front shirt pocket open so she could see the small, blue Pacific parrotlet nesting in the bottom. Autolycus was the shop bird and had a bad habit of crawling into people’s pockets and hoodies when they were distracted.

Like a little thief—hence the name.

“Christ, that thing is going to give me a stress ulcer.”

Mads smiled at her and gave his pocket a gentle pat before he went back to the requisition form. “Yeah, well, this is what you signed up for when you named him after the biggest criminal in Xena.”

Lyra smiled sweetly and flipped him off.

“Anyway,” Mads said with a small laugh, “I just finished the last of the cat physicals. You wanna look this over and run it by Ryker before I send it off to the shelter?”

Lyra took the clipboard from his hand and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You’re the best.”

“I know. That’s why you two married me.”

“If only,” Lyra said with a sigh. “Any time you wanna make it real, babe…”

Mads grinned, even as he rolled his eyes, then he used his crutch tip to hook around the rolling chair and sat with a soft groan. There wasn’t a single second of his day that wasn’t occupied by some level of pain since his accident, but being at work at least distracted him from it for a while.

He’d been in vet school when it happened—crossing a street he thought was empty as a drunk driver careened out of a parking lot and mowed him down before taking off and leaving him unconscious. A bus driver had been the one to see him three minutes later, and it took almost eight months for the cops to track down the guy who fled the scene.

The man had been in his work truck at a company party, so Mads was able to walk away with a settlement that would allow him to retire if he’d wanted. And for a while, he had wanted. His leg was mostly pins and titanium now, and his knee no longer moved. It couldn’t bear weight and never would again.

Luckily, Maddox’s best friend had refused to let him crawl under his blankets and spend the rest of his life as a bed goblin. He forced Mads to come work at his animal supply shop part time, and it was in the last six months that Mads decided to get his life back on track. The vet school took him back, and now he was three months from graduation. He had no plans to be anything other than the shop’s animal doctor for their rescues, but it felt good to know he could be independent again.

It had been a damn long while since he’d felt that way.

And while Ryker and Lyra were only half joking about bringing him into their relationship, Mads was tragically monogamous. And gay. He loved Lyra, but she deserved a third who could adore her the way her husband did.

“So,” Lyra said without looking up from the req form, “about your date tomorrow…”

Mads groaned. He blamed the holiday coming up for his moment of weakness, allowing Lyra to set him up. He was all nerves mostly because the guy wasn’t even someone she knew. Her sister had been going on about her new coworker for months, waxing poetic about how perfect he would be for Mads.

Of course, Mads didn’t even really know Leila that well, so he had no idea how she could make that claim, but in a fit of loneliness—after watching the twelfth sappy Instagram Valentine video—he caved. He’d been drunk on no sleep and weak when he’d texted Lyra that he wanted to be set up.

And he’d regretted it for every single second since.

“I don’t want to jinx it,” Mads said quietly, massaging his spasming thigh. The truth was, he’d tried to date. More than once. But he’d gotten as far as telling the other man that his injury was permanent before it all went to hell.

Mads knew men his age were superficial, and the idea that they might be asked to perform any sort of caregiving act outside of kink was usually too much for most of them. And no matter how many times he explained to them that he could take care of himself, they never believed him.

In all honesty, Mads was also a little gun shy. After Mike, his crappy ex, had stuck around to use Mads for the Costco-sized bottle of Percocet he had on his kitchen counter, letting his addiction warp him down to his very core, Mads wasn’t feeling very trusting.

So he didn’t exactly have high hopes for this Cole person that Leila couldn’t stop talking about.

Lyra let out a small sigh and sat down next to him in one of the folding chairs. She offered her hand, and he took it, giving her smaller fingers a gentle squeeze. “You know I’m not someone who’s going to feed you bullshit about destiny or whatever, right?”

Mads laughed. “Yeah, babe. That’s why we’re work married.”

She elbowed him gently, but she was smiling. “I don’t know a lot about this Cole guy, and I don’t super trust my sister’s taste in men.”

“I feel even better about this now,” he said dryly.

Lyra’s smile turned softer. “I’m trying to tell you that I know you can take care of yourself. You’re strong. After the accident, and Mike’s bullshit, I know you can get through anything.”

Mads nodded, his gaze trailing to the floor. “I’m just…tired of having to be strong all the time,” he admitted. He hated himself for feeling weak, but he was starting to get sick of people reminding him he could withstand the constant pain being thrown at him. He just wanted it to be easy for once.

“Babe,” she said.

He squeezed her hand again, then withdrew and reached for his crutches to stand back up. “It’s fine. It’s not like I’m committing to marriage or anything. Just a date with some delicious, delicious carnival food.”

“Maddy,” Lyra started to protest in the tone that said she could see right through his bullshit. But he wasn’t really in the mood to have an impromptu therapy session with her.

“I’m gonna head home,” he said, walking toward the door before remembering he still had Autolycus in his pocket. “Without him,” he added, carefully removing the sleeping bird. Autolycus gave an irritated tweep as he immediately took to the air and landed on Lyra’s shoulder.

She laughed and opened up her own shirt pocket, and he quickly nestled inside. “Drive safely, babe.”

Mads nodded, then used the tip of his crutch to swing the door open wide and let himself out.

* * *

Standing in front of his mirror, Mads stared at his reflection and tried to see a man worth dating. And he didn’t mean by his own standards. Because by his own standards, he was a goddamn catch. He had a good job, he was almost done with his training to become a vet, and in spite of his immobile, atrophied leg, the rest of him was pretty goddamn fit. Walking with crutches and using a wheelchair had his upper body looking better than it ever had in his life.

He had a fresh undercut, so his dark hair sat perfectly coiffed in a sideways sweep back, and he was freshly shaved, which gave him a bit of a baby face.

He was wearing something Ryker had picked out for him—trim jeans made with spandex that allowed him a bit more movement so he could transition from crutches to chair without discomfort. The jeans also made his ass look great. And his dark T-shirt had a very subtle, barely there graphic of the Superman logo.

He’d debated about that one for a while, but it was both his best cut shirt, and—as Lyra and Ryker both said—there was no point in hiding who he was. After all, why would he want to date a guy who needed to know him in small doses?

He wasn’t so sure about that one, though. Even before his accident, Mads wasn’t exactly Casanova—or whatever a less womanizing version of that would be. In fact, Mike had been his longest relationship ever, and he’d been so excited to have a steady boyfriend, he’d allowed himself to remain willfully ignorant to all his red flags.

He felt foolish about it now. Not just for ignoring it so he could finally be in a relationship but for how long he’d let it continue. For how long he’d let himself be treated like garbage just so he wouldn’t have to say he was single.

But that was over.

He shook his head, then stepped backward and patted his pocket for his keys with his free hand before reaching for his second crutch. His hip was hurting something awful, and he knew the fair was one of the places he should bring his damn wheelchair, but he couldn’t.

It was ridiculous, but he couldn’t help how he felt. His therapist was always telling him to acknowledge and work through his feelings instead of trying to pretend they didn’t exist—so that was what he was doing tonight.

Pulling out his phone, he shot a quick text to Cole.

Maddox: OMW. Where are we meeting again?

Cole: There’s this Korean hot dog stand over by the frozen lemonade. Tables will probably be full, but if you get there early, try to snag us a spot. Can’t wait to see you.

Mads smiled down at his phone and told himself that in spite of his nervous gut, this was going to be good. No, it was going to be better than good. It was going to be different, and great, and it would prove that he could stop freaking out about needing to spend the rest of his life as a perpetually single man.

* * *

The parking lot was a hot mess, but Mads was directed to the long row of disabled spots, and he took his time getting out of the car as he surveyed the crowd. It was both the blessing and curse of living near a tourist destination on the coast. Everyone came for the Eisenhower Space Center and the beach, and he appreciated that visitors bolstered the economy and gave everyone job security, but there were days he wished he could go somewhere like this without having to navigate through a sea of people.

Still, it was hard to beat the Goldilocks effect of Virginia Beach—or at least as near it as Florenceville was. Their little nobody, no-nothing town wouldn’t even be on the map if it weren’t for the space center, and Mads hadn’t even been there before.

Taking a breath, he prepared himself to mingle with the crowd, then he made his way to the ticket booth to pay his entry fee. Cole originally suggested they meet at the gate so he could take care of Maddox’s ticket, but Mads had shot that down immediately.

If they didn’t click, the last thing he wanted was some passive aggressive Venmo request for twenty bucks. He was too jaded and a little too uncertain to want anything except a casual meetup. If it went well, they could have a better second date.

It took some maneuvering to get through the small crowd once Mads had his wristband on, but the one benefit of his crutches was that the moment people noticed, they tended to give him space. He gave them all a thin-lipped smile as he made his way past small, overly excited children and to the nearly empty booth that had the festival maps.

The man behind the table gave him a genuine, sweet smile as he handed one over, and Mads leaned against the support beam as he opened it up, tracing it with one finger to find the Korean hot dog truck. He breathed in deep the scent of cotton candy and funnel cake, and in the distance, he could hear kids screaming on a couple of rides.

He had a single moment of nostalgia before turning on his heel and hoping he was going the right way. Almost everyone was going right instead of left in the direction of carnival games, so he was grateful to shake most of the chaos off as he slipped past the little craft market.

His eyes scanned a couple pieces of jewelry he knew Lyra would enjoy, and he made a mental note to stop on his way out if he had time. If the night wasn’t heading somewhere a bit…steamier. Not that he wanted to fuck on the first date, but making out by his car was definitely on the table should Cole actually be worth it.

He smiled to himself, feeling a tiny pulse of want in his chest because goddamn it had been so long. And maybe he wasn’t ready to trust, but he was most definitely ready to try.

Turning a corner, he came to a small circle of food trucks all with some variation of Asian-themed food. The most appealing was the Pho truck, but that wasn’t his destination. Luckily, three spots over were the hot dogs, and not ten feet away from that was a table with an umbrella, which was entirely useless this late in the evening but still kind of cute.

He moved as quickly as he could to steal the table and slid onto the bench with his back to the food. He rested his crutches at the edge and stretched his leg out as far as his busted tendons would allow, trying to alleviate some of the pressure on his hip.

Drumming his fingers on his thigh, he glanced around the crowd, but no one matched the description Cole had given him. At least no tall man with short blond hair, wearing a black polo and jeans, was standing around like they were looking for someone.

As he glanced past the lemonade stand, however, his eyes caught on someone he knew wasn’t Cole but immediately caught his gaze. It was a man with thin shoulders and very curly dark hair. He was sitting at a two-person table with another guy whose back was to Mads, but the situation looked…tense. And maybe alarming.

The pretty, dark-haired man was nothing but a line of tension, and he was shaking his head and speaking while the guy across from him was trying to push a paper dish full of something toward him. The more the dark-haired guy shook his head, the sharper the other man’s movements became.

Mads was just about to stand up and head over there when his phone buzzed with a text.

Cole: Running late. Will you grab me a bottle of water?

Maddox: Sure. You have an ETA?

Cole: 5 mins.

He could deal with five minutes. He slipped one crutch onto his arm, leaving the other on the table in hopes that would save it, and carefully hopped over to the Pho truck, which was the closest one. Luckily, he had cash, so he grabbed the water and managed to get back before his walking aid or his table were stolen, and he sat back down with a quiet huff.

His hands played nervously with the label on the bottle, and he looked over toward the lemonade stand, but whatever had been going on between the two men had calmed. The dark-haired man was even smiling a little now.

Mads let out a sigh of relief and told himself it was for the best. He didn’t need to try and play hero to strangers, especially when he was still learning to balance on one leg without help. And anyway, he had a date to worry about. Even if Cole was running late.

He tapped his foot to the rhythm of the song stuck in his head and waited.

And he waited.

Five minutes came and went, then ten. By fifteen, he started to have a bad feeling, so he picked up his phone, hovered over his texts, then hit Cole’s name in his contacts instead. It rang three times before Cole picked up.

“Hey. Sorry.” Mads had talked to him twice, and even from those short conversations, he could tell something was wrong. Cole’s voice was flat and heavy. “I, uh…I’m not gonna make it.”

Mads felt the numbing, cool wave of panic rush through his body. The sounds of the crowd turned into buzzing, like a swarm of bees, and the only thing he could focus on was Cole’s heavy, steady breathing. “Oh. Something came up?”

“Uh…”

Mads squeezed his eyes shut. “Look, dude, I’ve been through enough shit for a lifetime, okay. So just…be honest.”

Cole took an audible breath. “I can’t do it. Everyone said you were cool, and the leg thing wasn’t a big deal, but…I just…”

Mads swallowed heavily. “You were watching me when I got your water, weren’t you?” He could hear the sound of the carnival rides in the background of Cole’s phone. “You’re still here.”

“I’m on my way out.”

Mads’s stomach twisted. “Is that why you asked me to get up? You wanted to see how I walked?”

“Can you blame me?” Cole asked. “Like…that’s not normal, man. It’s not, like, a bad thing for me to get some idea of how much help you need.”

Mads choked, nearly swallowing his own tongue. “Help? Fuck you, bro. I live alone, I have a job, I’m about to graduate with my DVM. I’m not here to interview a fucking caregiver.”

Cole scoffed. “You’re telling me that it’s all normal? That you could hold me up and fuck my ass against a wall if I wanted?”

“That’s your deal-breaker?” Mads demanded. His face felt all hot now, and he kind of wanted to put his fist through something. Jesus Christ, who thought this guy was a good idea for him?

“I don’t even know what my deal-breakers are,” Cole admitted. “But your shit looks weird. I don’t want to lose my boner because your leg’s crooked, okay? You wanted honesty, so that’s what you’re getting. Don’t get pissed at me for it.”

Cole was right. Mads had asked for honesty, but he reserved the right to think Cole was a superficial douchebag for his opinions. “Cool, man. Have a great life.”

“Maddo—”

He hung up before Cole could finish saying his name. Whatever was about to come out of his mouth next was just going to piss him off further. He stared down at the water bottle, then took another breath.

It was no worse than he’d expected if he was going to admit the truth to himself. But it didn’t mean it hurt any less. Taking a deep breath, he rubbed at his face, then decided the best thing he could do was get the hell out of there.

His hands were shaking as he fitted his crutches over his forearms, and the pain in his hip made him wish he’d just brought his damn chair since it hadn’t made a difference anyway. He steadied himself on his leg, then turned, freezing when his eye caught the couple from before.

The dark-haired man wasn’t smiling anymore. His date was now leaning over their table, right in his face, and the guy looked petrified—stiff, with his hands up, nodding softly. Mads was a little too familiar with that look—the fawn response.

He moved without thinking, determined to do at least one thing that evening that could restore both his faith in humanity and a little bit in himself.

CHAPTER THREE

Nix had timed his Xanax to be at peak effectiveness during the date. It was a trick he’d been using for years—not for dates, of course, but for important events. And this seemed to count. But he was forty minutes from his scheduled date, and his anxiety was still through the roof.

It probably would have caused a panic attack if he wasn’t in his sweet spot, though he still kept tensing his neck, which was threatening to give him a migraine by the end of the night.

He was fully dressed, his hair brushed, teeth brushed, face washed. All the stuff to prove he was a functional adult who knew how to take care of himself. Which he was. He didn’t need proof in the mirror for that. He was a twenty-seven-year-old man for fuck’s sake. He’d been living alone since he turned eighteen, and he’d only been evicted once, and that was because his landlord died, and her son was a monster who wanted to turn the building into condos.

“You look great.”

Nix jumped and turned his head to see his brother hovering in the doorway. “Creeper much?”

Piper laughed, his eyes wrinkling in the corners. There were moments Nix became profoundly aware of not just his brother’s age, but the toll his career choices had taken on him. One of his worst nightmares—and one of his most frequent ones—was his brother dying in his sleep with no one around to call emergency services to save him.

It took all Nix’s self-control to keep from suggesting they join homes.

The only thing that really stopped him was his extreme aversion to public humiliation, and the knowledge that Piper would laugh directly in his face.

“I don’t know why I’m so stressed,” Nix said, returning to his reflection. He’d been staring at himself for so long he was beginning to look alien. He pulled his cheeks down, exposing the light pink of his lower eyelids.

“You want this to work,” Piper told him. “And you put a lot of weight on how tonight will go.”

Nix pulled a face, but it wasn’t like Piper was wrong. He’d done his best to tell himself the whole thing was casual, but when you had an app claiming they could find you a soulmate for Valentine’s Day, well…

“You and I are both too logical to get caught up in destiny,” Piper said, stopping beside Nix. He was at least half a foot taller, and he used to be much broader before his heart had threatened to give up on him. But he still made Nix feel small and protected. “So remember, if this fails, it just means the app was flawed.”

That did help. A little. Nix didn’t put much faith in technology when humans had control over the algorithm, and it was far too easy to lie to an online survey. But he wanted the thing to be right. He wanted some sort of proof that there was someone out there who didn’t give a shit he was a little…weird.

Different.

Unusual.

“Unique,” Piper said softly, which meant Nix had been muttering out loud again.

He passed a hand down his face, then turned away from himself. “Not ugly?”

Piper took him by the shoulders. “Not ugly.” He pulled his brother in for a firm hug, then let him go. “I’m meeting a friend at Marley’s after I drop you off, so I won’t be far if you need to make an emergency exit.”

Nix nodded and offered a thin-lipped smile as he walked over to his nightstand for his phone. He knew his brother had scheduled his dinner there on purpose, but neither of them was going to acknowledge that aloud.

In truth, Nix could easily escape in an Uber, but knowing his brother was passively protecting him from afar made him feel a little better. And hell, maybe that was pathetic, but he’d never resent having support when so many people had none at all.

Neither of them said a word as they headed to the car, and Nix fiddled with his fidget ring around his first finger, his leg bouncing as he watched the scenery go by. His anxiety medication dulled him a bit, which was something he hated, but it made the stimming feelings fade into the background. They weren’t gone, but they were much easier to ignore, and it meant he could introduce that part of himself to Jasper in slow, careful doses.

“God, look at this place,” Piper said after he pulled into the guest drop-off lane.

He and Nix were staring at the same thing: bright lights, a massive Ferris wheel against the backdrop of the evening sky, and everything—literally everything—was various shades of pink. There were heart shaped balloons tied to the corners of all the buildings, and there were broken-heart-shaped streamers fluttering in the breeze.

“Looks like Cupid vomited all over,” Nix muttered.

Piper snorted a laugh as he pulled up to the curb and put his car in park. “You gonna survive this?”

Nix managed a smile as he unbuckled his seatbelt and took another look around. “It’s one holiday. And Valentine’s Day was the point, right?” He didn’t put much stock into that kind of thing, but this year, he’d just been feeling weak. And a little lonely.

He wasn’t strong like his brother.

He just didn’t want to be alone anymore.

“I have a gut feeling everything’s going to go fine,” Piper told him.

Nix rolled his eyes as he opened the door and hopped out. They both knew that was bullshit, but he appreciated the sentiment. “Have a nice dinner. But no fried food.”

Piper gave him a quick, two-fingered salute off the side of his forehead seconds before Nix slammed the door, and then he turned, not looking back to see if his brother had driven off. He took several breaths before approaching the ticket window, then he dug out his wallet and waited for the family with three small, screaming children to get their bracelets on.

Nix wasn’t great with loud noises, so he was hoping the spot Jasper had picked wasn’t near the games, or the rides, or the main food truck circle. That was a huge ask, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. He was starting to regret not asking Jasper to change locations when the smallest child’s intense whistle tone started to trigger a facial tic.

His eye kept spasming, and he tipped his face down so no one would stare.

It took a full seven minutes for the family to finish getting everyone through the gate, and Nix’s fingers were shaking when he finally got up to the window and pulled out his card to pay. “Just one entry.”

“Ride pass?” the bored teenager asked.

Nix shook his head. “No, thank you.”

“Bro, you can’t get on rides without the ride pass.”

Nix’s temple ached with tension. “I know. I don’t do rides.”

The kid leaned forward. “Why are you here, then?”

“Because I’m here,” Nix said. “Is it against the rules to come in without a ride pass?”

“No. Whatever,” the kid said and took his card. “Fuckin’ weirdo.”

Nix bristled, but it wasn’t worth the argument as he took his receipt and his white plastic bracelet. It was easy to snap on, and he made it tight enough so it wouldn’t move around, which was the only reason he could tolerate the feeling against his skin.

Going through the gate, he immediately spotted a little booth with maps on the table, and he swiped one, narrowly avoiding conversation with the older man running it. He tucked himself into a dark corner near the first building and scanned the list of events, games, and food trucks until he found the one Jasper had mentioned.

Frozen lemonade.

His stomach churned at the thought. His food aversions were the one thing no medication or therapy had ever been able to help, and eventually, he and his doctor agreed on supplements and finding the least sodium-heavy premade meals he could stomach.

But it made it difficult to go out with people and do normal social things when the only things he could stand to eat were breaded chicken patties with hot mustard, crinkle-cut fries, cheap packaged ramen, and plain toasted rye bread with nothing on it. Sometimes he could make-do with a children’s menu, but he couldn’t stand the look servers and colleagues gave him, so he usually avoided lunch and dinner outings like the plague.

And while this food truck place boasted something for everyone, he didn’t think they had people like him in mind. Not that it was a big deal really. Nix did what he always did and made sure to eat before the date. His only real hope was that Jasper would be understanding.

Nix quickly oriented himself through the crowd, then made his way down the small path that led to a group of food trucks. He scanned each one, then let out a breath of relief when he spotted the frozen lemonade stand. Directly beside that was a small, two-person table, and leaning against it was a tall, lanky man wearing khaki slacks and a button-up with the sleeves rolled to the elbows.

The man had light brown hair and skin so tan it looked like he’d just come off some island vacation. He had his legs crossed at the ankles, and he was looking down at his phone, which allowed Nix to debate whether or not that was actually Jasper.

And then he looked up.

There was a pause in the universe, then their gazes connected, and the guy slowly raised his hand. Nix’s heart began to beat too hard. He was very attractive—objectively anyway. For Nix, he didn’t mind aesthetics, but people tended to change quickly after he spent time talking to them. But it was a good start.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

He twisted his fidget ring as he crossed the dirt lot, his free hand in his pocket, curled into a fist. He managed something that felt like a smile as he got closer, and he raised a quick wave at the guy.

“Phoenix?”

His breath left in a rush as he nodded, extending his hand. “Jasper, right?”

Their fingers met, and Jasper tugged him close, hard enough to throw him off before lifting Nix’s hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. He kept their gazes locked, and Nix couldn’t help but feel like this was some performance, and Jasper was waiting for a reaction.

“Um,” he said. The truth was, he’d never had anyone kiss his hand before, and the sensation wasn’t entirely pleasant. He fought the urge to swipe his knuckles against his jeans. “Nice to meet you.”

Something dark flickered through Jasper’s eyes before he dropped Nix’s hand. It was gone after a second, though, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made it up. “It’s nice to meet you too. I was seriously worried when we both picked blind date.”

Nix shrugged, giving a nervous laugh. “Yeah. I mean, not being able to talk…”

“Or see each other,” Jasper said, gesturing to the table. “I mean, they could have sent anyone, you know?”

Nix bristled. “I…Yeah.”

“Don’t worry,” Jasper said, winking as he threw his leg over the bench and sat, “you’re hot.”

Nix hadn’t been worried about that. Not really. People never complained about his looks. He tried for another smile as he sat, then he realized there was food on the table. “Oh. You…uh. I’m sorry if I took too long.”

Jasper’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“You were hungry,” Nix said. He eyed what looked like the corn dogs he’d seen on Instagram videos—breaded with chunks of potato and probably filled with cheese. “I didn’t mean to make you wait.”

“Oh,” Jasper said with a grin. “You’re totally on time. I just figured I’d save us the wait in line and grab something.”

Nix shifted uncomfortably and squeezed the back of his neck. “Well, I, uh…I’m not super hungry right now, so you go ahead.”

Jasper looked immediately irritated. “I bought enough to share, Phoenix. You’re not going to make me eat alone, are you?”

Nix felt panic rippling up his spine, and his gaze darted around. It caught on a lone man at a table not too far from him, and the man was staring. He was dark haired and very pretty, and there was something oddly soothing about him.

He had the sudden urge to ask for help, which was ridiculous.

Nix cleared his throat. “Really, go ahead. I don’t actually eat, um, this stuff.”

Jasper sat back, folding his arms. “We’re at a food truck festival.”

“No. I know. Just…” He shrugged helplessly, and after a long beat, Jasper scoffed and dragged one of the paper containers toward himself. “Sorry.”

“Whatever,” Jasper said, taking a vicious bite. He chewed for a second, then his demeanor shifted again, and he smiled. “It’s not like I can’t afford it.”

That was…a weird thing to say, but Nix wasn’t the best judge at telling what was typical on dates. So he just nodded and smiled. “Yeah. You said you’re in sports.”

“Reporter,” Jasper said thickly, swallowing his massive bite. He snagged one of the drink cups and took down several gulps before he went on. “I mostly work with the MLB team here. Some of the guys and I are really close if you know what I mean.”

Even as much of a virgin as Nix was, he did know what Jasper meant, and he had to wonder if bragging about conquests five minutes into a blind date was normal. He smiled anyway and picked at his cuticles under the table. “That must be pretty cool.”

“It is.” Jasper sat back and stretched his legs out, bumping into Nix’s shoes, which was most definitely on purpose. “Those guys aren’t long-term, though, you know?”

Nix shrugged. “Yeah. Is that why you decided to use the app?”

Jasper snorted a laugh. “Trust me, I don’t have trouble getting dates. Please tell me that’s not the impression I’m giving off.”

Nix shook his head. It definitely wasn’t, but this definitely wasn’t his soulmate—if those existed. At the very least, he was being proven right. Whatever the hell Jasper had put into his questionnaire wasn’t entirely honest. “Why, um…why did you want to use Cupid?”

Jasper shrugged. “Wanted to change things up. I mean, isn’t that why everyone’s on these apps?” He leaned forward, his elbow on the table, chin resting on his fist. “No one actually thinks they’re going to find their soulmate.” He stopped. “I hope I’m not offending you or⁠—”

“No,” Nix said in a rush. “No. I don’t believe in soulmates.”

Jasper let out a breath of relief. “Thank fuck. This just feels like the suburban version of Grindr. A friend of mine said the sex is a thousand times better when you’ve got an emotional connection, and I was getting bored of these cum-dumps I’ve been seeing over the last year.”

Nix felt green. “Um…”

Jasper laughed. “I know I’m not being very nice right now, but trust me. If you’d met these guys, you’d see that’s all they’re good for. I wanted to shake things up, and I figured everyone else was here for that reason. It’s not like we’re in it for marriage.”

Nix giggled. Nothing Jasper said was funny—it was a stress response—but he could immediately tell Jasper took it the wrong way.

“I like you, Phoenix.”

He felt even sicker. “That’s…Thanks,” he said. He licked his lips. “So when you put in your profile that you liked Star Wars and you were afraid of abandonment…”

Jasper threw his head back, howling with laughter. “Stupid right? Like how you were talking about fuckin’…what as it? Xena Warrior Amazon?”

Nix swallowed against bile. “Princess.”

“Right. My friend said I needed to make my questionnaire more diverse so I didn’t get stuck with the same guys I’ve been dating this whole time.” Jasper fell quiet, and his eyes narrowed. “Hey. You gonna be sick or some shit? I told you to eat something, babe.”

Nix fought back a gag. Babe? Was this guy serious? His panic was starting to take over his reason and rationale, and he didn’t want to lose it in the middle of a crowd. But what the fuck? What the actual fuck?

At worst, he’d expected someone who was a bad match. Not…not this. Not some guy who was using it for hookups.

“I…um…” Before Nix could finish his sentence, Jasper was picking up the second corn dog and shoving it in his face.

“Come on, just take a fucking bite. I’m gonna be pissed if you pass out on me because you’re vegan or whatever.”

“Stop, please,” Nix started, trying to push him away, but Jasper caught his wrist and squeezed.

Hard.

Nix gasped and wrenched his hand away. “What the fuck? What the fuck! Let me go you⁠—”

Before he could keep going, a shadow fell over the table, shattering the chaotic moment. He glanced up to find the dark-haired stranger leaning on one crutch attached to his bicep, the other had Jasper by the shirt.

“I think you should get the hell out of here,” the guy said, his voice a low rumble. And Nix knew in that moment, everything was about to change.

CHAPTER FOUR

Nix was shaking, but he managed to look at Jasper who seemed like he was seconds away from pissing his pants.

“What the fuck are you gonna do?” Jasper asked with a high, nervous laugh.

The guy tilted his head to the side and tapped his crutch on the ground twice. “They sound hollow, but I promise they can do some serious damage. Ask me how I know.”

Jasper swallowed thickly, then he looked over at Nix and grimaced. “You were serious, weren’t you? About being on the app?”

Nix said nothing.

“Fucking pathetic,” Jasper sneered, and after a beat, he flipped them both off and stormed away. He almost tripped over his feet, then over two small children as he disappeared into the crowd. Silence fell over the table, then the stranger moved, and Nix jumped half a foot.

“Hey,” the guy said, his voice calm. “Mind if I throw all this crap away?”

Nix let out something between a laugh and a sob. “Yes, please.” He stared down at his hands, clasped together to keep them from shaking like he was in frozen water, and he didn’t watch as the stranger swept everything into his free arm and hopped over to the nearest trash can.

He returned not long after, brandishing a bottle of water with a slightly torn label. “I haven’t opened it,” he said. “I got it for my date who ditched me.”

Nix looked up, momentarily shocked out of his trauma. “Your date ditched you?”

The guy snorted and produced a second crutch after setting the bottle on the table. “Yep.”

Nix felt himself seconds away from nervous babbling. “You almost beat up my date.”

The guy shook his head with a small grin. “Yeah, sorry. I’m not a big fan of assholes like that, and you looked a little bit like you were panicking.”

“I was,” Nix all but whispered before seizing the water and turning the cap. It clicked as the seal broke, and he let out a breath of relief before gulping down half. The water was tepid and soothing, and he felt a little less shaky. “Sorry for, um…needing a rescue.”

The guy frowned. “Dude. You are not the one who owes the apology here. Please tell me that was a first date.”

Nix nodded, misery flooding him. “From this app going around.” He pressed his hands over his face. “My brother talked me into it, and I knew it was a bad idea. But I just wanted to do something normal for a change, and…” He felt the itchy sensation under his skin, the need to just pace and stim to calm himself, but he breathed through it instead, knowing he’d deal with a meltdown later when he was in private.

“My name’s Maddox. Well, Mads. Everyone calls me Mads.”

Nix glanced up through his fingers and saw the guy had lowered himself to the bench Jasper had abandoned, and he was holding one hand out. His stomach rolled with nerves, but he let Mads squeeze his fingers gently. It wasn’t really a handshake. It was something infinitely more comforting.

“You don’t have to tell me yours,” Mads said after a beat, “but is there anything I can call you besides the cute sad guy?”

Nix choked on his own tongue as he pulled his hand away, flushing hard. “Uh. It’s Nix. Phoenix,” he added with a halfhearted shrug. He drummed his fingers on the table to relieve some of the pressure of holding everything back.

“Nix. I like that,” Mads told him with a genuine smile Nix had no idea what to do with. “You wanna get something to eat?”

Nix let out a miserable groan. “I can’t eat here. I know that makes me look like a freak since we’re at a food truck festival. That’s probably why Jasper lost it, but⁠—”

“Look, I swear I’m not a creep, but I was watching, and that guy didn’t lose it because you don’t want to eat corn dogs. That guy left because he was a controlling dickhead, and he didn’t like being told no.”

Nix couldn’t really argue with that logic. Jasper had all the warning signs, and he’d full-on admitted to lying on the app so he could get laid. His gaze trailed to Mads’s shirt, and his breath caught in his chest. “You like Superman?”

“What?” Mads looked down, his brows drawn in confusion, then he laughed. “Oh, yeah. And I swear to God, if you’re about to tell me that Batman’s better…”

Nix spluttered, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. “Please don’t get me started on how much I love Superman. Or how the movies did him dirty. Or how only one actor in recent years has done him any justice, and they ruined him with the worst script writing I’ve ever seen.”

With every word Nix spoke, Mads’s smile got wider and wider. He leaned his elbow on the table, his eyes soft and his expression both delighted and sweet. “I actually do want to hear you get started, but I really don’t want to hang out at this place any longer than I have to. If you’re really not hungry…”

“It’s not because of my appetite,” Nix said, his voice strained with how tense he was holding himself. “I have a food thing.”

“Okay,” Mads said slowly. “Allergies?”

Nix groaned. “Life would be a thousand times easier if it were allergies. At least people respect those.”

Mads looked even more confused.

“It’s just…food aversions,” Nix eventually muttered.

Lifting a brow, Mads leaned back and glanced around. “Got it. So none of the stuff here is good for you?”

Nix shook his head. “I know I should just nut up and be a fucking adult about it, but⁠—”

“What? Dude, no,” Mads said, holding his hands up in surrender. “You don’t need to force yourself to eat something your body doesn’t want.”

Nix felt something warm in his chest—something he had no idea what to do with, but he did know he didn’t want it to go away.

“Is there a place in this area you can eat?”

Still flushed, Nix shrugged and crossed his arms, his leg bouncing hard. “Uh…there’s this Mexican restaurant not too far from here. Theresa’s Kitchen? They kind of know me there, so they make me stuff I like.”

“Sweet,” Mads said. “Then let me buy you dinner.” When he started to stand, Nix reached out and grabbed his wrist without thinking, and Mads looked down at him. “Sorry. Was I being pushy?”

“No, just,” Nix said with a frustrated groan. “Why?”

“Why?”

“Do you want to buy me dinner?” Nix let him go, throwing both hands up. “You don’t even know me.”

“Yeah, but you’re a fuck of a lot nicer than the date I was supposed to have, and I like to think I’m nicer than yours.”

Nix choked on a half laugh, half sob. “That’s fair.”

“And I think we’ve both had a shitty enough night to warrant some good Mexican food.”

Nix couldn’t testify that Theresa’s Kitchen was actually good food since he’d never tried anything beyond their lightly toasted, plain cheese quesadilla, but Mads’s offer was way too tempting. And not just for the ability to save a little pride and a little face either. Mads was hotter than the sun, and he was kind in ways Nix wasn’t used to.

He’d swept in like some kind of avenging angel, chasing his demon date away, and Nix was too afraid to see where it was going to go.

But he was also too afraid not to.

“I need to call an Uber,” Nix said after a long beat because he wasn’t about to call Piper. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was tell his brother what happened. “I don’t drive.”

Mads frowned. “Look, I swear I’m not a serial killer—which is probably what serial killers say—but I have a car. And you’re free to send my license plate and ID and whatever to your friends so they know who to hunt down if you go missing.”

“That’s creepier than if you’d just offered the ride,” Nix pointed out, but he was smiling as he pushed to his feet.

Mads laughed. “Yeah. No one’s ever accused me of being super smooth.” He grabbed his crutches from where they were leaning against the table and moved a step back. It was then Nix realized that Mads’s leg was completely immobile. Mads followed his gaze and sighed. “Car crash.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” Nix said quickly.

“I know. But I’m sure you were wondering, and it’s not, like, some big, tragic story. Hell, it would be cooler if I could say I’d fallen out of a chopper or…I don’t know, got into a fight with a shark.”

Nix snorted and rolled his eyes. “I’d feel bad for the shark.”

“Me too. Big, sharp sea puppies,” Mads said with a grin. “I’m a vet, so I kind of find most animals cuddle worthy. Even the terrifying ones.”

Nix’s grin widened. “That’s pretty cool. Definitely cooler than what I do.”

“Which is?” Mads pressed.

Nix told himself he probably shouldn’t be giving too many details away, but as they started through the crowd and Mads kept in close like he was happy to be there, Nix couldn’t help himself. “I’m a tour bus driver at the space center. My brother works there. He has the cool job.”

“Astronaut?” Mads asked with a smile like he was joking.

Nix’s heart sank. He never resented his brother, but it was hard sometimes that Piper had done so much more with his life while Nix had been trapped by his own circumstance. “Retired, but yeah. He’s an astrophysicist now.”

“Oh, shit,” Mads said as they rounded the corner and started to pass the entrance booth. “I’ve heard going to space fucks you up.”

Nix’s gut twisted for a different reason now. “Yeah. He’s got heart problems, which really sucks. He’s my only family, so…I don’t know. His doctors say as long as he’s careful, he’ll be fine, but he panics. He kind of pushed me into this app thing because he’s afraid he’s going to die and leave me totally alone.”

Mads gave him a sideways look as he led the way past the parking lot security guards and to the first row of disabled parking. He used one crutch tip to point to a blue car. “That’s me. And, uh…if you don’t mind me saying, that’s kind of a shitty thing for your brother to lay on you.”

Nix frowned as he waited for the car to unlock, and he got in as Mads threw his crutches into the back, then hopped to the front. “Leaving me alone?”

“Thinking you couldn’t handle it,” Mads clarified as he started his car with the push of a button. It hummed to life, and he used hand controls on the wheel to back out. “I don’t know you very well, but you seem like you’d rather be alone than with some asshole for the sake of not being by yourself.”

Nix let out a sigh, feeling a sense of relief that this total stranger got him in ways most people didn’t. “Yeah. I kind of hoped tonight would be a disaster so he’d stop pushing the issue. I mean, I don’t want to be alone. I think meeting someone would be nice. But I don’t want to be trapped by someone just to say I have a boyfriend.”

“I get that,” Mads said, smiling at him. “Anyway, tell me which way we’re headed, then you can tell me all about this random app that put you with a dick like Jasper.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“Okay, wait,” Mads said, his mouth stuffed with chips and salsa. He took a long drink of his iced tea, then swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. Nix was across from him looking adorably flushed with his plain quesadilla and water, and Mads had no idea why he was so damn charmed. But he was. “So you put in all this info and it supposedly spits out your soulmate?”

Nix laughed, rolling his eyes. He drummed his fingers on the table in a pattern, and Mads had a feeling it was a little involuntary. But he wasn’t about to ask.

“Maybe not your soulmate. I’m not sure I believe in that. But yeah. It has some fancy algorithm that’s supposed to find you the perfect match for Valentine’s Day.”

“I call bullshit,” Mads said, gesturing at Nix with a tortilla chip before shoving it into his mouth. “The system is clearly flawed. I mean, first of all, it set you up with that little worm, so how much could it actually know?”

Nix laughed very softly through a bite of his tortilla and cheese. He picked his food apart into tiny bite-sized pieces, which Mads found oddly charming. “He told me he lied on his form so he’d have a better chance at being paired up with someone.”

“Oh, gross,” Mads said. “Are you kidding?”

Nix shrugged. “I mean, I wasn’t really taking it seriously either. I didn’t think I was going to find my perfect match, and I told my brother no one was going to tell the truth.”

“But you did,” Mads pointed out.

Nix bit his lip and nodded. “That probably makes me the fool.” He tapped his fingers on the edge of his plate, the sound almost melodic. “I didn’t think the date was going to go well. I just didn’t think it was going to go that badly.”

“Yeah. I really wanted to knock him out,” Mads admitted. He opened his mouth to say more, but the server appeared to take his now-empty enchilada plate away. He offered the server a sheepish grin, hoping the guy didn’t think he was some sort of unhinged maniac.

Nix was covering a grin with his hand and laughed as soon as the server was gone. “What’s that sports reference. Batting oh for…something?”

Mads laughed. “Oh, dude. No. I fully appreciate how hot men look in baseball uniforms, but do not ask me for sports references. I’m a nerd through and through. Now if you wanna ask me about Star Wars or Xena…”

Nix made a tiny noise in the back of his throat, and both of his hands hit the table. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m sorry. Did you say Xena?”

Mads shrugged and refused to be embarrassed. “She got me through some tough times as a kid, and then when I was recovering from my accident, I binged the entire series. I mean, I’m not a big fan of the pseudo-Jesus storyline they came up with near the end, but…”

Nix tipped his head down, but before Mads could panic like maybe he’d offended the guy, he looked back up. “She was my queer awakening.”

Mads raised a brow. “Yeah?”

“Obviously, there were some hot guys in the show, and they were very easy to obsess over, but her romance with Gabrielle was…I don’t know. Everything I wanted to feel,” Nix said, his voice heavy with passion. “They leaned so hard on calling it a friendship, and there was the kiss…”

“Yeah,” Mads said very softly. “The kiss.”

“And she was extraordinary even when she was ordinary. She fell in love with some country girl who knew her life was meant for more, but no one would ever give her a chance to prove it,” Nix murmured. His fingers began to dance across the table. “I had a rough time growing up, and it made me feel seen.” He paused a long second, then said, “I’m Autistic.”

Ah. It made sense. When Nix looked up, Mads met his gaze easily.

“I can deal with it a lot easier now, but I had a hard time when I was a kid. I was always being sent home for being disruptive. Piper tried to help. He’s so…he’s so smart. And he tried really hard to make me feel normal, but I just…wasn’t.”

Mads wanted to tell him that normal was subjective, but that felt unfair because Nix wasn’t wrong. It didn’t matter if normal was subjective. When you existed in a body that made everyone stare, or treat you like shit, or call off a blind date because they’re afraid they’re gonna have to wipe your ass…

“Sorry. That was way off topic,” Nix said after a long beat of silence.

Mads quickly shook his head. “No. I get it.” When Nix gave him a disbelieving stare, Mads shrugged. “I had a hard time feeling like myself after my accident, and the few people I even considered dating didn’t make me feel much better about it.”

Nix grimaced. “I’m sorry. Is that what happened tonight?”

Waving him off, Mads sighed. “Yep. I work with my best friends, and they’re constantly up in my business,” he added, and Nix laughed. “They decided I couldn’t wallow in my perpetual state of bachelorhood any longer and decided to set me up on a blind date.”

“The guy who never showed?”

“The guy who texted me while I was sitting at the picnic table and asked me to buy him a bottle of water,” Mads said, feeling only a slight tinge of embarrassment now that it was over. “He watched me hop on my good leg, then called me and said he couldn’t handle being a caregiver to some disabled guy.”

“Uh…what?”

Mads leaned back and absently rubbed his hand over his thigh. He couldn’t feel much, the nerve damage really only leaving him with cold and hot sensations, but it was a habit he’d developed when he talked about his accident. “My friends thought I was just being sensitive when I told them shit like this happens.”

“I wish you were,” Nix said.

Mads hummed, then shook his head. “I don’t. I’m glad the rest of the world sucks. Him ditching me, and that Jasper jackass being a colossal prick means I get to be here with you, right now, talking about our love for Xena.”

Nix bit his lip so hard Mads was afraid he was going to break the skin, but then he let go, and it sat wet and slightly plump. “Well…I don’t hate that.”

Mads laughed softly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nix said, matching his grin.

Mads let out a soft sigh. “I’m sorry the app was useless, though. You definitely didn’t deserve that bullshit.”

Taking a breath, Nix squared his shoulders, then looked Mads right in the eye. “I don’t know. I mean, maybe it wasn’t useless. Maybe it gave me what I was looking for in a way I wasn’t expecting.”

* * *

“I miss holding hands.” He hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but ten minutes into their walk, he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Nix glanced over at Mads with a small frown. “Are you not allowed?”

Mads laughed, coming to a stop near a park bench. He debated for a minute, then turned and sat, setting his crutches to the side to make room for Nix to join him. Instead of answering, he held his hand out, palm up, and waited.

Nix stared at him for a long, long while before offering his own. His skin was warm and so soft.

“I’m allowed to hold hands, but even when I’m using my wheelchair, it’s hard to do the cute first-date thing when we’re going on a walk.”

“Oh.” Nix bit his lower lip and stared down at where their fingers were joined. Mads wondered what he was thinking then, but he wasn’t brave enough to ask. Tonight was ending in ways Mads hadn’t expected. “Is this a date?”

“I…Well…” Mads let out a puff of air. “I wouldn’t mind if it was.”

Nix looked up, his eyes a little wide, the faint blush over his cheeks only just visible under the dim lighting of the park lamps. “I wouldn’t either.” He stroked his thumb over the side of Mads’s. “I’m not good at dating, though.”

Mads lifted a brow. “Are you sure about that? Because this has been one of the best dates I’ve ever been on.”

“Since you got hurt?”

“Since ever,” Mads was quick to correct. He squeezed Nix just a little tighter. “You’re so hot, and so funny, and so goddamn nerdy.”

Nix hunched his shoulders up near his ears. “I’ve never been cool.”

“Dude. You’re cool as fuck,” Mads told him.

With a small scoff, Nix rolled his eyes, though he was smiling. “If you saw my dating profile, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

Mads bit his lip, then let it go. “Can I?”

“Oh God,” Nix groaned.

Mads tugged on his hand. “Come on. I swear on my favorite bird’s life I won’t make fun.”

Nix looked at him with wonder. “You have a bird?”

“His name is Autolycus. And he’s not technically mine,” Mads admitted. “He’s the shop bird, but I swear to God he imprinted on me because he won’t ever leave me alone, and he keeps trying to sneak out by climbing into my hoodie pocket when I’m not paying attention.”

Nix’s grin widened, then it faltered before he detached his hand from Mads’s and dug into his pocket. “It’s fine if you make fun of me. Piper gave me so much shit about it.”

Mads wanted to say something impolite about Nix’s brother, but it wasn’t fair. He didn’t have siblings, so he couldn’t really relate, but he was close enough with Ryker for it to count. With careful hands, he took Nix’s phone and stared down at the screen.

The app was sort of old-school in its simplicity—a photo of Nix from the shoulders up, smiling shyly, which made Mads’s stomach feel all swoopy. There was his name, and his occupation—tour bus driver at the space center—his age, height, and weight. Below that was his bio, which was short and concise and detailed—exactly as Mads figured it would be.

There were his wants: someone kind, patient, and understanding with a love of Xena: Warrior Princess. There were his deal-breakers: cruel sense of humor, someone who was a childhood bully, and someone who thought Batman was better than Superman.

He couldn’t help but laugh, and when he looked up, he saw a flicker of pain in Nix’s eyes because he’d clearly taken that the wrong way.

“It’s fucking wonderful.”

Nix started to shake his head. “It’s no surprise Jasper thought I was a freak.”

“Jasper was a sorry, pathetic loser who thought he could play with someone’s emotions to get laid. That’s what Bumble is for,” Mads said, his voice heavy with the heat of his anger. “He had no goddamn right.”

Nix shrugged. “I was naïve.”

“You were honest. That’s rare most days,” Mads told him. He handed the phone back, but instead of pulling away when his hands were empty, he curled a knuckle under Nix’s chin and drew his gaze back. Nix didn’t quite meet his eyes, but Mads found the connection was no less intense. “I really like you. I don’t want to scare you off, but the longer we talk, the more I want the night to go on forever.”

Nix let out a trembling breath, then lifted his gaze and looked right at Mads. “Come over to my place.”

“Nix…”

“I won’t be upset if you say no.”

Mads snorted. “Okay, now you’re lying.”

Nix shrugged and looked away. “Maybe. But I don’t want you to feel pressured into saying yes.”

Mads felt something in his chest—something new and intense and overwhelming. He cupped Nix’s cheek and gently urged his attention back, then stroked his thumb over his lower lip. “I’m gonna kiss you.” That was somewhere between a request and a demand, and his breath stuttered in his chest as he waited for Nix to accept or reject him.

He expected Nix to be hesitant, to let Mads take the lead, so he was pleasantly surprised when the other man reached for him, cradled his face, and drew him close. Mads’s breath caught in his chest as their noses brushed together, and they both shared a quiet laugh.

“I’m being awkward,” Nix murmured.

“You’re not. You’re perfect.”

Nix let out a soft noise, and Mads was helpless to do anything except close the distance and press their lips together. Nix’s fingers spasmed against his cheeks, and Mads gripped him by the waist, holding fast, almost afraid to let go. He was burning hot with need and hating with every fiber of his being that they were in the middle of a public place.

“God,” Nix said as he broke away first.

Mads nodded, pressing their foreheads together. “Yeah. Uh…so about your offer…”

“Just say yes. Please just say yes.”

Mads grinned. “Yes.”

CHAPTER SIX

Nix felt like he was going out of his mind as they headed toward his place. His tongue felt all tied up, but there hadn’t been a single look of judgment or frustration on Mads’s face when Nix put the directions in the GPS instead of giving them himself.

He also didn’t try to quiet Nix’s quiet stimming, which was making the whole situation that much more bearable. He hadn’t been this on edge since he was younger, but it didn’t take a genius to know why.

His leg was bouncing so hard it started to shake the car at a red light, and he flushed hotly all across his face. “Sorry. Sorry.”

Mads let go of the wheel and grabbed his hand, pressing a rough kiss to the top of his knuckles. “Stop apologizing for being yourself. I really like you.”

Those words hit him almost like a physical blow, and all the air left his lungs in a rush. No one—not even his brother, who loved him more than anyone else had ever tried to love him—had said something like that before. His brother always told him to embrace who he was, but he’d never asked him not to be sorry for the way he took up space.

Nix said nothing until Mads pulled up in front of his apartment. He turned the car off, and they sat there in a heavy silence until Mads turned to face him.

“I don’t want to make assumptions about how you’re feeling, but if this is too much for you, we can stop for the night.”

Nix shook his head so quickly everything spun for a second. “That’s…that’s not it. I don’t want to stop.”

“I don’t want to either,” Mads said. “I just need you to know that at any point, if you need to call it quits, it’s not going to change how I feel about you.”

Nix hadn’t been worried about that, mostly because he was too caught up in trying to maintain his composure that he didn’t have the capacity to overthink anything. But the profound honesty in Mads’s tone was enough that he didn’t need to let himself get in his head.

It was easy to trust him, even if it might have been a little foolish.

“My place isn’t really tidy,” Nix said after a long beat. His stims had calmed down, and the most that was plaguing him were a few little hand twitches. He let his fingers dance for a second, then reached for the door handle. “I promise I’m not a slob, though.”

Mads let out a soft laugh as he got out and hopped to the back seat where he retrieved his crutches. “I’d say the same, but I know everyone’s definition of slob is different, and I can be kind of a bachelor some days.”

Nix didn’t know what that meant, but he figured it meant he didn’t have to apologize for his dinner dishes still being on the counter or for the laundry pile that was in his recliner that he was probably never going to fold.

More than ever, he appreciated being on the bottom floor when he heard Mads let out a sigh of relief as they ducked under the stairs, and he got his key in the door without too much fumbling. His place was cool and very dark, so he flicked on the living room lights and gave a halfhearted wave as Mads moved past him.

“It’s pretty small,” he said. “There’s no real point in giving you a tour.”

“There are better things to tour anyway,” Mads replied as Nix shut the door.

It took him a second to get it, but when he did, his ears burned. He set the lock, then suddenly found himself carefully and slowly backed against the wall. Mads had dropped his crutches in the corner by the door, and his hands were holding Nix by the waist the way he’d done when they kissed.

“Is this okay?”

Nix swallowed thickly, nodding as he tried to find words. “Please.”

Mads’s eyes darkened. He was so goddamn beautiful Nix was struggling to understand why he was still there. “Gonna kiss you again. That alright, sweetheart?”

Nix’s heart gave a thud against his chest so hard he wondered if Mads felt it. “Please,” he managed again.

Mads licked his lips, then moved one hand to cradle Nix’s cheek before surging in once more. And fuck, it was so much better than it had been outside. The social barrier that prevented Nix from making noise, from leaning in, from reacting the way he wanted to was now gone.

A groan ripped from his lungs, and his hands immediately went to Mads’s firm ass, cupping it hard and yanking him close. He was operating entirely on instinct. He’d never gone this far before—had never wanted to. He’d never felt safe enough.

“Nix?”

He realized he’d stopped kissing Mads back, and he pulled away just enough to look into his eyes. “Sorry,” he whispered. Christ, had he said more than sorry or please since they’d gotten into the car?

Mads pulled back farther and stroked his thumbs over Nix’s cheeks. His eyes were half-lidded and dark with concern. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

Nix’s heart thumped hard again, and he had to take a few breaths before he could speak. “I’m…” God, he was going to sound so pathetic. “I’ve never…um…before.”

“With a guy?” Mads chanced.

Nix flushed deeper. “No.”

Mads brows dipped, then his eyes widened. “Oh.”

“I know that’s probably the last thing you want to hear,” he said with a thready laugh. “I mean, it’s only sexy in romance novels, right?”

Mads bit his lip, then glanced over his shoulder. “Can we take this conversation somewhere else. I feel like we should talk about this where I’m not literally pinning you to the wall.”

Nix’s lips twitched into a small grin, and he ducked under Mads’s arm. He paused in front of his couch, but he couldn’t bring himself to walk over. His body felt twitchy, and his anxiety was threatening to consume him. He wanted his bed and the familiar weight of his comforter.

“My bed,” he said, then let his fingers flutter against his thigh. “It’s not for…you know. Sex.”

A warm hand against his shoulder, and he tipped his head down as Mads spoke close to his ear. “The bed’s fine. I meant what I said. Any time you want to stop, we stop.”

Gesturing to the half-open door, he broke away from Mads’s touch and kicked off his shoes, shoving them against the dresser as he stepped into his room. It was exactly how he’d left it—exactly how it always looked. The bed was unmade, his clothes from the day before were in a pile by the bathroom door, and his uniform was draped over a folding chair near the window.

It was routine, but it was entirely disturbed by Mads’s presence, though he didn’t hate it. It was a strange sort of chaos that he wanted to keep around forever.

Bowing his head, he listened to the soft clink-thud of Mads’s crutches as he followed Nix in. “Nix?”

“Mm.”

“I’m gonna need you to talk to me, okay?”

Nix blew out a puff of air and nodded, turning around and backing up until the mattress hit his calves. He sat with a small womph of his covers, then shifted back and hated how it felt being in bed with his clothes on. He watched as Mads’s gaze tracked him as he propped himself against the corner between the headboard and the wall.

“Am I scaring you?” Mads asked.

Nix’s eyes went wide. “What? God. No. I’m just…I feel…I don’t know. Foolish? I should have said something before.”

Mads’s frown deepened as he set his crutches against the nightstand and then dropped to the side of the bed. He made no move to climb all the way in, but his body was relaxed. After a long beat, he twisted his torso and looked at Nix. “Would it bother you if I was a virgin?”

“I…No,” Nix said. He immediately got where Mads was going. “But⁠—”

“Then the only thing that matters is you telling me what you want. And what you need.”

Nix pulled his top lip between his teeth, feeling an odd, pleasant pull against the bottom of his nose. He wasn’t looking at Mads anymore, but he could feel his heavy gaze. “I’m not a virgin on purpose. I don’t think it holds some mythical energy that’ll change me. I’ve just never been very comfortable with anyone else before, and when I was younger…” He trailed off with a sigh, shrugging. “People thought I was a total weirdo. So I never got the chance to get to know anyone well enough to want this.”

Rolling onto his side, Mads propped his head up on his hand, his elbow pressing into the mattress. “I think you’re fantastic.”

Nix’s whole body burned with an emotion he couldn’t begin to name. “I like you too.”

Mads’s expression went suddenly serious, then he nodded, rolled onto his stomach, and started to crawl toward Nix.

Heart hammering in his chest, Nix sat there with his breath stuck in his throat until Mads froze. “Did you change your mind?” he asked after a beat when Mads still hadn’t moved.

Maddox let out a frustrated growl as he dropped back down to his side. “I can’t straddle you. I…My leg.”

Nix watched the color bloom on his face, but it was all the wrong kind. It wasn’t the mottled pink of desire but the red of shame, and that was the last thing in the world Nix wanted to see.

He really had no idea what he was actually doing, but his instincts hadn’t led him wrong so far. With careful, tender hands, he eased Mads onto his back and cupped his cheek. “Can I undress you?”

“If you still want to⁠—”

“Yes,” Nix interrupted. “I want you so badly.”

Mads met his gaze and licked his lips, then nodded as he took Nix by the wrist, moving his hand to lay a wet, lingering kiss to the center of his palm. “I want to make you feel good, sweetheart.”

“You already have,” Nix told him. He wanted more, but in reality, he could have done nothing but feel Mads’s kisses on his skin and be satisfied.

Luckily for them both, Mads didn’t seem to want to stop. He shuffled himself up toward the headboard, and the moment he was still, Nix attacked the button and zipper on his jeans. Mads laughed at his enthusiasm, but it was maybe the first time in his life Nix didn’t feel like he was being laughed at.

He met Mads’s gaze again, grinning wildly. “Too much?”

“Perfect,” Mads breathed. “You’re so perfect.”

Nix flushed hotly as he grabbed the bottom of Maddox’s shirt and pulled it over his head. It left his hair mussed and wild, and he couldn’t help but press his hands to the headboard and kiss him as Nix tugged his jeans down to his feet. Mads responded immediately, kicking them away as he grabbed Nix by the waist, urging his leg over to straddle him.

Before he could drop his weight, however, Mads finished undressing him with careful, concise motions.

Nix broke away from the kiss, staring down between them, where he was now straddling two thick thighs in just his boxers. He was so hard his dick was poking out of the slit, and he felt a tendril of embarrassment curling up his spine.

“One day soon, I’m gonna get my mouth on you,” Mads said, then tipped Nix’s chin up. “I’m gonna take my time and kiss you from here”—he traced a touch over Nix’s kiss-swollen lips—“to here.” Nix’s breath caught in his chest when Mads gently cupped him between his legs, cradling his dick and balls.

It was the first time someone else’s hand had touched him there, and all his breath left in a rush so fast his head started to swim. “God…God, I—” He didn’t know what he needed to say.

Mads let him go but only to spread the boxer slit and draw him out. Mads’s palm was slightly rougher than his own, and Nix immediately felt the familiar tug at the base of his spine, telling him he was gonna spill far too soon.

“I can’t…It’s so much. I’m…” he stammered.

“I know,” Mads said. He used his free hand to draw his own dick out. It was darker than Nix’s, and a little fatter, and it was uncut. The foreskin slid as Mads gripped it, and Nix had a sudden, wild urge to lean down and taste him. “I didn’t bring condoms tonight. I wanted to be sure I didn’t make any bad decisions.”

Nix looked up at him. “Is this a bad decision?”

“God no,” Mads said. “If I’d had any inkling who I was going to meet, I would have bought a damn Costco-sized box.”

Nix laughed, the sound a little breathless because Mads began to stroke him in earnest. “I-I’ve never…I’m a virgin, so I’ve never had an STI screen, but I’m probably all negative.”

Mads laughed. “Well, I’m not, and I have, but I’m not going to take risks with you, sweetheart. Never with you. This will have to do for tonight.”

It almost sounded like an apology, which made Nix want to burst into laughter because how could a man possibly apologize for making Nix feel this good—this wanted and beautiful and…and happy. Christ he could die content right in that moment, except that he wanted more too.

He wanted Mads to make good on his promises that there was more to come.

Closing his eyes, Nix leaned down and buried his face in the crook of Mads’s neck, just letting himself feel the sensations as Mads stroked him just shy of too tight and not quite fast enough. Not that it would matter. Nix hadn’t come only because he was holding off with every ounce of his control, which was slowly starting to fade.

He grunted, rocking his hips hard as Mads sped up, and seconds before he let go, he dug his teeth into Mads’s shoulder and cried out. Heat rushed through him, overwhelming him. His vision whited out, and his ears started to ring as he spilled and spilled and spilled.

In the haze of his afterglow, Nix felt the warm spurt of his lover’s come as it hit him between the legs, soaking into his boxers and sliding down his balls. It was filthy and wonderful, and God, he’d give damn near anything in the world to know he could have this again.

Fingers started to card through his hair, and he took a deep breath, afraid to look up. What if he’d been too loud, too needy, too weird? He hadn’t participated at all. He hadn’t even touched Mads, which felt suddenly selfish, and…Jesus, he’d fucked it up. He must have.

“That was the most amazing thing I have ever experienced,” Mads murmured into his hair.

Nix lifted his head up, almost knocking him in the chin. “Seriously?”

Mads looked suddenly unsure. “Was it not good for you?”

At that, Nix lost it and collapsed forward, laughing so hard his chest hurt. “It was amazing,” he managed. “Are you joking?”

Mads urged him back and stared at him. “Why are you surprised, then?”

“Because I didn’t even touch you,” Nix said. “I just kind of…sat here.”

Mads rolled his eyes and grabbed Nix by the hair. Hard. He dragged him into a kiss—sloppy and just as good as each one that had come before it. “Ridiculous. I don’t need you to be some performing art piece, sweetheart. The way you moved, the way you responded to my touch? That was everything.”

Nix closed his eyes, the words almost too much for him.

Mads stroked a finger along the edge of his jaw. “You’re dangerous, Phoenix. If I’m not careful, I’m going to get addicted.”

“What if I already am?”

It wasn’t a question Nix wanted answered, and he was grateful when Mads didn’t. Instead, they lay there until Nix couldn’t take the feeling of cool, drying come. He carefully moved back, then hopped off the bed and ran a washcloth under the water until it was warm and soaked. He cleaned himself, then grabbed a second for Mads, walking back into the bedroom to find him carefully manipulating his leg with both hands.

“Are you hurt?”

Mads glanced up and grimaced. “I’m always in some sort of pain. I haven’t been that active outside of PT in a long time.”

“I’m—”

“Don’t you fucking dare say sorry,” Mads all but growled. “I’d endure a lot more to feel that good with you again.”

Nix bit back a smile, not quite sure if it was appropriate to feel so good about what the man was saying, and instead, he dropped down beside him and handed off the cloth. He knew it was rude to stare, but he couldn’t help watch as Mads cleaned his limp dick carefully, and he knew it meant something when Mads didn’t tuck himself back in.

“You can touch me, you know,” Mads said after a beat. “I won’t get hard again for a while, but I’ll like it.”

Nix hadn’t realized how badly he wanted to. He shifted closer, then carefully traced a touch up Maddox’s leg. He felt the muscles twitch and glanced up to see Maddox’s eyes were heated and locked on the path of Nix’s fingers.

His skin was so warm, mottled with small bumps and coarse hair, and he had small barely there valleys of smooth skin interrupted by the occasional stretchmark. It was maybe the most amazing thing Nix had ever gotten his hands on.

As he reached the edge of the boxers, Nix hesitated. “How should I⁠—”

Mads didn’t let him suffer through the embarrassing question, instead taking his hand and laying it flat over his soft dick. It was wrinkly and a little rough—so strange compared to his own but in the best way. When Mads moved his hand back, Nix curled his fingers around it and stroked his thumb along his foreskin.

“Different.”

Mads made a small, curious noise. “Good different?”

“The best kind of different.” He looked up and felt another strong pulse of that strange, nameless emotion in his chest. “Are we…”

“Nuts?” Mads asked for him.

Nix laughed as he let Mads go, pressing his palm to his thigh instead. “We just met a few hours ago.”

Mads reached for him, and Nix found himself slipping easily into his arms, arranged so he was draped over his lap with his cheek resting on his shoulder. It wasn’t entirely comfortable, but moving was the last thing he wanted to ever do.

“My best friend met his wife one weekend. They were at a restaurant with what he says was the world’s worst service and even worse food.”

Nix pulled a face. Food would always be tricky for him, so that sounded like even more of a nightmare than most.

“They were both eating alone on their lunch hour and ended up playing hooky the rest of the day. They went for a walk in the park, where it started raining, and they got drenched. They took her car and got fast food, and half the order was missing.”

“You’re describing a nightmare date,” Nix told him.

Maddox leaned in, pressing a laugh into the top of Nix’s hair. “Yep. Everything about the date was terrible…except Ryker says it was the best day of his life. And he includes his wedding day in that. He said everything was awful but he was so damn sure about her it felt like a dream.”

Nix understood immediately, and it was impossible to argue. The night had started out as all of his worst fears coming true, and somehow it ended with him in Maddox’s arms, in his bed, feeling safer than he ever had in his life.

“I have no idea what we’ll feel like tomorrow or a week from now, but I do know that I’ve done this before, more than I care to think about, and I’ve never felt like this.”

Nix squeezed his eyes shut and nodded. He might have been physically inexperienced, but he’d seen the worst of what humanity had to offer, and he didn’t think a man like Maddox was even possible. He was afraid it was some trick, like the universe was playing a giant, cosmic joke on him, but he was also hopeful.

“Can we take it slow?” he finally asked.

Mads kissed him on the head again. “I was thinking the same thing. We can still do this, though, right? I really, really want to get my mouth on you soon.”

Nix shuddered and nodded. “Yeah. Yes. All of that.”

Mads laughed softly and held him just a little tighter. “Good.”

Nix grinned and echoed in the softest voice, “Yeah. Good.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

E.M. LINDSEY

E.M. Lindsey is a non-binary, MM Romance author who lives on the East Coast of the United States

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AUGUST’S THIEF

FEARNE HILL

CHAPTER ONE

“Good afternoon. Make yourself at home. I’m CUPID.”

I’d been warned about this: the stern disembodied voice and the sterile room, empty save for a pink couch, a low table adjacent and a box of tissues. A peculiar set-up—all of it. But I’d failed to find love or even regular sex using conventional dating apps, so what did I have to lose? CUPID’s marketing boasted a one hundred per cent success rate in discovering a perfect match.

Every rule had an exception.

“We’ve been reviewing your dating history, August Angel,” purred CUPID from somewhere behind my head. “Quite the read.”

“Yes.”

My face heated. CUPID’s background checks had been rather thorough.

“Your Bumble profile was particularly amusing,” they added. “Shall I remind you of it?”

I hadn’t joined the app to provide entertainment. “Um… no, I’d rather you didn’t.”

No reminder necessary. That miserable attempt at finding love proved the final nail in the coffin. In desperation, I’d uploaded my photo and bio upside down, hoping some horny sod would turn their screen around and swipe right by mistake. And a few cack-handed souls did; three even made it as far as meeting up. After asking why I had minestrone soup dripping down one side of my face, the first didn’t even hang around long enough to order a beer. The second knocked back the lion’s share of a bottle of wine, then suggested I join a monastery. The third, a pleasant chap named Alfie, turned out to be married and straight. Afterwards, in the pub car park, he offered me fifty quid in exchange for a blow job. We still texted occasionally.

“I suggest you break ties with Alfie. Not good for your mental health.”

Christ, had this bot wormed their way into my brain?

“And anyhow, you won’t need him. Not by the time we’ve finished with you.”

No win, no fee. I admired CUPID’s confidence. And their bluntness. Not that I found their company especially comfortable.

“Can we… um… move on, please? I’m paying you a considerable amount of money to find love, not rake over my previous disasters.”

“So impatient!” CUPID hummed. “Very well. Close your eyes, August Angel. Relax. Breathe. Empty your mind. Then, in your own time, tell me what your heart desires.”

Hah! That was just cruel.

“Allow your heart to run free.”

I let out a groan. Run free? My heart had barely learned how to crawl.

“I… I want a… a man. A man I can tuck under my arm,” I began. And my face heated again, because in the grand scheme of priorities ‘a man I can tuck under my arm’ might not be at the top. More to the point, beggars like me couldn’t be choosers. I should have just stopped at man.

“That’s good, August,” purred CUPID. “Keep going.”

Fuck it. In for a penny and all that. “I want a… a femme. Someone that likes to fool around with mascara and shit. With fabulous eyes gazing up at me like I’m everything he ever wanted too. Like he really needs me. Someone who sees beyond this shitty mess on my face. Sees beyond my pots of money but lets me spend it on him anyhow. Lets me dress him like a fucking doll. Lets me wait on him hand and foot. Pretty hands, pretty feet—I’m a sucker for pretty toes. A toe sucker. I want someone who lets me worship him like a disciple. Someone who curls up under my… my wing, for want of a better word, and lets me love him like he’s never known love before.”

Thank fuck the room didn’t have a mirror; my face must have been scarlet. The normal half, at least. Christ, what on earth had possessed me to spew all that? And where had it all come from? As the silence stretched, a dreadful thought struck me that this might be an elaborate set-up.

At last, CUPID gave a computerised version of a dry cough. “Is that… all?”

Was that sarcasm? “Yes, pretty much. I mean, it would help if he was quite local too. Not too far from London. But I’d fly to the ends of the earth for the right guy. And I’d... I’d care for him, with everything I have.”

A sigh echoed around the room, like a draft of cool air. “You have a very big heart, August Angel.”

I swallowed. “Yes, I do.”

The biggest. A huge fucking cavern overflowing with love and affection and no one to offer it to. And right now, it was on the cusp of sobbing. “You’re not… not like other dating agencies, are you?”

“Glad you noticed,” answered CUPID drily.

“You think outside the box.”

In reply, CUPID made a tinkly little laugh, like silver bells. “Outside the box? Sweet, sweet August Angel. Look around you. Don’t you see? There is no box.”

“Not for you maybe.” By now my self-pitying tears were flowing freely. I made a hopeless gesture towards my hideous, disfigured face. “I’ve been trapped inside this one all my life.”

The purpose of the tissues became evident. As I made use of them, CUPID stayed quiet.

“So, what’s the grand plan?” I asked once I could trust my voice again. “Plastic surgery? A face transplant? A paper bag over my head?”

That tinkly laugh again. “Goodness me, no, August. None of that will be necessary at all! We’re not in the business of changing the cards you’ve been dealt; we’re here to play a poor hand well. And I have splendid news. Open your phone and click on the CUPID app. Your perfect match is ready and waiting!”

On cue, my phone pinged, and a throbbing pink heart appeared on the screen. Misery morphed into trepidation as my finger hovered over it. If this whole thing was a set-up designed to part lovelorn wealthy men from their cash, then it was an extremely elaborate one.

“Don’t be shy, August. Reach out, touch your heart. Reveal your perfect match.”

I pressed once, and the cartoon heart shimmered under my finger, then dissolved. The blurred outline of a man took its place. Fuck, how I needed this to work, almost as if my life depended on it. The image sharpened, and my own heart began pumping wildly. Then nearly stopped altogether.

I stared and stared at the photograph filling the screen. Through bottomless pupils, big and round, a vision of pretty, pretty perfection stared back.

“His name is Dawson,” offered CUPID, though I was hardly listening, already sucked into the screen. Those eyes, my goodness, those eyes. Violet pools, like old lavender crushed between the pages of a dusty, long-forgotten diary. The colour of rich wives’ jewels sparkling from heavy ropes of gold. Of fragile veins, of thunderclouds. And their watchful expression: a little sweet, a little sad, a little wary, a whole lot naughty.

“He’s a delight, is he not? You can’t see his hands and feet, but I am confident they will be to your liking.”

I tore my gaze from the eyes, though they followed me regardless. White-blond hair framing porcelain skin. CUPID had sent me a malevolent pixie—a turned-up nose in a heart-shaped face, plush lips made for kissing, now twisted in a knowing smirk. Wiry, thin arms folded across a cropped T-shirt the colour of fresh peaches.

Tell me what your heart desires.

“What’s the catch?” I demanded. “There must be a catch.”

“Why, sweet August Angel? Why must there be a catch?”

I gave a shaky laugh, still unable to drag my eyes away from the young man taking ownership of my screen. Perfect match? In my wildest fantasies, maybe. “Trust me, there’s always a catch. No way would a guy like this even look twice at a man like me.”

“And you should trust me,” CUPID answered in a steely tone. “Dawson is your perfect match. I can feel it in my bones.”

I scoffed. “Do bots even have bones?”

“Yes, plastic ones. Now listen, your date is lined up for this evening. I’m sending you a time and an address.”

CUPID sounded awfully confident. Ah well, at the very least it would be dinner out at a smart restaurant. And hopefully across the table from a stunning companion. Unless this Dawson took one look at me and fled. “Okay,” I sighed. “You’re the boss. What’s the dress code?”

A hint of hesitancy. For the first time, CUPID appeared a little less certain. “Ah… shall we say… smart casual should suffice? And you may need a small amount of um… cash.”

“So there is a catch.” I knew it. This Dawson was too good to be true. “Come on, out with it.”

“Goodness me, is that the time? Show yourself out, August. I’ll send you the details via the app.” The bot made a little coughing noise just as my phone pinged again, and a message flashed across the screen: Time: 6.30 p.m. Place: Bethnal Green Police Station. Fine: not met, set at £70.

CHAPTER TWO

Counting down the days to retirement, a bored desk copper led me to the holding pen. I heard my perfect match while I was signing a form and paying his fine, way before I clapped eyes on him. Yelling at chatterbox speed with a voice like incoming artillery. “And then I said to him, what you arresting me for? Cuteness? ’Cos I’ve also got a set of guns and a six-pack if you wanna see ’em.” A round of guffaws interrupted the flow. “So, then the copper said, ‘shut the fuck up,’ or he was gonna leave the cuffs on. ‘Yes please,’ I said, ‘or maybe you could swap them for that pink furry pair sticking out your back pocket?’ Lad blushed the colour of your sweater, mate. I reckon he was only about nineteen. And then I said, ‘do you want me to put my ’ands where you can hold⁠—’ ”

“Hey, Dawson,” my companion butted in. “Pipe down. The cavalry’s arrived. You’re going home—give the rest of us a bit of peace.”

Another couple of guffaws. We rounded a corner to find two raggedly dressed blokes, of the kind seeking somewhere warm for the night, lounging on the cold floor of the holding cell. A third, very blond and slight of build, stood with his back to us, waving his arms like he was conducting an orchestra. Dawson. My perfect match. He spun around, my view of him obscured by the burly copper lumbering ahead of me.

“What, has my knight in shining armour finally come to get me out of here?”

Hefting a huge set of keys from his uniform pocket, the copper snorted. “More like that geezer from The Phantom of the Opera. But he’s paid up, and he’s taking you home. Thank fuck.” He turned to me. “When you get sick of him, mate, do us all a favour and don’t bring him back.”

Dawson sniggered. “As if I’d let him.” He patted one of his cellmates on the shoulder. “Laters, Pete. See ya, Derek. And remember: deny, deny, deny, all right?”

And then, before I knew it, I was back behind the wheel of my car, with the addition of a nosy, talkative, criminal passenger.

“Who the fuck are you, then? You’d better not be a psycho ’cos I’ve got things I need to do. People to see, places to be. Know what I mean?”

“I’m…erm.” God, it sounded ridiculous. I pushed on. “Er… CUPID sent me? The dating app? We had a date tonight?”

“Shit, yeah, did we? Fuck.” Dawson slapped his palm against his head. “Completely forgot. Sorry about that. As you can see, something came up. Can we go to Tesco instead?”

My life hadn’t veered out of its lane so much as hit a road bump and bounced into a totally foreign traffic system, one possibly belonging in an alternative universe. This whirlwind, now opening the glove box and sliding the car seat back and forth like he’d never sat on a bloody adjustable seat, was supposed to be my perfect match?

“Nice set of wheels, mate.” His blush-pink painted nails tapped approvingly on the Porsche dashboard. “Is it nicked?”

“No!” Flicking a switch, I fired up the engine, pressing my foot on the accelerator and applying much more throttle than necessary to reverse out of a police station car park. Like a kid in a sweet shop and wiggling in his seat, my companion fiddled with the air con. A jet of hot air blasted the both of us. Dawson beamed with delight.

“How old are you?” I asked as we entered the stream of traffic edging towards the centre of town.

“Twenty-six.”

My arse. “How old are you really?”

“Twenty-three,” he admitted and threw me a cheeky wink. “In six months from now. So, Tesco supermarket, yeah? I need some gear. Go left up here for a couple of miles and then third off the roundabout. Can’t miss it. It’s got a massive blue-and-red sign.”

“I know what Tesco looks like.”

He laughed. “Just checking, mate. What with you being so posh and everything. Unless it’s fake posh.” He frowned. “I told CUPID I didn’t want posh. How posh are you?”

No point lying, he’d been eyeing up my Patek Philippe since we set off. “Fairly,” I confessed.

“Do you know Prince Harry?”

“Um… yes? Although we’re not close. He’s my ah… second cousin.” A nugget of information I rarely shared, but the surprise it rendered tended to afford me a second to catch my breath. I pointed to my face. “I don’t often get invited to the family photo shoots, though.”

“Can’t think why,” Dawson responded with a chuckle. “Some of them royals look like the back-end of a horse. You wouldn’t stand out in a line-up, that’s for sure. Are you loaded?”

“Um… yes? I guess?”

He nodded as if expecting as much. “Cool beans. In that case, I’ll let CUPID off for sending someone posh. Anyhow, thanks for picking me up.”

“And paying your fine,” I pointed out.

Another laugh. “Yeah, cheers. I’d say I’ll pay you back, but then I’d be lying. I’m skint. I never pay the fines. Which means I do fuck loads of community service. Me getting arrested does the council a huge favour. You won’t find a scrap of litter in Bethnal Green. What’s your name, then? I’m Dawson.”

“August. August Angel.”

“Ooh, very swanky. Hang a left here. Corners nicely, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t have bought it in green, though. Fuck-off yellow’s the best colour for a Porsche.”

I felt dizzy by the time we arrived at Tesco. And determined not to let disappointment overwhelm me as my passenger leapt out. CUPID had been my last chance saloon. Chalking it up as one of my shortest dates yet, I didn’t notice Dawson open the door on my side until his high tenor lisped in my ear. “Are you coming, Gussie? I thought we were on a date. There’s a nice café out the front, open til nine. They do a lovely coffee and scone for only two quid. We can go there before I do my shopping, if you like. I’ll treat you, seeing as you coughed up for the fine. Unless you’re too posh for Tesco.”

I was not, and had never been, too posh for Tesco. Though I didn’t enjoy supermarkets, preferring to purchase groceries online to avoid the rude stares of random strangers and blunt comments from small children. While Dawson queued at the café counter, I chose a table for two, positioning myself with my worst side next to the window.

“What’s that shit on your face, then?” Dawson asked as he slid into the plastic seat opposite. Seemed I wasn’t going to avoid blunt comments after all. He pushed a mug of something brown and wet across the table, then proceeded to heap sugar into his own. “You can be mother,” he added, pointing to the little jug of milk. Then he began attacking his scone. “Romantic this, innit?”

I poured milk for both of us. “A burn.” In general, I left it at that.

In general, other people also left it at that.

Dawson stirred his coffee. “How?”

“In a car accident when I was a small child.” I stared out across the gloomy car park. “My father was an alcoholic and crashed into a tree. Him and my mother died. I don’t have siblings.”

Dawson’s lips pursed. “They skipped that episode of The Crown, didn’t they?”

I looked back to find his extraordinary eyes examining my burn. His frank gaze travelled from my left temple, where my thick black hair refused to grow over shiny, tight skin, across to my ragged stump of an ear and then down along the line of my cheek and jaw. Except it wasn’t a line, more of a purple treacly slide, disappearing below my collar.

“It makes you look pissed off all the time, where it pulls your mouth down.” He indicated to his own beautifully shaped lower lip, coated with a light sheen of gloss matching his nails.

I am pissed off all the time. “Yes, it does.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes. In cold weather. Why were you arrested?”

“Shoplifting,” he answered, taking a huge bite of scone. He spoke as he chewed. “From the supermarket. I don’t nick much, just a bit of stuff here and there that takes my fancy.”

Oh joy, I was consuming stolen goods.

“Not Tesco,” he added reassuringly. “Nor Sainsbury’s—I’m banned from Sainsbury’s, actually. Today I was caught in the big Lidl down the road from here. God knows how; they’ve got shite security cameras.”

I frowned. “Don’t the police normally just take a statement after an arrest for petty shoplifting, then send a fine through the post? I thought they were too under-resourced for much more these days?”

“Not when they’ve caught you eight times this year already,” he answered, cheerfully dabbing at crumbs on his plate. His hands were smaller than mine, I noticed, and elegant. “And I might have offered the copper who arrested me a blow job. He didn’t take me up on it,” he asserted as my eyes widened. “His loss.”

Unable to come up with an adequate response, I sipped at my coffee. Not as bad as I’d expected. Dawson eyed my dry-looking scone hungrily. His scrawny frame needed it more than mine, and I indicated he could have it. He watched as I spread jam for him. “You don’t sound like you’re… um… very good at shoplifting,” I ventured.

“I’m amazing at it!” Dawson shook his blond head vigorously. “I nick stuff all the time—not always from Lidl; you have to spread the love around a bit, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Anxiety flashed across his face. “The copper warned me I might get a custodial sentence this time. Like, two or three weeks or something. Said they’ve brought in a new law to teach repeat offenders a lesson.” He licked jam off the knife. “That would be a fucking disaster. Hopefully, I’ll get away with it.”

In three noisy gulps, he chugged back most of his coffee, his good humour returned. “So, August Angel. Why’s a rich, posh bloke like you on a dating app?”

I spluttered with laughter. “Isn’t it evident? More to the point, why are you on a dating app?”

He grinned at me then, wide and impish. A grin of pure mischief and, for a fleeting second, if my brain could recall the necessary muscle groups, I’d have grinned back. “Saw some bloke logging into it next to me on the Tube. For a laugh, I pinched his access details. I don’t get out much and thought I might score a free dinner or something. Changed his name to mine, blagged the online interview, then had an appointment with that weird bot and everything. Simples. I nearly pissed myself laughing when they said they had the perfect match for me.” Those beguiling eyes latched on to mine; tearing my gaze away was hard.

“You, it turns out.” Pushing his food aside, his expression turned serious again. He leaned across the table and whispered, “So I’m guessing you must be dodgy too. What have you been done for?”

He raised a smile from me after all. It didn’t happen often; smiling contorted my mouth into an ugly snarl. Dawson didn’t seem fazed, though. “I haven’t been done for anything! I… I—” I trailed off. What did I do? What defined me? Moping? Aimlessly meandering around art galleries, alone? Buying paintings very few could afford? Wandering the estate like the ghost of Christmas past? Or hurtling down country lanes in the Porsche late at night, at crazy speeds, half hoping I’d hit a tree like my father before me?

“I manage the family estate,” I said at last, sounding awfully prim. “I inherited it when I turned twenty-one. It has a couple of farms, land, some houses, and… and antiques and things.”

Dawson threw me a wry look. “Cool story, bro, but it needs more dragons. What do you really do?”

Often wish I’d died in the crash too. “Exactly as I said. I… Not much, I’m afraid.”

For once, Dawson was lost for words. Slipping a couple of sugar and ketchup sachets into his pocket, he stood. “I’ll nip around the supermarket for a few things, then meet you back at the car. You can give me a lift home.”

He didn’t take long. The sky had darkened, and rain drizzled down the windscreen by the time Dawson tapped on it. He stashed a couple of bags in the tiny space behind our seats, keeping hold of one. “Bloody hell, it’s cold,” he commented as he climbed into the passenger seat. With a flash of white teeth, he shook his head like a dog, sprinkling droplets of rain over my pristine interior. His thin little T-shirt was wet through.

I reached into the narrow space behind his seat. “Here, I have an old sweater you can borrow.”

“Ta.”

We shared an awkward moment as he inclined his head towards me, indicating I should drop the opening of the sweater over him. “My hands are full,” he explained, rustling the bag. “You need a bigger car, Gussie.”

In the way one would dress a child, I found myself easing the garment over his head, and he stroked the soft wool admiringly. Knitted from light-grey Italian cashmere, the sweater was not old at all. It suited him, although it was way too big. “You can keep it if you like. It doesn’t fit me anymore,” I lied.

As he began issuing directions, he delved into his shopping and retrieved a bag of boiled sweets. Humbugs, by the colour of them, like stripey black-and-white pebbles; I hadn’t tasted a humbug in years. With hardly a pause in his commentary, he popped one into his own mouth, then unwrapped a second and leaned over to me. “Open wide.”

He’d pushed it between my lips before I had the chance to object. “Food of the gods, Gussie,” he declared with a happy moan. “They make your cock hard.”

Oh Lord.

For the rest of the journey, the car was filled with the alternating sounds of Dawson crunching through brittle sweet shells followed by noisy sucking on soft toffee centres. Describing our date as peculiar was the height of understatement. Even more bizarre, I was on the edge of enjoying myself. And rediscovering a love of humbugs.

The trip ended almost too soon, by the crunching of Dawson’s fourth humbug. Under instruction, I pulled up outside a shabby row of shops, all in darkness and one boarded up. “That’s me,” he said, unclipping his seatbelt. “In the flat up there.” He pointed above the betting shop where a thin yellow light shone behind curtained windows. Twisting awkwardly, he hauled his bags through the gap between our seats.

“Do you need a hand with those?”

“Nah, I’m good.” I caught another flash of white in the gloom of the interior. “Bet you haven’t had a date like this before, have you?” He shoved the bags from his lap to his feet. “It isn’t over yet.”

I felt a twinge of alarm. “Isn’t it?”

He chuckled. “Nah, Gussie. We haven’t had a snog yet.”

A bigger man might have struggled to clamber across the gear stick. Not Dawson. Before I knew what was happening, his skinny arse was bouncing around in my lap. Then he stilled. “Can I touch it?” he whispered. Without waiting for an answer, he brought his hand up to my cheek. The tip of his thumb stroked down the melted, roughened contours, his touch as light as a butterfly wing. “Thanks for the date,” he breathed. “And for rescuing me by paying my fine and all. That you did that means a hell of a lot, but just so you know, that’s not why I’m going to kiss you.”

The thumb smoothed over my ragged ear. Maybe he had a deformity fetish—if I’d learned anything from dating apps, it was that there was a kink for everything. “So why do you want to?”

Now his hands were cupping both cheeks, the good and the bad, and he tilted my face up to his. Violet eyes perused mine. “Because you’re kind and nice, August Angel. My imperfect match.” His plump lips curved in a cheeky grin. “And you and your fancy sweater smell fucking divine.”

Then he kissed me, thoroughly, and that lush mouth was everything it promised.

CHAPTER THREE

“He kissed me on the lips,” I said. And flushed. “No… no one ever does that.”

Three wintry days had passed, and I was back on the couch. This time, the box of tissues remained undisturbed.

“You like him,” said CUPID. A statement, not a question.

“Yes. Yes, I do. He’s…” The normal side of my face dimpled into a smile at the memory of Dawson’s long fingers poking from the sleeves of my sweater as he popped a sweet into my mouth. Only Dawson had made that happen in a very long time. Our kiss had tasted of sugar and peppermint; the taste had lingered on my drive home. “He’s not like anyone I have met before.”

I remembered his delicate features too, the neat line of his glossy lips, the jut of aristocratic cheekbones (there was the irony), the velvet pull of those violet eyes. My dimple vanished. “There’s not a cat’s chance in hell the feeling is mutual, of course. Dawson’s funny and clever and stunning. And I’m… not.”

CUPID tutted, a strange, mechanical sound. “Let’s review, shall we, before we jump to conclusions?” The dry schwiff of pages flipping filled the room.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, suspicious.

“I want a femme,” CUPID quoted, in an unnervingly accurate imitation of my own dull, cultured tone. “Someone that likes to fool around with mascara and shit. Was Dawson wearing mascara?”

“Yes.” His beautifully applied make-up was one of the first things I noticed about him. In the pause that followed, I swore I heard a soft chuckle before CUPID continued, “With fabulous eyes that gaze up at me like I’m everything he ever wanted. Like he really needs me. Someone who sees beyond this shitty mess on my face. Who sees beyond my pots of⁠—”

“Yes, okay, I get your point. Who knows whether he sees beyond my pots of money, but he certainly let me spend it on him. Not that I mind—it’s only money. I have more than I could ever lose.”

More pages riffling. “Ah, here we are. Did Dawson let you dress him like a doll?”

“No! Don’t be ridic—” I stopped, and my face heated some more. “Well, yes. Sort of. But only because his arms were full of shopping bags.”

A pen scratched. “We can tick that one off, then. Anything else?”

I clapped a hand to my head, recalling the scones. And the milk jug. You can be mother. God, this was awkward. “Um… yes. He seemed happy for me to wait on him hand and foot. And yes, his hands are pretty. Very. I can’t comment on his feet, yet.” Encased in tatty Converse, they were petite; I’d spotted that much.

“Something to look forward to,” purred CUPID, evidently enjoying themselves. “The rest of your desires will follow in time. You’ll see.”

I harrumphed. “You say that, but he hasn’t tried to contact me. I’m still not convinced he’s interested. And he certainly doesn’t need me—he seemed extremely capable of looking after himself. I think he viewed our trip out as nothing more than a bit of a lark. And a free ride home from the police station via one of the few remaining supermarkets he’s allowed to shop in!”

CUPID let out a long, uncannily human sigh. Followed by another mechanical tut. “You could always go and visit him. You know where he lives. Maybe he hasn’t had time to visit you. Our young Dawson is quite a busy boy.”

“Is he?” It hadn’t occurred to me to ask Dawson if he had a job. How arrogant to presume he hadn’t, having heard about the shoplifting and, oh my God, propositioning a poor naive copper. The image of those lips wrapped around my own cock flashed through my mind.

“There’s more to our proud Dawson than meets the eye. Don’t let outward appearances deceive you, Gussie. I told you to trust me. He’s your perfect match; he fulfils every single one of your desires.”

Gussie? How on earth did CUPID know about that?

I didn’t set much store by material possessions, having the undeserved good fortune to be able to replace them all. Nonetheless, on clicking the lock of the Porsche, now parked outside Dawson’s insalubrious row of shops, thus abandoning the vehicle to whatever fate it befell, I experienced a pulse of anxiety. Three youths of the unbelted denim and clumpy trainers variety loitered outside the scruffy Co-op, regarding it wolfishly. Until a strident voice yelled at them from up on high.

“Oi! Don’t even think it, Yoz! Nor you, Sean! He’s with me!” The diminutive owner of the voice, hanging out of an upstairs window, then turned his attention to me. “Gussie! Yay! Come in the back door! It’s open!”

The boys sniggered. “Your back door’s always open, innit, Daw? Bloody pansy!”

“Shut it, Yoz! That’s not what your dad calls me when he’s got his trousers round his ankles and his mouth round my knob!”

Oh Christ. Not the happy reunion I’d envisaged, to be honest. I hurried past the youths in as dignified a manner as I could to find Dawson waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase.

“Don’t worry about the car, Gussie, they’ll look after it. We were only joshing.”

And with that, he planted a wet smacker on my repulsive cheek. “Afternoon, lover.” His breath ghosted over the remains of my ear, sweet and cool. “You’ve kept me waiting, haven’t you?”

Without hanging around for a reply, he took my hand, tugging me up the stairs. “Sorry about the mess,” he said over his shoulder. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have put on some smarter clobber and tidied the place up a bit. And him. He likes having visitors.”

Him? I had questions, but before I had a chance to pose any, Dawson was pushing through the door and into the flat. It opened straight into a small sitting room with a TV in one corner showing a children’s television programme, the sound muted. A wheelchair, the comfy, big, padded sort, was positioned directly in front of it.

“Best behaviour now, Mikey. Gussie’s come to see us. You know, the hot posh bloke I was telling you about.”

Leaning over the chair, he planted another smacker on the face of its occupant, who responded with a happy, snuffling sound. Dawson beckoned me over.

“Come on, Gussie. Come and say hello. Mikey don’t bite, not unless you’re trying to give him one of them disgusting iron tablets, anyhow.” He grabbed the handle of the chair, clicking off the brake. “I’m turning you around, Mikey.”

There was a good reason Dawson didn’t have a proper job; I realised that now. Or rather, he did, but it was more an unpaid labour of love. And, from the glowing look on his flawless face as he proudly introduced me to his flawed twin brother, a job he didn’t consider onerous or laborious at all.

“Hi, Mikey.” Following Dawson’s cue, I took Mikey’s stiff, fragile hand in mine. Replicas of Dawson’s brilliant eyes flicked up at me with vague interest before sliding back to the television screen.

“He won’t answer,” explained Dawson. In a swift, practised move, he produced a tissue and wiped saliva from his brother’s chin. “He can’t. He had a knot in his umbilical cord when we were born. Starved of oxygen. I’m lucky he lived. He can’t move much or talk or anything, but he can see and hear us.” He gave a little laugh. “Though I bet he wishes he couldn’t hear me sometimes, don’t you, my love?” The hand that had been wiping drool briefly settled around his brother’s thin, twisted shoulders before once more turning the wheelchair towards the TV. “I’m just going to make a cuppa for our visitor, Mikey. Back in a minute. Come into the kitchen, Gussie.”

CHAPTER FOUR

I trailed after him into the narrow galley kitchen, experiencing a jumble of emotions, including the usual infusion of self-hatred whenever I encountered anyone with physical afflictions much, much worse than my own. I’m not sure what I had been expecting to find when I paid Dawson a visit. Not Mikey, that’s for sure. No wonder he gave scant regard to my face. Truth be told, I felt like an idiot. And humbled beyond belief. And also in awe of the pocket dynamo now shimmying around his tiny kitchen, pulling out mugs and biscuits and a sippy cup and chattering non-stop.

“Shove those over there,” he instructed, pointing to an open bag of adult nappies and a bumper pack of wipes. “Next to the medicines. And grab the milk. Is full-fat okay? I buy it on account of Mikey—he needs the calories. Can I squeeze past you to get to the kettle?”

When he said squeeze, Dawson wasn’t kidding. Swinging a cat would be nigh on impossible. He grinned up as his graceful body brushed past mine. “Is this our second date, Gussie? Because, just so you know, if it is and you want to get to second base, this kitchen is the place to do it. Unavoidable, to be honest.”

I chuckled, a rusty creaking sound as Dawson leaned across the sink to fill up the kettle, throwing me a saucy wink over his shoulder like a pose from a vintage postcard. His cute little tush encased in cute little dungarees wiggled a bare inch from my own nether regions, thanks to the minuscule dimensions of the kitchen. Bypassing second base, my mind leapt to fourth.

“Well?” He turned to face me, somehow having managed to fill the kettle and switch it on while my brain stalled, its blood supply busily rushing south. A small smile tugged at his lips. “It takes a couple of minutes to boil, and I can think of a few ways to pass the time.”

Dawson kissed like he lived, full throttle. Like kissing was an adventure he was going to explore to the max, as though the man desperately kissing him back was everything he’d ever wanted. And I’d never been kissed that way before.

As if my face was whole.

Dawson broke away, panting, and one of his hands slid between us. Hunger flared in his eyes as his palm curled around my needy cock. “I reckon a couple of minutes will be plenty long enough.”

“Possibly too long,” I gasped as his busy fingers found my belt buckle and teased it apart. Clenched into tight fists, my own hands hung uselessly at my sides because I was so shite at this. He dragged them up to the clasps of his dungarees.

“It’s a team sport, Gussie.” He plunged his tongue into my mouth, delivering another punishing kiss, pushing me back against the door. As the heat of his lithe body pressed against mine, I forgot that a corner of my mouth didn’t move properly and that one half of my face was a mangled rope of flesh because this joyful, determined fucking radiant beam of sunshine had his hand around my cock, as though there was nowhere else he’d rather have it, and was thrusting his own hard shaft through the tunnel of my fist like it fucking belonged there.

I came, embarrassingly quickly, on legs as shaky as a newborn calf’s and accompanied by the triumphant shrill whistle of Dawson’s cheery red kettle. He pumped me until I winced and pushed him away, erupting into delighted laughter at the perfect timing, even as his own release spurted hotly across my palm. With a happy sigh, he collapsed against me, and for a long while I just held him, my arms tight around his back.

“You okay, Gussie?” he whispered against my chest. “Your heart’s galloping like a racehorse.”

“Yes. Very.”

I didn’t add that my mind galloped faster. Cantering far ahead, to summer pastures, to the lush fields of my estate, and me, strolling through them with this beautiful boy tucked under my arm, his fabulous eyes gazing up at me like I was everything he ever wanted.

Galloping far too fast and dangerously out of control; I tugged on the reins. “But that cuppa won’t make itself.”

I teased us apart and made efficient use of the wipes. After fastening my own clothing, I reached for Dawson’s dungarees, still pooled at his knees. With a lopsided grin, he allowed me to dress him.

“Mikey gets eggy if his tea arrives late. He likes his routines.” He dropped a last soft kiss on the corner of my mouth, on the ugly corner. And my heart melted a little bit more.

“Is there just you and Mikey living here?” I asked as he poured boiling water over the teabags.

“Yeah. I’m his sole carer.”

I thought back to the police cell and our trip to Tesco. “Who looks after him if you have to go out?” Or get arrested?

“Eileen in the flat next door comes and sits with him. I only pay her five quid an hour. He loves her—she’s eighty-two with a dicky ticker, so she doesn’t get out much either. She brings her knitting and lets him get the wool in a tangle. She sings to him as well—bloody awful racket, but he loves it. Pass us the milk.”

While Eileen was undoubtedly a wonderful woman, Dawson’s back-up network sounded a little precarious. “Being his um… sole carer must be… hard work?”

Dawson threw me a friendly smile. “Nah, not really. ‘He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother.’ Know what I mean?”

Fishing the teabags out of the mugs, he flicked them into the bin. “Well, that’s actually a lie. He is heavy; getting him in and out of the bath and up and down those stairs is a fucking nightmare. But he’s worth it. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Milk came next, a splash each for him and me, half and half in the sippy cup. “Like, social services wanted to put him in a home, but that’s not happening.”

My mind spooled back. “How do you get him up and down the stairs?”

“I carry him,” he answered simply. “In my arms, like this.” He made a cradling motion. “The gaffer of the betting shop below lets me stash his other wheelchair in their back office, so I don’t have to drag that down too. That would be an even bigger fucking nightmare.” He handed me my tea. “I’d like to get out more, really; Mikey loves the park, loves animals too, like dogs and sheep and cows and stuff, but the buses aren’t exactly reliable.” He shrugged. “We’re cool. We’re happy apart from, you know…” Sharp frown lines briefly creased his smooth forehead.

“Apart from what?”

He grabbed a packet of biscuits and handed them to me with a knowing wink. Lidl’s luxury custard creams. “You know, the… um… shoplifting.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Dawson lavished love on his twin as if love was a bottomless well. But so casually too, as though the way he teased him, cuddled him, and so devotedly fed and watered him, was nothing exceptional when in fact, it was spectacular. And in return, his brother’s hazy gaze tracked his every move. His limbs jerked excitedly, and he gurgled with pleasure at Dawson’s every softly spoken word. I felt both privileged and a voyeur.

And yet.

Questions flocked like seagulls. The regular shoplifting, the multiple arrests and Dawson’s studied nonchalance in the face of them. Mikey’s total dependence on his adoring twin with no clear fall-back plan. Their future. And although it was way too early to dream, whether that future had me in it. Whether Dawson wanted me in it. Because while I was tumbling head over heels for him, God knew I was no catch.

“I liked what we did earlier,” he said softly. Determined to be of assistance, I’d helped him manoeuvre Mikey into a reclining beanbag chair covered in a luxurious sheepskin, which Dawson explained reduced the risk of pressure sores before proudly informing me Mikey had never suffered from a single one. He’d done some stretching exercises with him then, a daily routine, to ease the stiffness in Mikey’s spastic limbs. Now, surrounded by cuddly toys, Mikey was sleeping peacefully, and Dawson was snuggled up next to me on the sofa, having insisted I stay a while. I didn’t take much persuading. His fingers, which had been tripping lightly up and down my thigh, gave it a gentle squeeze. “Your face is beautiful when you come, by the way.”

I blushed fiercely, even as my dick stirred and even as I knew it to be a lie. “That’s um… very kind.”

He yawned. “No, it’s not, it’s the truth. But I’m happy to double-check, just to be sure.”

He cupped his palm over my groin, grinning at my involuntary little grunt of pleasure. “You make cute sounds, too.”

Dawson’s lips parted readily as I kissed him. With a hand against his chest, I pushed him back against the cushions. His mouth found mine again as he pulled me on top. “I reckon you’re just a big humbug yourself, Gussie. Hard and crunchy on the outside, with a soft gooey centre.”

I laughed; I’d lost count of how many times I’d laughed today. “I’ll take that as a compliment. You’re…um…very pretty when you come, too.”

“I know.” He threw me a devilish smirk. “And by the way, I’m loving our second date. Are we going steady now?”

“I’ve never gone steady with anyone,” I admitted. My sex life had been a series of disastrous one-night stands in darkened rooms. Once their immediate needs had been fulfilled, my partners hadn’t been able to escape quick enough and not always with good grace.

“Me neither,” said Dawson, much more cheerily. “Got myself a human chastity belt, snoring right over there.”

He cocked his chin to where Mikey lolled in his beanbag, tilted away from us and towards the television, before turning back to me. He arched his groin up into mine as his mouth, stretched wide and fighting between a grin and a kiss, landed on my jaw. “Told you humbugs make your cock hard. We need to get rid of a couple of layers.”

He solved the clothing problem in under a minute. He also turned the tables; I became pinned down by sixty kilos of wiry, taut man, his busy hands moving over my skin, sparking fires wherever they touched. Cupping two handfuls of smooth arse cheek, my fingertips loitered over the sweet divide before skimming down lower to the parting of his thighs. His dick, hot and heavy, rubbed against mine, and a low moan erupted from his throat.

“Fuck, you feel nice, Gussie,” he whispered around my lips. “I reckon that CUPID bot knows what they’re doing, don’t you?” As his legs widened further, I stroked back up to his tight little hole, circling it, wanting to taste it, to open it up with my tongue. Fantasies I’d never had the confidence to play out. Drawing my finger away, I swiped it across his bottom lip. “Wet it for me.”

Need slackened his features as my fingertip breached him. Precum pulsed between us as he thrust against me, each push and pull sucking my finger deeper into his clinging heat. When my searching hit home, he jerked with shock. More wetness seeped between us, the satiny skin of his pretty cock sliding more easily against mine. His hazed eyes turned restless.

“Gonna come, Gussie. You’re so good, I’m gonna come.”

Liquid warmth spread across my belly as, with a shuddering moan, Dawson shattered. I was close myself and tried to get a hand between us. “Nah,” he gasped. “That’s mine.” With a wild shake of his head, he drew back on his haunches, still half hard. His dick glistened with cum; that vision alone almost tipped me over the edge.

Velvet heat enveloped me as his lips closed around my shaft. I threw my arm across my mouth, muffling the escaped groan. He didn’t use much finesse—he didn’t need to because with a couple of sucks, I was there, pumping into his hot mouth, seeing stars, tasting sunshine, somersaulting in freefall. Tumbling into something that I realised, with a giddy sensation, might be bordering the edges of love.

When a blond head thudded onto my chest, I came to myself somewhat. “Best pillow ever, Gussie,” Dawson murmured and promptly fell asleep.

“What were you shoplifting?” I asked a little later. Neither twin had stirred, but darkness had descended, bringing a chill to the room. Worried Mikey might become cold, I’d peppered Dawson’s hair with soft kisses until he woke. “When you were caught?” Ever since our first kiss, I’d prayed drugs weren’t involved; I crossed all my fingers now.

“The usual,” Dawson responded in a sleepy voice from deep within my embrace. “I receive a carer’s allowance and a few other handouts to help with rent and stuff. But it’s not enough, not if I want Mikey to have the best, plus a few treats, and it’s not like I can get a job to top us up, is it?”

“What, you mean you’re stealing food?” Jesus, no one caring for a man as disabled as Mikey should have to resort to stealing food.

“Yeah, we’re living through a cost-of-living crisis, haven’t you heard?” He shrugged. “I guess not. Although this time I got done for nicking socks of all things. I spotted a thick, woolly pair with baby elephants all over them. He loves elephants. Last time it was a box of cereal—Weetabix—and not the supermarket’s own brand ’cos Mikey’s fussy; he insists on the real stuff. Difficult to shove a box of forty-eight Weetabix down your trousers.” Dawson laughed, though without humour. “Your new boyfriend’s a cereal thief, Gussie. And a serial thief.”

From his sheepskin throne, Mikey twitched in his sleep. Disentangling himself, Dawson slipped off the sofa and covered him with a blanket, tucking one of the toys back under Mikey’s thin arm from where it had fallen. Satisfied, he returned to the sofa and laced his fingers through mine with a shy smile. At some point in the last few hours, this thing had moved beyond a date or two. I sensed Dawson felt it too.

“I can’t begin to know what needing to steal food and… essentials feels like,” I began slowly. “I’m spoiled and self-absorbed. And way too self-pitying.” Leaning across, I brushed my lips against his sweet, receptive ones. Never in my life had I been so confident my kisses were welcome. “I think that needs to change. Starting today. For as long as you want me, you don’t need to worry about money. You don’t need to steal anything.”

Minutes ticked by, and he didn’t reply. I wondered if I’d overstepped and gave him a nudge. “Say something, Dawson. I’m not very good at this relationship business. Or putting other people first. But I really want a relationship with you. I think you’re fucking amazing.”

Two arms came around my neck as my new boyfriend buried his face into my chest. “I really want a relationship with you too.” We stayed that way a while, me hugging him close. Pampering him. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were wet.

“Jeez, Gussie, how no one’s snapped you up before now, I have no idea.” He wiped a hand across his eyes. “This is the moment I should tell you I’m too proud to accept your money, isn’t it? That me and Mikey don’t take handouts, that we cope very well thank you very much, that we don’t need someone coming riding in on a white horse to rescue us.”

His eyes blazed with anger, passion, desperation, pride and God knew what else. I didn’t know. Whatever maelstrom was swirling in there, I was greedy for it.

“But fuck, you know something, Gussie? I’m not too proud. Not at all. Believe me, once you’ve been done for thieving bog rolls and marched out of Lidl in front of half of bloody Bethnal Green, you have no pride left. So if you’re offering something? I’m fucking taking it.”

He rattled off a list, counting on his fingers. “I buy Mikey vitamin supplements—they don’t come on prescription, and they’re bloody expensive. We’ve run out. He needs a new sheepskin for his downstairs wheelchair, and I’m saving for that. He needs equipment too. I’m in a big Facebook group that swaps and shares tips for caring for people like Mikey. And everyone is recommending a new heated massage device, which sounds awesome for helping the spasms in his legs, especially first thing when they’re always worse. One guy said he stopped needing the antispasmodic medicine altogether, which would be great ’cos Mikey hates the taste of that one and it’s always a battle, and now I sound like I’m gonna use you for your money and sponge off you, like you’re a fucking sugar daddy or something, but I want you to know that’s not true. If you had nothing, I reckon we’d still be doing what we are because even though you think that shit on your face is important, it isn’t to me. You’re hot stuff, Gussie; you have a great bod, a gorgeous fat dick and your posh voice says my name in such a sexy growl; I reckon I could come just having you saying it over and over in my ear. So yes, I’d be all over you anyhow, although I know that’s going to be hard to believe because—” At this he paused for a much-needed breath, and an anguished, hopeless expression crossed his teary face. “Look at you. That sweater you let me borrow, which I never want to give back, by the way, is the smartest, warmest, fucking item of clothing I’ve ever worn, and I was actually thinking if I never saw you again, I could sell it on Vinted for, like, at least fifty quid, and use the money to buy Mikey a…”

“Hush.” I pressed my thumb against his mouth, hardly recognising myself. Me, who usually lurked in the shadows, now being so bold as to shut someone up, to take charge, to tell them how it was going to be from now on. And blushing to high heaven and back even as my heart sang because this extraordinary, courageous young man wanted, wanted, wanted me. Warts and all—literally. As much as I wanted to make love to him all over again, I pushed him off and sat up.

“Get your phone. Show me this sheepskin thing Mikey needs. And the massage device. Right now. I’m going to buy them, and you’re going to let me, and then you can make a list of all the other things Mikey should have already.” I cast my eyes over the threadbare cushions. “And anything else you need.”

In a few clicks, it was done. I felt elated. Never had my money been put to such good use. Dawson’s shoulders sagged with relief. “I’ll never be able to pay you back, you know.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You already have.”

CHAPTER SIX

Sugar daddy. Despite my elation, that phrase had lodged in my brain, and not in a pleasing way.

“In my mind, sugar daddies are old,” I mused to CUPID. “Leathery, tanned, old men wearing Gucci loafers and weighed down by fat gold chains and a showy Rolex. With shiny bald heads, an unquenchable thirst for twenty-somethings and an unlimited bank account. Sugar daddy signifies a very transactional relationship.”

I had become much better at expressing myself into the void since Dawson. Less self-conscious.

“If the shoe fits, wear it,” responded CUPID. They sounded amused. “Fat gold chains? I hadn’t realised you were such an old-money snob.”

“I’m not!”

Yes, definitely amused. I was being heckled by a fucking bot. “Surely there must be a dusty Rolex buried at the bottom of a drawer in that ancient pile you insist on referring to as home.”

Home. Home is where the heart is. Wasn’t that the expression? In which case my home was now a shabby one-bedroom flat above a betting shop. Because my heart stayed behind every time I reluctantly left Dawson and Mikey to drive back to my stately pile. Could I ever persuade them to move? Mikey would love the fields and gardens, especially in the spring when the lambs appeared and the daffodils pushed through the rich, damp…

I was getting way ahead of myself again. Moreover, I had a bot to argue with. “And, in exchange for lavishing cash on the pretty young things dangling from their arms, a sugar daddy is convinced his friends stuck with jaded older partners are jealous, when in fact they’re all just thinking he’s a sad bastard. So yes, to my mind that’s very transactional. And already, I feel what Dawson and I have isn’t, even though I’ve spent my money on whatever he needs. And even though he’s pretty and young.”

“He is,” agreed CUPID. “Were any of the things he needed gifts for himself?”

“No.”

Though I wanted to buy him things. I’d love to lavish him with presents. I’d start with a sleek wristwatch, matching my own but made for a slimmer, more elegant wrist. And a soft cashmere sweater that fitted him properly, along with a winter coat, a whole palette of eye make-up, and tubes of lip gloss in every subtle shade of⁠—"

“Tell me, August Angel, in return for the money you have spent, what has he given you?”

“It isn’t transactional,” I snapped.

CUPID made a weary, electronic sigh. “Okay, let me assist you. He gives you joy. Helping Dawson makes you happy. You gain pleasure because you’ve direct experience of pain and distress yourself. You have a lot of empathy for him and Mikey and their financial struggles, so you want to take that pain away from them. That transaction is nothing to be ashamed of.” They paused. “Your turn, August.”

I winced. This bot understood me better than I understood myself. Huffing, I crossed my arms and pulled a face. I had no idea if CUPID could see me. I thought of our sex, how right it felt cuddling on the sofa with him, how perfectly Dawson fit in my arms. “He’s given me a reason to get out of bed in the mornings. A purpose. And um… perspective on… on this.” I waved my hand at my monstrous face. “And…” My pulse quickened as I recalled Dawson greedily begging for more when I’d finger-fucked his arse.

“And the best sexual encounter of your life?”

I groaned, a rush of heat climbing my neck. “Jesus, CUPID. Don’t be coy, just bloody get it all out there.”

The odd sound of a bot sniggering echoed around the empty room. “So it is transactional,” CUPID continued in a satisfied monotone. “But, ask yourself this, August: on balance, who is gaining the most?”

That was a no-brainer. “Me. Obviously.”

“And one last thing. Tell me, August. You must know by now. Does your perfect match have pretty feet?”

A memory of them snuggled in my lap last night, as we pretended to watch the television but mostly watched each other, filled my head. Slender and pale, I’d kissed the tips of each of his ten toes, making him squeal with delight. Toe sucking. Not that I was going to share that with CUPID. “The prettiest.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Days turned into weeks. The Porsche became a permanent fixture outside the betting shop. Yoz and Co. extorted twenty pounds a day to guard it. I’d have happily paid two hundred if it meant spending every afternoon with Dawson and Mikey. I never stayed the night; Mikey slept in the only bedroom, and with the best will in the world, Dawson’s squishy two-seater sofa, which flipped into a narrow single cot, couldn’t accommodate the both of us.

Mikey’s routines became my routines; I discovered he enjoyed having his palms massaged while watching Peppa Pig. I grew to adore his appreciative hums whenever Dawson produced a shortbread biscuit dipped in strawberry yoghurt. I learned his dislikes, namely every single drop of every single medicine, and Dawson’s creative strategies for disguising the taste, centring around chocolate buttons. I looked after him on my own sometimes when Dawson popped to the shops, and no crises befell either of us.

Needless to say, I fell deeper in love with both.

On Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, a very jolly man arrived in a minibus to collect Mikey and ferry him to a day care centre. There were no prizes for guessing how Dawson and I passed the time.

“Will you come and stay at the estate for the weekend?” I asked as he lay in my arms. “With Mikey?”

I revelled in these moments of quiet intimacy after sex, my entire world reduced to a lumpy sofa and our two bodies nestled together. Sometimes, amongst the whispers and giggles, we’d kiss and get semi-hard again. We’d rub against each other, not taking it anywhere, just loving each other’s bodies, knowing the closeness was enough. “The farmer has moved the cows to a field near the house. My housekeeper can make up a bed for Mikey in my dressing room, so he’ll only be a few feet away from us.”

Dawson raised his eyebrows at dressing room. “Not sure his beanie chair will fit in the Porsche.” He said it teasingly, but my lover had been a little subdued today. He’d coddled Mikey as usual and taken extra special care rubbing cream into his thin, stiff calves. He’d even sung nursery rhymes and pulled silly faces to distract him during nappy changing, and Mikey had gurgled and jerked his arms like they were sharing the best joke ever. But I hadn’t missed the sag of his shoulders as we waved the minibus off, nor the thin line of his lips as he turned away.

“I have another car.” I nuzzled into his neck, breathing in his biscuity, warm scent. “It’s plenty big enough for all of Mikey’s things. A Range Rover.”

“Of course you do,” he chuffed. “What self-respecting gazillionaire hasn’t?”

“Hey…” I stroked my fingers through his hair. “Don’t be like that. What’s wrong?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Dawson sighed and sat up. “I wasn’t going to bother you with it; it’s only down at the local magistrate’s court, but my hearing date came through this morning. Set for a week on Monday. They’re not going to leave it at just a seventy quid fine.”

“Bloody hell, Dawson! Why wouldn’t you bother me with that?”

“Er… because it’s fucking humiliating? Going to court for thieving fucking socks and Weetabix?”

“It’s not humiliating. I won’t have you say that. I’m proud that you stole things for Mikey. That you were prepared to put everything on the line for him. And whatever the fine this time, I’ll pay it.”

“I know.” He sighed again. “Although I wish you didn’t have to. But what if it’s not a fine? I laughed it off, but that copper warned me I might get a custodial sentence. They’re clamping down on shoplifters. My solicitor agreed.”

I’d watched too many movies; images of Dawson roped to a hook in a bare grey cell with clanking chains tethering his ankles flashed through my mind. “How long for?”

“Not long,” he said. “No more than a few weeks. To teach me a lesson, make an example of me.”

Climbing off the sofa, he walked over to the narrow window above the sink and looked out, seeing nothing. A solitary tear trickled down his cheek. I was straight there after him, wrapping his trembling body in my arms, breathing him in. “It’s okay, Dawson, it will all work out.”

“It won’t, Gussie.” He shook his head as more tears fell. “What if social services get involved and I lose Mikey? It would be my own stupid fault. For thinking I could keep him. Eileen told me I should stop nicking stuff last time I got caught, and I didn’t fucking listen. Because I want Mikey to have it all. I want him to have any bloody sheepskin rug he needs. The best socks too, and the best medicines, the best Weetabix, and the best fucking custard creams. Because he’s the best brother in the world, and if I lose him, then I’ve got nothing.”

He sobbed then, an awful noise from deep in his gut and plunging straight into mine. “No, you haven’t, Dawson, don’t say that. You’ve got me. We’re a team now, and we can sort this. Every social service report you’ve had says he’s having excellent care. They can’t fault you. You aren’t going to lose him.”

He wiped at his tears. “Most of the time I know that, but in the middle of the night my mind races, you know? I think of the worst.”

“He’ll be fine, even if you have to do a few weeks. I’ll be here—we can show we’ve got support in place. Me, Eileen, the day centre. I’ll employ a fucking nurse, just for show, if I have to. And it will be an open prison. We’ll be able to visit, and you can talk to him every day. It will be over in a flash, I promise.”

He was calming, wiping his eyes. This meltdown was always going to happen sooner or later. Better now so we could have our ducks in a row, not a last-minute scramble. Even my money couldn’t overcome the magistrate’s decision, but we’d damned well do everything to minimise the impact.

“Okay,” he said, sagging against me. “But then what? Two months ago, it was just me and Mikey, surviving. Sort of. And now, you’re offering me a dream on a plate. But have you thought it all through, Gus? What about the future? Mikey isn’t going to suddenly disappear, you know. And he won’t get any better either. He’s part of me. The routines, the responsibility, the tie of being with him 24/7. It’s my normal, and I’m happy with that, but the novelty palls pretty fast for everyone else. Wait until he gets a chest infection and we’re in and out of the hospital for days on end.”

I pressed my lips against his neck, not caring that my repulsive scarring was smooshed against his perfect flesh, for the simple reason that Dawson didn’t care either.

“If you’re trying to scare me away, my love, then it’s not working. I’m here for the long haul, and if that means doing whatever we must, and me spending whatever money I must, to ensure Mikey has what he needs and is never parted from you, then that’s what we’ll do. And if dropping that on you is all a bit heavy, then I don’t care. It’s…” I hesitated. I love you trembled on the tip of my tongue, but it was way too soon. “Anyhow, waking up next to this ugly mug gets pretty thin pretty fast too. Who says you’re not going to tire of me? I might be able to ease your money worries, but I’m not exactly a knight in shining armour, am I?”

Dawson swivelled in my arms, rising on tiptoes to kiss my mouth. “Do you mean all that, Gussie?”

Christ, how much more did I need to do to convince him that I was the winner here? That since he’d sprung into my world, I hardly recognised this new, happy, confident version of me? “Yes, I mean it. I love you, and I want you both in my life. Every day. For as long as you’ll have me.”

With exquisite tenderness, he traced the pitted ridges and furrows of my cheek and jaw, eyes glittering with unshed tears. And with steel behind them, too; my perfect match possessed plenty of that. “Who wants a knight in shining armour? Shining armour hasn’t won any battles. Me and Mikey prefer our knights a bit battered and bruised. Like you.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

I drove Dawson and Mikey via the back way into the estate, too embarrassed by the overblown majesty of the place to bring them up the long sweeping drive. Even so, Dawson’s eyes were as big as dinner plates by the time I switched off the engine. As he clambered out of the front seat, surveying his lush surroundings—and by that, I mean the huge bloody mansion passed down several inbred generations of my family and sitting on a plot of land roughly the size of Gibraltar—he performed a ridiculous curtsey.

I frowned. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Doffing my cap and tugging my forelock. This gaff is awesome!”

He beamed; it was infectious, and I found myself grinning back. “Idiot.”

Sliding my arm around his waist, I tucked him into my side. He fit against me like a hand in a glove. “This gaff is a million times nicer with you here.”

“That’s good because you’re gonna have to crowbar me out!” He wriggled from my grasp. “Somebody else is very impatient to see it. Let’s get his things out of the car and explore. Me and Mikey want a tour of everything, even the parts you haven’t discovered yourself yet, seeing as this place is so effing big!”

Our first stop was an urgent assessment of the cows. Dawson displayed a hidden talent for mooing; Mikey’s attempt to copy him had all of us rolling around. After that, we waved to the sheep, who scampered away in a fluffy, panicky flock, as sheep are wont. Then we visited the ducks, feeding them breadcrumbs specially prepared this morning, and counted how many were paddling on the pond, how many were hiding in the reeds on the far side and pondered whether any, in fact, were cygnets masquerading as ugly ducklings. For all I cared, we could have been cataloguing pterodactyls because all I saw were Dawson and Mikey. As if I was discovering the estate with them for the first time.

By the time we finally headed back up to the house, Dawson’s pale cheeks were flushed with ruddy good health. The weather gods had blessed us with a cool wintry sun and nothing but a light breeze, and we took it in turns to push the wheelchair over green lawns mown especially short in preparation for this visit. For a few minutes, Mikey hummed with contentment before nodding off. I had reels of photos of the two of them, Dawson’s grinning face pressed to Mikey’s against a backdrop of pale blue skies, then more snaps of Dawson affecting a ridiculous lord of the manor pose.

“We need a picture of us together now,” he insisted as we laboured over the gravel drive. I added an all-terrain wheelchair to my ever-expanding shopping list. “Come on, cuddle in for a selfie.”

“I’ll break the camera,” I joked, my stock response over the years. Two photos of adult me were in circulation: one my passport, the other my driver’s license. “Let me have another of you instead, next to the ivy growing up the house.”

Dawson waggled an indignant finger. “Absolutely not. I need a pic of you holding the key to this huge fucking front door to show Eileen. She won’t believe it otherwise.” He laughed and tugged me down to crouch behind the wheelchair with him. “And I want my beautiful boyfriend as my screensaver,” he added just as the camera clicked. “Because although he doesn’t realise it, he’s effing perfect.”

After wolfing down his dinner, an exhausted but happy Mikey fell asleep again. We ate in the kitchen of my first-floor apartment, the only part of the house in regular use. A simple bolognese prepared by my housekeeper followed by chocolate ice cream. He didn’t stir as we carried him upstairs, nor as we undressed him, not even when we tucked him under the covers and arranged the pillows just so. I’d learned the routine: one behind his back, another between his knees, and a third under his left shoulder. Only then did Dawson give him a light peck on the cheek and step away.

“What job would you do if you weren’t caring for Mikey?” I asked as he folded Mikey’s clothes.

“Dunno. I’ve never given it much thought.” He smiled down at his twin fondly. “This is it for me. I’d rob a bank for him if I had to.”

“You’ll never need to,” I promised. “And this court thing will be over before you know it. Believe me.”

He blew out his cheeks as rare tension crossed his face. “I do,” he acknowledged. “But I’ve been an idiot, thinking I could get away with pinching stuff indefinitely. It was always going to catch up with me in the end. I deserve a few days in the nick, to be honest.”

He fell into my arms, exactly where he belonged. “No, you don’t. You did what you did for Mikey. He’s special, and if anyone deserves the best, it’s him.”

He twisted so his mouth could meet mine. “Thank you for saying that. Most people just see someone in a wheelchair who can’t do anything for themselves. Who can’t talk or eat or use a toilet. Totally dependent. And those things are true. But he’s also my twin and my best friend, and I hate that people with severe disabilities like him aren’t seen. Because Mikey’s his own person; he’s sometimes funny and sometimes naughty and thinks Peppa Pig is the best TV programme ever. And he knows the difference between Tesco’s Weetabix and the real stuff. And little details like that are nothing in the grand scheme of most people’s lives; they’re not very important at all. But they make up Mikey’s whole world. And that you understand that makes you pretty special too.”

We left the room, leaving the door ajar. “But I’m warning you now,” he added, “he’s not going to want to go back home tomorrow.” Dawson turned out the dressing room light. “Not now we’ve named all the cows. Prepare for World War Three, getting him back into the car.”

I was still trying to recall the daft names Dawson had given the cows when he let out a screech. “OMG, you have a four-poster bed! An emperor-sized four-poster bed!”

“I do,” I agreed, trying to visualise the stupidly ornate walnut monstrosity through Dawson’s eyes. And for the first time in living memory, I didn’t hate it. “It’s for entertaining emperors, should one ever drop by.”

Wiry arms wound around my neck. “No emperors.” His lips latched on to mine, and as my hands automatically found his arse cheeks, he pressed up against me in one of his hugs that any minute now would turn into sex. “Just me to entertain. And Gussie, I know we haven’t talked loads about this, but I’ve been… preparing.”

Giddiness fluttered through my belly like a first taste of champagne. At last, with Mikey safely ensconced next door and a bed to ourselves, I had privacy and space to explore Dawson’s body properly. To make love to him properly. Or, as my delightful boyfriend (between noisy sucks on a humbug) so eloquently phrased it in the car on the way over, fuck his brains out. Needless to say, I drove the remainder of the journey uncomfortably hard, and it had nothing to do with the humbug in my mouth.

“I… um… I’m not very good at it, just so you know,” I confessed because obviously, seduction was my middle name. “Haven’t had many opportunities to practice.”

With an odd smile, almost self-conscious, Dawson unfastened the top buttons on my shirt. “Shush. I’ve not exactly been out clubbing and shagging every night for the last few years either. Who cares? We love each other, Gussie, so it will be amazing anyway.”

As Dawson’s violet-hazed eyes met mine, my heartbeats somersaulted over each other. We love each other. Never mind belly flutterings and champagne, I had my mouth open heavenward and was tasting stars. I scrambled for something to say, but my mind had emptied of every single coherent thought except the only one that mattered.

We love each other.

Dawson loved me.

“We do, don’t we, Gussie?” his sweet voice questioned, a little anxiously, from somewhere back on earth. I kissed his sweet lips.

“What do you think?”

With Dawson’s love in one hand and newfound confidence in the other, I walked him backwards until his knees met the bed. He melted into it, arms pillowed under his head and a crazy grin stretched wide across his face as I eased off his shoes and socks. The soft grey sweater, now belonging to him, came next; I buried my nose in it before tossing it aside. After that his jeans, boxers too, chased down milky white limbs still dangling over the edge of the bed. And then I stood to admire him, my Dawson, naked on my four poster and smiling up at me as if he was tasting stars too.

“Your turn, Gussie.”

He played with himself as I unbuttoned the rest of my shirt, thighs spread wide, lazily stroking his rigid cock. I was surprised I still managed to undress myself.

“You’re all fingers and thumbs,” Dawson observed as I made a hash of unzipping my trousers. “Wow! And dick!” he added with a huff of laughter as I finally wrenched them down. A pearl of precum glistened at his slit, and my mouth ran dry. Sinking to my knees between his parted legs, I slid my hands up his smooth thighs, leaned over and sucked it off.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed.

I peppered his shaft with small kisses and licks. God knew I was no expert, but for all expertise was a wonderful thing, a wordless voice inside me instinctively knew how to please Dawson, and I listened to it now as I lapped at him with my tongue. As I sucked one of his tight balls into my mouth, a whimper escaped his throat. His hands twisted in the short strands of my hair, and boldly, I hefted one of his legs onto my shoulder, running my lips up the silk of his inner thigh.

“Gussie,” he moaned.

Fuck, he had a tiny little hole. Furled in a tight pink bud. On my knees and buried between his thighs, this was way beyond anything I’d ever done before. I had the urge to press my tongue against it; I tapped it with the pad of my thumb instead. He arched off the bed.

“Shit, that’s so nice.”

“I want… I want to lick it. Can I?”

He snorted, thrusting up at me, his legs impossibly wide. “Fuck, yeah. It’s not going to lick itself, Gussie.”

God knew whether I was doing it right, but from the filthy sounds Dawson made, his enjoyment was on par with crunching humbugs. As the tight bud opened up, I became bolder still, steadying his hips, burying my tongue deeper until he pushed me away. “Gonna have to stop, Gus, too good. Come up here.”

He dragged himself up the bed, bringing me with him. The need to be inside him grew, and I fumbled for some lube. “Can… can we?” I panted as I coated myself and dribbled some more over his wet hole.

“Please.”

“Like this? Facing?”

“Yeah, I want to see your beautiful face, Gus.”

My boy was limber; one leg returned to my shoulder, and the other squeezed my waist. Dawson dragged his mouth across mine again, then gasped, sharp and sweet, as my tip breached his entrance.

A flash of pleasure filled his eyes. His slack lips parted as I inched forward into the clinging, vice-like heat of him. Then stuttered, marooned somewhere between giggling and sobbing and trying not to come. As those beautiful eyes stared up at me, I swore I caught a glimpse of a doorway through them to the rest of my life.

As if I was born to be there, I slipped inside him a little further. Like we were perfectly matched.

“Can I…?” I shifted my hips, earning a hungry sound from Dawson.

“I reckon.”

My gentle thrusts turned to bigger ones. We found a rhythm. This was no choreographed routine. Neither of us had much experience in how to make it good for the other. I wanted to come straight away; I wanted to make it last. I wanted Dawson to scream my name; I wanted to render him silent. I wanted us to cover every inch of this stupid fucking four poster and to take him fifty different ways on it. And I also wanted to stay like this, kissing and whispering and making quiet, passionate, tender love.

We chose the latter.

Dawson came first, with his hand on his dick and his lips on mine and those brilliant eyes shuttered closed. I didn’t think I could ever love him more than I did in that moment. As his channel spasmed around me, my own release followed, filling him up in a rush. Unexpected hot tears spilled from my eyes, landing on his nose and his cheeks.

“Are you always going to cry when you come inside me, Gussie?” Laughing, he kissed them away, his tongue licking across my scarred cheek. The thrill of that would never grow old. “Because we’re going to need a whole lorry load of boxes of tissues if you do. Maybe even a few more tonight.”

Softening but still inside him, I thrust feebly, making him wince. “Or maybe leave it a few hours.”

“Yeah, I’d like that, Gussie. Perhaps me and Mikey could be persuaded to stay another night.”

I grinned. “And the night after that?”

He pretended like he was contemplating it. “Yeah, perhaps. I mean, I’ll have to check with Mikey because, you know, he might prefer a view of a boarded-up petrol station from the sitting-room window instead of, I dunno, fifty acres of woodland and a million cows. And perhaps he really likes being serenaded by Yoz’s boombox thingy outside his bedroom at four a.m.; he might prefer that to birdsong and the rustle of falling leaves. And would Eileen still be able to visit him? No one sings Humpty Dumpty quite as well as Eileen.”

My heart clenched. Oh bloody hell, he was really going to do this. “I’ll send a car for her every day if you’d like.”

“Christ, he don’t like her that much. Once a week will be more than enough.” He threw me a naughty look and gave a wriggle. “I’d like this more than once a week though, Gussie.”

“We could go out on a date when she comes to visit,” I said, carefully gauging his expression. “Just the two of us. Not every time, of course.”

I knew Mikey would always come first, but Dawson was more than only a carer, like I was more than a saviour. Despite our comfort in both of those roles, we were partners, too, in bed and out of it. And I never wanted to lose sight of that. “I’d like to take you places and show you off.”

He smiled at me with his whole face, a little sleepily. “Like the Tesco café?”

“If that’s where you want to go. Although I was thinking maybe a little more upmarket.”

Chuckling softly, his lips found mine. “I’d like that, Gussie. Very much.”

We took a while to part. This was more than sex, more than making love even. It was a laying down of our combined future, and we were both a little shy, a little scared, a little daunted. And a few minutes later, as Dawson’s gentle snores lulled me to sleep, I was more than a little excited too.

CHAPTER NINE

In the days that followed, the contours of Dawson’s lithe body and the texture of his satiny limbs became so imprinted on my mind that if I closed my eyes, I could taste the salt from his skin. So in tune, I didn’t need a Pretty Woman-style shopping spree to purchase a smart suit for the upcoming court case; his measurements had become as familiar to me as my own. I settled on a light-grey wool, not too showy, with a plain violet shirt to compliment his eyes, paired with a classic Oxford spot tie I’d enjoy teasing from around his neck later. Oh, and a rather swish watch, not too dissimilar to mine. Then, because I was in the mood for presents and Mikey had stolen my heart too, I went a little crazy in Hamley’s cuddly toy department.

On the day of the case, my true match, Dawson allowed me to dress him. Him and Mikey were attending court with Eileen; she was downstairs giving Mikey his breakfast. “Are you sure you want Mikey there? Honestly, it might be a lot of waiting around for him.”

Dawson chewed on his lip. “Yes. I need him close. It’s difficult to explain, but he makes me stronger. And if I’m going to charm the magistrate, then I need to be at full strength.”

We hadn’t much of a game plan. I’d contacted a couple of lawyers and both had offered the same depressing advice; these cases were cut and dried. Serial offenders were sometimes given custodial sentences and sometimes not. It was at the magistrate’s discretion, and the best Dawson could do was be honest, apologetic, and hope the magistrate was sympathetic and in a good mood.

“You will,” I answered. “I’d let you off scot-free if you were standing in front of me.”

He chuckled. “You’re a tiny bit biased.”

“I could be there for you too?” We’d had this conversation already, and he wasn’t going to change his answer.

As predicted, Dawson shook his head. “No. This is on me. This is pre-Gussie, old-life stuff, and I want to draw a line under it.”

And start anew with me. I could hardly wait, even if we would have to delay for a few weeks while he served his sentence. I knelt to tie his shoes. New black brogues from my favourite tailor and built to last. “When you had your interview with CUPID… What did you ask for? What did your heart desire?”

The question had been on my lips for weeks, but I’d been scared to pose it, fearful I might not like the answer.

I needn’t have worried.

“Nothing much.” He smiled at the memory. “I took Mikey along with me to that weird empty office, seeing as Eileen had gone to visit her sister. Thought we might get some grub there or something. We made a day of it, two buses and a long walk; I remember he was full of cold that week and coughed and coughed. Even though I had him wrapped up as snug as a bug in a rug, I nearly sacked the whole thing off.”

Fuck, I was so glad he hadn’t.

“Anyhow,” Dawson carried on while I made unnecessary adjustments to his tie as an excuse to touch him for a little longer. “That bot thing was a nosy bugger. We did get some grub, but they asked me lots of questions first, mostly about Mikey and my background. And why we were alone in the world.” He smiled again. “I guess they was worried I was too young to shoulder that much responsibility. Hah! They wouldn’t have thought that if they’d met our parents. Fucking useless wasters, the both of them.”

Dawson didn’t mention his parents very often. Cut from the same cloth as mine by the sound of them, minus the massive bank account.

Having run out of excuses, I stepped back, admiring him. Still my irrepressible Dawson, but with a face bare of make-up and in a smart suit. Clothes didn’t make a man any more than fine feathers made a fine-tasting bird, but if decent tailoring was what it took to convince a magistrate he was an upstanding, repentant member of the human race, then a smart suit was the order of the day.

“You look great,” I said, because he did. Like always.

“Thanks to you.” He smoothed a hand down his new silk tie. “I’ll phone you as soon as it’s over. It’s a long day for Mikey. He’ll be exhausted. And tetchy. Bring his favourite blanket with you when you fetch him later.”

“I will. And I’ll be fetching you too. I know it.”

I had a whole list of instructions for if I wasn’t. But we weren’t going to dwell on that. For a few seconds, we eyed each other, me like a dramatic idiot, trying to memorise every detail of Dawson’s perfect face as if he was going to be sent to solitary confinement for fifteen years, not the local nick for fifteen days, and Dawson staring back as if I’d hung the bloody moon for him.

“Go on then,” I said. “What was this nothing much you asked CUPID for?”

His answering smile spread through every part of me. He often stroked a finger down my ugly cheek, and he did it now, tenderly and lovingly. As if marking out a map to cherish forever. “It’s crazy, Gussie. But after visiting CUPID, I knew you were right for me when you first introduced yourself.”

“Yeah? How’s that then?”

“That bot kind of gets under your skin, don’t they? Like a fucking psychiatrist or something.”

I recalled my own teary moment in the presence of CUPID. “Yes.”

“I was blubbing like a baby by the time I’d told them about how we were struggling. So when they got round to asking, ‘What does your heart desire?’ the whole truth was fairly dripping from me! And I kind of… um… got carried away.”

I grinned, imagining it. Imagining Dawson listing a whole smorgasbord of desires, ranging from a personal manicurist to a gold-plated teapot.

“I started out trying to keep it simple; I asked for someone to look after us. Someone to love us and care for us, someone who me and Mikey would love back.”

A lump welled in my throat.

“It wasn’t very sexy or aspirational,” he carried on, oblivious. “A bit middle-aged for a twenty-two-year-old bloke, to be honest. But I was at the end of my rope; Mikey was ill, I’d just got done for nicking the Weetabix, and the rent was overdue. And I was cold and miserable and so fucking tired.”

“I’m so sorry. You must have been so desperate.”

“Yeah, I was. But I haven’t finished yet. I was also embarrassed, what with the tears and everything. So I tried to make a joke of it. I said I might as well ask for a fucking angel. A lonely, big-hearted angel looking for a home.”

He paused. “And what do you know, August Angel? That fucking weird bot only went and fucking found me one.”

CHAPTER TEN

“Not attending court?” CUPID queried in their amused tone.

“Don’t pretend you’re surprised. But no, I’m not. Dawson doesn’t need me there. He’s more than capable on his own.”

“I would agree with you,” CUPID acknowledged. “So, is this goodbye, August Angel? Has the moment come to tick off the items on your list of desires?”

I cringed. “Really, you want to do that?”

“It’s the best part of the job, Gussie.”

“For you, perhaps.” The bot cleared their throat—or made a noise approximating throat clearing. “First, is Dawson a man you can tuck under your arm?”

I groaned. This was going to be embarrassing. “You know he is. And we both know he’s femme.”

“And he has fabulous eyes. Do they gaze up at you, August Angel, like you’re everything he ever wanted?”

“Yes, strangely.”

“So he sees beyond your face,” the bot ticked off. “Good.” A pen scratched. “Sees beyond your pots of money but lets you indulge him anyhow, yes? Let’s you dress him, yes? Let’s you wait on him?”

“Yes,” I agreed through gritted teeth. Was this really necessary? “And yes, he has pretty hands and feet—honestly, CUPID, we’ve done this already. And when I made that list, I was just throwing things out there—I wasn’t expecting you to, you know… Can we skip the part about the toe sucking?”

“Certainly. I’m, oh gosh, too prudish to ask about the toes,” said CUPID in a whimsical, high-pitched voice straight out of a historical romance novel. “I might short-circuit if I do.”

More pages flipped, followed by throat clearing. “He lets you worship him? And—this is my favourite part, Mr Angel—so apt, so cute considering your name. Please tell me he curls under your wing and lets you love him like he’s never known love before? I shall die a happy bot if he does, my work here will be well and truly done.”

I chuckled, a sound that flowed rather freely from me these days. “Do bots ever die? Don’t you just power down?”

In an old-mannish way, CUPID harrumphed, earning another chuckle from me. “Much less romantic, Gussie. And you’re avoiding the question.”

“Of course he does, you infuriating electronic know-it-all!” I shook my head incredulously. “I don’t know how you did it, but yes, every single thing I asked for on that ridiculous, mortifying list you provided. Every single desire I’ve ever had, you made happen.”

“Every single desire?” CUPID questioned. “Are you sure there aren’t any more desires lurking about?”

“Of course there aren’t. Except that I wish this bloody silly court thing was over and Dawson wouldn’t have to endure a stupid prison sentence he doesn’t deserve. But no, you answered every single one of them. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Pleased to have been of service.” CUPID adopted an officious tone. “And as you are another satisfied customer, the balance of funds owing will be taken from your account within three working days. Goodbye, August Angel. Good luck.”

A sound not dissimilar to my iPhone switching off echoed around the room. “What? Is that… is that it?”

Seconds of silence ticked by. “CUPID? Hello?”

Nothing. I frowned. At least they could have given me a chance to thank them properly. For a few minutes I hung around, just in case they’d temporarily malfunctioned, but nothing more was forthcoming. I checked my watch. The court case was scheduled at two and would be coming to an end by the time I’d driven back across town. With a tinge of disappointment, I gathered myself to leave, halting as my phone pinged twice in my pocket. Two alerts; the first from Dawson, the second a throbbing pink heart—a summary, no doubt, of the aforementioned outstanding bill. CUPID was nothing if not efficient. Deciding to ignore it until I reached home, I clicked on Dawson’s alert, my heart pounding.

OMG! They cancelled the case!! Can you believe it? I’m off the hook!! There was a last-minute mix-up—the whole thing should never have gone beyond paying the fine!! Mikey and I are waiting on the courtroom steps for you! Come and fetch us, my wonderful, beautiful angel! We’re ready to start the rest of our lives!!

The rest of our lives. How amazing did that sound? Me, Dawson, and Mikey, forever and ever. Everything I’d ever desired came true. Every. Single. Desire. Every. Singl…

Hang on. What were CUPID’s parting words? Are you sure there aren’t any more desires lurking about?

And my reply: only that Dawson won’t have to endure this stupid prison sentence he doesn’t deserve.

Hurrying back to the car, I whipped out my phone again and tapped on the throbbing pink heart. Not the invoice. A blurred message instead, swirling into focus before, in barely a single beat of my own heart, vanishing in a puff of pink stars, taking the entire app with it. If I’d blinked, I’d have missed it.

Even bots have a heart, August Angel. Go and collect yours. Tuck those beautiful boys under your wing and treasure them both.

THE END

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

FEARNE HILL

Fearne Hill, lives deep in the southern British countryside with a varying numbers of hens, a few tortoises, and two beautiful cocker spaniels.

When she is not overseeing her small menagerie, she enjoys writing contemporary queer fiction. And when she is not doing either of those, she is working as an anaesthesiologist.

Connect with Fearne

Newsletter sign up: https://fearne-hill.mailerpage.io

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SKATING AFTER YOU

HAYDEN HALL

CHAPTER ONE

JAXON

I pirouetted. My right blade carved the pristine surface of the ice. As the music reached its crescendo, my left leg stretched out behind me. I swirled on my right blade, cool air kissing my heated cheeks, my body flowing with the music.

I leaned forward, my left leg extended behind me, and I halted in the Arabesque pose. The burning in my muscles and the tension of keeping myself still soared, but so did the cheers of the other dancers in my ensemble. I held my breath for a moment or two, savoring the applause. And when I dropped my leg and relaxed, my vision blurred. Their applause continued and it was something I hadn’t felt in ages. Since the last time I had entered a figure skating competition, in fact. Over a year had passed since I’d won silver at the state championship. I had been gutted to lose the top place and disillusioned with the competitive nature of figure skating. Since then, my focus had been on ice ballet. It was a wild and unlikely combination of figure skating and ballet. It was as far away from competitive as it could get, yet it was twice as technically challenging. Figure skating with an entire ensemble was enough of a challenge to keep me striving for more. But the rewards that followed a successful performance were ridiculously satisfying.

For one brilliant moment, I let my heart grow. Everyone had said that the silver medal was an outstanding achievement. It hadn’t felt like it at the time. Or now, for that matter. Even so, good things still came from my failure to win the championship.

I blew kisses to my friends just before our ballet master released us. He gave me a significant nod, which I appreciated more than I could say. And when I returned to the dressing room with the other dancers, more than a few clasped my shoulder and praised my solo.

Despite the warmups and the years of experience, my legs were numb with exhaustion. I showed no signs of fatigue as I walked into the shower, but when hot water loosened my muscles, I leaned against the tiled wall and stood for a long while. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed before I returned to the dressing room the entire ensemble shared. It was empty though, and I took my time getting dressed. In the large mirrors along the walls, I observed the changes to my physique. I had worked so hard for so long to achieve this, but I wasn’t sure if I really had what it took to be great. To be part of an ensemble and perform a little solo was a great honor, but I always wondered if I was made of the same stuff as the Olympians or the famous soloists. Was I lean enough? Were my abs tight enough? Could I do more?

In figure skating, before I had directed my focus to ice ballet, judges had always favored the lithe skaters who could do quadruple jumps seamlessly. My body, however, wasn’t built like that. My shoulders were naturally broader, as was my chest. I had a narrow waist and firm abs and my butt was a little bigger than the average figure skater’s bottom. It had always left me feeling conflicted.

I had never enjoyed cutting and trimming. And I absolutely detested the thought of starving myself to achieve the same look that the gold medal winners had. Yet, I wanted to be the best.

Once I dressed in warm clothes for the long walk back to my dorm room, I glanced at the mirror again. My blue eyes were tired and puffy. My blond hair fell over one side of my brow, a few longer locks stubbornly covering my left eye. A few heartbeats later, I shrugged at the mirror. I looked good enough to stay in my room and listen to The Sleeping Beauty for the hundredth time. It wasn’t like I had a date for Valentine’s this weekend anyway.

Or ever.

I had spent so much time in practice and studying that I barely had enough energy left to even daydream about dating, let alone to try and meet someone. That was why Will had that ridiculous idea to try a dating app. “I don’t have time to chat with a million guys until one seems normal and likes me,” I had protested.

“That’s the best part,” Will had insisted. “You don’t have to chat at all. Just fill out your profile and choose the blind date option.”

It was better than his idea to try speed dating last year. That had been a total catastrophe. It had felt more like cruising than dating. I’d gone around the room, and whenever I sat down with some guy, the questions revolved around my position in bed and my kinks. So I was skeptical when Will pitched this blind dating thing, but I’d made a profile anyway. It didn’t hurt to try.

I marched out of the ice skating rink. Cold air bit my eyes and nose, but I didn’t mind it too much. I was used to it. Northwood’s campus wasn’t that far from the rink, so I always used the opportunity to walk there. And on my way, there was a mall I liked. It was smaller and more intimate than the massive malls on the outskirts of the city. I decided to stop there and see if there were any books on sale.

As soon as I walked through the revolving door, the heat lulled me into a dazed and sleepy state. I blinked a few times and paused in the big lobby. I’d forgotten how crowded malls were two days before Valentine’s Day. Everything around me was nauseatingly red and heart-shaped. Everyone moved in a hurry. It seemed like everyone was carrying stuffed toys, boxes of chocolate, and bottles of wine. It was romantic chaos, and I regretted coming here. But it was too late. I’d already made my detour and wouldn’t leave without a book in my hand.

I headed for the escalator. The descending one was dangerously crowded and people queued to get down. I shook my head to myself, planning my escape route once I had spent money in the bookstore on the second floor. As I reached midway up the escalator, some commotion pulled my attention higher. Through the ascending crowd, some asshole was running down.

“You’re going in the wrong direction,” someone complained loudly.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Passing a middle-aged man a few steps before me, the rebel of the escalator came into my view. He had dark hair that was parted in the middle and arched to each side of his head. The sides were cut short, in stark contrast with the full head of hair on top. It was glistening black, just like his eyebrows and long eyelashes, which framed his whiskey-brown eyes. But it was his neck that pulled my attention. A long, wrinkly, witchy hand done in messy lines, as if sketched on paper, was inked along the guy’s neck.

My gaze followed his torso. He wore a black hoodie under a thick winter jacket, but his hands were bare. Tattoos covered the backs of both hands. I couldn’t totally make them out although one appeared to be the emblem for the Sith Empire, which I would have recognized anywhere. The other hand disappeared from my view before I could fully examine it.

The rude guy was maybe my age. He was unmistakably cocky, barging down an ascending escalator, annoying an entire mob of last-minute shoppers.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m in a hurry.” He apologized seemingly to every person he stepped over, but he looked at no one. He simply let his sharply carved lips move as he pushed the crowd to the sides. But the escalator was still pulling him back up, so he needed to quicken his descent if he planned to get out of this mall alive and unharmed.

I was half tempted to stand in his way. He was obviously taller than me, even without being three steps above. But as he neared me, I realized it wasn’t just his height. He was broad and a lot bulkier in comparison with my figure skater’s physique.

Once he reached my step, his eyes met my furious gaze, and he bit his lip. “Sorry,” he said, voice cracking. He brushed against me, eyes never leaving my face. “I’m really sorry. I’m late for practice.”

Something then made him pause on the stairs that pulled us both up toward the top. His warm brown eyes gave me a thorough once over. His smile was larger than anyone had the right to pull off so seamlessly. He didn’t look deranged, which was a wonder considering he had run down the wrong escalator while grinning like he had lost his mind.

“Hey,” he said, his voice huskier than it had been while apologizing. “What’s up?”

I frowned in the confusion of the moment.

He sniffed the air. “I just gotta say, you smell amazing. Is that Dior?” He sniffed again a little. “I love it.”

“Erm…” My frown deepened. Was he mocking me? Because no six foot plus jock had ever wanted to chat with me about smelling great. Besides, it wasn’t Dior. It was a cheap knock-off. Still, my heart pounded. I dared myself to play along. “Well, aren’t you a flirt?”

His eyes flashed. I didn’t know how to read it. “Sometimes. When it feels right.” His grin grew broader.

“Seriously? Out of the way,” someone grumbled from behind me.

The flirty jock looked like he had just dropped back into reality. His eyes widened with panic. “Fuck. Coach will kick my butt. Gotta go.”

I turned and watched as he started racing down the escalator again, barely moving in real terms.

“It was nice meeting you.” He yelled back as he managed to skip a few steps toward the bottom of the ascending stairs, then spun his head over his shoulder and looked at me again.

On his face, I could see excitement, apology, and regret. It was a package of emotions that didn’t seem right, but each was distinct on this handsome boy’s features. Look me up. I’m Jaxon On The Ice. I wanted to yell those words after him, but I almost tripped and fell when the ground beneath me came to a halt, and the person that was behind me squeezed past.

I was breathless. I wandered to a more spacious side, then hurried to the edge of the gallery in hopes of catching a glimpse of him again. But he was long gone, and I had absolutely no idea how to even start looking for him. Or what to do if I found him. “Hey, I’m the guy you sniffed on the escalator. Wanna have a drink?” That didn’t sound like a thing you said to someone, right?

I had this horrible feeling of loss. Or, rather, a feeling of a missed opportunity. Whoever he was, his appearance etched itself deep inside my mind.

So sure of himself. So sexy. So naughty.

I decided I was in the mood to read some fantasy. The gayer, the better. And I knew just where to find those kinds of books. It was all I wanted to focus on. Definitely not black locks of hair falling on either side of a handsome, angular face.

CHAPTER TWO

PHOENIX

The notification popped up when I least expected it. It had seemed like a fun thing to do at the time. And I sure liked the questionnaire CUPID had put together. Since returning from summer break, my roommate, Asher Sullivan, was a bit of a know-it-all in the relationship department. He had been badgering me to try something other than just sitting at a bar.

“Guys want you,” he’d told me countless times. “But when you perch on a stool, it’s like you’re inviting the worst of the worst.”

“Crème de la crème. What’s wrong with that?” I’d asked. I didn’t tell him he was wrong about guys wanting me. What was there to want? I was a rough, chaotic guy. I was always late. I never had the time to pick out nice things to wear. Just the other night, I’d gotten stuck on the wrong escalator. People said that talking to me was like being trampled by a horse, although I didn’t know what the hell they meant.

I grabbed my phone at the unfamiliar ding. It was the only new app I had installed in the last month. And with today being Valentine’s Day, I was hoping CUPID would come up with something. The app promised to find the best match for my profile. I’d tried to be as honest as possible. I wanted someone who was sweet, funny, sexy, and organized, even if I wasn’t exactly the dictionary example of being neat. I’d answered all the questions truthfully and already suspected that CUPID couldn’t match me to anyone.

Apparently, they had a humongous database of users. They used geolocation technology to narrow down the choices and then interest-matching based on our answers. The best part was that they added a bit of mystery and adventure with their blind date setting. I’d shrugged to myself and picked it for the sake of fun.

The thing about me was that I liked guys, but I wasn’t so sure the feeling was mutual. I somehow seemed to miss all the cues, and only after Asher told me a guy was totally into me would I put the pieces together. Hair touching, loud laughter, and using every opportunity to brush his fingers against my arm or hand were supposedly tell-tale signs. Since I was shit at reading those signs, I figured I would lose nothing by matching blindly with some guy nearby.

To me, there wasn’t such a thing as a type. I liked them big and small; I liked them older and my age; I liked them firm and soft. Hell, I liked them dominant and submissive, active and passive.

Guys were great. He could be a dude-bro I could play games with, or a femme twink to swirl me around his little finger. He could be a manly man who showed me a good time, or a sweet and innocent dreamer who would endlessly talk about things I’d never heard of.

I couldn’t be that difficult to match with someone, right?

So when I swiped across my screen and opened CUPID, I was pretty excited. The app told me nothing about my match, but the location it picked was very promising. The ice skating rink. It wasn’t the big one on campus or the smaller one nearby, but the downtown rink for the general public.

Since I’d been a kid, I had been on the ice. It was only natural I would grow up to play ice hockey with a passion of a thousand burning suns. I grinned at the screen and nodded to myself with satisfaction. Ice skating was something I could do well. And if my mysterious blind date was a skater, too, he would be impressed.

If I could get there in time.

I was timely in how I started getting ready. I occupied the bathroom I shared with Asher, who was already out, and then began preparing by shaving the few black hairs that covered my chin and the space above my upper lip. I was hopeless about ever growing a sexy mustache.

I showered for a long while, as I liked, losing a bit of precious time. I grabbed a bite, doom-scrolled for a brief eternity, sprayed more cologne on myself than was strictly necessary, and headed out early, feeling pretty good about my timing.

I decided to stop at the mall and get my date a little something. I knew only one thing about him: he considered an ice skating rink an appropriate first-date destination. Was he an aspiring hockey player? Oh, was he someone from my team? We were brimming with gay and bi guys this year, but I doubted any of them would have resorted to an app to score a date. It couldn’t be another Arctic Titan. The odds were too low.

I didn’t know what to get, so I went around and stopped at a few shops, debating between a box of chocolates, a plush toy, or a bouquet of roses. Each seemed both appropriate for the holiday and totally inappropriate for someone I had never met in my life.

I sighed and bought the toy. It was the easiest one to hide and the one that didn’t have any allergens I had to worry about. It was a little lion with a vaguely heart-shaped mane. It was small enough to fit in the palm of my hand, but it wasn’t so small that I would be embarrassed to give it as a gift.

I queued at the cash register for some time and then walked out of the mall into the dead of night. My phone told me I could still make it to the rink on time if the stars aligned.

Spoiler alert: they most certainly did not align. I missed my bus and the next one was delayed. And if that wasn’t enough, I walked out of the bus to falling snow, which further slowed me down. I cursed the damn app for choosing this rink instead of either of the rinks we had near campus, then decided to take a deep breath and let it go. I was late. So what? I’d admitted as much on the app, so CUPID must have decided it wasn’t a big deal for my date.

The ice skating rink CUPID had chosen for us was a family-friendly place. They played pop hits and people skated on the ice without worrying if they fell or looked funny. I liked the casual feel of it. It also had a little café and a restaurant inside.

When I walked inside, it didn’t look too crowded. Quite a few couples were moving around, but it was nothing compared to the crowds that gathered here close to Christmas when The Nutcracker played on a loop and schools made organized visits.

I liked the subdued lights all through the rink and off the ice, but I didn’t have time to appreciate it. I needed to locate my date. He would probably be alone and searching for me. I tucked the little lion safely inside my jacket pocket and narrowed my eyes to scan the crowd in the café.

Everyone sat in pairs. Everyone except one person. He sat with his back turned to me, facing the other door on the far side of the café. I could see one of his hands drumming the small, round table. So, he was nervous. As nervous as someone expecting a blind date? Possibly. I had the same itch. My fingertips were restlessly touching my thumb as I moved between the tables toward the lonely boy in the middle of the coffee shop. His golden hair was slightly wavy. His orange jacket, thrown over the back of the chair, seemed familiar, like I’d seen it in a shop. I focused on the rest of him. He wore a midnight blue shirt splattered with tiny white dots and light beige pants. Long legs, I noticed. Broad upper back. Long neck.

My heart was starting to beat quicker. I could feel it. I could feel that he was absolutely gorgeous. As I neared him, something unlocked an image that flashed before my eyes. He turned, as if he had felt my gaze on the back of his head, and I knew who it was.

“Oh,” he said, eyes wide. “It’s you.”

“The Dior guy,” I said. I couldn’t believe my luck. I had run into this guy on the escalator a couple days ago. Asher had been waiting for me to make it to the rink in time for practice, and I had been on such a time crunch, but I’d had to stop and look at him. Even now, I needed a moment to process what I was seeing.

He rose to his feet. Tall, although not as tall as me, and well built. The shirt he wore fit him like it was custom-tailored. Now that we faced each other and I wasn’t running down the wrong escalator, I could truly appreciate his beauty. He looked like a Renaissance painting of an ancient Greek athlete. His lips were wide and sharp with a pronounced Cupid’s bow. His nose was straight with one tiny bump in the middle of its bridge, his nostrils round and even. His eyes were the most dazzling sapphires I had ever seen. His blond hair was a stylish mess.

My heart hammered. I still remembered the scent of his cologne. I also remembered how badly I had wanted to get closer and inhale a deep breath near the crook of his neck.

I was about to grin with delight when my date licked his lips and frowned. “No way this is real.” His lips were on the verge of smiling, but he folded them inward after exclaiming his disbelief.

“What do you mean?” I asked, worry spiking in me. Was he going to storm off?

His eyebrows rose. “I mean, what are the odds? You totally flirted with me on that escalator.” There was a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You’re not actually a crazy person, are you? ‘Cos, like, who tries picking up a guy while he’s also angering an entire mob?”

“What on Earth gave you that impression?” I asked, incredulous. I could see how I might have appeared mad as a hatter the last time I had encountered this guy.

“Oh, I can’t think of a reason,” he said pointedly. I liked his teasing.

“I was late.” I lifted my hands in surrender. “I have a life, you know.” I walked past him, dragged a chair back, then sat down. I waited for the handsome guy across the table to do the same.

My date arched an eyebrow, his gaze locking onto mine as he carefully lowered himself into his seat. “Is that what you tell yourself at night after usurping an entire escalator of rule-abiding citizens?”

I smirked, leaning back in my chair. “Well, I wouldn’t have to usurp anyone if people knew how to design a proper mall. Who puts the food court on the third floor anyway?”

He chuckled, a sound that seemed to satisfy my ears. “That’s what elevators are for, buddy.”

I crossed my arms, feigning offense. “Elevators are for the weak. I take the stairs like a real champion.”

My date’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “A champion of wrong escalators, apparently.”

I rolled my eyes playfully. “Look, it was an honest mistake. You can’t judge my entire character based on a moment of confusion. Once I stepped on the wrong side, I had to double down. My mama didn’t raise a quitter.”

His lips curled into a wry smile. “Oh, I'm not judging. Just stating facts. You're the guy who single-handedly tackled the ascending escalator. Impressive, really.”

I shot him a glare, but he seemed unfazed. The banter continued, ping-ponging between us like a well-practiced game.

Our waiter interrupted the verbal sparring, taking our orders with a well-practiced smile. As soon as he left, my date leaned in, eyes gleaming with mischief. “So, do you always have this much trouble with escalators, or was I just lucky?”

I smirked, playing along. “Oh, you were definitely lucky. I usually save my best performances for unexpected blind dates.”

He laughed, the sound genuine this time. “Well, I can’t wait to see what other hidden talents you have.”

That made my heart leap. It also increased the temperature of my face by a few degrees. I produced the stuffed lion toy from my pocket and set it on the table between us. “This is for you.”

The blond guy widened his eyes in shock. I realized I should have asked him his name before giving him a gift.

He licked his red lips and reached carefully for the toy. “You got me a…present?”

I shrugged casually. “I was near the mall, so I took the correct escalator, picked something ridiculous so I didn’t spook you with something romantic like a bouquet of ninety-nine red roses, and came here.”

He folded his lips inward for a moment as if swallowing a chuckle. “Ten minutes late,” he whispered, suppressing his humor. “Dare I ask how you returned to the ground floor?”

“Oh, it was absolute carnage. I’m banned from the mall,” I lied and laughed out loud when my date smiled. “Are we doing this date or what?”

He gave it a moment to think about my question. His head bobbed left and right. He examined the stuffed lion. Finally, he lifted that sapphire gaze and his eyes caught the overhead lights, twinkling like he wasn’t real, a product of my imagination. “Alright. Let’s do this date.”

I thrust my hand forward. “I’m Phoenix. It’s nice to meet you. Properly.”

He blinked, hesitated for half a heartbeat, and put his delicate hand in mine. Our differences were suddenly so clear to me. His skin was several shades paler and far softer than mine. He was all lithe, even with the athletic shape of his body. “That’s a nice name.” He smiled. “I’m Jaxon,” he said. “Thanks for Leo.”

“Is that what we’re calling him?” I asked. We? I didn’t have a chance to correct myself.

He frowned at the stuffed toy. “It’s short for Sir Leopold Bartholomew Roarington the Third.”

I nodded gravely. “Esquire of Cuddlington Manor.”

Jaxon was almost incredulous when his gaze met mine. “Did you just…improve my joke?”

I grinned, unable to resist the opportunity for banter. "Well, you know, I have a knack for elevating jokes to the next level. It's a gift, really."

Jaxon chuckled, shaking his head. "Elevating jokes, or running them down the wrong escalator?"

"Hey, that escalator had it coming," I retorted, feigning offense. "Now, Leo here, with his grand title, seems like a plush aristocrat. Should he have a tiny monocle and a velvet cape too?"

Jaxon smirked, playing along. "I considered it, but he's more of a casual aristocrat. Monocles are so last season."

I raised an eyebrow, adopting a faux-posh accent. "Oh, how terribly passé of monocles. Leo, darling, we mustn't get caught in outdated fashion trends."

Jaxon burst into laughter, and Leo, nestled between us, seemed to approve with his stitched-on smile.

We were silent for a short while. Our waiter brought us the drinks we had ordered. Jaxon feathered Leo’s mane with his fingertips, squirmed in his chair and inhaled a deep breath of air. I wasn’t sure what got him nervous all of a sudden. My first instinct was to resort to banter, but I knew that it worked best when it was used sparingly.

“So, CUPID, huh?” I asked. There were some feelings warring inside of me. Any app that claimed they could find you a better date than you could find yourself immediately sparked my skepticism. However, Jaxon had gotten every joke I’d made and I had played along with him. So far, it was going better than with any bar encounter I’d had.

“Yeah,” Jaxon said. The awkwardness thickened for a few more moments. Jaxon looked like he was ready to excuse himself and sneak out through the toilet window. “A fan of the Empire?”

“The Roman Empire or the Sith?” I asked. I noticed him glancing at my Sith emblem, but then I thrust my other hand forward.

“I saw your tattoo…” Jaxon’s gaze jumped to my other hand. He threw his head back and laughed out loud. The Aquila and SPQR were framed with a laurel wreath.

Jaxon took a moment to compose himself after his fit of laughter, wiping away an imaginary tear. "Well, it seems you're a man of culture, Phoenix. Both Empires, I suppose."

I leaned back, a contemplative expression replacing my playful grin. "CUPID, though. It's a bit...calculated, isn't it? I mean, love by algorithm? It sounds like a dystopian romance novel."

Jaxon sighed, his gaze fixed on the table. "I get it. It's weird. But it's also a way to meet people you might not cross paths with otherwise. And, well, here we are."

"Yeah, here we are," I echoed, my fingers idly tracing the rim of my water glass. "It's just strange, you know? How can an app orchestrate something like this? Are we really that predictable?"

Jaxon's eyes met mine, a hint of vulnerability in his gaze. "Maybe it's not about predictability. Maybe it's about giving chance a nudge. Sometimes, we need a little push to find something unexpected."

His words lingered in the air, and for a moment, the playful banter gave way to a more introspective atmosphere.

I gestured to my tattooed hands. "These, for example. They're symbols, stories etched into my skin. I didn't choose them randomly. They mean something. But can an algorithm understand that?"

Jaxon's gaze softened. "Maybe not. But sometimes, we need more than symbols to connect. We need conversations, shared laughter, and unexpected moments. CUPID can set the stage, but it can't write the script."

We exchanged a look of newfound understanding. This was like jazz, I realized, and Jaxon and I understood the rhythm. But there was something else that he said. Set the stage. It made me look around. “Why here?” I wondered aloud.

“Oh, erm, that might be my fault,” Jaxon admitted and laughed nervously. He glanced in the direction of the rink. “I put it as my top choice.” He stretched his lips into a wide grin. “I didn’t expect to get my way.”

I listened with growing interest. “It was my top choice, too,” I said when he paused. “We should play a friendly game. Maybe at the campus rink. The assistant coach would let us use it if it’s for practice.”

Jaxon’s eyes widened. “You mean, like, hockey?”

“Yeah,” I said, grinning wider.

His face was painted in absolute horror. “I, uh…” He bit his lip guiltily.

“I knew you played the moment I saw you. It’s your shoulders, I think,” I said.

He winced. “Actually, I figure skate. I couldn’t follow a puck if my life depended on it.”

My mouth dropped open. “You’re a skater?”

“Yes. Well, was. I switched my focus to ice ballet recently, which is a combination of figure skating and ballet,” he said. “And my shoulders are annoyingly broad. They got in the way of professional figure skating a time or two.”

I swallowed, trying to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. He seemed annoyed. With hockey? With his shoulders? “You look perfect,” I said, breathless. It was the best I could come up with.

He almost scoffed. It was an airy noise, as though he gave up mid-grunt. “Yeah, right.”

“I mean it.” I launched my words at him as if our date depended on it. It might have. “When I ran past you the other night, it was like the entire mall went dark, and I could only see you. You’re, um, gorgeous.” My words fell flat at the end, but Jaxon’s ears still perked, and the corners of his lips twitched. “I almost ditched my game and stalked you back upstairs.”

We both grinned at that.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. He grabbed his hot chocolate and finished what little was left in the big mug. “I have to admit something. Please don’t hate me.” He cringed. “I’ve never been able to sit through a hockey game.”

I threw my head back and laughed out loud this time. “And I’ve only ever watched figure skating for fifteen seconds at a time.”

I thought he would be offended once my words were out. I regretted them immediately. But instead of pulling back, Jaxon exhaled with relief. “This is what you were talking about, isn’t it? CUPID understood we were skaters, so it set our date in the rink. But it didn’t realize we did totally opposite things.”

In a single heartbeat, my mind and my heart were set. The note of worry in Jaxon’s voice told me he feared it was a dealbreaker that I played hockey and he did ballet on ice. I thought it was freaking fantastic. “You know what? I’d love to see what you can do out there.”

His eyebrows arched. Locks of blond hair covered one of his bright blue eyes. He was a Star Wars aficionado and could recognize the emblem of the Roman Empire. He was an ice skater, even if not the same kind as me. I wasn’t letting him leave this date disappointed about that little mismatch. Or the near escalator collision. “You would?”

“We should go for it. We’re already here,” I said. I grabbed my wallet to pay for our drinks and extended my other hand to Jaxon.

He eyed me for a short while, visibly debating with himself, then simply leaned into it. Leaned into the night and the date. He swept across the table and picked up Sir Leopold Bartholomew Roarington the Third, and then embraced my hand.

CHAPTER THREE

JAXON

His flesh was warmer than I’d expected. His hand held mine firmly and his dark brown eyes twinkled.

My guard was up, even though Phoenix seemed like a genuinely nice guy. Not that he wore that aesthetic. He was a walking contradiction, which intrigued me. The tough boy look that his tattoos gave him went well with the sexy haircut he wore, but his inner geek was shamelessly on display. It was charming.

We got skates at the entrance to the rink. The music blasting from the speakers had nothing to do with ballet or figure skating. Even though I was on my journey to becoming a professional, I was a fish out of the water around here. And my date was a rough hockey player, not a casual skater. What was his style, then?

“Ready?” Phoenix asked after we put on our skates. He stepped onto the ice and bent forward like he was about to charge and trample everyone in his way. There was pure, cold determination in his posture and the set of his jaw.

I, on the other hand, glided after him as smoothly as I could. The truth was, I couldn’t seem to relax my muscles. It was like I expected a bomb to go off at any minute. Something cold gripped my heart, and I couldn’t melt it away.

Should I even try? He’s sweet. He’s attractive. He hasn’t asked you about your kinks. He hasn’t shown you a dick pic. Give him a chance. All these things were true, yet I expected him to swipe across his phone and airdrop me a photo of his dick at any moment. Guys online were mostly like that. And I knew a fuckboy when I saw one; Phoenix was getting it, I had no doubt about that. But the longer we skated and talked, the more I didn’t know what to think anymore. We talked about Star Wars and books. We talked about places we traveled and places we wanted to go. While we had a lot of differences, we also had a lot in common. And he seemed genuinely curious about me and the things that were important to me.

“What is ice ballet, anyway?” he asked. His battle posture relaxed a little when we twirled around each other.

“It’s sort of self-explanatory,” I said, laughing. “It’s basically figure skating, but it’s choreographed to classical music and involves an ensemble.”

Phoenix nodded, his head bobbing up and down. “Why ballet, then? Why not just figure skating?” He slowed down so our paces would match. Other people skated around us clockwise, some losing balance and others exhibiting raw talent.

It wasn’t something I liked talking about. It involved facing my failures, which was never a hoot. But Phoenix appeared genuinely interested. Something about him made me want to tell him things. He listened. He understood my meaning even if we’d only joked about things. “I lost my passion for competitive figure skating,” I admitted. “Don’t get me wrong. This isn’t any easier than skating in front of a panel of judges. It’s actually harder a lot of the time.”

“It’s like a challenge? You want to prove to yourself that you can do more?” Phoenix skated ahead of me, then swapped sides and let me catch up to his left shoulder. The way he sped was so hockey-like. He was like a bull charging toward a matador. Or a Celtic warrior ready to lay his life down to protect his lands from Roman invaders. Even the thought he had was a contrasting philosophy. He was competitive in every cell of his being.

I smiled. Something about his approach made me want to slow down and watch him. Something about this boy excited me. “Not exactly,” I said. “It’s more about the sense of accomplishment after a performance. It’s much more fulfilling than fighting for first place, beating someone, or losing. Ice ballet involves working together to create something beautiful.”

Phoenix nodded. He looked a little lost without a stick in his hands and a puck to chase. I was at home, though, even if I kept it simple. Just moving on the ice and carving the smooth surface with my skates while cool air washed over my face was almost enough to make me feel complete. “But isn’t it the same thing if you exclude the competition?” he asked.

“Sort of.” I wondered if he would want to see me dance. I kept looking at him whenever he sped up, his shoulders swinging back and forth and his face growing more determined. “Except that we sometimes have twenty or thirty performers figure skating at the same time, choreographed as if we were on a stage. It’s technically challenging, so when we do it well, it’s more rewarding than anything I’d ever done in my life.”

His face lit up. “You know what? I would love to see it.”

My heart leaped. “We’re doing The Sleeping Beauty in a month. I have a solo.” It was as close as I dared to come to inviting him. What if he said he was busy? Or didn’t actually want to come? Why would he lie? I swallowed and inhaled a deep breath. My heart beat faster. “If you’re free, maybe you could come and see it.”

“Are you kidding?” Phoenix asked. Terror washed over me. Was it such a ridiculous idea? But his eyes widened and his lips stretched into a face-splitting grin. “I’ll totally be there for fifteen seconds and more.” His face was pure innocence. His eyes twinkled, though, and I couldn’t help myself but laugh. “Seriously, though. There’s no way I’ll miss that.” He gestured with his head toward the middle of the rink. There was a lot of free space over there, so we disconnected from the crowd and went solo. “Could you show me some?” Phoenix asked. “Like a teaser.”

My cheeks heated. This hockey player wanted to watch me dance? I started with a simple glide, arms extended gracefully, tracing delicate patterns on the ice. The music pulsed through my veins, guiding my movements as I gained momentum. In his hockey player stance, Phoenix watched with a mixture of curiosity and appreciation.

As I approached him, I executed a flawless spin, the blades whispering against the frozen surface. I could feel his eyes on me, drawn to the fluidity of my movements. With a swift transition, I shifted into a series of jumps, each landing as soft as a feather. The music shifted to a more upbeat tempo and I seized the opportunity to inject a burst of athleticism into my routine. I propelled myself into a dazzling combination of twirls and jumps. Phoenix's eyes widened, a genuine smile playing on his lips.

I couldn’t resist it. I reached for his hands and snatched them in mine. We spun, orbiting one another, and Phoenix played along like he’d done this a million times. As the music reached its climax, I performed a daring jump, soaring upward before his eyes. The cheers from onlookers merged with the crescendo of the music. Phoenix's laughter echoed, a melodic harmony to the rhythm of our shared adventure on the ice.

We glided together, our styles converging in an unexpected harmony. Phoenix's rough-and-tumble hockey maneuvers blended seamlessly with the finesse of my figure skating. And when I did one final twirl with a bit of flourish, we came to a halt.

Phoenix’s eyes were full of wonder and admiration. It couldn’t be faked. It pulled me in, quite literally, and I found myself inches away from my date. He stood still, eyes on me, and shook his head a little. “That was so beautiful. You’re like a butterfly.”

I blinked twice and laughed. Nobody had ever called me that. It was oddly nice. A butterfly. I didn’t realize how much it had made me smile until my teeth closed around my lower lip to control it. “Thank you,” I said, hoping that my tone told him how grateful I was to hear that.

Phoenix cocked one side of his lips into a half-smile and shrugged. “I don’t think I can match you in that department,” he said. “But I sure as hell can race you.” And with that, he was off.

A moment of panic washed over me. The deeply-buried competitive nature in me soared and I set off after him. He moved like a warrior. His sculpted body and his bulging muscles didn’t slow him down. It was obvious that Phoenix was used to making quick, unpredictable moves on the ice.

I had to speed up so much that I was soon out of breath.

Phoenix was fast with pure will and force. I, on the other hand, was quick thanks to the years of practicing how to control myself on the ice. Figure skating and ice ballet both required the same amount of skill in controlling your movements.

What slowed me down was the pure beauty of the sight in front of me. He was so gorgeous in a dangerous yet charming way.

And when he stopped abruptly so he wouldn’t crash into a girl clumsily dancing with her date, I yelped. Phoenix spun around with a silly grin, arms spreading as if to catch me.

I twirled around my axis to slow down, but it wasn’t enough. In the next heartbeat, I felt the strong arms that were used to rigorous workout routines wrap around me and pull me to a halt.

Laughter burst out of me as we both spun around, finding each other’s hands and holding onto one another. The rink swirled around us, but my focus was solely on my stunning date.

We slowed down together, neither of us wobbling like other people might after spinning in a circle. Phoenix wore a hearty smile that was in contrast with my sneaky one. I couldn’t keep my lips from quivering and stretching, even if I wanted to display some self-control. The truth was, he was winning me over with the sheer power of charm and mischief.

“That was pretty good,” I told him. “I wouldn’t want to stand in front of you with a stick in my hands.”

“Few dare,” he said pompously, then laughed aloud. “Nah, I’m not that scary.”

“I never said I was scared of you,” I pointed out, skating slowly alongside him. I wondered if people were intimidated by him. And by people, I meant his opponents on the ice as well as his dates.

After a short silence, Phoenix focused on me. “You make me laugh like every five seconds, Jaxon.”

My mouth opened, but no sound came. There wasn’t a trace of mocking and I berated myself for such low self-esteem as to expect him to just mock me and walk away. “You just have a very particular sense of humor,” I said, which made him laugh.

“Great minds,” he said with a wink. He extended his hand to me to take and I did, in a heartbeat, no matter what goofy thing he wanted to do. And when I did, he sliced the smooth surface of the ice with his blades, swirling me around. “Do another spin for me.”

“I’m not a dancing monkey,” I mock-protested.

“I’ll give you a penny,” Phoenix offered with absolute seriousness, which made my heart leap from my ribcage. He was ridiculously charming. I would do a hundred spins so long as he wanted to watch.

As he freed me, I used the momentum of our initial motion to spin. Soon I was able to lift my left leg off the ice and twirl on one skate, my arms stretched out for balance. And when Phoenix cheered and hooted, I wore the biggest smile I could remember having.

I let my movements slow, preparing myself for the Arabesque pose, but someone squealed near me and Phoenix shouted a warning. The girl that Phoenix had nearly crashed into was on collision course with me and I had no time to move.

She was flailing while her date was horror struck and standing still.

My other skate touched the ice a moment before Phoenix’s big body swept me to a side and served as a living shield. The girl apologized as she grabbed onto Phoenix, who now supported her weight as well as mine.

And still, he gazed at me, his eyes shining with amusement, and his smile bright and full of pearly teeth. The girl recovered after a moment but her apologies faded as the rink dimmed.

I straightened in his arms and looked into his warm eyes. My heart skipped a beat. Then it skipped another. We stood still, holding onto each other, barely breathing. I was so swept up by the pull of his attraction that I found myself leaning in. The power of his charisma enveloped me, it wrapped around me, and it kept me warm.

His heated breath washed over my face. His body was pressed against mine as all the lights in the world went out and only the light beaming from Phoenix remained.

My teeth closed around my lower lip as I mustered the courage.

That naughty twinkle in his eyes told me he wanted this as much as I did. But when the thought of touching his lips with mine crossed my mind, my entire body reacted. My heart pumped blood faster and hotter. My face was flushed. And a lot of that blood concentrated where it shouldn’t have; not in a public rink, at least.

I pulled back, letting out a nervous chuckle. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“It’s the hero complex I get around pretty boys,” he said jokingly.

I blinked fast. “You think I’m pretty?”

Now, he wasn’t even remotely teasing. “I think you’re gorgeous.”

I looked around. The urge to kiss him would rapture me. And I was pretty sure he felt the same. Phoenix lingered near me for a few moments longer. Then, as if making a decision, he glided a couple of feet away from me. “I think I’m out-skated. But hey, if you ever want to get checked against the boards, I’m your guy.”

My stomach fluttered. Why did that idea excite me? To be trapped between him and the boards didn’t seem like the worst place to be. “I’m sure you’d do a great job.” I followed him as he slowly left the ice.

Once we changed into our shoes, Phoenix looked at me. “I think I will declare this date a success.”

“And give CUPID the credit it deserves?” I asked.

His grin was crooked in the sexiest way I could think of. “Alright. Fine. It matched us pretty well.”

Even though I couldn’t imagine someone more different, I thought, and the same wave of flutters passed through my stomach once again. We returned our skates and walked toward the hallway. I wondered if this was it. Would he invite me out for a second date? Would he come up with something else we could do?

And why did it have to be his call? I could do that, too. Right?

Fear unfurled deep in my chest. My anxiety over getting rejected was clearly there. Phoenix was obviously gorgeous. He could be out with anyone in this city. Was he just being polite and sticking around? I swallowed. “Thanks for Leo. He’ll have an honorable spot on my desk.”

“As he should. Never underestimate a lion’s pride. Even if he’s full of plush.” Phoenix lectured with a straight face, which made me laugh out loud. He’d been doing a lot of that tonight.

We walked shoulder-to-shoulder down the hallway and out of the rink. The cold air and occasional flurries of the falling snow had always been my favorite setting. We stepped onto the squeaky layer of snow, hands tucked inside our pockets, and paused. “I had a nice time,” Phoenix said.

“And you learned something new,” I pointed out.

A mischievous glance from him lifted my heart. “Those sorts of dates are the best. I’m thinking we should dissect a frog next time.”

I would have laughed out loud, but my head spun with the thought of going out again. There would be a next time? I could barely keep myself standing as a wave of attraction swept over me. Say that, I urged myself. Tell him how much that makes you happy. Just once in your life, don’t run away and hope for the best. Leap, Jaxon. Leap. “I’ll do whatever you feel like,” I said carefully. “If you’d like a second date.”

His eyes widened. The corners of his lips lifted freely as if Phoenix didn’t mind wearing his emotions on his sleeve. “I would like that very, very much,” he said heartily.

I couldn’t stop my heart from jumping every time this boy blinked. Had he not been in such a hurry when I met him on that escalator, he could have swept me off my feet two days ago. And I wasn’t sure if I could stay on my feet for much longer today. He was like a whirlwind of positivity and laughter and daring. He lifted me with his energy and I wanted to follow.

We still didn’t move. The silence of the night and the occasional gusts of wind were all that was around us. We turned a little to face each other better. The plush lion in my pocket was fuzzy and warm, but the real heat was coming from my stomach, rising along my neck and concentrating in my face.

Phoenix stood so close to me. He bit his lip a little and smiled. “We could go to the movies on Saturday after practice,” he suggested.

I was pretty sure we liked totally different genres. And yet, I didn’t even want to question it. “That sounds good.” We could get one big tray of nachos to share. Our fingers could brush in passing. The movie could lose our attention around the second act. We could…

“Hey,” he said. Steam rose from his mouth. He wore that grin as bright as ever. “Back there…” He gestured at the rink with his head, but his gaze remained on my face.

“Yeah?” I asked. My mouth went dry. What if I’d misunderstood? What if that hadn’t been the sort of moment I had imagined?

Phoenix shrugged. “I wish we had the rink all to ourselves.” The way he folded his lips in, then released them into a ghost of a smile told me we meant the same thing. It was like a test of one’s wavelengths. Ours were perfectly aligned.

For once in my life, I had to trust my gut. He wished we had been all alone. Had we been alone, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I had nearly done it.

Even now, my heart hammered, and I surrendered to the magnetic pull of his being.

I took the lapels of his jacket gently and straightened my back to reach him more easily. His smile remained in place as he slowly closed his eyes. Steam rose between us as we both exhaled. The fuse was lit. The sparks kindled and a fire soon blazed. In a single heartbeat, I went from wondering if I would dare do this to desperately wanting it. And when we ran out of the fuse, nothing could have stopped the explosion.

I pulled him down as I rose up. My lips pressed hard against his. Phoenix's mouth was soft against mine, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away. The taste of his laughter lingered, a subtle hint of the banter that had woven us together.

His hand cradled the back of my neck, his touch sending shivers down my spine. As our breaths danced in the chilled air, the connection deepened. Nothing around us remained. There was only the warmth of Phoenix's lips, the gentle press of his embrace, and the realization that sometimes, the sweetest moments arise when we dared reach for them.

For the briefest moment, the tip of his tongue ventured out and met mine, making me want to press closer to him. This kiss left a blazing trail across the gap that our differences made. It pulled us together as I poured out every bit of my insecurity and my attraction.

Unashamedly, I kissed him harder. I ground against him, throwing my arms around his neck and kissing him some more. A moan erupted from me and I felt tears of joy dampen my eyelashes.

The kiss was a promise. A promise that our differences could become something beautiful, a promise that the connection forged on the ice was more than a fleeting spark. And in that moment, as our hearts beat in unison, I knew that this unexpected date had become the greatest kiss of my life.

When I pulled back, I was almost swept away by the intense joy that swirled around and within me. Before me, there was his smiling face. “You know, now I’m really looking forward to our next date.”

I’d learned my lesson. Good things happen to those who reach out and try. “I have a better idea,” I whispered. “If you’d like to come to my place.”

A wildfire blazed in his eyes when I said those words. I didn’t need to hear his words to know he would.

CHAPTER FOUR

JAXON

We laughed when we realized that my place was only a few blocks away from his place. Phoenix studied at Northwood and played for the famous Arctic Titans. The bus dropped us off near campus and we walked the rest of the way with snow gently falling and the night seeming more magical with each passing second.

When we arrived at the dormitories, I was happy to learn that Will hadn’t been pulling my leg when he’d texted he would be staying out and I could have my date over if I wanted. I let Phoenix into my dorm room and then shut the door behind us. My nerves lit up immediately, making my fingers twitch and drum against my legs.

Instead of the big ceiling light, I lit all the lamps in the room. Each desk had a lamp and so did the nightstands, and then there was the atmospheric lamp with changing colors on my bookcase.

“Your room’s pretty neat,” Phoenix said. “As in cool, but also tidy. I like it.” The look of delight on his face was so bright that it couldn’t have been fake.

“You’re not into slobs, huh?” I asked.

He snorted and chuckled. “If I had to answer that truthfully, I’d say it’s a bit of a turnoff.”

“It’s your lucky Valentine’s Day,” I said, taking his jacket from him. My room was very organized. The three levels of books I had on my bookcase followed a rainbow pattern and the books were color-coded. It wasn’t the usual way of categorizing titles, but it was mine. While Will’s bed was always neatly made — military style — mine had a pile of pillows of various sizes for daytime and evening comforts, which I sorted under the bed when I wanted to sleep. Will’s desk was just as rigidly tidy as his bed and mine was more akin to a kindly wizard’s workroom. It wasn’t messy, but it wasn’t bare either. Books were stacked on one side of it with the lamp on the other. Notebooks, pens, and pencils were also up there, sorted by size.

I hung our jackets on the hooks that were on the back of the door, then paused next to Phoenix. I wanted to be brave. To leap at him and show him how badly I wanted him. But I was a coward, I didn’t want to make a fool out of myself. I didn’t want to scare him or appear ridiculous.

As Phoenix turned around the room and took it in, I allowed myself to explore his body with my gaze. He smelled like the sea breeze; his shirt was black, his pants olive, and his shoes an odd shade of dark brown which might have been black, but parts were intentionally faded to auburn. His shoulders were much broader than mine, nicely rounded with muscles that connected with strong, bulging biceps.

His black hair was so stylish that it should have been a clue to his depth of character. He wasn’t just some brute. He looked like a contemporary god of desire. And when he turned his head to meet my gaze, I felt the intensity of his look in every part of my body. He wanted me. It was clear as day that he wanted me. His eyes were so completely on my face and his lips were slightly parted. The corners of his mouth ticked upward in joyful expectation. “What would you like to do?”

I wanted to laugh to break the ice. “Can’t you guess?”

He sucked his teeth playfully. “I don’t want to assume. You could have brought me here to play with Legos.”

Now I laughed. And when it passed, I found my courage. I stepped forward and then placed my hands squarely on his chest. “That’s why I invited you over.”

“I love Legos,” Phoenix said, face straight. Only the slight glimmer of boyish naughtiness said he was fooling around.

I neared him even more, my chest touching his. “You didn’t even ask.” His eyebrows rose, but he was visibly amused. My tone praised him and he knew it. “If I’m active or passive. If I’m into feet or whatever.”

Phoenix shrugged. “I don’t know what it says about me, but I don’t really care about any of that. I’m into anything, if I like the person.” After a short silence, he must have felt compelled to say it. “I like you, Jaxon. You’re funny, smart, nerdy like me. And let’s not even talk about your face. You’re gorgeous.”

Like a butterfly, I thought. “I like you too.”

I couldn’t keep my feelings contained. My body was overwhelmed by the sudden need to feel him. I wanted all he would give me. His proximity, his kisses, his jokes, and his body. I leaned in and Phoenix met me halfway. His lips pressed mine much more freely this time. He wasn’t shy, and I realized the difference was in me telling him that I wanted him.

I parted my lips to welcome his tongue when he thrust it into my mouth. His rough kisses and the grinding of his body against mine made my breaths shallow and my hands tremble.

In the moment when he pulled back, I knew how badly I wanted him to continue. I followed him, a whimper escaping me, my lips still on his, and I clutched his shirt harder. It was enough to awaken the true extent of this attraction. Phoenix placed one foot between my legs and his thigh rubbed against my crotch as if he had to check. I was harder than I had ever been, throbbing at the slightest brush of his leg against me.

“You really do like me,” he purred over my lips.

I moaned my assent and closed my lips over his again. It provoked something wild in Phoenix, something I welcomed although I hadn’t expected it. His fingers dug into the sides of my ribcage and a moment later, his arms wrapped around my torso, under my arms, and his hands pressed my back. He pulled me close, squeezing air out of me, and kissed me from above.

I swear, I could have fainted at that moment.

In the next instant, his crotch pressed against me, and I felt his cock stir. He was as hard as marble and I could feel his naughty smile against my lips. I smiled back, breaking our kiss, letting my face stay pressed against his. Our noses met, our brows touched, and I felt him open his eyes.

I looked up just as Phoenix dragged his hands down my back and moved them around my waist. When he hooked his fingers inside my belt, every trace of self-control escaped me.

My fingertips dug into his pecs. Shivers ran up my arms. I pressed hard against him and my heart pounded with excitement. As he untucked my shirt from my pants, I was encouraged to do what my heart desired the most.

I reached for his top button with trembling fingers. One after the other, I undid his buttons down the length of his shirt, revealing the sculpted torso of a true and dedicated athlete. His rounded pecs and steel abs were smooth all the way down to his abdomen, where a happy trail of dark hair led into his underwear. When the last button popped, I pressed my open palms against his muscles.

“You’re so hot,” I whispered. Not only was he the sexiest jock I’d come across, but his olive skin radiated heat like a furnace.

As my hands caressed his broad, muscled chest, he began unbuttoning my shirt from the bottom up. Inch by inch, his fingers trailed the middle of my torso, popping buttons, feeling my creamy, smooth skin with the back of his hands. Each touch of his skin against mine made me want to get closer to him. And not just physically. I was reaching the maximum limit of how close our bodies could get. I wanted us to merge, bodies and souls alike. I wanted him inside of me with a desperate longing that was unlike any other.

I shrugged my shirt off just as he stepped back and did the same. I examined the carved ridges between his muscles, the black hair of his happy trail, and the V line of his abdomen. My heart skipped a beat when I noticed the short black hair that covered his armpits as he lifted one arm and set a hand on my face, then slid it around my head, and pulled me in for a long, deep kiss. His other hand rested on my hip, tugging me until my crotch was pressed against his. To feel his bare torso on mine was as close to completeness as I had ever felt. His muscles fit nicely against mine. Our differences weren’t contrasting but complementing. Where I was lithe, Phoenix was curved. Where I was wiry, he was bulging with muscles. And where I dragged my fingers as if I wished to claw him, he feathered me with his fingertips.

He kissed me passionately, moaning once and pulling me closer. I didn’t know which god to thank for blessing me with Phoenix, I didn’t care either. He was here, as eager to kiss me as I was to kiss him. And when his hands rested on my bare back, the entirety of my desire bloomed.

Phoenix lowered his hands to my butt, holding me firmly enough to send crashing waves of wild lust through me. I throbbed against his leg as he rubbed his crotch against my hip. I wanted him. All of him. And I wanted it now. My tongue reached into his mouth, exploring him and sparking the same crazy emotions within him.

I could feel his abs tense. I could feel his breath grow shallow. I could almost feel the shivers running down his arms as I pressed my torso tightly against his as I slowly descended to my knees. My fingers hooked inside his pants and I undid the button while lifting my gaze to meet his. Those brown eyes watched me, pooled with admiration and affection.

As I began to pull his pants down, freeing the big bulge that stretched his sky-blue boxers thin, Phoenix pulled his lip between his teeth and released it. “Are you sure, Jaxon?” he asked.

I set my hand on his hard bulge and a tingling sensation ran up my arm. I nodded. “Very.”

“Good,” he said, his voice husky and dripping with desire. “It’s just…I really want a second date with you. And I don’t want you to think I’m just hooking up.”

I licked my lips. My heart was almost too big for my chest. “That’s why I want this. You’re the sweetest, sexiest guy I have ever met.”

He grinned freely, unashamed of appearing less than serious. His sexiness skyrocketed with that smile. “I like you a lot, Jaxon. I don’t wanna screw it up.” But his voice was strained with the effort it took to hold back. His abs trembled and his cock throbbed under my hand.

“You can’t.” I shook my head firmly.

Like a tide, his body relaxed and leaned toward me. His fingers ran through my blond locks, tangling and curling. His head rose high, then fell back just as he thrust his hips forth and brushed his bulge against my chin. He looked down again, meeting my gaze, and the same boyish naughtiness was all over his face.

I licked my lips, my mouth watering, as I pulled the dark blue waistband over his dick. He was more than ready, springing upward as soon as his underwear allowed it. I closed my free hand around his hard length, the tip of his big cock was slick with precum and my appetite soared with the sight of it. I opened my mouth and extended my tongue, leaning in until my face was pressed against his crotch, my tongue on his big balls. I was generous with the contact, dragging my tongue along the length of his dick, inhaling through my nose, and filling my nostrils with the delicious mixture of his body wash and natural musk. The black hair around his cock was trimmed neatly, it covered his olive skin and carried his unique, incredible scent. It filled my lungs as I closed my lips around the slick tip of his cock, letting the rich, sweet, and salty flavor of his precum coat my tongue.

Phoenix groaned, his broad chest shuddering, his abs tensing. From below, he looked like the statue of David, each line between his muscles chiseled deep. The tattoos that spread across his chest and arms were an endless fantasy. They had no clear pattern but morphed from one design to another. I wanted to lick them. I wanted to have my tongue everywhere on him.

His cock filled my mouth, and I swung my head back and forth, each time leaning closer to him, letting him probe me deeper. The muscles in my throat constricted against his dick, pushing him back until I directed my focus on loosening them. Phoenix eased himself deeper yet, sucking air between his teeth and clasping my head with both hands. He lodged himself in my throat, cutting off the airflow, and gazing into my eyes where they widened fractionally. He pulled out abruptly, letting me heave for air and wipe the spilled saliva off my chin.

“You suck so well,” he whispered as I leaned in, one fist rubbing the base of his cock, lips closing around the tip. I worked him, feeling his slow and steady rise toward his orgasm.

Phoenix panted, his breath hitching every once in a while. Each time he thrust his dick into my mouth, mine pulsed. I moved my hand down to his big, heavy balls, rubbing them gently, softly. He was like Adonis, every inch of him divine.

And when he swept me up to my feet, his hands under my arms, I wanted to cry out with the pressure of my briefs on my hard cock. It was almost impossible to stand straight and not moan. Phoenix’s quick fingers solved that problem in two heartbeats. My pants opened, and he dragged them over my ass, and pulled the waistband of my black briefs over the curve of my butt too. The waistband tugged on my dick, adding painful strain until the briefs slipped off and my cock leaped up. It made Phoenix chuckle a little, but he kissed me in the next instant. His hand stroked me soothingly while he thrust his tongue inside my mouth.

He released my length and stepped closer, our bodies smashed together. Our dicks rubbed against each other. Phoenix stepped back after a moment, kissing me still, and tried to free himself of the pants and underwear that trapped his ankles. I did the same, undressing down to nothing. When I was done, I stood, panting, my cock upright, as he straightened and examined me. I had never seen anyone pull off the expression of complete and blissful satisfaction so easily. Phoenix looked like he had ordered a designed lover and unwrapped the package only to see I was precisely what he had wanted.

“You know, you were so elegant on the ice,” he said, his breaths shallow. His gaze dropped to my smooth legs, then he slowly raised it to my hairless crotch and over the taut skin of my torso. My muscles didn’t bunch like his but were cut and lean. And when he stepped forward and put his hands on my stomach, my abs tensed. “And so skilled.”

A chuckle rose through my chest, but I held it down. “Are you asking me if I’m that bendy in bed?”

He gave a nervous laugh, playing the part of the nice guy even if the naughty one was very close to the surface.

“Because I am,” I whispered and bit my lip to stifle my excitement. I wasn’t going to spoil it by talking. I would show him what I could do. All the years of training turned me into a fierce dancer, but the accidental result was that I made an exciting lover, too. Not a lot of guys could do the splits and swing their hips back and forth, pleasuring their tops in such an adventurous and unconventional way. And that was the least I could do.

Phoenix laughed again, but it wasn’t so nervous as it was relieved. He was into it. But I realized that what mattered even more was that I was into it too.

“Lie on your back,” I said.

“On the floor?” That grin again. It was breathtaking.

I grabbed the throw off the edge of my bed and spread it over the carpet, then nodded. As I did so, images flooded my brain. I imagined us doing all these exciting things and my heart hammered harder with each new idea that crossed my mind. I felt even hornier when Phoenix eyed me, then lay on his back on the floor. He folded one hand under his head and wrapped the other around his dick. He pleasured himself while keeping his eyes on me, and I couldn’t think of anything hotter.

“I’ve got an idea before you show me all your tricks,” he purred.

“I’ve got more tricks than I can show you in one night,” I said playfully, lowering myself to all fours.

His eyes widened with unfiltered lust. “I guess I’ll have to keep coming back for more.”

“I’d like that,” I said earnestly. “What’s your idea?”

A smile pulled the corners of his lips wide. “You can’t be the only one doing all the pleasuring,” he said. “How about I return the favor?” And as he bit his lip, I knew what he was suggesting.

My mind was slower than my body. I saw myself turning around, my right leg lifting, and the knee set on the other side of Phoenix’s shoulders.

“Perfect,” Phoenix purred. I faced away from him, my butt hovering above his face. He released his dick and put both hands on my hips.

I looked hungrily at his stiff cock and decided I wanted another taste in a moment or two. But first…

Phoenix held my hips firmly. He tugged me down. As he exhaled, his hot breath washed over my tender skin.

“Just like that,” he whispered. “Sit, Jaxon.”

And I did. With every shred of my body fine-tuned to this experience, I sat lightly on Phoenix’s face, my hands on my butt, spreading my cheeks. I tensed when his tongue ventured out and met my tight hole. I held my breath when he exhaled against the skin he had just licked. And as I got used to these sensations, I allowed myself to sink lower, grinding against his mouth like it was the only way to ever find any pleasure.

I swung my hips back and forth as much as his firm grip allowed me. For the most part, Phoenix was just pulling me harder down on his mouth, his head bobbing and his lips and tongue rubbing against me. And when I leaned forward with a figure skater’s grace, Phoenix lifted his head to keep the contact from breaking. He licked, kissed, and sucked. He devoured me. And I reached down to suck him again, impaling my head on his hard length until my throat was filled and my lungs burned with the need for oxygen.

Phoenix was merciless, I soon realized. He knew how to stretch a single sensation out indefinitely. He rammed his tongue against my hole, pushing hard, slicking me and tickling me, soothing me and turning me on. It was vicious, and it fanned the desire for his cock even more.

But I could play that game, too. I choked on his cock, adding pressure and tension with each bob of my head. And when I feared to continue in case I tipped him over the edge, I pulled back and let the tip of my tongue play with the rim of his cock’s head. I dragged my tongue around, licking him slowly and thoroughly, then dragging the tip over his slit, feeling him shudder.

“Ah, Jaxon,” he sighed, his lips still on my body. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled my body back. His lips and tongue trailed my taint. Goosebumps exploded all over my body when he sucked one of my balls into his lips. It was as if we were daring each other, as if he wanted me to be the first to quit.

I was growing more desperate with each heartbeat. I wanted him to fuck me, but I also wanted to torment him until he begged me to ride him.

My will caved as he sucked my balls, each in turn, and I gripped his dick with my right hand while lifting my head to moan loudly. “Ah, please…” My voice was tight, strangled. “Phoenix, please…I’m ready…”

I had my proof. The moment I said the words he released me from the sweet torture, and I could almost feel him grinning. He won this game of daring.

“Do you have a condom?” I whispered as I climbed off of him.

He reached for his pants on the floor, slipped a hand inside the back pocket, and produced a condom. He was swift with unwrapping it, quickly pulling the rubber down his thick length and stroking himself slowly while I found the lube in my nightstand drawer. I squirted some on my fingers and some on his dick, then tossed the bottle to the side. My fingers slipped inside my hole, the sensation burning a little after the thorough rimming I had received. I only needed to get myself slightly used to the feeling however because Phoenix had slicked and prepared me already.

My other hand was on his dick, spreading the lube all over it.

Phoenix tucked both his hands under his head and let me set the pace for the beginning. I slowly moved to kneel over him, but hand behind my back, stroking him evenly. I rested my free hand on his abs and felt his cock throb in my grip.

I gently pulled back, feeling the tip of his cock between my cheeks. And holding my breath and with absolute focus, I relaxed and sank down on his length. The first contact made my eyes widen, and my hips jerked a little from the initial bite of pain. Phoenix watched me closely, he trusted me to do this right.

I opened myself to him and sat carefully on his cock. I dared swing my hips back and forth. And when not even a memory of pain remained, I let myself move down on him more freely. I sat on his dick, accepting another couple of inches before I felt sure enough to ride him slowly.

My body curved, my motions flowing like I was dancing. Each time I sank a little further down his length, pride and pleasure burst through me.

I heard my moans like an afterthought. They drifted from me, mixed with my gasps and sighs. And in one instant, my motions grew so firm and decisive that I knew we were in the clear. I rode him faster, my pace increasing. My hips moved smoothly back and forth, and I occasionally circled left and right, provoking the sexiest surprised smiles on Phoenix’s face.

The harder we fucked, the bigger he seemed. His broad chest inflated. His biceps bunched as Phoenix lowered his arms and held my hips, bringing me down on his cock with firmer gestures.

My legs were folded under me and along his legs. As I rocked my hips and brought myself down on him, his cock rubbed perfectly against my prostate. The sensation washed over me like the crashing of the waves against ancient cliffs.

I reached for Phoenix’s hands, twined our fingers, and used his strength for support and safety as I tried something more daring. Now that his cock was all the way in, I wanted to show him the wonders of a dancer’s body.

Slowly, I leaned back while my hips did the work. I lifted my ass and brought myself back down on him faster, all of my moves surer than they had been a few moments ago. Back and back and back I leaned, holding his hands so I could execute the move without worrying about a thing.

My body folded back over my bent legs until my arms were outstretched completely and my back was almost flat along Phoenix’s legs. The angle forced my hips to move, but my moans grew louder than ever. Each thrust under this angle meant that Phoenix’s dick didn’t miss my prostate, sending tingles into my stomach and making my cock pulse and spill precum. A silvery strand trickled down my swollen length and over my smooth balls as I ground against my lover.

I sped up, bringing my body down on his, feeling a connection between us that went beyond our bodies. The deep trust forming between us and the mutual understanding that it could lead to an experience such as this was not something to be taken lightly. Phoenix was the perfect partner. In every move, he was attentive as well as receptive. He followed the natural cues of my body, took control when he felt like he should, and surrendered the reins when my movement requested them.

When I lifted my torso up straight again, I rode him harder, fanning the flames of desire until I could see the sweet frustration in his eyes. Phoenix’s grunts and obvious pleasure were more than enough of a reward for the effort this move took, but I wanted more. I wanted something else. I had shown him what a figure skater could do, now I wanted to see how his battle readiness applied to sex. I wanted to feel what a hockey brute could do when his power ran unchecked.

Now.

“I want you to fuck me, Phoenix,” I said. “Fuck me hard.”

The movement was abrupt and swift. Before I knew it, I was on my back, and Phoenix was inserting himself inside of me again, my legs on his shoulders as he folded me in half and fucked me from above.

“Harder,” I whimpered, savoring the sensations that spread through my body. He filled me deep and stretched me wide, and with each little move, the connection between us strengthened. I had never allowed myself to be this free with someone, I had never let myself pant as much or moan as loudly. I had never begged to be fucked like this.

I looked into his eyes and observed all the emotions that swirled through me too reflected in them. The elation and the relief; the sexual frustration and the wonder at our connection. How rare was it to encounter someone who fit you so fully and well that you never wanted to do anything but this? And the physical part, however important, paled in comparison to the infinite trust and openness that was necessary to do this.

His parted lips and the smile that was never far from them pulled me in. I put my hands on his face and lifted my head as he filled me deep and hard, driving the air out of me, and placed my lips on his. We kissed gently, almost clumsily, as my moans filled his mouth and his cock stretched my hole.

Once I released him from the embrace, my heart was full of warmth and desire.

I pulled my legs further back, wrapping my arms under my knees, freeing him to do whatever he wanted. As easily as breathing, I hooked my left leg behind my head. My right leg remained on his shoulder, so Phoenix wrapped his hand around my ankle. He gazed at me in total awe and I realized I had done this intentionally. I wanted to impress him.

His movements were quick and determined. He slammed into me again and again, his cock relentlessly rubbing against my prostate so that I was perpetually on the verge of my orgasm.

Sweat dripped from Phoenix’s heated face. I was slick with it. It was as if he had found the exact equation of how to keep me suspended in this sensation; I was as close to my climax as I had ever been, but Phoenix strung me out further and held me back from crossing the line. When I reached to stroke myself, he pushed my hand away, When I pleaded, he gave a devilishly handsome smirk. He pounded me hard and long, savoring my frantic pleas which moved between asking him to let me come and begging him to fuck me harder.

“You wanna come?” he panted.

I hummed my assent, almost whimpering, as he stuffed me balls-deep and held me on the fine border between my orgasm and sheer madness. “Please, Phoenix…please…”

Gently, Phoenix wrapped his fingers around my cock. His hips rocked back and forth, and his breaths were shallow, but he was careful with how he held me. He closed his hand and stroked me slowly. My left leg was still hooked behind my head, and my right was firmly under Phoenix’s control, ankle trapped in his other hand as my right knee rested on my shoulder. Phoenix mercilessly slammed his body against mine, wrecking me to the heights of both our pleasures.

“How kinky are you really?” he panted.

“I’ll do…anything…you want.” My voice strained with the unspoken plea.

Phoenix’s eyes flashed. Whatever crazy idea he had, I would play along; whatever he wanted, I would do.

He squeezed my dick harder in his hand. “Open your mouth, pretty boy,” he commanded.

This was what I had wanted. This natural role reversal. I’d done the slow and erotic dance and now I got to be fucked by a beast who only wanted pleasure. I opened my mouth, moaning and panting, my heart tripping. My tongue extended far out as Phoenix stroked me hard and fast, his hips and his hand pacing each other.

My orgasm hit like an explosion of fireworks. I knew a single moment of suspense when I was certain we had crossed the line. In the next instant, hot cum squirted in long ribbons from my swollen cock splashing my chest and then in my face. More than a little landed in my thirsty mouth and I shuddered both with the sensation of the thundering orgasm and the knowledge that Phoenix had fed me my own cum.

My hole clenched and relaxed with each throb of my cock. He stroked me until the last drop of cum was drained from me and then he stroked me more. My toes curled as I rode the crazy high of a wild orgasm. I could breathe, but that was the most my body was capable of doing. Intentionally I clenched again, meeting my lover’s intense gaze, and watched as he reveled in the sensation. The tightness of my entrance around his dick broke the chains of control that restrained him. He rammed into me, pulling more moans out of me, and his voice cracked as he warned me he was almost done.

He pulled his dick out abruptly, the condom slapped as he yanked it off, and he grabbed himself with his other hand to finish on my softening dick. Phoenix’s cum landed all over my exhausted body, mixing with mine and trickling down my groin. I felt the tickle over my taint where his cum flowed. And then I felt the urgent need to hold him.

The moment he was done — his sweet and salty cum was on his finger in one moment and on my lips in the next — I grabbed him with my free arm and pulled him to lie on top of me. I didn’t care that I was smeared with cum and sweat. I didn’t care that I was struggling enough to breathe as it was. I only wanted to feel his pounding heart over mine.

To my surprise, Phoenix didn’t shy away from my cum-smeared lips. He kissed me freely, his mouth slightly open, his tongue meeting mine. He murmured something, grunted, then pulled back.

“Fuck, Jaxon,” he said. “You’re delicious.”

I held him so close that I thought he might try and wiggle free. He didn’t. He fully surrendered to my embrace. He melted into me. There was no telling where his body ended and mine began.

“You were so hot,” I panted.

“Me? You were hotter,” he huffed, then kissed my lips like he was trying to wipe the cum off with his mouth. “That thing you did with your torso…fuck me. That was the hottest shit I’ve ever seen.”

“I knew you had a beast in you,” I said, almost laughing at how openly I could say this. Never in my life had I had an orgasm with a guy and immediately relived it all by talking about it. We’d both been there. What was there to talk about? That was what I had always believed. Right now, I just want him to know how hot he had been. “Why else would you want to play hockey if there wasn’t something wild deep inside?” I chuckled.

“You know, I think we make a damn hot match,” Phoenix said. “I play hockey. You do ice ballet. Who would have thought?”

CUPID had guessed. I said so to Phoenix.

“And a bit of luck,” Phoenix said after thinking about it. “I was so done with flirting and bars and trying to hook up. You…fuck. I want you.” His voice vibrated against my neck as we cradled each other.

I realized that everything I wanted was there. Sex was fantastic, but Phoenix was someone who had so much more to offer. He wasn’t off to shower and dash away; he lay there, half on top of me, half by my side. He hugged me as tightly as I hugged him. He completed me in more ways than just sexually.

It was in the moment that I knew I wanted to see so much more of him every chance I got. Every night we were free, and every stop at the library, I wanted more of Phoenix.

“Movies,” he murmured. “Next time, we’re going to the movies. And after that, I want you to sit through one of my games. Alright? I need a lucky charm, Jaxon. And you’re gonna be mine. But then we can do something you choose after that. Whatever you want.” He spoke quietly and my heart felt like it doubled in size. Tears welled in my eyes, but I blinked them away.

I’ve been waiting for you for so goddamn long, I thought. Yes to it all: movies, hockey, and everything else. But when I tried to say this my throat constricted. There was only one thing I could do: I turned my head. I smiled. I gazed deep into his big, brown eyes. And when I leaned in, Phoenix accepted my kiss like he had been waiting for it for an eternity, like it was the only way to lift an ancient curse. He kissed me gladly and kissed me hard. We made out while we lost track of time, and then we made out some more.

Wherever my hand traveled along his body, I discovered how happy I was to touch him. And wherever he felt me, I beamed with pride that he would want to.

A chance like this came once in a lifetime. A guy as thrilling as Phoenix didn’t appear so often. And I was the lucky boy to catch his attention. And it was more than that. Phoenix, for his part, believed himself lucky, too, so in that we were also perfectly matched.

And that was the foundation on which we would build a rather wild relationship. This was where hope was born. The gratitude we both felt for the other one’s existence was a bond that wouldn’t be so easily severed.

THE END

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

HAYDEN HALL

Gay. Sweet. Steamy.

Hayden Hall writes MM romance novels. He is a boyfriend, a globetrotter, and an avid romance reader.

Hayden's mission is to author a catalog of captivating and steamy MM romance novels which gather a devoted community around the Happily Ever Afters.

His stories are sweet with just the right amount of naughty.

Connect with Hayden

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WINGS OF LOVE

JACKIE NORTH

CHAPTER ONE

DAXEL

Daxel Cooper shifted in his booth seat in the far corner of the Bright Star Diner, adjusted his crisp white paper napkin, touched the end of his fork, and did his best to settle the hell down. He knew he needed to get over Peter and his flirting, wandering-affection ways.

The sensible part of his brain knew that the Cupid app was the best way to start that process. His mom, ever patient and sweet, had told him about it.

It’ll pick someone randomly for you to go on a date with, she’d told him as she’d held out her phone, showing him the app. You won’t click with this person, but it’ll break the ice and help you get out there. Then, with a kiss to his cheek, she’d added, It’s no good for you to be alone.

His mom and his dad, Henrietta, Hen for short, and Tom, were both good people, smart, kind, funny at times, and hard working. They were at the Chugwater Mercantile right now, working their butts off, making sure the good people for miles around had fresh milk and fresh bread and fresh ice cream—all the essentials—all while delivering the best customer service anybody had ever seen.

He wished he was more like them, but he didn’t really like people, preferring the company of horses, both on the Farthingdale Guest Ranch, where he worked in the summer, and the Yellow Bee Ranch, where he worked in the winter, watching over high-end and very valuable cattle. That kind of life suited him, and he rarely dated.

It was over last summer that he’d met and dated Peter, who’d come to the guest ranch for the Department of Agriculture, doing an analysis on the ways herds of domestic cattle affected riparian waterways. Which was a fancy way of spending money, as anyone at the guest ranch, or anyone who worked with cattle, really, knew that for good riparian management, you had to watch over the cattle pretty much twenty-four/seven.

You did this by sleeping in tents, cooking over an open fire, digging a latrine and burying it before you left, and by moving the cattle, constantly moving them, so they wouldn’t rip up and eat the grasses, leaving the earth bare.

Daxel should have known that dating, let alone having sex with someone who would participate in a dumb study like that, wouldn’t be the kind of guy you could count on to hang around. Peter had dreams of climbing the ladder at the DOA, and he wasn’t letting any flies land on that plan.

Peter’s wandering eyes, and maybe even hands, had shown up early, but it had taken Daxel a full six months to make a clean break of it. There’d been a few mournful voicemail messages from Peter, along with a handful of sad-emoji texts, but that had ended pretty quickly, which told Daxel everything he needed to know. Peter had been a mistake.

Falling in love again anytime soon was also a mistake. It was because he loved her that he let his mom talk him into not only downloading the Cupid app, but also into letting the app pick him a random date only weeks before Valentine’s Day.

He really should be working, not hanging out in a diner that, however lovely and well-laid out, with red leather seats in the booths and round red leather seats along the metal counter, was taking him away from his work.

The Yellow Bee needed him. The cattle needed him to feed them. He needed to check the heater gauge on the watering troughs. He needed to saddle Baymax, a winsome-eyed gelding with the softest mouth and the quickest response time, just right for riding out to gather cattle close to the barn before a big blizzard.

A big blizzard right about now would be such a blessing, but though snow carpeted the ground and the low hills on either side of I-25, and the air was a crisp, very cold blue, there was no sign of new snow.

He had no excuses. No way to back out. Besides, he’d clicked Yes when the app asked him if he wanted a lunch-time date with one, Eugene Hollinghead.

The image on his phone of Eugene was small, but it was enough to help Daxel recognize his date upon arrival, the random guy the Cupid app had decided was a good match. Or had it?

The app making a truly random spin of the wheel kind of selection was exactly the type of behavior that Daxel didn’t care for. Choices should be made after methodical consideration. Which made Peter such an anomaly in Daxel’s life that his head must have been spinning. He must have been drugged on the starry summer sky overhead on the Tuesday night dance at the guest ranch.

Peter had known the steps to the Boot Scootin’ Boogie so well, he’d come alive and, smiling, skin sheened with sweat as he joined Daxel for a locally made root beer at the oak barrel filled with ice and soda pop, that Daxel had been set alive as if Peter had cast a spell over him.

Well, Daxel was human, not a robot, and subject to occasional whimsy, just like everybody else. Worthy of being forgiven for being a foolish asshole who’d fallen for the stars in another man’s blue, blue eyes. Well, that was one thing he wouldn’t be tricked by and that was a pair of blue eyes. So cold. So chilling. Not worthy of Daxel’s affection or time.

The door to the Bright Star diner dinged, and the old-fashioned styled wooden door swung open, bringing a swoosh of colder air, a whirl of dusty snow from the sidewalk, and a glitter of blue, as if the remains of the last storm desperately wanted entry into the warm diner.

Also, a man walked in, angular in his long woolen coat, slender, wearing city shoes, shining and laced. He stepped up to the checkout counter, where the cherry-cheeked young miss in a checkered apron smiled and then pointed to the booth in the corner along the window, where Daxel now sat.

With a small spin that sent the long edge of that dark blue coat swirling, the man faced Daxel, shoulders straight, taking his hands out of his pockets, as if preparing himself for a firing squad.

Even from this distance, Daxel could easily see that the man’s eyes were blue, dark against his winter-pale skin, face narrow, cheeks flushed in the diner’s warmth. He looked so serious as he approached the booth where Daxel sat, his lambskin coat folded on the seat next to him, tidy, ready to be put on at a moment’s notice.

The date was sure not to last very long, anyway. It would go straight to the coffee course, with offers of the diner’s famous chili cheese fries declined in short order, after which both of them would be on their way. Daxel’s mom would be satisfied with Daxel’s effort, though as to who had urged Eugene to show up, Daxel had no idea.

“Hello,” said Eugene as he held out a slender hand for Daxel to shake. “I’m Eugene, your cupid date?”

That was a funny way to put it, as if a cupid with tiny white wings was at the helm of the app, deciding, with rosy-cheeked fervor and a quiver full of love-drenched arrows, who would be assigned to whom.

Daxel and Eugene had been picked by an arrow-wielding baby, for crying out loud, and the whole thing was going to end in disaster, with them bickering over who was going to pick up the check.

“I’m Daxel,” Daxel said. He stood up to shake Eugene’s hand and then watched as Eugene took off and hung his long coat on the brass hooks along the frame of the booth, hooks that Daxel hadn’t even noticed. “Hope this booth is okay,” he said as he sat down again.

“It’s fine,” said Eugene as he too sat down.

He was wearing a tie over a button-down shirt, its color pale like watery oatmeal. The shirt looked starched along the collar, and someone had severely ironed it to the point where there was a tiny triangle burn mark along the second button down. The tie was severely black and had been ironed as well.

Who the hell owned an iron these days? Let alone the patience or knowledge to use it?

Daxel’s own clothes were hearty enough to withstand drip-drying after being washed any-old-how. He was a bachelor and proud of it, though he was feeling a bit frumpy next to the very well-groomed Eugene. Whose blue eyes, sharp and clear, looked Daxel over, as if looking for faults.

Well, he’d find them and then the date would be over. Which would be a shame, because, in spite of those blue eyes that Daxel swore he’d never fall for, Eugene had a very nice, curved mouth and dots of freckles over his sharp nose, and a kind of blush across cheekbones so sharp, they might cut if you touched them.

The guy needed butter and lots of it, stat. He was probably a Mormon, a vegetarian, and a confirmed teetotaling, non-coffee drinker. He’d be very unenthused by Daxel’s non-work passions of tooling designs along strips of leather and finding perfectly flat stones to skip across still waters. And his joy in Outlaw Pale, a very nice, local brew that went so well with sunsets.

“See you found the place okay,” said Daxel, signaling the waitress for the menus, though they probably wouldn’t need them.

“I’ve had my eye on this place since it opened up last fall,” said Eugene, his voice brightening unexpectedly. “The Torrington Telegram had a nice writeup even then, and TripAdvisor reviews give it tons of stars.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

So the guy read newspapers and restaurant reviews, got dressed up for a coffee date, and, actually, smelled pretty good, or maybe it was someone else in the diner who smelled like roses. But they were the only ones in the place, apart from the cashier at the counter and the waitress who came, dropped off menus and water and departed with a quick smile, as if there was a rush on, and she had important customers waiting.

Eugene picked up his menu and unfolded it in front of him like he needed to study it to pass some type of exam. In fact, he was just about hiding behind it, his breathing a little hard, fingers gripping the edge of the plastic menu, tight, like he didn’t dare let go.

“And you’re from Torrington?” Daxel asked. Maybe he didn’t know how this was supposed to go. He was never good at dating, but typically didn’t the two parties talk a bit before diving into menus? “Eugene?”

“Yes,” said Eugene with a small gurgle.

His fingers tightened even further on the menu then, with a hard little sigh, he let go and lowered the menu, looking at Daxel straight on with those blue eyes of his. Daxel respected anyone who made eye contact like that, especially when they were dragging themselves over what seemed to be a very difficult hurdle.

“You okay?” asked Daxel.

“No.” Eugene pulled his very nice lips between his teeth as if he was about to bite them off rather than say anything more. “Look, I don’t even know what I’m doing here. This is all so new for me⁠—”

“You boys know what you want?”The waitress had snuck up on them unawares and, electronic tablet in hand, looked very ready to take their order.

“I’ll have the pancakes,” said Daxel. “Extra butter and real maple syrup, please, and could I get a side of chili cheese fries, too? And a coffee.”

She tapped on her tablet, seemingly not rattled by the juxtaposition of a breakfast item with a lunch item, and then looked expectantly at Eugene.

“And for you, sir?” she asked.

“An order of biscuits and gravy, please,” he said. “Orange juice and coffee?”

When Eugene looked at Daxel as if asking if Daxel approved of what he was ordering, Daxel said, “The chili cheese fries are to share.”

“Oh.”

Eugene’s mouth became a tender, round circle shape, the blush on his cheeks brightening to rose as if he was overcome with the idea of sharing such a decadent dish.

Well, Daxel was happy to share. Food was one of his favorite indulgences. Besides, he worked hard every day and soon burned off calories. Never had to worry.

Neither did Eugene, it seemed, not to look at his slender waistline as he turned to pull his glass of water closer to him. He was angles and lines, the only curve in his mouth, the bottom of his chin.

“So,” said Daxel, taking a sip of his water when Eugene did, just to be companionable, though why this impulse struck him was beyond him. Maybe it was the slight purple shadows between Eugene’s blue eyes or the constant way he seemed to be battling to stay in his seat. As if the date, small, coffee-based, was a death march for him.

Their coffee arrived in the shape of a large silver urn with heat-resistant rubber handle, so the coffee would stay warm as they enjoyed their meal. The waitress poured their first cups for them, left a small metal pitcher of fresh half and half, wiped her hands on her pockets, and left them with a smile.

“All so new for you?” Daxel asked as he doctored his coffee. Plenty of half and half and a bit of white sugar, first sip. Perfect. “You mean the Cupid app? It is for me, too.”

He had no problem admitting this, and was about to admit that he’d used the randomizer to let Cupid pick for him, like he was some kind of fool. This would help him make excuses and leave right after he’d finished his pancakes and fries.

The ring of pancake edge he always left would get lost in the wake of his hasty exit and he wouldn’t have to explain that edges weren’t soft like pancake centers, and he was old enough to make the decision to leave them.

Pancake edges and peas. Both were on his no-eat list. But Eugene didn’t need to know any of this, as it was going to be a very short, perfunctory date.

“My church frowns—that is, they would frown,” said Eugene, with only the slight hesitation of a man diving into a lake of fire. “My folks, too. I left my church and moved out six months ago. Everyone is barely speaking to me, except to let me know they are praying for me because I’m a filthy sinner.”

“You came out to them.” This was not a question.

Daxel’s own coming out, years before, maybe even ten years, had been a peaceful muddle of a of confusion, concerned conversations, and joyful acceptance.

His parents had been unaware of his feelings, as had he been, till he took the time to look at them, but Hen and Tom were good people, and loved Daxel for who he was. Kisses and hugs were plenty to hand always in the Cooper household, for which Daxel was and would ever be grateful.

“Sounds rough,” said Daxel. He could listen while he ate. He was a good listener, at least the other ranch hands at the guest ranch always told him, and it was no hardship to sit still and eat while someone babbled about their troubles.

Their food arrived before Eugene could say anything, though his mouth was clamped tight, his eyes hooded as he surveyed his biscuits and gravy like it wasn’t coming up to snuff. But he thanked their waitress, drew the orange juice close to him, and drank it with a shaky hand.

“You’re not okay,” said Daxel, without meaning to.

But it was hard not to care, the way Eugene looked at him as he put his glass of orange juice down and looked at Daxel like he was drowning at sea and Daxel had not yet, or maybe was never going to, toss the life preserver out to him.

Not that Eugene was asking him to. Instead, he looked quite ready to slam down a twenty for the food, grab his long, blue coat, and swirl himself out the old-fashioned door and into the crisp, bright, cold mid-day air.

“I’ve never even kissed a man,” said Eugene, half-whispering this as if he couldn’t believe he was saying it out loud. “I don’t even know—I’m about to piss down my own leg just being here, but I know if I don’t try, I’ll regret it forever.”

“Regret’s the worst thing.” Daxel nodded, half to himself.

Peter had been a mistake, but there’d been that shimmering moment between them that Daxel had wanted to extend, to make the feeling endure. The charged feelings between him and Peter hadn’t lasted very long, but the regret would have been not to know, to have always wondered.

Maybe Eugene was feeling the same.

There was nothing more that Daxel respected than the kind of bravery Eugene was exhibiting now. The amount of honesty brimming in his blue eyes, the hectic flush on his sharp cheeks–all of this pulled Daxel in like an undertow. Maybe he’d be out of breath and struggling for air, but it was just a lunch date, right? Just some food and some companionship, nothing more.

“Which church?” asked Daxel, though he knew that wasn’t the issue.

“First Pentecostal Baptist in Torrington,” said Eugene. “I was scared to leave, but knew I had to.”

Another truth, hard won, it seemed.

Daxel didn’t hold much respect for churches that held their parishioners in hard check that they were afraid of the wide world. Hen and Tom were what Daxel privately thought of as gentle methodists, attending on Sunday when the mood took them, living good lives, supporting their community.

If the baptist church had a choir, Eugene would have made a beautiful choir boy. Watching Eugene struggle to settle himself was like watching him throw off those white choir robes and start to grow his own wings.

This whimsical idea hit Daxel as he took a long sip of coffee, the caffeine striking just as the whimsy did.

Eugene was not an angel, though he had the face of one, and he was no more likely to ascend too close to the sun than Daxel was to take up tap dancing. He was too ungainly on his feet anyhow, and line dancing was more his speed.

Did Eugene like to line dance? Maybe Daxel should ask, though not until Eugene ate some of his biscuits and gravy and till the good, hot food put some color into his face.

“The food’s pretty good here, you said,” said Daxel as he lathered his pancakes with soft, whipped butter and drizzled the maple syrup everywhere, the glass container warm in his hand attesting to the fact that the syrup had been slightly heated for his dining pleasure. “You should eat,” he added.

Sometimes people needed encouragement just to be themselves, and though Daxel hadn’t wanted to make a connection with his randomly selected Valentine's-day-is-coming date, the universe had decided on a determinedly different course for him. Besides, it was no hardship to watch Eugene cut into his biscuits and gravy with both a knife and fork, and then to bring the bite to his lush mouth, savoring it, his eyes half-closed. No, no hardship at all.

CHAPTER TWO

EUGENE

The flutter in Eugene’s chest and belly refused to settle down until after he’d plowed through some amazingly good biscuits and gravy. The coffee was pretty damn good, as well, though the orange juice was a tad too sweet. He usually didn’t drink it because there was so much sugar in it, but his eyes had seen it on the menu, and he’d been unable to resist.

What also made him able to finally take a full, deep breath was the steady gaze of Daxel Cooper, whom the Cupid app had randomly chosen for him.

Eugene had been swiping through image after image, hands shaking as he held his phone in both hands. Finally, on the verge of giving up, there’d come a pop-up, an image of a small cartoon baby with a folded white cloth diaper and itty bitty wings, asking him if he’d like some help.

The help was the random selection. A date with a stranger chosen for him by a baby angel. Barely any risk involved. A quick lunch at some new place. Then a hasty exit. It was all pretty much cut and dried.

Except while preparing for his first date with a man, he’d just about cut himself shaving, had turned the iron on too high, leaving a triangle-shaped burn mark on his shirt, and he’d been unable to calm the hell down.

But it was either walk through fire and follow the impulse that had been haunting him for years, it seemed. Then he could either get it out of his system or know the truth at long last.

He’d never kissed a boy, though his eyes had often lingered over various men, both near his own twenty-four years of age, and older men, as well. So many faces, so many pairs of shoulders, so many rolled-up shirtsleeves, baring forearms. Enticing Eugene from his work as he bent over his repair bench at The Timekeeper, just off Main Street.

He loved fiddling with clocks, the old-fashioned inner workings, tiny metal cogs and springs. His specialty was as a traveling repairer of grandfather clocks, many of which had stood for years in the flagstone-lined foyers of older, established ranches.

These glimpses into other people’s lives had gone a long way of convincing him that there wasn’t just one way to live. And that happiness could come in many forms.

“How’s it going, gentlemen?” asked the waitress as she came by their table.

There were a few more people in the diner than when Eugene had entered, but the chatter of diners was low, the clatter from the kitchen was slight, and the words as she spoke them seemed to echo in his ears.

Or maybe that was his own sense of panic rising as he realized that surely she must know they were two men on a date and that a lake of hellfire had been promised to him ever since he told his parents he was moving out. Worse, ever since he’d told them why.

They’d been so angry, so disgusted, that for Eugene to look across the table at Daxel, and for Daxel’s gaze to meet his, a calm, brown-eyed gaze that seemed to be drawing him in, shimmered with the gates into hellfire.

There was no judgment in Daxel’s eyes, though, either for the triangle-shaped burn mark, or the layer of panic sweat along the back of Eugene’s neck, or even Eugene’s inability to talk without just about stuttering.

Men had such amazing eyes, and Daxel’s had an effect that was grounding, pulling Eugene back down from a quick float up into the high-anxiety stratosphere. Like he knew just what Eugene needed, which was ridiculous, since they’d only just met.

“We’re good, I think,” said Daxel. “But how about those chili cheese fries? Are they coming?”

“I ordered them,” said the waitress. “But the cook had to make a fresh batch of fries, so I’ll bring them right out when they’re ready.”

Eugene normally ordered what his budget would allow, so the chili cheese fries seemed like an extravagance. His mouth watered at the thought of the taste of them, and when the corners of Daxel’s amazing brown eyes crinkled at the corner, he thought for a second that Daxel was about to make fun of him.

“Nothing better than fresh fries,” said Daxel. “I work with cattle and horses all day, so I burn a lot of calories. Never have to watch my girlish figure.”

From where Eugene was sitting, nothing was further from a girlish figure than Daxel’s broad-shouldered, deep-chested frame. He was wearing a blue and gray plaid flannel shirt, tucked in beneath a thick leather belt. His blue jeans and brown cowboy boots made him look like he could stride into a rough snowstorm and come out the other side totally unscathed.

“Do you like it?” asked Eugene, doing his best to hold up his end of the conversation. “Taking care of cattle, I mean.”

“I do,” said Daxel. He leaned back as the sizzling hot dish of chili cheese fries was placed in front of him, then took a fry, a long strand of cheese stretching out. “I love working outside in the fresh air. And you fix clocks. That’s intricate work.”

“It is,” said Eugene, agreeing because it was true, watching Daxel eat with the same attention he gave his clocks..

“Did you go to school for that?” asked Daxel, digging into the next fry with a fork, gesturing at Eugene to join him.

“No, not really,” said Eugene, picking up his fork. “There was this man at my church asking for helpers. That was in high school, years ago. Turns out—” Eugene paused to properly taste the cheese coated fry but also to line up his thoughts in a more orderly way. “My parents blame him because⁠—”

He stopped, doing his best to shake off the twinge of shame at the memory. Mr. Decker had been gay, but Eugene had hardly realized it as the two of them had worked together in Mr. Decker’s shed in his backyard. They’d always focused on watches and clocks and the small tin of oil, the soft cotton towel with the tools lined up.

Never once had anything uncircumspect happened, no hints of gayness, no idea that Mr. Decker had been attempting to lure Eugene into a van down by the river or whatever else it had been his parents had been upset about. But somehow word had gotten out about Mr. Decker’s proclivities and he had been kicked out of church, after which he’d moved to Cheyenne and joined a church there that accepted people of all walks of life.

The only contact Eugene had with Mr. Decker after that had been a small card, printed with a watercolor air balloon, where each one of the ribs of the balloon had been a different color of the rainbow.

The note read: Dear Eugene, You’re a whiz with clocks, so keep at it! Also, guard your heart and be good to yourself. Best Regards, Tad Decker.

So Eugene had guarded his heart until the day he’d come out to his parents, and now he was on his own, without a family or a church sitting across from a very handsome man who was chowing down a plate of chili cheese fries like he’d not just eaten a full breakfast. The idea of it, that you could just eat and enjoy it, was enticing.

“Why did you leave the crusts off your pancakes?” asked Eugene, after the waitress had stopped by to take away empty plates and top off their waters.

“Ah.” Daxel made a dismissive gesture, as though Eugene had attempted to poke at a very tender part of him. Then he smiled, his eyes crinkling up again. “I like to leave a little to remind me that these aren’t hungry days anymore. I can leave a little on my plate.”

“Were there hungry days?” asked Eugene before he could stop himself.

For all his parents had been cruel to him, he’d had a pretty good childhood before that, never missed a meal, had braces on his teeth, a yard to play in. While he didn’t know the extent of Daxel’s hungry days, it touched him that Daxel would share as he had. That kind of tender vulnerability seemed rare in the wide world.

“Yes,” said Daxel with some finality, as if coming to a hard decision.

The tightness of his mouth, however fleeting, felt bitter, and though a quick smile erased all traces of this, Eugene had the sudden urge to assure Daxel that he was right to trust Eugene with this truth.

“Before I came out to my folks, I ran away. I was on the streets for nine months. Or maybe it was a whole year. Nearly starved to death before I got the gumption to go home.”

Daxel looked a little surprised, dark eyebrows drawing together, at sharing that much, but, with a quick hand through his dark head of hair, he looked at Eugene steadily.

Eugene didn’t quite know what to say to this, though he knew Daxel had opened up and revealed a bit of himself.

A sharp silence fell over the table, empty except for two water glasses and a half-eaten plate of chili cheese fries. Of which Eugene realized he’d barely eaten any of.

“Look, maybe this isn’t going to work,” said Daxel, and it was obvious he’d taken Eugene’s silence for rejection.

“Sometimes,” said Eugene, doing his very best to try, because it seemed it was up to him to end it right now, or to carry on a bit and see if baby cupid was right about this match. “I get anxious and my throat just closes up and I can’t eat. Or speak.”

“Nothing to be anxious about,” said Daxel, his eyes softening. “If chili cheese fries aren’t your speed, there’s a soda fountain right next door. They make milkshakes from scratch. Any flavor you want.”

The expression on Daxel’s face, gentle and still, made Eugene feel as though Daxel wanted the date to continue. That there was a chance at something between them, if Eugene was willing to take it. And, from there, who knew what wonderfulness might follow.

That kind of tone, upbeat and kind, made Eugene want to stop, to still himself and listen, as if just beyond hearing, he might sense the flutter of angel’s wings. Baby angels saying, Yes, yes you can and Yes, you deserve to be happy.

The messages might not be from the angels from his parents’ church, but those angels were flying high, close to the sun, just the same. Would their wings melt? Or would they land, quite softly, and shower the air with golden sparkles?

“I would like that,” said Eugene, swallowing hard. He nodded to show Daxel he was sincere, that he was willing to take a chance, that he wanted to try, if Daxel did. “I’m rather fond of chocolate milkshakes,” he added now. “All thick and melty.” His voice lowered on this last utterance, as though the words had come from his soul, revealing everything he was feeling. Which was nonsense. He was only talking about a chocolate milkshake, wasn’t he?

“Let’s finish up and go.” Daxel’s smile as he waved down the waitress for the bill was almost blinding. They silently agreed to split the bill down the middle and, as they stood up, Daxel shrugged on his down jacket and said, “You know, they’ve got an old grandfather clock at the Yellow Bee that’s not working as it should. Do you do house calls?”

“I sure do.” Feeling buoyant inside, Eugene hiked the collar of his long blue coat and held the door to the outside open for Daxel. “It’s one of my specialties.”

“I’ll check with the owners, then, and let you know.”

“The owners?” asked Eugene as Daxel led the way to the soda fountain and held the door open for Eugene as a brisk, snow-cold wind whipped around them.

“I ranch-sit in the wintertime,” said Daxel. “I work over at Farthingdale Guest Ranch in the summer, and tend to livestock and houses at Yellow Bee in the winter. There, or at one of the other hobby farms in the area.”

Eugene now had a well-rounded picture of just how much time Daxel worked out of doors, burning calories, building up those shoulders of his. And wondered, as he stepped inside the warmth of the soda fountain, what it might be to stand on a snowy Wyoming field and move into the warmth of those strong arms.

He might never find out, or he could be very, very brave and make sure of a second date. He could just about feel several tiny cupids standing behind him as he waited for the hostess to seat him and Daxel at a very small marble-topped metal table. Well, he couldn't let little baby angels down, now, could he?

CHAPTER THREE

DAXEL

The date ended soon after they finished their milkshakes. Daxel had to go back to the Yellow Bee and Eugene had to go back to his job at The Timekeeper, the watch and clock repair shop in Torrington, where he worked.

They parted ways on the sidewalk, a bit of snow starting to spit down, but not before they’d set the time and location of their second date. So what had started as a half-hearted attempt to make his mom happy had turned into a curiously surprising possibility.

Would he and Eugene turn into something more? All he needed to do was to show up at John Henton’s Tavern in Farthing next Friday night at 6:30, and he could start to find out.

Back at the Yellow Bee, Daxel threw himself into all the chores that needed doing, even as the snow came down out of what had been, only an hour before, a perfectly clear and blue, blue sky.

He pitched hay into stalls and feeding bins, raked manure, checked the low-temp heaters on the watering troughs in the corral. All chores which before his date with Eugene might have been ordinary, but now which created questions in his mind.

Would Eugene come to the ranch to fix the old grandfather clock? And, if he did, would those cheeks might flush in the warmth of the farmhouse as those deft fingers adjusted the long pendulum swings and opened the face of the clock to tweak the workings?

Daxel didn’t really need to call the owners, as they always approved of the decisions he made for the Yellow Bee in their absence. Plus, they’d be happy to find, upon their return in the spring, that the old grandfather clock was happily tick-tocking away.

Friday night soon came and, donning the oatmeal-colored flannel shirt that Daxel had purchased especially for this date, he’d thrown on his down coat and was on his way.

The Yellow Bee was at the top of Highway 211, along Iron Mountain Road, half of which was in open range territory, where cattle roamed free and pastures were separated by cattle guards rather than gates. Which meant the going was slow, which meant Daxel drove too fast for the rutted road and almost careened off at the bridge that came around a corner and signaled the return to paved road.

He made it to John Henton’s Tavern in the small town of Farthing with two minutes to spare, grabbing a parking spot along the well-lit street, around the corner from the tavern.

The evening was cold and already pitch dark as he hurried up the icy sidewalk. He was a little out of breath, clouds forming around his head as he went up to the door, fully expecting to wait outside alone for Eugene to show up.

But Eugene was already there, elegant and tall in his long blue woolen coat, a bright red scarf wrapped around his neck. He was looking the other way, the streetlight shimmering on his gold hair like a halo, the clouds from his breath swirling down, a waft of gray wing, perhaps, if Daxel wanted to let whimsy take him one more time.

It wasn't hard to convince himself that it was worth giving way to whimsy, not when Eugene turned to see Daxel there, his eyes lighting up, a flush to his cheeks that looked dark in the streetlights.

When Eugene turned to greet Daxel, his blue coat fell open to reveal a dark green and blue plaid flannel shirt.

He, Daxel, was currently wearing a shirt like the one Eugene had worn on their first date, and now Eugene was wearing a shirt more like one that Daxel would wear. They were trying each other on for size, an adventure, as though they were subconsciously signaling to one another.

Daxel knew, in that moment, that had it been visible, he would have seen the air arc silver between them.

He seldom felt what he was feeling now, a sense of expectation, a heightened awareness as he came close to Eugene and smiled at him, a smile that came up from his chest and made his head feel buoyant. Like he was being lifted up high to a place where starlight glittered and dreams came true.

Which was maybe a bit too much whimsy, as he had to concentrate for a minute, to check in with the hostess at the busy entryway, standing at the desk while her brow furrowed as she checked her data pad for the reservation he’d made earlier in the week.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Cooper,” she said, calm in spite of the small storm of anxious as–yet-to-be-seated diners around her. “I’ve got you down for a booth in the corner in the back, as you requested. Come this way.”

She picked up two menus, laminated, and edged with a frame of narrow twine. To look rustic, he supposed. Then he and Eugene followed her like ducklings to the booth, which was followed by a small where-shall-we-hang-our-coats dance, which, luckily, was made easy by the brass hooks hanging between the booths.

“Which one?” asked Daxel, pointing to either side of the booth. He himself preferred to sit with his back to the wall, but maybe Eugene liked that as well, and since he was Daxel’s date, he should get to make the first choice. “You pick.”

Eugene looked like he wanted to insist that Daxel pick, his eyes a little blue, a little worried, but then, with a silver twinkle in those eyes, he took out a quarter, flipped it dexterously in the air and slapped it flat on the back of his wrist.

“Heads you pick,” he said. “Tails I pick.”

“Heads,” said Daxel, his chest warming with this bit of fun, an easy way for them to decide. Inventive. Smart. Fair. He could fall for this guy, this handsome, almost pretty guy, who looked like an accountant, but had a fey smile and bright blue eyes. Who seemed to like being with Daxel. Though this was only their second date, all signs were very, very good.

Daxel had been at the tavern a few times and knew that everything on the menu was good. And, since Eugene had enjoyed the biscuits and gravy so much on their last date, he pointed him in the direction of chicken-fried chicken, which always came with extra gravy on the side.

“That’ll put some meat on those bones,” Daxel said as he decided on a ribeye and baked potato for himself.

“Do I need meat on my bones?” asked Eugene, blinking a bit, a confused pull to his mouth.

“You—” Daxel paused, his mind conjuring images of Eugene in front of a mirror, naked to the waist as he held up a flannel shirt that matched the color of his eyes, skin pale, muscles long, shoulder blades dappled by faint freckles.

There was not a thing out of place about him, now fully dressed, as Daxel snapped his mind back to the present. He’d not meant to be insulting or critical, and now it sounded like he’d been both. There was no better time for utter honesty, then.

“Your face flushed a lovely color when you ate those biscuits and gravy. Thought chicken-fried chicken might do the same.”

“A lovely color?” asked Eugene, his eyebrows rising in his forehead. But before he could respond, the waitress came up, and he lifted the menu to her as he spoke. “I’ll have the chicken-fried chicken, please, and could I get extra gravy on the side?”

“It comes with it, hon,” she said with a smile. “You want something to drink? Beer or soda?

“A Stella, please,” said Eugene, and now his smile was aimed at Daxel.

They finished ordering and looked at each other when their beers came and silently toasted each other. A warm and cozy feeling settled around them both, a silence in the booth in the back adding to the sense of privacy, even though the tavern was filling up and starting to hop with a festive spirit brought on by a Friday night.

“This is a nice place,” said Eugene, using his thumb to wipe a bit of beer from his upper lip. “I’ve never been here before. Why is it called John Henton’s tavern?”

“I don’t know exactly,” said Daxel, leaning back as the waitress brought them hot rolls and whipped honey butter. As he took a roll, split it open, and lathered it with butter, he shrugged. “Maddy up at the ranch knows. Something to do with a guy who lived out this way and hunted wolves? Some frontier guy,” he said, then added, “That’s his buffalo hide coat in the glass case up front.”

“I wonder if he had any idea where his coat would end up.” Eugene bit into his buttered roll, and his eyes widened as the taste hit his tongue.

“From what I recall of what Maddy said,” said Daxel. “He lived a good full life in these parts. Then he headed south. Parts unknown.”

Over their good, hearty dinner, they chatted about everything and nothing. About John Henton and the times that he lived, the good old days, and about how things had changed, and if Mr. Henton were to arrive in the future, how astonished he’d be at what he saw.

“I’d miss ice makers if I went back in time,” said Eugene as he dug into his dessert of pecan pie. “Instant ice is my daily blessing.”

“A blessing?” asked Daxel, keeping an eye on the waitress so he could be sure to snag the bill before Eugene did.

“That’s church talk, isn't it.” Eugene looked away, his profile sharp, even in the gentle, shaded overhead light.

“Nothing wrong with church talk if it suits you,” said Daxel.

“I miss the community,” said Eugene, a sudden tightness coming to his mouth. “That spirit of togetherness. The sense that I was part of something, that I belonged somewhere. Now I just live by myself in an apartment in town. Me and my potted plant.”

“A plant?” asked Daxel.

“It’s a rattlesnake plant,” said Eugene with a small smile. “There was only one like it in the garden shop in town, and I felt sorry for it, so I took it home. It’s very pretty. It looks like it’s been painted.”

Daxel’s heart twinged at the thought of Eugene standing in a garden shop feeling sorry for a lonely plant, so lonely himself missing his people that he took it home to have some company. Another part of him wanted to pull out his phone so he could look up what a rattlesnake plant looked like.

The bill came, and he reached for it, but Eugene’s hand, adept and elegant, snapped it up first.

The waitress, perhaps sensing the potential for discord, asked, “You gentlemen want to split that bill?”

Daxel looked at Eugene, and Eugene looked at him. He most definitely did not want to split the bill, but he didn’t want an argument over it either, so maybe he should concede, at least for now.

“I’ll get it this time,” said Eugene with a firm nod as he handed the waitress his card. “And you can take it next time.”

“So there will be a next time?” asked Daxel, sitting up in his seat, leaning forward, a brightness almost bursting out of his chest.

“Of course.” Eugene made an exaggerated shocked face, then laughed under his breath. “Being with you is easy. I never thought it would be so easy to be with a man⁠—”

Daxel privately thought that it should always be easy being with another person, man or woman. If it was hard, if it felt brittle, he had a tendency to walk away and quickly. No point wasting energy on feeling bad. But maybe, with what Eugene had gone through with his church, walking on eggshells, hiding his true self, he simply wasn’t used to kindness.

“I’m easy,” he said, getting up to grab his coat, holding out Eugene’s long blue coat to him. “Easiest on the planet.”

That made Eugene smile the loveliest smile, one that danced in his eyes and curved his mouth into a wide smile.

“Do you make kissing easy, too?” Eugene asked, then flushed hard, as though embarrassed to be speaking so plainly.

“I’ve been told I do,” said Daxel, wondering suddenly why he’d ever been worried that letting the Cupid app pick for him might turn out to be a mistake. Why he’d ever felt burdened by his mom’s insistence that he get out more. Why he had even been the least bit worried about meeting Eugene.

The man was a delight, smart yet shy, easy on the eyes, taking the world so seriously that all Daxel wanted to do was make him smile every moment of every day. For the love of all that was holy, was he already smitten?

He walked Eugene out to his car, a sensible gray sedan, though it just as easily could have gone the other way, with Eugene walking him to his truck. But Daxel knew that together they would learn to negotiate the sharing and turn taking, and if that wasn’t the nicest idea of a future together, he didn’t know what was.

“I’ll call you soon,” said Daxel, as he lingered at Eugene’s car, half on the sidewalk half on the street, his hand on the handle of the driver’s side door. “You could come out and take a look at the old grandfather clock, and make it purr. Then after we could get burgers? Or something?”

Eugene pulled a key fob out of his coat pocket and a pair of sleek leather gloves, then he paused. Daxel sensed he wanted to say something, and he could already see Eugene’s chest rise beneath his blue wool coat as he took a breath.

“Would you mind?” he asked, wisps of mist, the warmth from his breath, swirling around his head. “If I kissed you?”

The charm of this, sweet and shy, contrasted with the tall elegance of Eugene’s body in that coat, the way the streetlights made a gold halo around his head—all of this created a joyous sparkle in Daxel’s chest.

He wanted to kiss Eugene very badly, wanted to ravish him there in the street, and would have if he could have. But it was too cold for that and besides, there was a tenderness in Eugene’s eyes, and a hesitation making his mouth tremble, as if he imagined that Daxel would turn him down.

“I’d love that.” Most men that Daxel had ever been with, and he could count them on one hand, would not have asked. They would have bent close and just kissed Daxel, having assumed that a second date meant that kisses were in order and that sex would soon follow.

Daxel leaned in when Eugene did, and when their mouths met, warmth and a tiny shower of silver sparks followed. He closed his eyes for a moment and savored it all, the whisper softness of Eugene’s lips, the tremor that followed, and the bravery with which Eugene’s eyes met Daxel’s.

Those eyes were very wide now, as if Eugene had just discovered that jumping across a chasm like he had did not spell disaster or doom.

“Yes?” asked Daxel. “Was that okay?”

“Yes.” Eugene’s smile was small, but his cheeks were flushed and his eyes sparkled.

“Good.” The moment was momentous and deserved more than the single word response, but Daxel had a feeling that in spite of his bravery, Eugene was on the verge of bolting. So he took those leather gloves, slid them onto Eugene’s hands, and gripped those hands close between his bare palms. “I’ll call you to set up a time for the repair, okay?”

“Sounds good.”

Daxel waited while Eugene got in his sedan and drove slowly away along the street in the direction of Torrington. He wanted to run after the sedan and beg Eugene to come home with him, another temptation brought on by whimsy that it would be that easy. Eugene had been so brave that what Daxel knew he needed to do was be patient. There would be a time and place for everything in due time.

CHAPTER FOUR

EUGENE

Work at The Timekeeper normally slowed down over Valentine’s Day, but while Eugene might have secretly hoped for a Valentine’s Day date with Daxel during the slow-down, a sudden blizzard foiled all his plans. Snow piled in cold, white drifts along Torrington’s streets, and it got so bad that his boss shut the shop down.

Eugene was mostly stuck at home, with a few forays to the grocery store and the coffee shop, both on foot. What kept him from dropping into a state of gloom were the phone calls from Daxel, which occurred pretty much every day of the following week while the snow melted.

Eugene braved making a few calls of his own, and found he was laughing more often than not on those calls, and started taking note of things that happened during the day so he could tell Daxel about them.

I almost dropped Mrs. Dabney’s mantel clock. I got a raise. We finally replaced the shopkeeper’s door chime on the front door of the shop. My boss says I can come out and fix the grandfather clock at the Yellow Bee as soon as the snow is gone from Highway 211.

He also kept a mental list of things he wanted to know about Daxel.

What’s your favorite thing about being a cowboy? What’s it like working on a guest ranch? Tell me again the name of the horse you ride at the Yellow Bee. Is it Baymax, like from Big Hero 6, or am I imagining that? Can I kiss you again?

Eugene was able to ask all those questions over the phone, except for the last one. That one, he was saving until he saw Daxel again, which he hoped would be soon.

Then one day, a few days out from the planned trip to the Yellow Bee, Eugene got a text from Daxel that showed an image of a snake plant with a red ribbon around the green pot.

The text read: I think I got the wrong plant for you. What’s it called again?

Touched to his core, Eugene called Daxel right away.

“Hey there,” said a warm voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey,” said Eugene in response. “The one I have is a rattlesnake plant. They’re very hardy and easy to care for.”

“I was looking for a rattlesnake one, but couldn’t find one,” said Daxel. “Since I left home, I’ve never lived in one place long enough to have a plant, but I thought yours should have company.”

Eugene went very still, gripping his phone rather hard. He’d never dated before, and didn’t know all the ins and outs, but it did seem that there were always layers to their shared conversations. This time around, it sounded that Daxel thought not only should Eugene’s rattlesnake plant have company, but that Eugene should have company, and Daxel was volunteering himself for that task.

Only it wouldn’t be a task to Daxel, who always seemed to favor Eugene with warm tones over the phone, and seemed not to want to hang up. But he had work to do, and Eugene had work to do, so it was almost two weeks after Valentine’s Day that Eugene was able to load up his sedan with his tools and head out along the 211 to the Yellow Bee.

He almost bottomed out the sedan along the snow-slatted, rutted gravel road, but it wasn’t too long before he was pulling into the semi-circular gravel drive, and parked in front of the elegant main house, where Daxel, coatless, was waiting.

Daxel came down the steps to help Eugene with his toolbox, and soon they were inside the warm house, out of the wind. Standing in the slate foyer, Daxel helped Eugene off with his coat, and it was then that Eugene realized they’d not said a single word to each other.

He didn’t know why he should be so nervous, since he and Daxel had been dating for some weeks now, even if most of that had been over the phone, but he was.

“Hello,” he said as he straightened his collar. And, before he could stop himself, he added, “I missed you.”

“Missed you, too,” said Daxel, smiling that warm smile of his. He hung up Eugene’s coat, almost seeming to pet the soft blue wool as he did this, then hefted Eugene’s toolbox. “The clock’s this way. In the living room.”

The living room seemed more like a den to Eugene, with its soft-edged leather sofa and the braided rug on the gleaming wooden floor. There were shelves of books along the walls and a fire in the stone fireplace, blazing gently away, sending wafts of warm air into the room.

“This is nice,” said Eugene as he stood in front of the grandfather clock, admiring its intricate and rather old-fashioned face. “Where are the owners?” he asked, thinking it strange that such a nice place would be unoccupied for half the year. “St. Petersburg in Florida, you said?”

“Yes,” said Daxel. “They’re snowbirds. Very rich snowbirds.”

Eugene bent to open his toolbox, thinking he might want to spread a bit of cloth to protect the braided rug from his tools or clock oil, when Daxel touched the back of his hand.

“Hey,” said Daxel, as Eugene straightened up. “Kiss first?”

“Yes,” said Eugene with a small gasp, and it was as if some internal pressure valve had been released. “Yes, please.”

Any thoughts as to how patient Daxel was with him was consumed by the lushness of that second kiss, the warmth of Daxel’s lips, the way his hands gently rested on Eugene’s hips, holding him like a tether to the earth, ready to let him go if he wanted to fly.

The taste of Daxel, the hushed rise and fall of his broad chest, the soft huff of breath as the kiss finished and Daxel took a step back, hands still on Eugene’s hips—all of this surrounded him, fused through him until the soft tendril of desire in his gut blossomed, rising strong on powerful wings.

“Yes?” asked Daxel, his eyes shining.

Eugene didn’t quite know what the question meant, but he thought Daxel was asking if he liked the kiss and whether he wanted more than that.

“Yes, at some point,” he said, almost murmuring the words, feeling strongly shy and worked up at the same time.

“Would you like to see your plant now?”

“Yes, please.”

The grandfather clock could wait.

Daxel led Eugene into the kitchen, which was a blend of ultra-modern appliances partnered with the warmth of a red-and-white checked tablecloth on a long farm table. On top of the table was a potted plant, the snake plant that Daxel had purchased to keep Eugene’s rattlesnake plant company.

The red ribbon and bow was still around the pot, and one of the long, sword-like leaves was browning along one side, as though Daxel had over-watered in his fervent efforts to keep the plant alive long enough to hand it over to Eugene.

All over again, the gesture and the thought that had gone on behind it, touched Eugene to the core, warming his heart, and making him weak at the knees like an old-fashioned heroine who’s just been rescued from a cliff’s edge. He turned to circle his arms around Daxel’s neck, burying his face, breathing in Daxel’s scent as Daxel’s arms went around his waist and pulled him close.

“It’s all right,” said Daxel in a low voice as he cupped the back of Eugene’s head in one warm hand. “It’s going to be all right.”

“It can’t be this easy.” Eugene almost gasped the words as he lifted his head and blinked in the bright lights of the cozy kitchen. He swore he could feel the warmth of the fire in the other room, could feel the energy the snake plant was giving off, felt the steadiness of the house’s foundation beneath his feet. And that was on top of the strength of Daxel’s body, Eugene’s bulwark against all the emotions swirling around him, inside of him.

“It can be,” said Daxel in his steady way. “It absolutely can be.”

In a heartbeat, Eugene pulled back, clasped Daxel’s handsome face in his palms, and kissed him, right on the mouth. Daxel responded with, it seemed, equal parts joy and passion. Eugene wanted to leap from his current giddy height into the depths of Daxel’s soul and stay there forever.

“We can wait until you’re sure,” whispered Daxel, soft and low, in Eugene’s ear. “I’ll wait forever, if you like.”

“Now, please,” said Eugene, his voice husky. “Now is good.”

It was some hours before dinner and sunset, after which was surely more suited to taking off his clothes and letting Daxel tumble him into a very soft bed with clean white sheets and a handmade quilt to hide behind. But Daxel quickly showed him that there was nothing to be ashamed of, that the warmth of skin on skin and quick laughing kisses were blessings that Eugene had not known existed.

All the threats of hellfire and damnation melted away as Daxel kissed him all over, and pleasured him with strong hands, and swept away the pleasure tears from Eugene’s eyes with his tongue. And afterwards, they showered together, and dried off with fluffy, rich-people towels, and got dressed in rumpled, still-warm clothes.

Daxel made Eugene lollygag while he cooked them cheeseburgers and tater tots, and together they ate at the kitchen table, elbows resting on the red-and-white checked tablecloth, while the snake plant looked on in approval.

“I’ll take it with me,” said Eugene.

“In the morning, yes?” asked Daxel. “The owners won’t mind, I assure you.”

“Sounds good to me.” Eugene wiped his mouth with an almost cloth-like paper napkin and wondered at the memory of his hands shaking as he had swiped through the Cupid app. Fear was foolish. He knew that now. And that love had the strongest wings, strong enough to bear anything.

EPILOGUE

DAXEL

The weeks following the night of their first time were a whirlwind that shifted between three-day blizzards and temperatures that soared high enough to melt everything away, giving the air a springlike feel, like a promise that the blizzard would never return. Of course they always did, all along the front range.

In the meanwhile, life was good. Very good.

Daxel called Eugene every day, or Eugene called him. The calls would usually start off with the running joke about how Sonny the Snake Plant was doing, or whether Ray the Rattlesnake was still being stubborn about sharing the sunlight. Then the call would move on to more practical matters, such as when they’d see each other next.

Sometimes, Eugene would send texts with pictures of the two plants together on the shelf, other times, he would take a selfie of himself and an old clock he was fixing. Or he’d call in the middle of a workday about a small shed in Torrington where someone had found a box of mantle clocks, and would the guest ranch be interested in buying them for the cabins on the property?

Eugene was always thoughtful like that, always thinking of other people before himself, always putting Daxel first.

“You’re important, too,” Daxel would tell him.

Eugene would demur and try to change the subject, and when Daxel next saw him, he would wrestle him to the couch and love him into submission with quick kisses and slow ones, soft hands, and gentle words.

“You’re everything to me.”

One evening, as spring neared, and the last of the spring blizzards spent themselves out, they lingered naked in bed, the sheets pulled up, the handmade quilt tucked close around them. The owners of the Yellow Bee would be back in at the end of April to take up residence.

While normally Daxel could have easily moved up to Farthingdale Guest Ranch to help set up for the summer season, he hesitated to make that decision without consulting Eugene. He also didn’t want to make Eugene feel like he had to provide a solution. But the fact of the matter was, the rest of Daxel’s life wouldn’t be worth a damn if Eugene wasn’t in it.

“Can I ask you a question, my sweet?” Daxel asked, dipping his head down to kiss the curve of Eugene’s adorable ear.

“Yes, love?” replied Eugene in a sleepy way, turning into the curve of Daxel’s shoulder to look up at him.

Daxel explained the situation, posing the solution of getting a place in Torrington, to be near Eugene on the weekends during the summer.

“That’s a hefty commute,” said Eugene. He nuzzled Daxel’s neck, his warm breath drifting across Daxel’s skin, making him shiver. “You should do what you normally do, I think.” He planted a soft kiss along Daxel’s jaw. “Besides, I can bring my work with me. Set up a little shop in Farthing. But then—” He paused now to arch up to kiss the corner of Daxel’s mouth. “We’ll have time enough to figure it out as we go. There’ll be time enough for everything.”

As Daxel gathered Eugene up in his arms, those angled shoulders pulled closed to him, those long limbs tangling with his own beneath the sheets, he knew Eugene was right. They’d figure it out together as they went along because his mom had been right from the get-go: It was no good to be alone. With Eugene at his side, he never would be, and he’d make sure Eugene never was, either.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

JACKIE NORTH

Jackie North has been writing stories forever. When she discovered m/m romance, she decided that men falling in love with other men was exactly what she wanted to write about.

She creates characters who are a bit flawed and broken, who might be on the edge of society, and who might feel a little bit lost — all of whom deserve a happily ever after, and she makes sure they get it!

She likes long walks on the beach, the smell of lavender and rainstorms, and enjoys sleeping in on snowy mornings. In her heart, there is peace to be found everywhere, but since in the real world this isn’t always true, Jackie writes for love, one m/m romance at a time.

Connect with Jackie

Website: jackienorth.com

Newsletter sign up: subscribepage.com/JackieNorthNewsletter

Facebook reader group: North’s Stars

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LOVE IN BLOOM

JOCELYNN DRAKE

CHAPTER ONE

KAYLAN

My boss was a madman.

Insane.

Lunatic.

Meddling old woman.

Okay, so maybe he technically wasn’t any of those things, but right now, it felt like it.

But buying a phone so he could download that ridiculous H2H dating app and enter me into the “Cupid Picks You a Date” Valentine’s Day madness without my knowledge was over the top.

I pulled my wool winter coat tighter around me as the wind picked up, whooshing across the top of Mount Adams. The sky was a dreary slate gray, but what did you expect from Cincinnati in February? From October through March, the area rarely ever saw the sun. The sparkling city became a depressing place of cloudy skies, bare brown trees, and dark-gray buildings.

Whatever. This was already going down as one of the weirdest days since I’d started working as an assistant to Sebastian Courtland, CEO of Courtland Enterprises. Actually, I was more of an assistant to his primary assistant, but I had regular dealings with Sebastian. That had led to the nosy man finding out that I was single and had zero plans for Valentine’s Day. Apparently, Sebastian thought I was too young to be sitting home alone on this most hallowed day.

As I climbed the stairs to the Cincinnati Art Museum within Eden Park, I scanned the area for any sign of the person who was supposed to be my date. The picture included in my meet-up instructions had been of an attractive man with blondish-brown hair, blue eyes, and a killer smile.

Fake.

No way a hottie like that was single.

Somebody had to have taken the time to photoshop the shit out of his picture before uploading it to the dating profile.

Of course, my boss had used the photo from my employee badge, in which I was rocking the “deer in the headlights” look in a suit that was too big for my lanky body. Thankfully, I appeared more disillusioned now than surprised, and I could afford suits tailored to my size.

It didn’t matter. I had no intention of going through with this date. The only reason I’d shown up was to tell the guy it was all a mistake. Yeah, dick move, but ghosting him was an even bigger asshole move.

After that, I planned to pick up some food and head home to binge-watch some of my favorite shows until I passed out and had to go to work the next day. And when Sebastian asked about the date, I’d say it didn’t work out and he’d drop it. Quick. Clean. Easy.

Except the date I was meeting actually was a hottie.

The toe of my shoe caught on the lip of a step as I gawked at the stranger and I tripped, nearly face planting no more than five yards away. Catching myself at the last second, I glanced up to find that he’d pushed to his feet from where he sat on a bench and walked toward me. Of course, he’d caught my clumsy act. The tips of my ears burned as I straightened my coat and suit jacket. Great first impression.

Nope. Didn’t matter.

I’d tell him the truth, and we’d go our separate ways. Never to meet again. First impressions weren’t important.

“Kaylan?” the man inquired as he drew closer. His voice was deep with the slightest hint of a rasp. Was that natural, or was he recovering from a cold? Regardless, it was sexy.

The only turnoff was the dark sunglasses hiding his eyes. It was a gray, dreary day. There was zero call for the shades. Probably hiding bloodshot eyes that drooped from his hangover. Hottie needed a few drawbacks before I did something stupid like go through with this setup.

I was still trying to decide if he was hungover or thought himself too cool in sunglasses when I replied, “Yes, I’m Kaylan Baumgartner. You’re Arden?”

“Arden Fischer,” Hottie introduced, extending his hand. I took it and had to suppress a shiver that tried to run wild through my body. Okay, so he had great hair, a sexy smile, and a big strong hand. Fine. He was sexy. Maybe he was sexy enough for sunglasses on a cloudy day.

“I’ll admit, after reading your profile, I didn’t think you’d show.”

Without thinking, I took a step back and shoved my hands into my pockets while once again cursing Sebastian. My boss was turning into the bane of my existence. “What do you mean? What’s in my bio that made you think I’d do something so rude?”

“No!” Arden waved both hands at me. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just…you’re so adorable and hot. I thought this had to be a practical joke. I mean, it’s not like the app can filter out the jokers and the fakes, right?”

“Yeah, no, right?” I babbled, huffing out the most awkward laugh of my life. At least he didn’t sound as pretentious as he looked.

Death to Sebastian.

Death to his fellow minion, Byron Graham. He’d probably helped our boss create this stupid bio.

And adorable? No. Not even close. Maybe Arden was blind, and that was why he was wearing sunglasses.

As we stood there awkwardly, I sneaked another glance up his body. He was dressed in a pair of dark slacks with a heather-gray V-neck sweater over a black T-shirt. His heavy coat hung just below his waist, providing a good glimpse of his muscular body. This was a man who liked to work out. No bulging muscles, but I doubted I’d be able to locate even an ounce of fat on his body.

If this wasn’t some painful setup but rather a random hookup, I’d be happy to go looking for that fat with a magnifying glass.

Well, that said way too much about my priorities. Happy with a one-night stand but not a date? Ugh. Sebastian might be right that I needed to get back out there.

“Well, umm…technically, I didn’t sign up for this,” I admitted. Time to bite the bullet.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

I lowered my gaze to the ground, watching as I traced the toe of my shoe along a crack in the sidewalk. “Someone else put my information into the app and signed me up for this blind date thing.”

My heart skipped at the low, throaty laugh that rose from Arden and I jerked my head up to find him grinning. “Meddling sister?” he asked.

“No, meddling boss.”

“What? Really? Your boss?”

I dredged a sigh from the very bottom of my soul. “Yeah, my boss. He’s one of those types who likes to chat about everyone’s private life and wants everyone to be blissfully in love. It’s weird. Apparently, when he found out that I wasn’t dating anyone and hadn’t dated in a couple of years, he came up with the brilliant idea of setting me up.”

“Wow…I…I…I got nothing,” he finished with a shake of his head. “Seriously, I’ve never known a boss like that.”

I shrugged. “Sebastian can be weird, but he’s a good boss. Cares a lot about the well-being of his employees.”

“Clearly.” Arden chuckled. “But doesn’t that app have to be on your phone? For our date, you had to get instructions on where to meet.”

I lifted my left hand out of my pocket and showed him a battered smartphone. “This is my phone.” Then I lifted my right hand out of my other pocket and displayed a brand-new black smartphone without a case. “This is a new phone my boss bought so he could set me up on a blind date.”

Arden threw his head back and laughed, filling the area with that deep, joyous sound. I swore it created a break in the perpetual cloud cover, offering up the sweetest taste of spring. I dragged in a breath and chortled. There was no stopping it. The happiness falling off Arden was soaking into me, chasing away the chill and the grumpiness.

“Your boss is a riot,” Arden proclaimed when his laughter died off.

“He keeps things interesting.” I shoved both phones into my pockets again and rocked on my feet, feeling a little less awkward but also not sure what to do next. The original plan to brush this guy off didn’t seem so great now. Or at least I wasn’t in such a hurry to move along. Of course, that didn’t mean Arden had any interest in sticking with me after he’d been set up with someone who didn’t want to be there in the first place.

I cleared my throat and forced a smile. “Look, you thought you were getting someone who knew all about this blind date event. I wasn’t even the one who filled out the profile. God only knows what Sebastian put in mine. So, if you don’t want to do this date thing, I get it. No hard feelings. I’m sorry you got sucked into my boss’s insanity.”

“Well,” Arden began only to pause and lick his lips. “Since we’re being so honest.” He reached up and removed his glasses to reveal not bloodshot eyes, but eyes of two startling colors.

“Whoa!” I gasped and then winced at my complete inability to temper my reaction to something less insulting. “Sorry. I mean…umm…cool.”

Arden hooked one arm of his sunglasses on the V of his sweater and smiled. He lowered his head, staring more at the ground than meeting my gaze. “No. It’s okay. It’s called heterochromia. Just one of those things people are born with.”

“Yeah, I knew a girl in college who had that, but…”

The man tipped his head up and smirked, even though he wasn’t quite looking at me. “Not as stark?”

“Yes.” I exhaled. Jennifer’s eyes were brown and light hazel. In most indoor lighting, you didn’t even notice the difference in colors unless you were close to her.

But Arden’s eyes were astounding. His left was a brown so dark that it almost appeared black, while his right was a pale sky blue.

“I usually wear colored contacts on dates for a while, so I don’t make my date uncomfortable. But I didn’t realize that I was out of contacts until I was getting ready this afternoon.”

“I’m not uncomfortable!” My voice jumped a conspicuous octave or two, making me wince and Arden grin. “I’m trying not to stare, but I’m also trying to meet your eyes as we talk and still not stare.”

“The ultimate catch-22,” Arden teased.

“Totally.”

A silence settled between us, but it didn’t feel all that uncomfortable. At least, not as awkward as I would have expected. He seemed like an interesting, easygoing guy that I wouldn’t have minded chatting up while standing in line for my morning coffee. If I were at all brave, I would have hit on him at a bar.

But I wasn’t brave in dating.

Which was why I was in this situation.

A bitter wind rushed through the city, rattling the bare tree limbs and sending dead leaves scratching and twirling along the sidewalk. I ducked my head down and lifted my shoulders while gathering my coat tighter around me. For a moment, I’d forgotten about the gray skies and the bitter cold nipping through my clothes at my flesh.

“Did you have other plans for today?” Arden asked.

“A hoagie, steak fries, and some TV binging. I can’t go back to work, or my boss will know I bailed on my date.”

Arden rubbed his jaw, something like mirth sparkling in his pale eye. “Those aren’t terrible plans. But, you know, since we’re here…would you be interested in wandering through the art museum like we were supposed to? We could list all the ways we’re a terrible match for each other.”

My heart skipped, and I couldn’t stop my grin. “You mean the opposite of what we’re supposed to do? Trying to show off our best qualities to lull each other in.”

“Precisely. But you can’t make anything up. That’s one of my big turnoffs: dishonesty. These have to be genuine weird traits and quirks.”

Did I want to spend a couple of hours with Arden, trying to scare him away?

Sure. Why not?

There was no pressure to impress him or win him over. Just two acquaintances getting to know each other while appreciating some art.

“Sure. Sounds like fun.”

CHAPTER TWO

ARDEN

Kaylan was adorable.

Even more adorable than I’d been expecting from his picture. Now I was curious to see if there was a vast difference between what his boss had put in his bio and the real person walking with me to the front doors of the art museum.

Maybe I shouldn’t be too excited, though. Tim had been adorable, and that hadn’t worked out. In fact, it had been one of my more nightmarish attempts at dating.

Nope. That didn’t matter.

Not thinking about Tim. Not today.

Kaylan was getting my full attention. He deserved that. Even if he wasn’t interested in dating, he could be a fun friend to hang out with.

A friend I’d love to kiss and nuzzle and find all the spots on his body that made him squeal. Yeah, that kind of friend.

It might be better if I redirected my thoughts to things that didn’t require me to undress the man.

“So, if your boss wouldn’t be upset with you returning to work early, would you go back instead of taking the rest of the day off?” I asked.

Kaylan shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Sure. Why not?”

I stopped walking, my eyebrows leaping up my forehead. “It’s a day off. Why pass it up?”

“I like my job. Even if I’m just an assistant. Sebastian and Byron are incredibly smart, and I’m learning a lot from them. It also doesn’t hurt that I never know what to expect on any given day. Once, Sebastian stormed out of his office and declared that he was dragging me and Byron to the zoo to watch the big cats. He was trying to come up with a new type of loungewear that was good for lazing about and bursts of activity. In his opinion, no one was better at that than cats.”

“You work for a clothing designer?”

Kaylan shook his head, his dark-brown hair falling down into his eyes. “Not really. Sebastian runs a large conglomerate of companies, and one business is clothing. Marketing and logistics are the biggest divisions.” Kaylan tipped his head to the side as we walked. “What do you do for a living?”

“Freelance graphic artist. I take on a variety of clients, from cleaning products to publishing companies. Somebody always needs something interesting designed.”

Kaylan grunted. “And being a freelancer, that means you can make your own hours and take the day off whenever you want.”

I rubbed the side of my nose. “That’s the idea, but I think I’m about as good as you are when it comes to taking breaks. I like my job, and I get caught up in my work too often.”

“Oh, shit.” Kaylan stopped walking, his eyes wide.

I whipped my head around and my heart sank. The art museum was closed for renovations. “Well, damn.” There went my plans for a long, slow wander and pleasant conversation.

Kaylan made a face. “That stupid app got us here. I assumed it wanted us to go to the art museum for our date, but it’s closed.”

“Have you ever been to Krohn Conservatory?” I asked, brain scrambling for an alternative that was close. Anything that was too far might be too much effort, and Kaylan had made it clear that he didn’t want to be there. Easy was best.

Hands in his pockets, Kaylan rocked on his heels, moving his head from the left to the right so that the hair that fell in front of his eyes moved to the side. “Not since elementary school. I think we went on a field trip to see the Christmas decorations one year.”

My hand itched to reach up and brush those sleek locks from his forehead, but that seemed a little too forward for this non-date. It was easier to keep them balled into fists at my sides.

“Would you be interested in a stroll through the flowers with me? It’s just on the other side of the park.”

To my shock, Kaylan’s expression lit up. “Sure. I’ll follow you over in my car. I don’t get up to Eden Park too often.”

“Got it.”

With renewed energy, we walked to the parking lot in front of the art museum and climbed into our respective cars. I led the way in our two-car caravan, down the winding narrow roads past the silent mirror lake and the overlooking gazebo. During the summer, bright flowers, sunbathers, and people walking their dogs filled the park. It was a peaceful spot to relax and offered a magnificent view of downtown Cincinnati.

In winter, the place was dreary and empty. The primary draw was Krohn Conservatory, with its holiday display and live nativity scene in December. I’d never been up here for Valentine’s Day, but I was hoping they had something for the romantic holiday. If this was a bust, I’d have to take it as not meant to be.

As we zipped past the gazebo and up another winding hill on the opposite side of the park, I released a heavy sigh of relief to see bundled-up people walking toward the enormous glass-and-steel structure. Built in the early 1930s, the flower conservatory possessed elegant art deco touches that still graced the structure to this day.

Taking the drive that led to the small parking lot behind the building, I pulled into a spot that had an opening on my right so Kaylan could park his tiny silver electric BMW beside my SUV.

“Wow. I forgot how big this place was,” Kaylan announced as we met up behind our cars.

He’d barely finished speaking when another gust of icy wind swept through, causing us to huddle against it. I reached out and wrapped an arm around Kaylan’s shoulders, pulling him closer to my body so I could shield him from the cold. “Let’s hurry and get inside, where it’s warmer.”

I half expected Kaylan to pull away, but he smirked at me and continued across the parking lot and down the sidewalk to the front of the building. As soon as we stepped into the building, we sighed happily at the welcoming heat.

Grinning, Kaylan darted ahead of me and bought two tickets. I didn’t argue. Yeah, this was a non-date, but I had a feeling guilt was nibbling at Kaylan over his boss’s weird tricks. This was his way of apologizing and I’d allow it, but this was it.

After stepping into the main entrance hall, my eyes lifted to the glass ceiling that towered at least three stories overhead. In front of us was the rainforest exhibit with its tall palm trees and lush greenery that stood in direct contrast to the brown, icy death outside. I slipped out of my coat and draped it over my arm as I dragged in a deep breath filled with warmth, humidity, and elegant floral notes. The only sounds were soft conversation and the distant sound of falling water crashing onto rocks.

“This…this is so peaceful.”

I glanced over to find Kaylan holding his coat in front of him. His eyes were closed, and a hint of a smile played on his pink lips. The wind had mussed his dark-brown hair, but that only made him more handsome in my book. Wrapped in his designer suit, his slightly messy hair made me hope this guy wasn’t all serious and business. That maybe he had some hidden depths to go with the mischievous grin I’d caught sight of here and there.

“A pleasant break from work?”

Kaylan cracked one eye open and smirked. “Possibly. I think it’s still early to call. Which way?”

I nodded to his right. “We’ll begin with the seasonal display. It leads to the desert room, orchid display, and the bonsai exhibit.”

Kaylan walked in the direction I’d indicated. “Sounds like you’ve been here a few times before.”

“I pop in several times a year. They have different seasonal exhibits, plus it’s a quiet place to think and look for inspiration.”

We stopped just past the entrance to the smaller room, taking in the explosion of tulips and red roses artfully arranged around a three-tiered fountain in the center of the room. It was as though spring had erupted inside of the giant greenhouse.

“Beautiful,” Kaylan murmured as he started forward. He dug his phone out of his pocket and snapped a handful of pictures. He looked over his shoulder and grinned. I liked that. The man seemed to smile so easily, his face always incredibly expressive. As if he couldn’t hold his emotions back. There was no hiding for Kaylan. “I think you mentioned something about detailing all the reasons we’re so very undateable.”

“I did. Do you want to start, or should I?”

“I’ll go first, but I’ll warn you; I’ve got something that could end this competition right here and now.” Kaylan shoved his phone into his pocket and continued past the fountain to the far corner.

“Go for it.” Short of being a murderer, rapist, or serial cheater, I couldn’t imagine what he could do that would be such a deal breaker.

Kaylan stopped walking and leaned toward me. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he admitted, “I hate chili.”

“What?” I demanded in a choked laugh. Not what I’d been expecting him to say. “You hate chili? Were you even born in this area?”

“Born and raised. I went away to Boston University for college and then returned. But yeah, can’t stand chili. Any and all chili. Never liked it.”

I made a show of shaking my head and clicking my tongue at him. In Cincinnati, chili was serious business. Mostly because Cincinnati had its own distinct style and way of eating chili. You couldn’t swing a dead cat and not hit a chili parlor in this town. Every person born in the tri-state area had an opinion about chili.

“So there’s no point in asking you the perennial Gold Star versus Skyline question.”

“None.”

“Or if you prefer a coney to a three-way?”

“Ugh. Neither.”

As we reached the corner of the room and stopped under the lemon tree, I couldn’t help nudging his shoulder with mine. “Is there anything you like as a three-way?” I asked in a low voice.

Kaylan snorted. “Why do I get the impression you’re not talking spaghetti anymore?” He bumped me back. “I’m not much of a sharing person, so I can’t imagine there are any three-ways that I’d be a fan of. You?”

I shook my head as a bit of tension unwound from around my lungs. “The only three-ways I like are spaghetti, chili, and a mountain of cheddar cheese. And, for the record, I’m a Skyline fan, but I won’t turn my nose up at a Gold Star coney. Also, you not liking chili is not a deal breaker. Try again.”

My pseudo-date tipped his head up toward the tree and pointed at a lemon nearly lost among the dark-green leaves. “Stupid question: do you think that’s real?”

“Are you asking me if the flower conservatory has a fake tree in it?” I replied, trying very hard not to laugh.

Kaylan poked me in the ribs with his elbow. “Shut up. I said it was a stupid question. I was just thinking that I’ve never seen an actual lemon tree. Lots of lemons in the grocery, but never on a tree. That’s kind of cool.”

I was going to kiss him. If this man kept being so adorable, I was going to kiss him. It was taking all of my self-control not to dip my head and steal a kiss off those pink lips.

My companion narrowed his eyes at me. “What are you grinning at? I’m not always an idiot. This surprise arranged date caught me flat-footed. I’m not at my smartest right now.”

“So you’re warning me that I won’t be able to keep up once you get your bearings?” I teased.

A little scoff left his throat. “Whatever. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to decide between laughing and kissing me.”

Okay, that was rather astute.

Thankfully, Kaylan didn’t give me the chance to answer. He grabbed my wrist with his free hand and pulled me toward the open doorway. “What’s over here?”

“The Desert Room,” I replied, still smiling at the back of his head.

We left spring behind in the bright-and-humid exhibit hall for a more arid room overflowing with cacti and other plants only found in the desert. Everything in the room possessed prickles, which seemed very suited to Kaylan. The man still holding my wrist as we started along the aisle was full of protective prickles, but that didn’t deter me. There would be ways past the thorns to get to the softness I knew had to reside inside of him.

“You got one of my least desirable traits. It’s your turn,” Kaylan prodded.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I lifted my gaze to a tree that had stretched across the low ceiling of the room. This was my idea. However, I was now questioning my sanity. This was supposed to be fun. Not about sending Kaylan running away from me. “Um…I guess…I have a somewhat obsessive personality. I get in moods where I obsess over a single thing.”

Kaylan released my wrist as if he suddenly remembered that he was holding it and flashed me a crooked grin. He tucked that hand with the other holding his coat. “Obsessed, huh? Give me an example. You don’t get obsessive over the person you’re dating, do you?”

“No! No! Nothing like that!” My heart leaped into my throat and refused to climb down at that question. “I obsess over things or food. For example, for two months, I had to have a bowl of cereal before going to bed or I couldn’t sleep. After I got over that, I couldn’t stand to eat a bowl of cereal for months. Or I binge a particular TV show or style of books. During that period, nothing else will interest me much.” I winced. “I’ve driven a couple of exes crazy with that trait.”

Kaylan shrugged and continued to amble among the cacti. “What kind of shows? Reality TV?”

I shook my head even though he couldn’t see it. “Mostly anime and serial killer documentaries.”

The sexy man in front of me chuckled. “Everyone is hooked on serial killer documentaries.” He paused and looked over at me. “What kind of anime?”

There was something in his voice that left me thinking that despite his attempt to sound casual and indifferent, this was a very important question for him. Could he be an anime watcher as well?

“Probably not stuff that would interest you. It’s mostly the slice of life, romantic, BL—I mean boys love—anime.”

Kaylan turned around to face me and lifted one haughty eyebrow. “You’re standing here with a gay man. Do you think I don’t know what BL is?”

That was a good point. But I hadn’t expected him to know in relation to anime. Did that mean…?

“Some of my favorites are Sekaiichi Hatsukoi, Given, and Junjo Romantica—even with its very questionable first episode,” Kaylan proclaimed as he walked toward me.

“Because you’re hooked on Usagi’s domineering, possessive nature while being insecure over Misaki’s feelings for him,” I finished.

“Yessss!” he hissed, eyes wide and teeth clenched. “And then you get to watch Misaki’s slow realization that he’s so deeply in love with Usagi and would be lost without him. That entire scene at the train station on the phone⁠—”

“Where he’s just wanting some little sign from Usagi that he wants Misaki to stay with him⁠—”

“It kills me every freaking time I watch it. I want to cry while shaking Misaki.”

And now we were finishing each other’s sentences. At least with anime, we had some overlap in our interests, and we were doing a horrible job of scaring each other away.

“Have you watched Dakaichi?” I asked to keep from kissing him.

“That’s the one with the two actors who fall in love, right?” Kaylan tipped his head back and moaned softly as he closed his eyes. “So sexy.” His head popped up and his eyes snapped open. “And they made the older veteran actor the shou and the young guy the gong! I love it!”

Gong? Shou? Those were not Japanese terms for top and bottom. That was Chinese!

I grinned at him. “You don’t just watch anime. You read danmei, too.”

Kaylan’s mouth fell open and his eyes unfocused for a second, as if he were rewinding what he’d said to give that away. It took only another second before he was groaning and nodding. “Yes, yes. I watch yaoi anime, and I have read an obscene amount of Chinese BL. Now that you’ve pried my dark secret out of me and you know what danmei is, I can admit that when I saw your eyes for the first time, my initial thought was that you were Hua Cheng reincarnated.”

My breath caught in my throat and my heart stopped at his words. He was comparing me to the sexiest, most dangerous, most romantic ghost king that was ever written. I stood frozen as Kaylan cocked his head to one side and lifted his hand, covering my pale right eye without touching my face. He smiled as he stared at me. “Sexy, broken Hua Cheng, who tore out his own eye in a fit of madness and heartbreak over his sweet dianxia.”

“You’ve left me with no choice,” I whispered.

Kaylan lowered his hand back to his side. “What?”

“I have to kiss you now.”

CHAPTER THREE

KAYLAN

I had no words.

My tongue was tied with no hopes of untangling.

What was I supposed to say to that?

I mean other than “Yes, please.”

Arden was sweet, sexy, and he smelled so good. That really shouldn’t be a deciding factor, but when the man had gathered me close to hurry us inside the conservatory, I caught a whiff of his cologne. Or maybe aftershave. Or it was the natural pheromones the man exuded. Whatever. I just wanted to turn in his arms, bury my nose in the crook of his neck, and never leave.

But that was all nonsense.

This was a non-date.

We were supposed to be listing all the reasons we were unsuitable for dating.

Except Arden had admitted to liking one of my big weaknesses in the world. I loved losing hours binge-watching my favorite animes. Was it too much to hope that he liked Asian BL dramas as well?

Nope. I couldn’t ask.

I wasn’t looking to date. There was no time in my life. Everything was fine how it was now. I had work and my hobbies. Dating and a boyfriend would mean less me time when I wasn’t working.

However, a boyfriend would put sex into my life again. That was something I was significantly short on.

Arden stepped closer, and I didn’t back away. I couldn’t. Yes, we’d just met, but I wanted to know what it was like to kiss those lips. He was checking so many damn boxes for me without realizing it. Life couldn’t be so cruel as to make him a terrible kisser. No, he had to be the best kisser in the world, and I needed to experience it.

The little desert had become silent. Even the wind had stopped flinging bits of debris at the surrounding windows. We were lost in our own world. Just his breath and mine picking up. His hand landed on my shoulder, squeezing and drawing me in. I went willingly, tipping my head up, offering my lips like a sacrifice on the altar of the BL gods who knew I needed to get laid so fucking bad.

A woman’s high-pitched cackle cut through the quiet, jerking me away from Arden. A nervous giggle tumbled from my lips, and I leaned to my left, looking around him. Two couples were entering the desert room with some kids in tow.

Yeah, time to move on.

“Whoops,” I said with a laugh, while wincing at my inescapable awkwardness. “Umm…what’s the next room?”

Arden’s grin returned with an extra twinkle in his mismatched eyes, as if he were smothering his own chuckle. “The orchid room is through that door.” He released my shoulder and pointed at the clear door just ahead of us. Beyond the glass was a small, lush, green room filled with delicate blossoms.

I hurried on, trying to put some distance between us and the people who were working their way through the desert behind us. Humidity and thick warmth greeted us as we stepped inside, along with the soft trickle of water from a fountain hidden behind all the dense green foliage. After fishing my phone from my pocket, I snapped countless images of the different orchids. I’d always been a fan of this ethereal blossom, but I’d never buy one for myself. They were finicky plants, and I sucked at remembering to water anything. It would break my heart if I killed something so lovely.

“Kaylan?”

I turned my head toward Arden and found the man was holding up his phone as if he were using the camera feature. Specifically, he was taking my picture.

“Really? Why?”

“Because you’re adorable,” Arden answered without hesitation as he lowered his phone. “I doubt you even realize it, but you’ve been cooing and whispering to the flowers as you take their pictures. Telling them how pretty they are. I needed something to remember this moment.”

And now my face was on fire, from the tips of my ears to the base of my throat. I hadn’t known I was doing that.

A scoff left me and I spun around. “Whatever. They’re beautiful. I’ve never seen some of these species.”

“Do you grow orchids?”

I shook my head. “Nope. I’d never be able to keep one alive. I just like them.” As I led the way out of the tiny room to the next one, Arden caught the collar of my sport coat, stopping me.

“You miss that one?”

Turning to gaze at where he pointed, I found a cascade of tiny blood-red and white blossoms on what appeared to be a crooked vine. That one was definitely new to me. After shooting Arden a repressive look that did absolutely nothing, I took a few pictures of the orchids while managing to not talk to them.

The next room felt bright and airy compared to the orchid exhibit. I didn’t even bother to put my phone away. These needed to be photographed as well. Other people milled about the larger room, talking softly and admiring the plants.

“I believe it’s your turn,” Arden prodded while I admired a ficus someone had trained to resemble a grove of trees in a miniature forest. A forest that was already older than me. I didn’t need to ask what he meant. Since we couldn’t sneak a private kiss, we returned to our original game.

“I’m lazy,” I blurted out. If there was one thing I wished I could change about myself, this was it. “I hate going to the gym and I hate working out. After I finish work, I like to throw on some baggy shorts or jogging pants and a T-shirt. I live in those clothes until I can’t stand the smell.” A frown formed on my lips, and I moved down to the bonsai sculpted from a crown of thorns. “Motivation is my middle name at work. But when I get home, I’m drained and I don’t want to move.”

“I don’t love working out either,” Arden admitted, which only earned his muscular ass a look. I slowly turned toward him and dragged my eyes up his body, from his nice dark loafers to his trim waist and broad chest to his equally broad shoulders.

“I refuse to believe you were born looking like that,” I muttered.

Arden rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t enjoy working out, but I don’t let it stop me from going. Heart disease and diabetes run in my family. Staying healthy means I stay ahead of it.”

A little grunt escaped me, and I continued to stroll through the room, snapping pictures. “I guess that’s a good excuse.”

“You know,” Arden started. The man had walked up behind me and his hot breath had brushed across the shell of my ear. He was evil. So fucking evil. It was as though he knew that if he used that low, seductive, teasing tone, I’d do whatever he wanted. “If you wanted to try it out, I’ve found that going to the gym with someone helps to keep you motivated. You wouldn’t even have to do anything more complicated than walk on the treadmill.”

“Are you offering to be my workout buddy?”

“Oh, no. Definitely not. You need to find someone else,” he answered brusquely.

He jumped back laughing as I whipped around and hit him on the chest with both fists. Thankfully, he captured my wrists before I could hurt myself further. Hitting h is chest was like hitting a damn rock!

My breath caught in my throat as he pulled me in closer, his eyes locked on my lips. Now I was going to get the kiss I’d almost tasted in the desert.

Except one of the kids who had entered the desert was in the bonsai room, squealing about the tiny trees. A little kiss wouldn’t be too harmful for the tyke, but I suspected I would not be content with a safe, chaste peck.

Blargh. Some stranger’s kid was cockblocking me.

At least, that was the reason I claimed as I pulled away from Arden with a smirk. Although I had thought up some other nonsense about not wanting to date and this being a non-date, it was hard to remember when I could still feel the heat of Arden’s powerful hands on my wrist.

“Okay. Fine.” I walked toward the door leading into the first exhibit we had entered. “If you don’t want me, I’ll find someone who does.”

Three steps.

That was as far as I got before a hand landed on my hip and squeezed, burning through all the layers of clothes to scorch my skin.

“Whatever gave you the impression that I didn’t want you?” Arden demanded in a low, husky voice that was shutting down all higher brain function.

Would it be tacky to screw him against the wall on the first non-date?

I could live with being tacky.

And desperate.

And begging if it meant I could have Arden for a night.

But there was something serious and soft about Arden’s heart that left me sure he wasn’t a one-night stand kind of guy. He was the happily-ever-after kind that wanted wedding rings and a white picket fence.

There was nothing wrong with that. I just wasn’t confident something like that was in my future. I had spent much of my life getting good grades, a good job, and then keeping up with the insanity that was Sebastian. Being in a forever relationship hadn’t crossed my mind.

Maybe it was time.

“So…isn’t there a waterfall in this place?” I asked, trying for a normal tone and missing by a wide mark.

Arden chuckled and gave my hip one last squeeze prior to releasing it. “Yeah, there is.”

We cut through the display of spring flowers and turned left, descending the peach marble stairs with the swirling silver handrail into a dense rainforest that towered over our heads.

The air was once again humid and heavy with a hushed sound of rushing water somewhere ahead of us. On my left was a narrow stream that could be glimpsed between the large green leaves. Scales of white and orange flashed in the waters as giant koi lazily swam by and then darted off. It was like stepping into another world, leaving behind all of Cincinnati and its dreary winter sky.

I dragged in a deep breath and released it with a happy sigh. “I can understand why you come here often. It’s so peaceful and beautiful. Do you bring a lot of dates here?”

Arden shook his head. “I wish I could say you’re the first, but Tim—my ex—and I came here together a few times. He didn’t like the Christmas exhibit because it was too chaotic and busy. We just didn’t time it right.”

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, not liking the hints of a frown now digging lines around his eyes. “Were you and Tim together long?”

“Not really. Couple of years. We separated about six months ago.”

Swinging about, I glared at him. “This asshole cheat on you?”

“No!” Arden gasped, only to have it turned into a soft laugh. “No, it was an amicable split. All the passion had gone out of our relationship, and we didn’t like any of the same things. He was Kardashians, reality TV, and shopping.”

A snort escaped me. “Let me guess, you’re anime, ramen noodles, and sweat pants.”

“I thought that was you?” Arden teased. The fire returned to my cheeks, but I didn’t get the chance to respond. “However, you are right. That sounds like a great night to me. I like to travel, too. Take lots of pictures and make sketches to use for work later. Experience new things.”

I did not want to think about how perfect he was. Travel was a definite bonus of my job. I’d been to six countries in the short time that I’d been working for Sebastian, and I had several trips ahead of me this year.

Arden slung his arm across my shoulders and drew me a little closer as we wandered down the narrow path to the waterfall I could see peeks of through the trees. “What about you? Do you have a long and tragic dating history?”

“More like short and uninteresting. I dated a guy for a few months in college during my senior year. That was my last actual relationship. Since returning to Cincy, I’ve had a few hookups, but nothing serious. I don’t get out much. My focus has been on work.”

“Hence your boss signing you up for a date, since you couldn’t be trusted to handle it on your own.”

I dropped my head, and it ended up resting on Arden’s shoulder, confirming that he had a very nice shoulder. “My boss is a handful. He’s brilliant, funny, and amazing, but a complete handful.”

“Do you regret going to the meet-up?”

Turning my head on his shoulder, I grinned at the sexy man holding me. “Nope. This has been an interesting adventure.”

Arden stopped walking, his arm tightening around me. “Do you know what’s going to make it better?”

“What?”

“Look up.”

That was not what I’d been expecting him to say, but I followed where he was pointing toward the ceiling to see a bunch of yellow-somethings hanging from a tree.

“You’ve just seen your first banana tree.”

Laughter exploded from my throat and I stumbled away from Arden, shaking my head. As I turned back, the man was smiling so wide he looked as if he were going to crack his face.

“I can’t believe you!”

“What?” Arden grabbed my balled fist when I pretended to shake it at him. “You’ve seen a real lemon tree and a real banana tree on the same day. This is big stuff.”

“Don’t tease me!”

“I’m not.” He pulled me along, skipping the arched bridge over the stream in the center of the room to duck into the tiny cave passageway that led behind the waterfall. “I’ll admit, the first time I saw a live banana tree was here.”

I couldn’t stop grinning at Arden. But then, I was pretty sure I’d been smiling almost from the moment that I met him. He made the world fun and easy. Even something as simple as walking through a botanical conservatory was a lighthearted adventure.

But I was ready to kick this adventure into the realm of something more grown-up. At the very least, it needed to be rated PG-13.

Arden continued to hold my hand through the cave, and my heart sped up. This was it. This was the perfect spot to steal our first kiss. No one was behind us. That cockblocking munchkin was nowhere nearby.

The sexy blond with the mismatched eyes glanced over his shoulder, shooting me a seductive smirk.

And he kept walking.

Right out the other side.

Just. Kept. Walking.

“What?” I squawked. There was no keeping the question inside.

No. No. No. There was zero chance I’d misread him. All the hints and flirting. Arden was into me. Maybe not as much as I was into him, but interested. And I damn well guaranteed he was going to be more than a little interested after I kissed him.

Not to brag, but I was a hell of a kisser.

I dug my heels in before I could leave the cave and stared openmouthed at him.

Arden snickered and ducked back, leaning in almost close enough to kiss. “I want to kiss you⁠—”

“The cave is the perfect spot,” I interrupted, already trying to pull him toward the hiding spot.

“But I’m afraid that once I start, I won’t be able to stop. I don’t want another interruption.”

I huffed. “Okay.”

It wasn’t a great excuse, but I’d accept it. For now.

As I followed Arden out of the cave, he shifted his hold to thread our fingers together. “Do you mind?”

“Nope.”

I’d never been much of a hand holder. Fuck, I was pretty sure my mother had been the last person to hold my hand. But it felt good to hold Arden’s hand. It felt right.

“Arden?”

The surprised voice cut above the rush of the falling water, and we turned to see a short, slender, dark-haired man standing on the other side of the bridge with a tall broad-shouldered blond.

“Tim?” Arden choked out.

Fuck.

CHAPTER FOUR

ARDEN

Tim…was here.

Seeing my ex knocked the breath from my lungs while my brain scrambled to reboot. This was the first time I’d run across him since we’d separated. We didn’t have a lot of friends who overlapped, so I’d never heard where he moved to or how he was doing.

Apparently, he’d started dating again.

Fuck. So had I!

Sort of.

Well, I hoped I was dating again.

The interesting man who’d tempted me from my very first glimpse as he approached the art museum now stepped in front of me. I caught a tight smile and something in his narrowed eyes that made me both nervous and excited.

He couldn’t be…jealous, could he?

Possessive?

Protective?

If even half of that were true, I was taking Kaylan home and screwing his brains out.

“Hi, I’m Kaylan,” my date introduced, sticking his hand out to Tim.

My ex stared at it for a second with wide eyes and then at me in question before accepting the handshake. “Hello. I’m Tim Lunken.”

“Oh, like the old airport,” Kaylan cheerfully replied.

I bit the inside of my cheek, holding in my goofy grin. Kaylan had not actually put emphasis on “old.” I was just hearing things.

Or maybe not, considering the way the apples of Tim’s cheeks flushed red.

“Yes,” Tim agreed flatly. He pulled his hand free of Kaylan’s and motioned to the man standing on his right. “This is my boyfriend, Karl.”

I clenched my teeth to hold in my anger. It was a struggle to not grind my teeth. Karl, as in Karl from work. As in, “There’s nothing going on between us” Karl. “We’re just work friends” Karl.

“Nice to finally meet you, Karl. Tim told me a lot about you,” I said, trying so very hard to keep my tone flat. I probably shouldn’t have said anything at all. Should have been the bigger man. Walked the fuck away.

“Have you been dating long?” Kaylan interjected. He stepped onto the small arched bridge and leaned on the metal railing with the waterfall behind him.

“A few months,” Tim answered, not daring to make eye contact with me. “What about you and Arden?”

“We just met today!” Kaylan reached out with the arm that had his coat draped over it and hooked one of his fingers through a belt loop, pulling me in close enough to bump against his chest. With his free hand, he cupped my cheek, tipping my face toward him. “But this has been the best date of my life. I can’t wait to see how he tops it.”

My jaw dropped on a choked gasp, and Kaylan struck. The devilish man jerked me in close and plunged his tongue into my mouth. It tangled with mine and I couldn’t stop myself from wrapping one arm around his slender waist, pulling him in even closer.

Kaylan was pure magic. With one toe-curling kiss, my ex and his new boyfriend disappeared. The crashing water of the two-story, man-made waterfall vanished. All sounds fell away, so that there was only the wet heat of Kaylan’s hungry mouth demanding that I do dirty, dirty things to him. And God help me, I wanted to. My body ached to give him everything that kiss was begging for and more.

Time slipped away from me, and I was more than a bit dazed when Kaylan broke off the kiss and glanced to his left from the corner of his eye. I followed his gaze to find that we were alone. Tim and Karl had left, but I had no idea how long we’d been alone.

“It’s okay if you hate me now,” Kaylan murmured, sliding one finger across his damp bottom lip.

“I’m sorry, what? Why would I hate you?” Had Kaylan killed brain cells with that kiss? I wasn’t following.

He released me and shrugged one shoulder as he fully leaned on the railing. “I wasn’t thinking. He just…I don’t know…something about him rubbed me the wrong way. Sounded like his new boyfriend is someone he knew while you were together, which makes me angrier. If he was cheating on you, I hope there’s a plant in here that can eat both of them.”

I stepped into Kaylan again, placing one hand on his hip while resting my forehead against his. “You mean like an Audrey II.”

“Precisely.”

And, of course, my geeky heart soared that he’d gotten my dorky Little Shop of Horrors reference.

“I don’t know if he technically cheated. Karl is someone he works with. He said they were just friends.” This time, it was my turn to shrug as I lifted my head. “Feelings for Karl might have been what pushed him to end our relationship.”

Kaylan jerked his head back and narrowed his eyes at me. “You don’t sound or look upset by any of this. Why?”

“Maybe it’s because I’m over Tim, and any anger I felt was my ego being tweaked.” I leaned in close, placing my lips right beside Kaylan’s ear. “But it might also be from the amazing kiss I just received.”

“Mmmm…” Kaylan hummed. “I’m a polyglot. Makes for a very limber, talented tongue.”

I jerked away from my date, my head falling on an explosion of laughter. Of all the things I’d expected him to say, that was not it.

“It shows,” I agreed when I caught my breath. Taking his hand, I tried to pull him to the path so we could continue, but Kaylan tugged me in the opposite direction.

“Wait. We need a selfie, and this is the perfect spot.”

“To mark the occasion of our first kiss?” I asked as I returned to his side.

“I wasn’t going to be that sentimental. My thought was to prove to my boss that I went out on this date,” he muttered as he fiddled with his phone.

“Got it. Kaylan is not a romantic,” I teased as I stood beside him with an arm wrapped around his waist. The waterfall tumbled behind us while lush greenery framed the rest of the shot.

“Hey, now! I can be really fucking romantic when I want to be. I just didn’t want to make any assumptions.”

He lifted the phone to get us both in the shot. I rested my cheek against the side of his head and smiled while getting lost in Kaylan’s bright grin.

“What kind of assumptions?” I inquired after he finished snapping pictures and put his phone away.

“You know…assumptions about whether there will be a second date. Or a second kiss.”

“Or kisses that involve both of us being naked,” I suggested.

“That,” Kaylan said sharply, pointing one finger at me. “That right there is why I think you’re a very smart guy, and I want a second date with you.”

Chuckling, I tugged Kaylan off the bridge so we could continue through the rainforest display. There was still one more room to tackle, which would give me time to figure out how to sneak some more kisses or if I should hang all my hopes on a second date.

“So, Mr. Polyglot, how many languages do you speak?”

Kaylan flashed me a smirk as we climbed the curved marble stairs up to the main entrance of the conservatory. “Fluently? Eight.”

“You’re shitting me,” I scoffed.

He lifted one hand, counting them off on his fingers. “English, French, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, Mandarin, Japanese, and Korean. It was part of the reason I got my job. Sebastian’s executive assistant speaks French, German, Dutch, Hungarian, Polish, and Russian. Sebastian wanted someone to fill in the gaps. When he hired me, I spoke three, but expressed an interest in learning more. Sebastian said that he’d pay to have me professionally trained, and my salary would increase with each language I mastered.”

“That’s amazing.” I reached out and caught his hand, threading our fingers together again. The man with the wicked tongue grinned at me as we turned to the right and headed into the last room—the Fern Room. It was a smaller room with a pond in the center, while trees and a wide variety of ferns filled almost all the space. There was a little narrow path through the greenery for us to walk, and even here and there, we had to move some leaves aside.

“What exactly do you do for your job?”

“Are we giving up on listing our most unappealing qualities?” Kaylan taunted.

“They weren’t working for me. If that’s your worst, you’re never getting rid of me. I figured we should just get the boring stuff out of the way.”

Kaylan waggled his eyebrows at him. “Got plans for the fun stuff later?”

“Maybe…”

A low snicker escaped Kaylan as he continued to walk. “This is the boring stuff. My job is to do a lot of odd jobs, most of it talking. I talk to all the different departments and department heads, gathering reports and various bits of information. It’s also a lot of meeting prep work. And then there’s research. Sebastian will get this crazy idea, and I have to track down random things for his idea.”

“Sounds…unpredictable.”

Kalyan nodded as he took a picture of some koi swimming around a gray stone mermaid sculpture. “Some days, it’s definitely unpredictable, but there are a lot of days where I know what I’m in for. It’s a nice balance of routine and chaos.” He tucked his phone away and smiled at me, a couple of locks of brown hair falling in front of his eyes. “What about you? I know plenty of graphic designers from work. Do you do your own artwork on the side?”

I couldn’t fight the urge any longer. Reaching up, I brushed his hair away from where it was in danger of tangling with his long eyelashes. Since I was already taking liberties, I dragged the tips of my fingers along his cheek in a light caress that had Kaylan tipping his head up like a cat seeking affection.

“I create digital art and doodles every once in a while. Not nearly as much as I would like. Since it’s my day job, I don’t feel like drawing in my spare time like I used to.”

“That sucks,” Kaylan mumbled.

One shoulder lifted in a weak shrug. “I enjoy my job, so I don’t mind much. There are plenty of other things, such as hours of anime watching, to keep me occupied.”

I continued on the path to leave the room, but Kaylan caught my elbow, holding me back. The spot we were standing in was heavy with thick leaves crowding close on all sides. It was easy to believe that we were alone in a tropical forest with only a soft trickle of water and hidden animals watching us.

“I’m sorry about what happened with your ex at the bridge,” Kaylan apologized.

“What?” I whispered, completely confused. Was he apologizing because there was a chance Tim had cheated on me? I was over that bullshit. There was nothing between us any longer. Tim had Karl and right now, all my focus was on the frowning man at my side.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you without asking first. Something about Tim made me angry, and I just had to show him up. To prove that you were over him and so much better off without him in your life.” Kaylan’s adorable nose wrinkled. “One of my less-than-stellar traits—I can be impulsive.”

Pinching one of his coat lapels between my thumb and forefingers, I tugged Kaylan in close enough to bump his chest against mine. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. Maybe I was pissy at first, but you reminded me that I am over him and my life is better off without him.” I dropped my head so that my forehead pressed into his. “As a side note, I am so glad you kissed me. I’ve been wanting to kiss you since you confessed that your boss set you up on this date. I was afraid that you’d think I was too aggressive if I kissed you too soon.”

“That is very good to know.”

“Good.”

“This would also be a good time for you to kiss me to prove that you don’t mind me kissing you,” Kaylan teased.

I wanted to laugh, but I wasn’t stupid enough to pass up that oh-so-subtle hint. Tipping my mouth just right, I captured his plush lips in a deep kiss to leave him hungry for a hundred more kisses, just like this. Kaylan’s free hand landed on my chest and slid up, gripping my shoulder as if he wanted to get closer.

But that wasn’t possible. Not here.

This date needed another stop. A secluded, private one—like his place. Or mine.

CHAPTER FIVE

KAYLAN

The date I hadn’t wanted to happen was about to end, and that sucked.

We’d wandered through all the rooms of Krohn Conservatory. The only spot left was the tiny gift shop.

Before Arden could take a single step toward the exit, I darted into the gift shop that was loaded with pretty knickknacks and room for only two or three customers at a time. I had no intention of purchasing anything, but I panicked.

How did I keep this going?

The kisses we’d shared made it clear that Arden was interested. Should I ask him out for an early dinner? There weren’t any other romantic indoor spots to hit in Eden Park. If I suggested we wander the park in winter, we would freeze our butts off in a matter of minutes.

Movie? Clichéd.

Back to my place? He’d think I was moving too fast.

But where to go? I’d rather we go to my place or even his. We’d been interrupted enough by random people and ex-boyfriends. I wanted to talk to him alone.

Okay, I wanted to suck on his tongue and other body parts without the risk of being pulled apart.

“Perfect,” Arden announced as he closed his large hand around something. The man was already turning to the cash register before I could see what he’d found.

“What’s perfect?”

“It’s a surprise,” he answered over his shoulder.

I frowned at his back for a second and then looked at the display he’d been standing in front of, trying to figure out what he’d picked up. Flower bulbs, wind chimes, small blown-glass hummingbird feeders, and different handmade ornaments filled the shop. My eyes skimmed over the colorful items, all of it gorgeous, but nothing that struck me as “perfect.”

With no ideas coming to me, I completed a quick circuit through the rest of the store and made it to the cash register run by a white-haired woman as Arden accepted his receipt with one hand and placed his purchase into his pocket with the other. A smug smile graced his lips, and that only made me want to kiss it off his mouth.

“Ready to go?”

“Sure,” I agreed, even as my stomach knotted. Arden had distracted me with his impromptu purchase. Now we were leaving, and I didn’t know what to do next. Maybe it was best to end the date. We could exchange numbers. That way, I’d be able to ask him out after I’d concocted the perfect date. Yes, that was a better idea.

Before stepping up to the exit, I slipped on my heavy wool coat. It was time to leave the warm, moist air for bitter cold wind as winter fought to remind us it hadn’t loosened its grip on the city yet.

“Could you do me a favor?” Arden began as he settled his coat around his shoulders at the same time.

“What’s up?”

“Would you be willing to text me one of the selfies you took in front of the waterfall?”

I shot him a smirk. “You just want to get your number set up in my real phone.” I waved my actual phone at him while inwardly celebrating. This saved me from trying to figure out how to get his contact information off the phone my boss had purchased.

“It’s a two-birds-one-stone scenario,” he stated after giving me his phone number. “I get your adorable face for my phone, and I get your number so you can’t ghost me the second you walk out the door.”

With a snort, I bumped him with my shoulder even as I loaded a text with several selfies I’d taken. “Like I’d fucking do that.”

Gentle fingers grazed my cheek, and I looked up to find Arden smiling at me, both his light and dark eyes glittering in the conservatory’s glow. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“There. Sent. You’ll have to reply, so I know you got them,” I prodded.

Yes, Arden would reply, and I’d somehow use that to kickstart a new conversation that would lead to a date invitation. This was going to work.

The sexy man moved to stand in front of me and picked up my left coat lapel. I watched as his big hands pinned something to it. When he moved away, my breath caught in my throat.

A silver butterfly.

He’d gotten me a silver butterfly.

The craftsmanship was exquisite. It was barely larger than a silver dollar, but it was so detailed, it appeared as if it were poised to flap its wings and flutter from my coat.

But more than the fact that it was gorgeous, it was a silver butterfly.

Ghost King Hua Cheng had silver butterflies. Always beautiful, but sometimes deadly protectors he used to guard the one person who was most precious to him.

If Arden was Hua Cheng, did that make me his precious Dianxia?

“Just something to remember this day by. And me,” Arden said, his voice growing low and rough at the end.

“I love it. You’re right. It’s perfect,” I whispered, trying not to let my emotions turn me into a complete sap. But it couldn’t be helped. Arden had known me for an hour, maybe two, and he’d just handed me the absolute perfect gift.

Catching my hand in his, Arden gave me a little tug, pulling me toward the cold.

We both seemed to forget about it when we stepped outside to find that it was snowing, though. Tiny flakes drifted from the dark-gray sky, blanketing the grass and bushes in white. It must have just started because all but the edges of the sidewalks were clear of the snow.

“Wow. I forgot they were calling for a chance of snow today,” I laughed.

“Well, this throws a wrench into my wicked schemes,” Arden huffed.

My heart skipped around in my chest while I tried to keep my expression bland. “And what wicked schemes were those?”

Arden tightened his grip on my hand as we strolled past the conservatory that glowed against the deepening shadows. I huddled close just in case the wind stirred again. “I was going to see if you were interested in grabbing a somewhat early dinner with me.” He paused and tossed a glare at the heavens. “But with potential for the roads to turn bad, I don’t feel good about keeping you out.”

“Mmm…” I hummed. “Good point. Where do you live?”

“Hyde Park.”

I made a scoffing noise in the back of my throat. “Mr. Freelance Graphic Designer is doing very well for himself,” I teased. Hyde Park was a nice, older neighborhood.

Arden snorted and tapped the tip of my nose. “It’s a small, old house, but yes, I do just fine.”

“Well, your house is closer than my place.” I turned and grabbed the front of his coat, gathering it close to protect him from the biting cold as we stood near the trunks of our respective cars. “I know a great pizza and grinders restaurant between here and Hyde Park⁠—”

“Are you talking Germantown?” Arden’s eyes lit up like I’d just told him Santa and the Easter Bunny were going to visit him tonight.

“Yes, I’m talking Germantown. You text me what you want and your address. I’ll call in an order and pick it up on the way to your house. We can eat hoagies and binge some TV rather than braving the roads in case it keeps snowing.”

This earned me a hell of a kiss that I did not want to end. It was only when the snow hit the back of my neck that I called for an end to the kiss.

“Good plan,” Arden said. “This’ll give me time to clean up a little.”

I wanted to tease him about that too, but I couldn’t. My apartment was no better. Clothes covered various surfaces and dirty dishes filled the sink. Yes, going to his home was much easier.

Just before we parted, Arden’s fingers caressed the butterfly’s wings on my coat, causing my heart to flutter. There was such a pleased, slightly possessive smile on his lips. That pin would always be a reminder of an amazing first date at the Conservatory, and I hoped it would lead to a very good night.

Jumping into my car, I started it and hit the heater, cranking it as high as it would go. I shifted in my seat to pull my phone out of my pocket and grinned like a lunatic the second Arden’s order pinged through. It was nearly identical to my own. Steak hoagie with extra pizza sauce, cheese, pickles, and onions with an order of fries. Mine was without the onions, though.

Another text followed it with an address.

I didn’t recognize the street, but it would take two seconds to pop it into the GPS. No big deal.

I called Germantown and placed the order while waiting for my car to warm up and waved to Arden as he pulled out ahead of me. Let him have his head start. I’d be behind him by only ten or fifteen minutes.

As I ended the call with the restaurant, another call rang through.

From my boss.

My heart did a weird little skip at the sight of his name, and it wasn’t a pleasant one. Not that calls from Sebastian were bad. They just always contained work.

Please don’t call me back to work. Please don’t call me back to work.

“Hello, sir?”

“Kaylan! Excellent! I’m so glad I reached you. Are you okay?” Sebastian’s panicked voice filled the car.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I replied slowly. “Is everything okay with you? Do you need me to return to the office?” I winced, biting my bottom lip. Why the fuck did I say that?

“No! No! Everything is fine here. In fact, I’m sending people home. Don’t want them out in this snow.” His voice had returned to its normal light and breezy. “I was just talking to Byron, telling him about how I set you up on a date for Valentine’s Day. He’s very upset with me.”

Kaylan dropped his face into his hand while resting his elbow on the car door. Oh, Lord. Only Sebastian’s assistant Byron had the power to make that man sound wounded. Sometimes it was hard to tell who was the assistant and who was the boss between the two of them.

“Anyway, Byron was telling me I put you in danger by setting you up with this complete stranger. Especially since we know nothing about this Cupid matching system. Hmm…I wonder if I could buy the company and take apart the software. There have got to be other applications for matching people up. If I just⁠—”

“Sir,” I interrupted. Sebastian could ramble on for hours when a new idea struck him, and I didn’t have hours. I needed to get moving soon, but I was afraid to start for Hyde Park until I knew what he wanted.

“Oh! Right! I’m just calling to make sure that you’re okay, and I didn’t inadvertently place you in the hands of a murderer.”

“No, sir. Arden is not a murderer or a rapist or some otherwise questionable personage threatening my body,” I answered.

“Excellent. That’s very good to hear.” There was a long pause that made my heart squeeze. Air rushed out of me as Sebastian continued, his voice softer and pitched higher. “So…how did the date go? Do you like him? Is he nice? Handsome? Funny? Does he appreciate how smart and efficient you are?”

I caught my laugh behind my teeth and converted it into a low chuckle. It was unlikely Arden appreciated my efficiency the way Sebastian did.

“Arden is very nice and handsome. We had a wonderful date at Krohn Conservatory. He’s a freelance graphic designer and has a great sense of humor. We share many of the same interests.”

“Yes! That’s great! Are you going to see him again? You should have asked him out for dinner! I know many great places. I can call and make you a reservation now.”

What he meant was that he’d shout for Byron and he would make the reservation, but I appreciated Sebastian’s support and enthusiasm all the same.

“Thank you, sir. Actually, I’m about to grab some takeout before heading to his place.”

“Oh, ho! Going to his place. That—” Sebastian broke off and there was another voice in the background that sounded like Byron. “Yes, yes. You’re quite right,” Sebastian murmured to Byron. “Kaylan, I’ll let you go so you can continue your date. Byron has asked that you text either me or him later this evening so that we know you are home safe.”

My heart stuttered. Sebastian could be flighty and impulsive, but he cared about his employees. I was damn lucky to have this job.

“Yes, sir. I will.”

“Have a wonderful night!” Sebastian crowed and ended the call.

Yes, it’s going to be a very wonderful night.

CHAPTER SIX

ARDEN

The house wasn’t a total wreck, thankfully. Not the cleanest, either.

After tossing my coat across the couch, I attacked the bedroom. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Kaylan was sending out “fuck me” vibes, and I didn’t want to let him down. That would be rude.

With the bedroom presentable—and maybe condoms and lube placed within easy reach—I tackled the rest of the house. I tossed dirty clothes into the laundry room, chucked dirty dishes into the dishwasher, and ran a rag over the most noticeable surfaces to get rid of the worst of the dust. I’d just given the main rooms a quick spritz of air freshener to remove any old stale odors the second the doorbell rang.

The air freshener was unnecessary. As soon as Kaylan stepped into the house, the delicious scent of pizza sauce and melted cheese wrapped around me. When I dipped my head to steal another kiss, I was blessed with the alluring woodsy scent of Kaylan’s cologne. That was the best combination.

“Hi,” I murmured against his neck.

He made a sound that was almost a giggle. “Feels like you’re happy to see me.”

“I am.”

“And that we haven’t seen each other in a long time.”

“We haven’t.” I kissed my way up his neck to just behind his ear, nuzzling and nibbling until that giggle turned into a breathless moan. The food smelled amazing, but Kaylan was the only thing I was craving.

“So…I was thinking,” Kaylan started, the brown paper bag in his hands crinkling as his fingers tightened on it.

“Thinking is overrated,” I muttered as I worked my way to his jaw with the intention of seizing his lips.

“That maybe we could stick the food in the oven and reheat it later, because you need to fuck me first.”

My head snapped up, and my mouth fell open. Definitely not what I was expecting him to say. “Wow! Your thinking is not overrated. I take that back.” I snatched the bag of food from his hands and hustled to the kitchen, where I put it on the burners. When we needed to refuel, I’d heat the oven and place the food on a cookie sheet. For now, the important thing was returning to the sexy man in my foyer.

On my return trip through the house, I grabbed Kaylan’s hand and nearly dragged him up the old, creaking stairs to the second floor. His laughter followed us along the way, bringing a smile to my lips.

But the laughter stopped as we reached the bedroom, and I kicked the door shut. He was all mine.

We came together in a rush of hard, desperate kisses and frantic, grabbing hands. I only realized he was still wearing his wool winter coat when I shoved it to the floor, along with his suit jacket.

Kaylan reached skin first, only because I’d shed a few things upon returning home. He swallowed down my groan as those questing fingers found my chest. I loved the tremble in those hands and the frantic need as he straddled one of my thighs, grinding his hard cock into me as if he couldn’t stop his body from demanding relief.

“Arden,” Kaylan gasped as I got the front of his pants open and shoved a hand into his briefs. Wrapping fingers around that hard cock, I stroked it roughly once before rubbing my thumb across the leaking head. “I…fuck…want…want you inside me…so bad.”

A smile formed on his puffy lips while I ran my hand over his dick. “That’s the only place I want to be.”

“Oh thank God,” he exhaled.

I was happy to top or bottom, but there was something about Kaylan that left me needing to fuck him until we were both sweaty and boneless lumps in the bed.

I seized Kaylan’s mouth again in another kiss that sapped all thought from my brain. Probably because there wasn’t enough blood up there to run it. The poor thing switched over to instinct mode as my cock commandeered all the blood in my body.

We tossed clothes about or dropped them onto the floor in a growing heap as we stumbled onto the bed. Hot skin rubbed together, creating the most intoxicating friction. I captured Kaylan’s wrists and pinned them to the pillows, but that didn’t stop him. He wrapped his legs around my waist and lifted his hips, rubbing his dick on any part of me he could.

“Fuck you’re hot,” he said, his hooded eyes running along my chest to my dick, which was more than happy to stand up and preen at being noticed.

“Likewise,” I grunted. I released one hand and ran it along his chest, pausing to pluck on one nipple until he hissed with pleasure. Then I continued my course to his flat stomach and the elegant dip inside of his hip bones. My eyes locked on his face as I caressed him, watching the flush rise in his cheeks and lips part on a fractured pant.

Kaylan whimpered and thrust upward into my hand. “I can’t believe I just met you today. I wasn’t planning to do this…”

“This probably doesn’t help, but I don’t think this is going to be the only time I fuck you.”

The sexy man’s eyes fluttered open to view me through little slits. I let go of his dick and slid my fingers lower to just brush against his hole that tightened at my light touch.

“Really?” Kaylan gasped.

“Really. I’m going to fuck you. After we eat, I think I’ll suck your cock while we sit on my couch. Then we’ll go to the bedroom again, but I’m going to fuck you on the stairs. You might even need to spend the night so I can wake you up by sliding my cock into that tight ass of yours.”

A slow smile spread across his lips as if he were the cat who ate the cream. “When do I get to suck your dick?”

“Maybe you can suck my dick while we shower together tomorrow morning before I send you off to work with a sore ass.”

Kaylan shifted his hips, pushing his body toward my probing fingers, but I wasn’t about to penetrate him. Not without lube. I wanted to screw him senseless, but nothing in this world could make me risk hurting him.

“Yes.” Kaylan sighed.

“Yes?”

“Yes, to all of that.” With his free hand, he crooked his finger and waggled it, beckoning me up to his lips. I captured them in a deep kiss, tangling our tongues together and getting lost in the taste of him. Kaylan broke off the kiss to press a small one to the corner of my mouth. “After that fuck fest, can we maybe discuss a second date?”

“I love this plan.”

“Good. Then fuck me, Arden. Fuck me until I can’t walk.”

I didn’t need to be told again. Lifting enough to break off any more kisses, I fumbled in the nightstand drawer, finally coming up with a condom and the lube. The silver packet sat to the side for now while I worked on getting the lube on my fingers and deep in Kaylan’s ass.

The devil moaned and writhed, fucking himself on my fingers as I stretched his hole. Any hope of taking this slow was thrown out the window almost immediately. His body was hot and tight, pulling me in as if it were the one place in the world that I belonged. After only a few minutes, Kaylan was begging for me to slide inside and I couldn’t fight him.

Pausing only long enough to slip on the condom, I grinned to see Kaylan pop up and flip over to his hands and knees.

He flashed an evil look over his shoulder and wiggled that pert ass. “I want you as deep as you can get.”

Not a problem.

Gripping the base of my cock, I brushed the head against his slick, stretched hole, just barely keeping from plunging into his willing body. I eased into him, inch by excruciating inch. The grip of his muscles and tight channel made my fucking toes curl. I squeezed my eyes shut to stop myself from losing it. The sight of my cock disappearing inside of him was eating away at my self-control.

Kaylan was no help at all. Each desperate little whimper and moan quickened my heart. Sweat glistened across his pale back, begging me to lick it away. Only when I was fully seated inside of him did I dare to lean down and press small kisses up each knob of his spine.

“Okay?” I panted. Full sentences were beyond my grasp.

“Yes. God, yes. Move. Please move,” Kaylan begged. His fingers twisted in the pillowcase in front of him as he hung his head. All his muscles were tensed under pale golden skin that shone under the overhead light. So sexy. Everything about him was sexy.

And if I was lucky, we were going to spend many more evenings doing this, allowing me to explore every nook and cranny of his exquisite body.

As soon as I was sure I had a grip on the orgasm that wanted to break free, I moved.

That was my second mistake.

My first was believing I’d ever had a grip on my orgasm.

Kaylan groaned and met me thrust for thrust. While the sexy man under me might like to give off a respectable, reserved persona when he was out in public, that all fell away the moment my thick cock filled his ass. Each deep thrust into his tight body brought out a slew of filthy cries and demands. It was like every wall tumbled over and all his darkest desires fell from his lips.

I wanted to fulfill every one of them.

My grunts and Kaylan’s loud cries of pleasure accompanied the slap of sweaty flesh.

Just as I was reaching the edge of my control, Kaylan sneaked a hand under his body and started rubbing his dick, his arm moving frantically.

“Come for me,” I commanded between clenched teeth. “I want to fucking feel it. Come so hard you forget your damn name.” I sped up, pounding into his body even harder, my fingers digging into his ass. He was going to have finger-shaped bruises in the morning, and I was more than willing to kiss every one when they appeared.

“Arden!” Kaylan screamed, my name fracturing like glass in his throat. His entire body tensed, his muscles clamping on my cock so hard I could barely move. I fucked him through his orgasm, allowing mine to shove me off the same cliff as I filled the condom.

Gathering up the very last of my strength, I wrapped a shaking arm around Kaylan’s waist and took him with me as I collapsed onto my side on the bed so that I spooned him against my stomach. Still panting like I’d run the Boston Marathon, I tilted my head forward and nuzzled his sweaty hair.

“You good?”

“I…can’t…feel…”

“Can’t feel what?”

His body shook with a silent chuckle. “My anything.”

I huffed out a laugh and closed my eyes, losing myself for a moment to the feel of Kaylan in my arms, lying right against me. The size difference between us was only a few inches, but it was perfect. He fit my arms as if he were made for them, and I didn’t want him to leave them.

“You know, I think this is going down as my best first date ever,” Kaylan announced, sounding as if he’d caught his breath.

“We haven’t even had dinner and anime yet.”

A low, sated hum rose from Kaylan’s throat as he snuggled a bit closer. “Watch it. I might never leave.”

“This might surprise you, but that threat doesn’t scare me.”

Kaylan twisted in my arms enough to gaze over his shoulder at me. “Does this mean we’re going out on another date? You weren’t agreeing to a second date just so you could fuck me?”

A wide grin spread across my lips. “Definitely not. I would love to go out with you again.”

Sighing, Kaylan settled back on the pillow. “Me too. I hate to admit it, but my boss picked me a winner. Best date that never should have happened.”

Yes, it really was.

CHAPTER SEVEN

KAYLAN

Arden was true to his word.

After sex, there was food, anime, and a blowjob on the couch.

A quick glance out the window revealed that the snow was still falling. We could see the road clearly, but Arden declared it wasn’t safe for me to drive home and offered to share his bed with me. So generous.

Naturally, getting ready for bed meant being fucked on the stairs.

Just as we were settling in, I remembered I was supposed to text Sebastian and Byron that I was home safe.

Shit.

I was safe, but not home.

“I’ll be right back,” I muttered as I slid out of Arden’s cozy embrace and rolled over to pull my phone off the charger.

“What’s wrong?” Arden’s voice was growing groggy and low, as if he were half-asleep already.

“Nothing. I just need to text my boss. He wanted me to text when I got home safe.”

The sexy man stretched under the blankets and chuckled. “Gonna tell him you’re still stuck in my clutches?”

“I have to.”

Rolling toward me, Arden wrapped an arm about my waist and pulled me onto the bed before I could set a toe on his cold hardwood floor. “Stay. It’s just texting. The house is old and drafty. Stay where it’s warm.” His words grew more muffled as he pressed his face into my shoulder and gathered the blankets around me.

How the hell was I supposed to argue with that? I was a strong man, but I didn’t want to meet the person strong enough to walk away from a warm, cuddly lover and into a cool house.

I’m safe. Thank you for arranging for me to meet Arden.

I paused, still holding the message app open to make sure that it properly sent to both Sebastian and Byron. There was no way my boss was watching for my text, but Byron was always on top of everything. I half expected to see a reply from him.

Two seconds passed and the three dots appeared, indicating that someone was typing.

Safe as in home? Or safe as in you’re still wrapped up in Arden’s arms?

“Holy shit!” I lurched upright and couldn’t stop myself from looking around the room. Did Sebastian have a camera in here? Had he been able to hack my phone?

“What’s wrong?” Arden asked. He sat up next to me, his arm tightening as if preparing to protect me from an invisible intruder.

“Look what my boss sent!” I turned the screen toward him so he could read the message.

A loud bark of laughter erupted from his throat, and he fell onto the mound of pillows built against the headboard. “He knows you damn well.” Arden shifted in the bed, lying down and pulling the thick blankets up to his chin.

“Apparently so,” I mumbled as I typed out a response.

Safe as in I’m staying the night with Arden. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.

The dots instantly reappeared.

It’s snowing. I don’t like the idea of you on the road tomorrow. Remain at Arden’s for your own well-being.

Sir, the snow has stopped. The roads are clear, I pointed out.

See you on Monday! he replied, in what felt like a cheerful tone.

Tomorrow is Thursday.

The dots appeared again, but this time it was Byron who texted.

Take the hint. Enjoy the long weekend. We will see you on Monday.

“What the fuck…” I whispered, which earned me a kiss on my shoulder.

“Everything okay?”

“Um…change of plans for me.”

“Yeah?”

I set the phone back on the nightstand and burrowed down under the blankets while turning toward Arden. The man was so toasty warm and I loved the feel of his arms around me. I was never a big cuddler, but it was hard to turn away from it when Arden was built for cuddling.

“My boss is worried about the snow on the road.”

Arden snorted and pressed a kiss to my hair. “There is no snow on the road.”

“True, but all the same, he’s given me the next two days off work so that I can stay safe. Any chance you want to have our second date tomorrow?”

The big man sharing the bed with me pulled me in even closer so he could bury his face in my neck, teasing a giggling yelp out of me as the new growth of whiskers on his cheeks tickled. “Yes, I do. But only after I send your boss a giant bouquet of roses and the most expensive bottle of whiskey I can afford.”

“I’ll chip in. I owe him big for this date.”

“We both do.”

I almost hadn’t shown up for this silly date. Thank God I had. Whether it was by chance or science or even fate, I’d fallen into the arms of the most amazing man I’d ever met. And I wasn’t about to let him go anytime soon.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

JOCELYNN DRAKE

New York Times Bestselling author Jocelynn Drake loves a good story, whether she is reading it or writing one of her own. Over the years, her stories have allowed her to explore space, talk to dragons, dodge bullets with assassins, hang with vampires, and fall in love again and again.

Connect with Jocelynn

Website: http://jocelynndrake.com

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THE SHAPE OF THE HEART’S DESIRE

K.C. WELLS

CHAPTER ONE

Ethan reread the advertisement again.

Your romantic future is about to get even brighter thanks to CUPID, the Compatible-Unit Partnering Intelligence Databot, which pairs H2H’s enormous database with the most accurate compatibility-detection technology ever created. Many users say CUPID knows what they need in a partner even better than they do!

He didn’t have a lot of faith in technology, but doing it his way hadn’t worked during the last God knew how many years, so maybe it was time to trust the bots. What gave him pause was the choice.

Do I go for chat or blind date?

The former option might provide the opportunity to pull out if he wasn’t convinced this would work, whereas the latter…

Am I really going to trust CUPID?

He went with his gut and clicked on blind date.

Up popped a message on his phone screen.

Okay, you’re done. CUPID will send you all the details in a notification. Enjoy your date!

All he could do was wait—and wonder what the app had in store for him.

Ethan stared at his phone in disbelief.

You have got to be kidding me.

The date was all arranged, the time, the location… It was that last part that surprised the hell out of him.

A pottery class?

He knew where the community arts centre was. He passed it every day on his morning stroll. The notification said a place had been reserved for him at 10:00 on Saturday morning, and that he’d know his date by the rainbow heart he’d be wearing, something Ethan would also need to wear.

A pottery class?

Ethan had never made one single thing out of clay, not even in school, so maybe CUPID’s wires had got crossed at some point. He’d never even considered doing such a thing. It felt like the kind of activity one of his exes would have suggested, something to “bring him out of himself”.

I went with this stupid app in the first place to avoid that.

Maybe the app was responding to his date’s preferences. That had to be it. Because it wasn’t one of Ethan’s.

So it’s already found someone who matches me?

The two days between then and Saturday suddenly seemed so long. Too long. Plenty of time to second-guess his decision, to arrive at the conclusion that this was a bad idea in the history of bad ideas.

I could cancel. I can still change my mind.

Ethan glanced at his surroundings. His desk was tidy, the only items on its surface a laptop, monitor, a jar of pens and pencils, and a notebook. The shelves of his many bookcases were free from dust. The rug was spotless.

It was the same view, day in, day out.

Ethan loved what he did for a living, but he knew his characters had a much better life than he did. For one thing, their sex lives were way more interesting. He’d been living vicariously through them for longer than he cared to remember.

A new experience wouldn’t hurt, would it?

His life consisted of his office, his grocery shopping, and his walks around the neighbourhood. Right then his life reflected the typical English village he lived in—quiet, with nothing going on.

Except that wasn’t true. He guessed a whole lot was going on behind closed doors.

Just not his.

Sod it. I’m not backing out now. Roll on Saturday.

Saturday

It had taken him an hour to decide what to wear, another hour vacillating about his choice, and still another while he stared at the clock on the wall, wondering what the hell Time was playing at, because it seemed to be on a go-slow, but at last he was there, heart pounding, palms damp⁠—

And no idea what—or who—was waiting for him around the corner.

Ethan hadn’t suffered this much from nervousness since his first day of teaching, and that had been how many years ago?

Fourteen. And three years since he’d walked out of a high school and into a new career that didn’t send a chill trickling through him every Sunday night when he knew Monday morning loomed.

He didn’t miss that.

Ethan walked into the community arts centre, followed the signs for Pottery, pushed open the wooden door, and⁠—

Oh dear God. Now what?

The room was light and sunny, and at one end were several tables set up with pottery wheels and stools. All but one stool was occupied, so he surmised that was his. The shelves were filled with pots and mugs of all shapes and sizes, and a few other objects that left him guessing as to their purpose—if they even had one.

What stopped him dead in his tracks were the rainbow hearts.

They were everywhere.

One middle-aged guy wore a T-shirt on which were two hands forming a heart, the space between them filled with rainbow colours. A woman wore a dress covered in rainbow hearts, but if she was his date, CUPID had really malfunctioned. Another guy wore a Snoopy T-shirt with a heart on it.

What is this? National Wear a Rainbow Heart Day?

Then he peered at the guy in the corner, not that anyone could miss him. He was maybe in his mid-twenties, dressed from head to toe in black, his long black hair tied back. His eyeliner was black too, not to mention the sooty black covering his eyelids, sweeping up toward the outer corner of his eyebrows. Ethan couldn’t miss the boots either. They were long with tiny heels he could never imagine walking on in a million years.

Pinned to the lapel of his long overcoat was a small rainbow heart.

You have got to be kidding.

Their gazes met, and for a moment, Ethan felt certain he’d witnessed a flicker of recognition. Then he realized the guy had spotted the matching heart he wore.

First pottery, now a goth?

This was not going to work. Not that he had anything against the guy’s make-up or choice of clothing—each to his own, right? —but he couldn’t imagine they’d have anything in common.

Especially pottery.

The guy stood, and Ethan realized just how long those slim legs were. He walked toward Ethan, smirking, his tiny heels tapping on the wooden floorboards.

“Someone’s having a laugh. First pottery, now—you?” His voice was softer than Ethan had expected.

Ethan matched his smirk. “I was about to say the same thing.” He held his hand out. “Ethan Calder.”

The guy took it. “Paisley bLu. That’s small b, capital L, small u.”

Ethan gaped, but schooled his features. “That’s really your name?”

Paisley shrugged. “I chose it. Way better than the one my parents gave me.”

Ethan gestured to the room. “So you’re interested in pottery?”

That superior eye-roll said plenty. “Not remotely.”

Yeah, the bot had thrown a hissy fit.

Paisley cocked his head to one side. “Wanna call it off and say our goodbyes now?”

Lord, that was so tempting. He’d been about to utter the same words.

Then he recalled his office. His house. His life.

I said I’d give it a try, didn’t I?

“Wait a sec. Let’s not be hasty about this.”

Paisley blinked.

“We gave a lot of information when we signed up for this app, right?”

“Sure.”

Ethan nodded. “Then its little algorithms must have put us together for a reason.”

“Or else it was having an off day,” Paisley suggested.

Ethan studied him. He had a nice face, and even with the severe make-up, it seemed a kind face. He’d know more when—if—Paisley actually smiled, but…

“You’re not curious?”

Another blink. “You are?”

A woman in jeans and a shirt approached them. “Ethan? You’re here for the class, right? I’m Vania. I’ll be teaching it. We’ll be starting shortly. You’ll find an apron on your stool.” She smiled. “Don’t worry. This is meant to be fun.” Then she walked away.

It was Make Your Mind Up time.

Ethan glanced at Paisley. “It’s an hour out of our day. Want to give it a try?”

Paisley’s smile transformed his face, and Ethan had the weirdest feeling he knew that smile from somewhere.

“Only if she’ll let me make a really big dildo.”

Ethan laughed, and the sound was strange to his own ears.

When did I last laugh out loud at anything?

“Oh, I’d love to see that.”

This was shaping up better than he’d anticipated.

CHAPTER TWO

Paisley stood beside Vania as she cut off a slice of clay and weighed it. “Should be about two pounds,” she told him.

He wasn’t listening. He kept sneaking glances to where Ethan was busy fashioning his lump of clay into a rough ball shape.

Of all the people…

He’d spotted the little rainbow heart but that wasn’t what had set his heart thumping and his legs shaking.

No, that was the sight of Mr. Calder.

The odds against Paisley’s first crush walking into that class were huge. The fact he was Paisley’s blind date?

That pushed the odds from huge to astronomical.

A cough dragged him back into the present. Vania observed him, her eyes twinkling. “It won’t take itself over to your wheel. It needs a bit of help in that department.”

He glanced at the square of dark grey clay, picked it up, and went to his stool. Ethan brought his chin up and smiled.

“I suspect this was the easy part.”

Paisley looked at the smooth round ball and chuckled. “I think you’re right.” He sat, then copied Ethan, forming his clay into a rough ball. When he was done, he glanced at Ethan. “Now what?”

Ethan inclined his head toward the front where Vania stood.

Paisley tried to take everything in, but his thoughts weren’t focused. She was talking about slamming the clay down onto the middle of the wheel, and making sure it was centred. He did his best to copy her actions, but his clay lump was definitely not where it needed to be. Ethan, on the other hand, was experiencing more success. After his third try, Paisley let out a groan.

“Why can’t I get this right?”

Ethan stood and walked behind him. “Budge up a bit.” He squeezed himself onto the stool behind Paisley, reached around him, and removed his clay. “Here—like this.” He peered around Paisley and aimed the ball of clay.

Centred.

Paisley was aware of Ethan’s warmth pressed against his back, his arms around Paisley’s waist. He turned his head to gaze into dark brown eyes.

“You could’ve just… thrown it from the side, you know.”

Ethan smiled. “And where would be the fun in that?” Then he stood and returned to his own stool.

Paisley cleared his throat. “She told us to keep it moist, right?” He dipped his hands into the tub of water beside his wheel.

For some reason, the remark made Ethan laugh. He nodded.

Paisley arched his eyebrows. “Something I said?”

Ethan’s lips twitched. “I’m a writer. Some of my readers have… let’s say a thing for the word moist.”

“‘A thing’?”

Another nod. “They hate it. With a passion, I might add.”

He shrugged. “It’s a word. It fits.” He’s a writer now? What happened to teaching? Ethan’s class had always been Paisley’s favourite, mostly because Ethan was one of the few teachers to ignore his exterior and see the boy inside. Not that he’d shown a flicker of recognition since he’d walked into the pottery room.

Apparently, Paisley’s make-up was too good as camouflage.

From the front of the room, Vania raised her voice. “Are we ready?”

After the way his morning was shaping up? Paisley was ready for anything.

Vania explained how both hands needed to exert an equal amount of pressure, to both shape the sides and the top. It felt like the old trick of rubbing the stomach and patting the head at the same time, and it took Paisley maybe ten minutes until he began to get the hang of it. The process was a little frustrating, and his only consolation was that Ethan seemed to be experiencing the same difficulties.

“What are we supposed to be making again?” Paisley muttered.

Ethan smirked. “You weren’t listening to a word she said, were you? A pot. Then we come back next week and we paint it.”

He couldn’t rein in his pout. “With what? Pretty flowers? Birds?”

Ethan’s wry chuckle sent a shiver through him. “You could always paint it with little pink dildos. Or if you wanted to be more subtle, aubergines.”

He snorted. “Now you’re talking.” He concentrated on applying enough pressure to the exterior of the pot, his fingers shaping the interior. His project gave a wobble, and he hastened to correct it. “How’s yours coming along?”

“Don’t ask.”

Vania appeared behind them, and with a little patient instruction, his project began to resemble a pot. By the time the wheel stopped turning and he slid the wire under it to loosen it, Paisley was proud to note his creation looked just like everyone else’s.

Thank God.

“You know, this was relaxing,” Ethan commented as they washed their hands. “Seriously. I never would’ve believed it, but…” He smiled. “I might even take this up as a hobby.”

“Do you have many hobbies?”

Ethan chuckled, drying his hands on the towel provided. “Not a single one, so it’d be a good start.” His eyes met Paisley’s. “So… is there somewhere you have to be? Or will you join me for coffee? There’s a good little café just along the street.” He bit his lip. “Unless this is as far as you want to take things? If so, then just say the word.”

Paisley wasn’t about to let Ethan walk away now.

“Coffee sounds good.” His stomach growled, and his cheeks grew warm. “And maybe a bite to eat. I didn’t have breakfast.”

“Me neither. They do a great bacon sandwich.”

That settled it.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

They removed their aprons, thanked Vania for her class, and promised to return the following Saturday to paint their pots. It would be another week after that until the pots would be glazed and fired.

One date had become a drawn-out process, for which Paisley was thankful. Two more excuses to meet up with Ethan. But as they exited the centre, he realized he was only seeing things from his own perspective.

It took two to make a date.

What if the coffee is all we get? Will I get the chance to tell him?

And if he did, would he seize that chance?

Paisley glanced at the cosy coffee shop interior. It was a study in cream—the walls, curtains, even the floor were the same shade. But it did make the colourful mugs on the shelves stand out.

And I’m sure I stand out. The shop’s clientele comprised little old ladies in wool coats, a couple of men with their heads hidden behind newspapers, and one woman sitting with her back to the wall, focused on the laptop in front of her.

“Did you have to come a long way?” Ethan asked him.

Paisley shook his head. “Only a bus ride away. But I know the area. I grew up in the next village. I used to see the community arts centre every day when I cycled to school.”

Ethan blinked. “You… you went to school around here?”

“Yeah.” Except Paisley didn’t want to talk about that, not yet at any rate. “So… I have to ask. Why the app?”

Ethan’s eyebrows shot up, just like they used to do back when Paisley was sixteen and torturing himself with fantasies that couldn’t possibly come true. He hadn’t changed all that much since the last time Paisley had seen him eight years ago. He must be in his forties by now. There’d been no beard back then, and the little flecks of grey here and there held the promise of the stunning silver fox Ethan would undoubtedly become.

Whereas I look nothing like the fat kid in the second row of his English class. He’d worked hard to obliterate all traces of the person he’d been, so he wasn’t all that surprised Ethan hadn’t recognized him.

There were days when Paisley gazed at his reflection and didn’t recognize himself.

“Any reason why I shouldn’t use the app?”

Paisley blinked. “No, of course not. It’s just… well, there have to be a ton of guys out there who’d jump at the chance of a date with you.”

That lip twitch was all kinds of sexy.

“I’ve met—and dated—quite a few of them.”

“So what went wrong?” He regretted the question as soon as the words fell from his lips. “I’m sorry. None of my business.”

Ethan smiled. “It’s okay. And as for what went wrong? Me, apparently.”

Paisley doubted that. “What do you mean?”

He took a drink from his mug, then held it between his palms. “I don’t talk a lot. Never have done. I don’t go out a whole lot either. My idea of fun is not to go to a bar where the music is so loud conversation is not an option.” Ethan glanced at Paisley. “Which must sound like your kind of heaven.”

Paisley was done hiding.

“I expected better of you.”

Ethan’s brows knitted. “Excuse me?”

“Didn’t you always say not to judge a book by its cover?”

Ethan stared at him in silence for a moment. “Okay, that’s weird. Because before I switched careers, that was exactly what I used to tell my English students. How could you⁠—?”

Paisley returned his stare. Come on, Ethan. Open your eyes.

Then Ethan’s jaw dropped. “Ryan? Ryan Smith?”

Bingo.

CHAPTER THREE

Why didn’t I see it was him?

Except Ethan already knew the answer to that. Ryan Smith had been a big child—tall, with what looked like too much weight—and the slim man in the chair facing his didn’t resemble him in the slightest. Maybe it was that earnest gaze that had finally alerted Ethan.

The same gaze Ryan—Paisley—had trained on him whenever Ethan had read aloud to the class.

He smiled. “You know what I remember most about you?”

Paisley blinked. “Pretty sure I can guess.”

Ethan had no doubt what Paisley expected—a comment about his size—but that wasn’t what Ethan had in mind. “When you were in Year Seven, Friday’s English class was in the school library. Everyone had to choose a book and spend time reading it in silence.”

Paisley smiled. “That was my favourite lesson of the week.”

Ethan nodded. “In my mark book, I kept a note of what every student was reading. But in your case, the line of titles went over onto the next page, and the next… At one point I was fairly certain you were going to read every book in the library.”

He chuckled. “Not much change there. I swapped my library card for a Kindle, and there must be thousands of books on there.” Paisley took a bite from his sandwich, letting out an appreciative moan. “You were right. This is really good.”

Ethan snorted. “Well, it was, until you drowned it in ketchup.” He leaned back in his chair. “You must be twenty-four, twenty-five by now. What happened after high school? You left when you were sixteen, I remember that. Did you go to sixth-form college?” The local authority had closed down all the sixth forms in the area’s high schools and opened three colleges.

Paisley nodded.

“Was it a good experience?”

That bite on his lip told Ethan plenty.

“I’m sorry. Schools had no say in the decision, and I know from comments from staff who joined the colleges that it was a real mess the first couple of years.” His friend Mark who’d been head of Maths had remarked at the time that the education authority couldn’t organize a piss-up in a brewery.

Paisley’s shrug didn’t contradict Ethan’s statement. “I stuck it out for a year.”

“You didn’t finish your A-Levels?”

He shook his head. “There was… a lot going on in my life back then, and… well, it got in the way. I left home when I was seventeen.”

Ethan waited for more information, but when none was forthcoming, he decided to change the subject. “So what do you do now?”

Paisley smiled. “I work for a charity, the Albert Kennedy Trust. They help find homes and jobs for LGBTQ+ kids. I work in housing support.”

He beamed. “That sounds great.”

“Never mind me—what about you? When did you stop teaching? And why? You were one of the best teachers in that place.”

Ethan flushed. “Thank you for the compliment. I quit teaching three years ago. As for why…” He paused to take a bite of his sandwich. He wasn’t stupid. Paisley was changing the subject, but the last thing Ethan wanted was to upset him.

This is supposed to be a date, remember?

Except it had to be the strangest date ever.

“You don’t have to tell me.” Paisley finished his sandwich, then wiped his lips with his napkin.

“It’s okay. The truth is, teaching changed a lot in the eleven years of my career. I first noticed the changes after about five years. Up till then, each department chose its syllabus, how it would test, etc.” Ethan’s stomach clenched. “But suddenly, we were being told not only what to teach but how to teach it. Targets and testing became the watchwords. The school was told to introduce a system whereby on results day, teachers were given not only the results of their examination classes, but also how each student in those classes had fared in all their other subjects.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Let me try to explain. If a student did better for me than they did in all their other subjects—averaged, of course—then that was a positive. But if they did worse, that reflected badly on me. Why hadn’t they achieved a similar grade? Obviously it was down to my teaching.”

Paisley drank what was left of his coffee. “That’s awful. And worse for you because we had to do English, Maths, Science… Of course a kid was going to get higher grades in a subject they’d chosen to do, like music, art, history, drama…”

“Exactly. And things only got worse after that. I’d been teaching about ten years when I reached breaking point. By then I was the head of the English department, with so much stress it felt as if it were killing me. I went to my doctor and she wanted to sign me off on sick leave. It was tempting, believe me.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

Ethan sighed. “Except it felt as though I was admitting failure. But she also gave me some sound advice. She told me to break the cycle.”

“What did that mean?”

“She told me to do something different, something creative. Take up a sport, a new hobby… Anything positive.” He drained his mug and set it down on the table. “So… I sat down at my dining table one grim Saturday in February, and instead of doing my planning for the coming week, I outlined a novel I’d been toying with the idea of writing for about a year.”

Paisley grinned. “Aha.”

Ethan nodded. “Yes, that was where it started. When I was a kid, I used to write stories all the time. Then when I got into high school, that went on the back burner. I had to concentrate on my studies, my parents said. So the idea of getting back to what had always brought me joy? That was exciting. Every moment when I wasn’t in school, or working at home, I wrote. I couldn’t stop it. The words just poured out of me. And by the end of March, I had seventy-eight thousand words, and my first book.”

“But what kind of book? Fiction? Sci-fi? Dystopian? Come on, I need to know.” Paisley’s eyes twinkled.

Ethan laughed. “Get ready for a shock. None of those. It was a romance.”

He widened his eyes. “Seriously?”

“Worse than that. It was a gay romance.” He peered at Paisley. “It’s okay, you can laugh. Most people do when I tell them.” Not that he’d taken a lot of people into his confidence.

Paisley stilled. “Definitely not laughing here. Did you write under your real name?”

He let out a loud snort. “You’re kidding, right? Can you imagine the field day the head teacher would’ve had if he’d found out? No, I have a pseudonym, one which I didn’t share with a soul at that school.”

“Then there’s a strong possibility I’ve read your book,” Paisley remarked. “I read a lot of gay romance.”

Ethan didn’t know how to react to that. Then Paisley dug into the deep pocket of his long coat and removed a familiar flat black shape. He opened it before gazing expectantly at Ethan.

“Well? What’s your pseudonym? Because you know I have to look, right?” His eyes danced with amusement.

There was no going back now.

“Ethan Hope.” The chances of Paisley having read one of his books was slim. There were a ton of gay romance authors out there, and⁠—

“No way.” Paisley’s jaw dropped.

Apparently not that slim.

“You’ve read one of my titles?”

Paisley grinned once more. “No, Mr. Hope—I’ve read them all. Every last one of them.” He tapped on the Kindle’s screen, then held it up for Ethan to see. All twelve covers filled the page. “You’ve been busy during the last three years.”

Ethan had to laugh at that. “Believe me, my output is slow compared to some.”

Paisley waved his hand. “Yeah, so what if Taylor Whitmore puts out a book a month? Let her write books where all the characters seem exactly the same, but with the names changed. Your books… They…” He smiled. “They captivate me. When a new one downloads, I’m on it in a heartbeat, and I only put it down when I absolutely have to.” He shook his head. “I’m on a date with Ethan Hope. This is amazing.” He closed his Kindle. “So… you finished your first book. That was What the Heart Wants, wasn’t it?”

Ethan nodded, still dazed. “I sent it to a publisher. Not a big one, just a little company who published a lot of LGBTQ romance. I took advice from a writers’ forum I joined. They said don’t wait to hear, just get on and write another book. So I did. I’d just finished my second when I got news from the publishing company. A year after I’d written that outline, I’d written four books, two of which had been published. When the second reached #1 on Amazon’s Gay Romance chart, I had to make a decision. The deadline to hand in my notice was about two days away.”

Paisley’s breathing caught. “That must’ve been scary.”

He nodded. “I was giving up a stable income for something with a lot more risk involved. Then I thought about it. No more stress. No more working long into the night. No spending my weekends preparing for the coming week. No more targets.” Ethan smiled. “When I considered all the things I’d be walking away from, the decision wasn’t so scary after all. And I’ve never looked back.” Ethan laced his fingers on the table. “But enough about me. It’s time to discuss where we go from here.”

“We’ll meet next Saturday at the centre, right?”

Ethan arched his eyebrows. “And if I was to ask you on a date before then? A proper date, in a restaurant?”

Paisley stilled. “You want us to go on another date?”

The ground beneath him felt a little less solid. There was always the possibility that Paisley being Ethan’s ex-student might have changed the situation. “Only if that’s what you want.”

And there was that gorgeous smile again, banishing Ethan’s fears.

“I’d love to.”

Relief flooded through him.

“Anything I need to know about when booking us a table?”

Paisley chuckled. “I’m a regular little omnivore. Easy date.”

Ethan removed his phone from his pocket, tapped the screen, then handed it over. “Put your details in there, and I’ll text you when I’ve booked us somewhere. Any evenings to avoid, while I’m at it?”

“I work nine to five, so any night works for me.” He typed, his thumbs flying over the screen, then gave Ethan the phone. He reached into his inside pocket for his wallet, but Ethan held his hand up.

“This is on me.”

“As long as I can pay my share when we go to dinner.”

Ethan smiled. “Fine.” An impulse to place a light kiss on Paisley’s cheek overcame him, but he dismissed it.

He might not be into public displays of affection. Ethan wanted to tread carefully. Everything he’d experienced so far told him Paisley might be different.

He wanted to see where things led.

They stood, and Ethan went to the cash desk to pay. When he returned, they walked out of the café together.

Paisley glanced up the street. “I go this way.”

Ethan pointed in the opposite direction. “And I go that.” When Paisley didn’t move, that impulse rolled over him once more, but this time he caved. He leaned in and kissed Paisley’s cheek. “Thank you for a lovely morning,” he whispered.

Paisley expelled a breath. “I was beginning to think you were bothered by the whole teacher-student thing.”

“If I was reluctant to act, it was more a case that I thought you wouldn’t be into someone like me.”

Paisley’s face lit up. “When we meet for dinner, I’ll tell you just how long I’ve been into you.” Then he returned the kiss, and Ethan breathed in his scent, something that stirred his senses. “Can’t wait for our next date,” he murmured. Then he walked up the street, not looking back.

Ethan stared after him, his heartbeat racing.

And now I can’t wait either.

CHAPTER FOUR

Paisley had never been on a date like it. Ethan was setting the bar pretty high for anyone who followed him. Not that there had been many dates, and never in such a romantic location.

The Italian restaurant was cosy, with little nooks here and there, corner tables surrounded by deep red velvet curtains, candles flickering in votives, their dancing flames glinting on the wine glasses. The food had been sublime, the music unobtrusive, and their waiter discreet. As soon as Paisley finished his glass of wine, it was refilled.

By the time coffee arrived, he was feeling mellow and more relaxed than he’d been in—well, ever.

Ethan wore a black shirt with matching tie and black pants, and Paisley had a feeling that was meant to appear similar to his own choice of clothing. He didn’t often wear his leather pants, but it was a date, right? He wanted to look his best.

“Are you sure you don’t want to finish that?” Ethan gestured to the half-finished cheesecake in front of him.

Paisley chuckled. “You have it if you still have room.” He’d eaten all his starter and maybe two thirds of his main course, which was a lot compared to his usual diet.

“Didn’t you like it?”

Then he realized how it must have appeared.

“This is more food than I usually eat,” he explained. “Everything was delicious, but I don’t have a huge appetite these days.”

Ethan said nothing, but forked up a mouthful of cheesecake.

Paisley knew an elephant in the room when he saw one.

He finished his coffee, then took a drink from his water glass before leaning back into his comfortable chair. “I suppose you’ve noticed the main change in me since high school.”

Ethan’s eyes twinkled. “Yes. Although I have to admit, I really like the make-up.”

He laughed in appreciation of the light humorous touch. “It’s okay, you know. I can talk about it now. I couldn’t back then.” Another mouthful of water to ease his throat that tightened a little. He could talk about it, sure, but for some reason, Ethan made him nervous.

Paisley knew why. Ethan mattered. Ethan was important.

“I was huge, wasn’t I? You can be honest.”

“I wouldn’t dream of saying such a thing.” Ethan’s voice was low but warm.

“That’s because you’re a good person. But I can say it. I was the one in this skin, right?” He ran a finger down the stem of his wine glass. “I was a normal-sized kid until I was ten. That was when things started to change.”

Ethan frowned. “I remember you in Year Seven. You didn’t stand out—except for your voracious appetite for books.”

He nodded. “But with each year I put on more weight.”

“Was there a medical explanation for it?”

Paisley drank more water. “More a mental one, I think. I started getting… anxious, and the only way I could fight that was to eat. And as my anxieties grew, so did I. It just got worse and worse.” He scowled. “I thought I could make it go away, but…”

“I dread to think what could make a ten-year-old boy feel anxious.”

I could stop this now. Leave it here.

Except he knew he’d gone too far for that. There were precious few people in Paisley’s life who knew the whole story, and he wanted Ethan to be one of them. Because if this date was to be the first of many, he wanted Ethan to know what made Paisley bLu tick.

What had made him Paisley bLu in the first place.

“I guess it started with my dad.” His chest tightened.

Ethan’s eyes widened. “Oh dear God. He… he didn’t… hurt you, did he?”

Paisley knew what he was asking. He didn’t hesitate. He covered Ethan’s hand with his, lacing their fingers.

“Nothing like that, honest.” He paused, liking the feel of Ethan’s cool hand connected to his. “Can I ask you something?”

Ethan smiled. “You get to ask anything you like.” He lowered his gaze to their joined hands. “Especially if you keep doing that.”

Ethan likes physical contact. That was another tick on Paisley’s list.

“How old were you when you first knew you were gay?”

Ethan cocked his head to one side. “Sixteen, seventeen, maybe?”

Paisley nodded. “I was ten, and I knew, absolutely knew I was gay. So all these people who say kids can’t possibly know these things at that age? They’re talking out their arses. Because I did.” He swallowed hard. “But that was also the time when I discovered what my dad thought about gays. Probably still thinks about them, not that I’d know. I haven’t seen him since I was seventeen.”

Ethan winced, then tightened his fingers around Paisley’s.

He glanced at Ethan. “How did your parents react? Assuming you came out to them at some point.”

“I was one of the lucky ones.” Ethan studied his water glass. “My grandmother? Now that’s another story, but no, Mum and Dad supported me.” He smiled. “They’re still waiting for me to turn up on their doorstep with a boyfriend in tow. And they drop hints now and then about surrogacy and adoption.” He chuckled. “They already have grandchildren from my older sister Lily, but I guess they want more.” Ethan squeezed his hand. “But let’s get back to your story. To your dad.”

Just the thought of him was enough to make Paisley’s stomach clench.

“I tried to like girls, but that only made me anxious. I tried not to think about the boys I liked, but that also made me anxious. And it got worse. By the time I was sixteen, I was firmly in the closet and as big as a house.”

“You weren’t that big,” Ethan protested.

He shook his head. “I only know what I saw when I looked in the mirror. And then came college. It was…” He shivered. “Awful. So much pressure from Dad to do well, except he was more homophobic than ever. God, I hated being in the same room as him, having to breathe in that… toxicity.”

“What about your mum? Was she the same?”

He huffed. “She was about as much use as a chocolate teapot. She went along with whatever he said. I never knew if that was because she believed the same hateful things, or because she couldn’t stand up to him. All I knew was that she never said anything different. Anyway, the day after my seventeenth birthday, everything came to a head.” He shuddered. “I was standing in the bathroom, staring into the wall cabinet, looking at all the pills, the packet of razor blades…” His gaze met Ethan’s when he caught the hitch in Ethan’s breathing. “Yeah, it was that bad.” His stomach roiled at the memory. “But I couldn’t do it. So I went to bed. I lay there wide awake until maybe three in the morning. Then I got up, found the biggest bag I had, stuffed it with as many clothes as I could fit into it, and crept downstairs and out of the house.”

Another gentle squeeze of his hand. “You must have been scared.”

Paisley chuckled. “Terrified. I had enough money to buy a coach ticket to Manchester, and after that… I lived on the streets, sleeping in shop doorways until I was moved on, finding food where I could.” He gave a hard swallow. “I’m not proud of some of the things I did to earn money.”

He didn’t want to remember them, but now and then they emerged, breaking the surface, sending shivers through him, and leaving him with a sour taste in his mouth.

Not the introduction to sex he’d dreamed of.

Ethan’s eyes glistened. “Oh you sweet man. My heart breaks for you just hearing all this.” He shifted closer around the curved padded seat.

Paisley leaned into him, drinking in the smell of him, his warmth, his comforting presence, the strong arm that curved around his shoulders.

What he really liked was the fact Ethan didn’t seem to give a damn who saw them.

Maybe CUPID was living up to its promise.

“I’d have gone on that way if it hadn’t been for the stranger who gave me a number to call.” He straightened, but Ethan didn’t move his arm. “I was always scared of sleeping rough. There were some real crazies out there. So when a guy stopped by my doorway, I was scared to death. Except he was okay. He scribbled down a number and told me to call it. He said it was a charity and I’d get help. So I did.”

Ethan’s face lit up. “That was the Albert Kennedy Trust, wasn’t it?”

Paisley nodded. “They found me a room with a gay couple, Joe and Eric. They were in their forties, and they had a guest room they kept for kids like me. Except I stayed with them for two years. Eric even gave me a job in his office.” He smiled. “You talked about breaking the cycle. I did that too. Once I’d stopped waiting for the shoe to drop, for them to say they’d changed their minds and I had to go…” He shook his head. “It just felt too good to be true. But eventually, I let myself relax. I told them I wanted to lose weight, and they were right behind me. Joe did a lot of research and then put together a diet for me. We went on long walks, Eric took me swimming, and they even enrolled me in their local gym.”

“I’m so glad you got them.”

“Me too. After two years I changed so much. When I was nineteen, they helped me get a job at AKT.” He smiled. “I was giving back what they’d given me.”

Ethan studied him. “So where does the present look come into the story?”

“Call it camouflage. I started wearing it when I moved in with Joe and Eric, and it felt good. It still feels good.” And it kept his secrets.

“It does suit you,” Ethan admitted. “It gives you this almost dangerous, sexy look.” He chuckled. “Which comes as a complete surprise to me, because it was never something I thought I’d be into.” He looked Paisley in the eye. “And just so you know? I think you’re amazing.” His face glowed in the candlelight.

Warmth surged through him. “I could say the same about you. It can’t have been easy, taking a big step out of your comfort zone.”

“So where do you live now?”

“I have a room in a shared house. We were all AKT kids—runaways, who’d left home because… well, we’d all been in similar circumstances. So the four of us are a kind of family. We all work for AKT too.”

“That sounds great.”

Paisley chuckled. “They wanted to know where I was going for my date, and I wouldn’t tell them. They’re all burning with curiosity because I don’t go on many dates.”

“Me neither.”

Paisley leaned against the padded back of the seat. “That still surprises the hell out of me, you know.” He grinned. “Are all the men around here blind?”

Ethan picked up his water glass and drained it. “I didn’t date when I was teaching. Living as close as I did to the school, there was always the possibility I’d be spotted by a student, and I wanted to keep my private life just that—private. Occasionally I’d go to London for a weekend to see a play or a show.” He bit his lip. “That created a few… opportunities. Then when I started writing, I became very insular. I like quiet. And virtually all the men I dated wanted to change that. To change me.”

“Why? There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Ethan smiled, lifted Paisley’s hand to his lips, and kissed it. “You’re sweet. And maybe I just had a run of bad luck when it came to dates. Because they all said the same thing. ‘You need to get your life into high gear.’ ‘You need bringing out of yourself.’ They wanted us to go to parties, bars…” He flushed. “One even suggested going to a sex party. Each to his own, okay? But me and sex parties? No.” Ethan pushed out a sigh. “Why do people do that? Get into a relationship and immediately try to change the other person?”

Paisley knew all about that, and he didn’t understand it either.

“And then you signed up for the app?”

He nodded. “There had to be someone out there who wanted a quiet man whose idea of a great evening was sitting on the couch, feet up, with a glass of wine and a good book or a film.”

“Sounds like heaven to me,” Paisley confessed.

“I clicked on blind date because I wanted to see what it threw my way.” Ethan’s eyes sparkled. “And it threw you.”

Paisley took his hand once more. “For the record, I don’t want to change a thing about you. And I understand you more than you can know.”

“Let me guess. Your dates wanted you to lose the goth look?”

“Not exactly. But that’s a story for another date.” And maybe more alcohol, because if he was going to spill his secret, he definitely needed a little Dutch courage.

“Speaking of which… What are you doing Friday night?”

Paisley beamed. “Going on another date with you, I hope.”

“Yes, but this one would be a little different. Dinner again—at my place.”

His heartbeat raced. “Is this where I ask if you’re a good cook?”

Ethan laughed. “Better not. But I can turn on the oven or the microwave, and I’m very good at reading cooking instructions on labels.”

“Well, I can cook—Joe taught me. So what if I cook for us at your place?”

That glow was so attractive. “You’re on.”

“I’ll shop for everything I need and bring it all with me.” Paisley was already going through his list of dishes, trying to decide which one would impress Ethan.

“I can’t wait.” Ethan paused. “And speaking of waiting… I haven’t forgotten, by the way.”

Paisley frowned. “Forgotten what?”

“I believe you said something about telling me exactly how long you’d been into me, I think was how you phrased it.” Ethan’s eyes gleamed. “I’ve been burning with curiosity ever since.”

“Oh. That.” His cheeks grew warm. “Well… I might have known I was gay from the age of ten, but my first real crush didn’t materialize until I was fifteen. There was this English teacher, you see…”

“Oh dear God.” Ethan swallowed. “And I had no idea. You hid it well.” He bit his lip. “Although I question your taste back then. Mr. Reynolds who taught PE? He was a stunner. Straight as an arrow, unfortunately. I was… ordinary compared to him.”

He met Ethan’s gaze. “I thought you were so sexy. You were intelligent, funny, with this deep, rich-as-cream voice. And you were different.”

“In what way?” Ethan flushed. “Not that I’m fishing for compliments here, but I’m intrigued. And flattered.”

“Most of my teachers weren’t good at hiding what they were thinking. I knew they looked at me and all they saw was a fat kid.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Maybe not, but it was how I felt at the time. But you…” Paisley smiled. “When you looked at me, it was as if you could see beyond the exterior. You saw me. You encouraged me. You praised me. And all of that felt genuine.”

Ethan squeezed his hand. “You were a wonderful student, one with so much potential. More than that, you were kind to others. I saw so many kids grow into loathsome bullies who only cared about themselves, but not you.”

He bit his lip. “I used to daydream about you, you know.”

Ethan blinked. “I’m not sure I should be listening to what a fifteen-year-old boy was fantasizing about.”

Paisley laughed. “Not that kind of fantasy. But I did wonder what it would be like to kiss you.”

“Then maybe it’s time I put you out of your misery. Seeing as this is officially our second date. The coffee shop didn’t count—it was part of our first.”

“I could go with that.” He held his breath as Ethan let go of his hand and cupped Paisley’s cheek, moving closer, closer, until their lips were almost touching and he could feel Ethan’s breath on his face. Then Ethan closed the gap and claimed his mouth in a tender kiss that made him warm all over and yearning for more.

Why not? This is a date, right?

He reached for Ethan, his hands cradling the back of Ethan’s head as he deepened their connection, stifling the groan threatening to escape when Ethan’s tongue sought entry and Paisley opened for him. He murmured into the kiss, holding Ethan steady while he returned the fervent embrace.

At last they parted, both staring at the other.

“Wow,” Ethan exclaimed in a low voice.

“Ditto.” Paisley wanted to dive right back into another kiss.

Someone cleared their throat. Their waiter stood there. “Is there anything else you gentlemen would like?”

Ethan coughed. “Just the bill, please.”

The waiter nodded and withdrew, smiling.

Paisley’s mind was still focused on that kiss. Then he realized Ethan was speaking.

“About Friday… You said you work till five?”

Paisley nodded. “I can shop for the ingredients during my lunch break. Then I’ll go home, grab a shower, and be with you as soon as I can grab a taxi.” He grinned. “Assuming you remember to send me your address.”

“I’ll do that now.” Ethan got his phone out. “There’s something else you can bring with you too,” he added, his gaze focused on the screen as he typed.

“And what’s that?”

Ethan glanced at him. “A toothbrush. Just in case.”

Warmth vied with ice for which of them was in control of Paisley’s body temperature.

“That’s if you want to,” Ethan added quickly.

Paisley wasn’t about to keep him on that hook.

“Oh, I want to, trust me. And in that case… you supply the wine.”

His heart pounded.

Don’t be like all the rest.

Don’t look at me as if I’ve grown a second head.

Accept me as I am.

Maybe Ethan would be different.

God, he hoped so. Because the way things were going, Paisley didn’t want to lose him.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Anyone wanting to take a shower in the next five minutes is going to have to wait,” Paisley hollered as he closed the front door behind him. He hurried into the kitchen to dump his shopping bags, placed those ingredients in the fridge that needed to be there, and then made a beeline for the stairs.

Cal leaned over the balustrade. “Where’s the fire?”

Paisley took the stairs two at a time. “Got a date. No time to talk.” He dashed into his room, stripped out of his work clothes, grabbed his robe, and headed for the bathroom, aiming for the fastest shower on record. While he washed his hair, he debated whether to wear it tied back or loose that evening. So far he’d gone with the former, but this was different.

This date had the potential to end up in Ethan’s bed, and the thought sent hot and cold racing through him. There was still the possibility that once Ethan learned about his… predilection, the evening would not go as Paisley wanted it, so he’d have to play it by ear.

Decision made re his hair, that left another to be made—clothing. Black was a no-brainer. It was the rest that required some thought.

He flipped the shower off, wrapped a towel around his hips, and sprinted across the landing to his room. He opened the bottom drawer of his chest of drawers and gazed at its contents.

He wanted to look good, but he wanted to feel good too, and he reached for his favourite garments. A knock at the door brought him to a halt.

“Getting dressed. Can it wait?”

“I wondered if you needed a hand,” Davinia asked.

He opened the door. “No, but you can come in.” It wasn’t anything she hadn’t already seen. Davinia was like his sister, and he loved her girlfriend Frankie to bits.

She came into the room and went straight to the bed where he’d laid out his choice for the date. “Oh, you like this guy, don’t you?”

“What gave it away?”

She stroked the nearest garment. “This.” She glanced at him. “And does he know?”

“Nope.” Paisley took a moment to breathe deeply. “But he will by the end of tonight.”

“You haven’t told me much about him.” Her eyes twinkled. “In fact, you haven’t told any of us. The rumour mill is working at full capacity. Curious minds want to know what you’re hiding.”

Paisley laughed. “I can imagine. Okay. His name’s Ethan, he has to be about fourteen years older than me, and he was one of my teachers in high school.”

Her eyes widened. “No shit. A teacher?” She bit her lip. “A teacher dating a goth? He must be pretty broadminded.” Another glance at his bed. “Well, I hope he is.”

“If he isn’t, then he can join all the others.”

Paisley was not about to change, and anyone who wanted him to could take a running jump off a cliff.

“So how did you meet him? Have you even seen him since you left high school?” She grinned. “And what was he like back then?”

Paisley grabbed his phone, clicked on the icon, and held it up for her to see.

Davinia blinked. “A dating app? That’s how you met?”

“The way my dates have been going, I figured I needed all the help I could get.” He shook his head. “But when he walked into that room, I didn’t believe it. And he’s even hotter than he was when he taught me.” Then he remembered he was on a tight schedule. “Okay, you’d better let me get ready. I’m cooking him dinner at his place.”

“The way to a man’s heart, don’t they say?” Davinia smiled. “I hope tonight is everything you hope it’ll be.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “And I want to hear all about it tomorrow.”

“You might get the expurgated version,” he said with a grin.

“Spoilsport.” Davinia left him to it.

Paisley stared at his clothes on the bed. The conversation with Davinia had brought one thing home to him with painful clarity.

He wanted Ethan in his life. Whether he’d get his heart’s desire remained to be seen.

He certainly chose the perfect pen name.

Hope was what Paisley was clinging to right then.

CHAPTER SIX

“Let me give you the tour,” Ethan said as Paisley handed him his long overcoat.

He chuckled. “Can it wait until I’ve got dinner in the oven? It’s already six-fifteen.” Ethan’s stomach growled, and he laughed. “Something obviously agrees with me.”

Ethan flushed. “Sure. Do you need any help? And what are you making?”

“Lemon chicken with roasted vegetables. The chicken part is fairly quick, but I need to get the veggies going.”

He led Paisley into the kitchen, pointing to the oven. “Tell me what temperature you need, and then I’ll help chop. Any fool can chop.”

Paisley gave instructions, and while he removed peppers, onions, courgettes and aubergines from a plastic bag, Ethan went to the fridge and took out the bottle of white wine he’d placed in there that morning.

“Would the chef like a glass?”

Paisley beamed. “He would love one. It’s been a long day, but a successful one. It always is when it results in more kids off the streets and into someplace safe.”

Ethan poured two glasses, then handed one to him. He held his up. “To another delightful date.” If it was anything like the previous two, he’d have no complaints.

“I can drink to that.” They clinked, and Paisley took a sip. “Oh, that’s delicious.” He put the glass down and scanned the worktops. “I need a large roasting tin.”

“Coming right up.” Ethan opened the top oven and handed him the gleaming stainless-steel tin. Paisley pulled the wooden chopping board to him and started to chop the aubergines and courgettes into thick chunks.

“You can slice the peppers,” he said. “Big pieces, please.” Paisley cocked his head to one side. “What’s the music?”

“Satie.” Ethan had chosen the piano pieces in the hope of creating a mellow atmosphere.

“I like it.” Paisley glanced at his surroundings. “This is an old house, isn’t it?”

“Victorian, I think. I’ve lived here about seven years. It’s an odd building, kind of tall and narrow, but I like it. And there’s even a basement.”

“It has a nice feel to it.” Paisley took a drink from his glass before sweeping the chunks of vegetables into the roasting dish. Then he chopped the red onions into chunks too. “We’ll give these about half an hour before I start the chicken.” He inclined his head toward the shopping bag. “I brought hummus to start with, along with cucumber, carrot and celery to dip.” He chuckled. “Ready-chopped. I cheated.”

“You’re forgiven.” Ethan felt relaxed for the first time that day. He’d awoken with a bout of nerves, and for the longest while that morning the words had danced on his screen. Getting any work done had been like squeezing blood from the proverbial stone, and by lunchtime he was beginning to think the whole day would be a creative wasteland. He’d occupied himself with cleaning the house from top to bottom, paying special attention to his bedroom.

Just in case.

A glance into his bedside drawer had sent him out of the house with a shopping list, and when he returned, he stowed his purchases, his heart hammering. It had been a while since he’d felt a rush of desire for someone, and their first kiss had held the promise of more to come. He wasn’t nervous about getting his clothes off—Ethan kept in shape with his walking and swimming, and he felt comfortable with the way he looked—but this was Paisley, younger than most of the guys he’d dated, and that added a frisson he hadn’t expected.

“Ethan.”

He blinked. Paisley was staring at him with an amused expression.

“The vegetables are in the oven. What about that tour?”

Ethan pulled himself together. “Sure. Step this way.”

Paisley threw him off-balance in a way no one had done in a long time, and he had to admit, part of him liked that.

The dishes were loaded in the dishwasher, and the last dregs of wine had yet to be drunk. More piano music played in the background. Paisley sat beside him on the couch, and all was right with Ethan’s world.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you can cook. That was delicious.” Fillets of chicken coated in almond flour, fried, then covered with a creamy piquant sauce adorned with thin slivers of lemon had accompanied the roasted vegetables, and for dessert Paisley had produced two little glass ramekins filled with crème brûlée, the perfect ending for the meal.

“Thanks. I found the recipe on a keto website a couple of years ago and tried it out. Everyone at my place loves it when I cook lemon chicken.”

“Keto?” He’d heard about the keto diet. “Is that the diet you said you followed?”

Paisley shook his head. “It was just a recipe that looked good. These days I tend to stick to a calorie limit.” He shrugged. “It works for me. Well, that and my swimming and cycling.”

Ethan regarded his outfit. The black shirt was open at the collar, revealing a silver chain lying snug around the base of his throat. He wore black jeans that clung to his slim legs.

What took Ethan’s breath away was his hair.

He wore it loose, and it fell in a glossy curtain over his shoulders, curling slightly where it rested against his chest. Ethan could imagine running his fingers through Paisley’s silken locks, imagined it trailing on his bare skin as Paisley rode him, bending low to kiss him…

Whoa there. Talk about running before you can walk.

He’d been dying to ask if Paisley had brought his toothbrush—along with anything else he might feel he needed—but his nerves had got the better of him again. One question had been on his mind since their dinner date, and there was no time like the present.

“You hinted I wasn’t the only one whose dates wanted to change something about them. Well, maybe you didn’t and I was just reading between the lines. But you said that was a story for another time.” Ethan stroked Paisley’s denim-clad thigh. “This feels like another time to me.”

Paisley studied him for a moment. He sat up, took his almost empty glass in hand and drank its contents, then settled back against the cushions. “None of them had a problem with the whole goth look. What bothered them was what lay beneath it.”

Ethan arched his eyebrows. “Are we talking metaphorically?”

A long breath shuddered out of him. “No, we are not.”

To Ethan’s surprise, Paisley got up from the couch and moved to stand in front of him. He began to unbutton his shirt, and Ethan’s heartbeat raced.

“Are we⁠—”

Paisley paused in his task to hold up a finger. “I need you to see something.” He resumed his unbuttoning.

Ethan’s imagination went into overdrive. Tattoos? Everyone has tattoos these days. Not that he’d ever succumbed to the impulse, and he might yet if he found an image he⁠—

Oh my God.

Paisley slipped the shirt from his shoulders, revealing the gorgeous shimmering satin corset encasing his torso. It was done in blue and pink brocade, with a pale blue ribbon tied over his sternum where the sweetheart neckline edged in ruffled pink satin ribbon swooped down to meet it. The lower edge lay hidden beneath the waistband of his jeans.

Ethan couldn’t breathe.

Paisley dropped his shirt to the floor, then stood still, his hands at his sides. The music came to an end, and the only sounds in the quiet room were their mingled breaths.

Ethan couldn’t let him suffer.

“That’s so beautiful.”

Paisley shuddered. “Really?”

He nodded, rising to his feet. “No word of a lie.” Ethan reached out to caress the satin, stroking his fingers down one of the panels. It was soft to the touch. “It feels as beautiful as it looks.” He placed his hands on Paisley’s waist. “To look at you clothed, no one would ever guess what lay beneath.”

“This is me,” Paisley said with a shrug. “It makes me feel good.” Ethan moved in for a kiss, but Paisley stopped him. “Wait.” He unfastened his jeans and shoved them over his hips, and Ethan forgot to breathe again. The lower edge of the corset was adorned with pretty blue satin bows, but beneath that was⁠—

Oh Lord.

Delicate see-through scalloped blue lace covered Paisley’s crotch, his dick visible through the pouch that barely contained it.

“Sweet Jesus,” Ethan said, his voice weak to his own ears. “I think my knees just gave way.”

Paisley shoved his jeans a little lower, then turned to reveal the back view. The bottom edge of the corset rested on the swell of his firm arse, and a wave of heat crashed over Ethan when he realized Paisley was wearing a thong.

Ethan had to touch. “Can I…?”

Paisley twisted to look at him, his face flushed. “Please.”

He caressed the smooth satin back, fingering the pale pink ribbons laced across the centre, tied in a long bow at Paisley’s waist. “Did someone help you get into this?”

“No, I did it myself.” Paisley chuckled. “It’s taken me a while to get the hang of it, though. This is my favourite.”

“You have more?”

“Three. There’s one in red and black brocade, another with green lace panels, and one in white satin.”

“Tell me I get to see you in those too.”

Paisley caught his breath. “If you want to.”

Oh, Ethan wanted. He slid his hands lower until his fingers met warm, soft skin, and Paisley shivered. “Turn around.”

Paisley did as instructed. Ethan stroked a single finger down the front seam of the lace thong, Paisley’s cock jerking to meet it.

“Do you like it?” Paisley’s voice quavered.

“More than I’d thought possible.”

“In that case…” Paisley removed his jeans until he stood there in his corset, thong and⁠—

Holy shit. Those slender legs were encased in sheer creamy stockings with lace tops that clung to his thighs.

“It’s a whole other you,” Ethan murmured, unable to stop touching the beautiful garments. Then he eased his fingers under the waistband of the lacy thong, lowering it to the floor. Paisley stepped out of it, his dick sprang up, rigid and long, and Ethan sank to his knees before it.

He glanced at Paisley who stared at him, mouth open, eyes wide.

Ethan smiled, then without a word he kissed the head of Paisley’s cock before taking him into his mouth, his hands on the silk-covered thighs, the warm globes of flesh, his head bobbing as he worked Paisley’s shaft with his lips and tongue, loving the shivers multiplying with each thrust of his dick into Ethan’s mouth, the moans of pleasure that intensified as Ethan pushed him closer to the edge.

“Ethan… s-soon.”

That was all Ethan needed to hear. His hands were full of Paisley’s arse, his fingers digging into the firm flesh as he sped up, Paisley’s cock sliding in and out, Paisley shaking, hips pumping, low cries falling from his lips as Ethan hollowed his cheeks.

That first taste of spunk forced a moan from Ethan’s lips. He swallowed every drop, holding onto Paisley, loving the sounds tumbling from him as he came. When Paisley’s tremors subsided, Ethan gave the head of his dick another kiss before standing. He enfolded Paisley in his arms, holding the satin-clad body against his skin, their lips locked as he shared the taste of Paisley’s cum.

Paisley clung to him, his breathing harsh. “Please, tell me there’s more.”

“God, I hope so.” Ethan pulled back to look him in the eye. “But maybe in a bed this time?”

Paisley’s smile lit up his face. He glanced at his corseted body. “Shall I take it off?”

“Not yet.”

He blinked. “Really?”

Ethan grinned. “Is it going to hamper your breathing if you leave it on?”

“That depends on how strenuous you intend being.”

Ethan took his hand. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

This has to be a dream.

Ethan led him up the stairs, Paisley’s feet bare on the carpet, still wearing the corset and stockings. He was still reeling from the unexpected blow job, but Ethan’s reaction to the lingerie had delivered more of a punch.

He likes it. Paisley hadn’t been on many dates, but he seemed to have had a run of bad luck when it came to choosing guys blessed with an open mind. Either they wanted him in quote “normal clothes”, or without the make-up, and definitely no sexy lingerie. He knew there were men somewhere who wore similar garments—there were several websites catering for guys just like him—but so far he had yet to run into one. He didn’t expect to find a boyfriend who had the same tastes. Right then he’d settle for one who thought he looked hot in satin and lace.

Like Ethan did.

A shiver of excitement trickled down his spine when Ethan pushed a door open and tugged him into the room. Seconds later he was in Ethan’s arms once more, their lips locked in kiss after kiss as Ethan propelled him backward toward the bed, both of them stumbling a little. Paisley’s thighs connected with the mattress and he fell back, taking Ethan with him, Ethan’s lips on his neck, his shoulders… Paisley wrapped his long legs around Ethan’s waist, holding him captive, pushing up with his hips, his own cock stiffening already.

Ethan noticed and chuckled. “Oh, to be in my twenties again, when all it took was a stiff breeze to get me hard.”

Paisley slid his hand between their bodies and found Ethan’s steel-like shaft pushing at his jeans. “Feels pretty hard to me.” He kissed Ethan on the mouth. “And I know exactly where I want it.” He met Ethan’s gaze. “If that’s okay with you.”

“More than okay.” Ethan sat up. “Can I… Can I untie the corset?”

Paisley’s response was to roll over and get up onto all fours. “Undo the bow in the middle. I can do the rest.”

It took a few minutes to remove the boned satin and lace corset, and he loved the way Ethan kissed every inch of flesh the garment had covered, skirting his rising dick to plant soft kisses on his thighs.

“Leave the stockings on,” Ethan murmured.

Paisley grinned. “I like that idea.” Then he stilled as Ethan removed his own clothing, revealing a lean torso, a chest covered in hair, bronzed nipples standing proud, and a thick patch of dark curls above his cock where he longed to bury his nose and breathe Ethan in.

Ethan looked him in the eye. “I hope you like what you see.”

“No complaints here. Except one.” Paisley grinned. “You’re too far away.”

“That’s because I’m not ready yet.” Ethan took a moment to open a drawer beside the bed, and Paisley’s heart pounded at the sight of condoms and lube. “Now I’m ready.”

“I’m curious,” Paisley blurted out. When Ethan gave him a quizzical glance, he smiled. “You write some of the hottest sex scenes I’ve ever read, but I have to know. Are they autobiographical?”

Ethan flushed. “I wish. I leave my characters free to do whatever they feel like in the bedroom, and consequently their sex lives are way better than mine.”

“Does it turn you on when you’re writing sex scenes?”

“God yes.”

Paisley got onto his knees and crawled over to where Ethan knelt. “Then make believe this is a scene in one of your books, and let yourself go.” Ethan’s cock was right there, and Paisley didn’t hesitate. He took Ethan deep, rejoicing at the feel of Ethan’s fingers running through his hair, the way he kept Paisley’s head steady while he thrust deep, Paisley working his own solid shaft, his hole contracting at the thought of impaling himself on Ethan’s dick.

Sucking and licking gave way to slick fingers that stretched him, readied him, and when Ethan guided the latex-covered head of his cock to Paisley’s hole, his stockinged legs resting against Ethan’s shoulders, a moan escaped him as Ethan entered him, warm and solid, filling him to the hilt.

“Wrap your legs around me again.”

Paisley complied, crossing his ankles.

Ethan covered him with his body, rocking slowly in and out, their foreheads touching, their breathing harsh and loud, their mingled groans of pleasure increasing with each thrust. Paisley couldn’t suppress the noises that fell from his lips. He clung to Ethan, digging his fingers into Ethan’s shoulders, his back, loving the way Ethan buried his face in Paisley’s hair. His hips bucked as he drove his cock all the way home, and Paisley begged him not to stop.

“Not stopping until you come,” Ethan promised breathlessly, spearing into him, his thrusts deep and fast. And when Paisley felt the glorious throb of Ethan’s cock inside him, it was enough to push him over the edge into another orgasm. He held onto Ethan, shaking, aware of the tremors coursing through him, the slickness of their bodies where skin met skin, Ethan’s dick still held prisoner.

Ethan kissed his forehead, his nose, his lips. “I seem to have smudged your make-up.”

Paisley chuckled. “It’s all coming off in the shower anyway.” He returned Ethan’s kiss. “Is your shower big enough for two?”

Ethan laughed. “Just about. As long as neither of us slips on the soap.” He kissed Paisley on the lips. “That was wonderful.”

“And seeing as I brought my toothbrush as instructed, we get to do it all over again before I leave in the morning.” Paisley held his breath as Ethan eased out of him. He waited while Ethan disposed of the condom, then snuggled up to him, sighing with contentment as Ethan stroked his hair.

“I don’t suppose you brought another corset with you?”

He chuckled. “Sorry. That’ll have to wait until another date.”

Ethan kissed his hair. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

A wave of joy crashed over him.

I didn’t believe it was possible to feel this happy.

The way things were shaping up, Paisley was starting to believe there was such a thing as a Happily Ever After.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Eight days later

Ethan unlocked his front door. “Coffee?”

“If that’s what’s on offer, but I’d really love some of your fabulous hot chocolate. It’s freezing out there.” Paisley kicked off his boots, placed them beside the door mat, then followed him into the kitchen and set the plastic bag down on the table. “Don’t you think we’ve been remarkably restrained?” He pulled the black beanie from his head and shook his hair free.

“Incredibly.” Ethan was momentarily distracted by the sight of Paisley tossing his hair back. He wore it loose and Ethan knew that was for him.

“Ethan.”

He blinked. “What?”

Paisley grinned. “Don’t you want to see our handiwork?”

Ethan flushed.

When they’d arrived at the community arts centre to collect their finished pots, Vania had been taking a class. A notice stuck to the door told everyone to find the box with their name on it. Since the previous Saturday, Vania had glazed and fired all the pots. Paisley had insisted they wait until they got back to Ethan’s house.

Paisley took off his long coat and laid it over the back of a chair. Ethan had grown accustomed to the sight of him without the eye make-up. The moment over a week ago when he’d emerged from Ethan’s bathroom, his long hair damp and his face clean, Ethan had realized one important truth: Paisley was a beautiful man inside and out. The fact he felt no need for camouflage around Ethan made his heart soar.

Paisley reached into the bag and removed the boxes. “Let’s take a look.” He pouted. “Still miffed that I didn’t get the chance to make a dildo. It was fun, though.” He opened the brown cardboard box and smiled. “Aw. It looks great.”

Ethan peered at the pot. “They came out really well.” He laughed. “I wonder what Vania thought when she saw all the aubergines. Not exactly subtle. What are you going to do with it?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” He peered at Ethan’s box. “Well, come on then. Let’s see yours.”

Ethan opened it and smiled. “It came out really well too.” The pot was white and covered in rainbow hearts.

Paisley chuckled. “And yours was exactly what I’d expect from a writer of gay romance.”

“Rainbows are very popular these days,” Ethan protested. “And you’re right. It was fun.” He put his pot down and took Paisley into his arms. “But not as much fun as the last two weeks have been.”

“Agreed.” Paisley grinned. “My housemates keep asking if I’ve moved out and not told them.”

“Hmm. Do you think that might be because you’ve spent more nights here than at home?” Ethan smiled. “Not that I’m complaining. You leave after breakfast, I write all day, and when I finish, you’re back for dinner.”

Paisley’s brow furrowed. “Too much? You would tell me if you wanted to⁠—”

Ethan stopped his words with a kiss. “I have loved every minute, and that’s the truth.” Paisley had slotted into his life with an ease he hadn’t believed possible. Okay, so it had only been two weeks since their initial date, but it was long enough for Ethan to hope the happiness that had filled those weeks would continue.

Was I lonely and never realized it?

All Ethan knew was that Paisley filled a hole in his life.

A Paisley-shaped hole.

Then he remembered he had a surprise for his man.

“I’ve got something to show you.” Ethan crooked his finger. “Come with me.”

“What about my hot chocolate?”

He chuckled. “That can wait.” He went into the hallway and opened the door under the stairs. He clicked on the lights. “Down here.”

Paisley gave an exaggerated shudder. “Should I be concerned? Who knows what lurks in your basement? I do watch horror films, you know.”

Ethan laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m not a secret axe murderer.” He descended the narrow steps, Paisley following.

“It’s lovely and warm down here,” he commented as Ethan reached the bottom step.

“I have a heater down here. This is where I do my laundry. Also, I didn’t want it to be too cold.”

“What are you planning on—” An intake of breath from behind him told Ethan Paisley had seen it. “When did you get that?”

“This week. I took some advice from Vania.” The potter’s wheel sat near the wall, a wide stool beside it.

“That’s quite a big step, isn’t it?”

Ethan nodded. “I found the class relaxing, and I’d like to continue taking classes.” He glanced at Paisley. “I’d like it even more if you came too.”

Paisley smiled. “It might take me a while to find my bearings and get the hang of the wheel, but yeah, I’d like that.”

“And if you think the wheel is a big step…” Ethan pointed to the metal cylinder in the corner, a wide flat handle across the top. “Vania also helped me find that. It’s a refurbished kiln, so it’s not as expensive as a brand new one, but Vania checked it out first.” The basement was the perfect spot with a large Belfast sink.

Paisley walked over to the wheel. “Have you tried it out yet?”

“No.” Ethan placed his hand on the small of Paisley’s back. “I was waiting for you. I hoped we might make something together.”

Paisley beamed. “A dildo!”

Ethan chuckled. “How did I know that’s what you’d say first?” He picked up a folded piece of paper and handed it over. Paisley opened it and burst out laughing. Ethan had written ‘No, Paisley, we are not making a dildo.’

“Let’s make something now,” Paisley blurted.

“What about your hot chocolate?”

“That can wait.” He scanned the basement. “Where’s the clay?”

Ethan pointed. “Over there, wrapped in plastic.”

“Great.” Paisley removed his sweater and unfastened his jeans.

“What are you doing?”

He chuckled. “When that app said our date was going to be a pottery class, I googled it. What came up was a clip on YouTube from some old film called Ghost. This couple was working with clay.” Paisley’s eyes sparkled. “It looked hot.”

Ethan frowned. “You want us to do this… naked?”

Paisley squirmed out of his jeans, his cock bobbing up, pointing toward Ethan as he closed the gap between them. “You know you want to,” he said in a coaxing voice, unbuttoning Ethan’s shirt and leaning in to kiss his chest.

Ethan’s dick responded.

“Okay. You need to stop that right this second, or we won’t be doing anything this morning but going back to bed.” Ethan aimed for a firm tone, but his voice cracked at the end.

Paisley sprang back, his shaft jerking, and held up his hands. “Then you take your clothes off.” He grinned. “The temperature down here is perfect. You couldn’t have planned it better.”

Ethan removed his clothes and folded them, laying them on one of the lower shelves. Paisley gestured to the stool and he sat while Paisley filled a large tub with water and set it down next to the wheel. Next, he unwrapped the clay and used a wire to slice a piece off, which he handed to Ethan.

“Shift forward a little.”

Ethan had a feeling he knew what was coming. Sure enough, Paisley sat on the stool behind him, his long legs caging Ethan’s, his chest warm against Ethan’s back.

“You know what to do. Shape the clay into a ball, then centre it.” Paisley’s lips brushed Ethan’s ear. “You were better at that than I was.”

Ethan moaned when Paisley kissed his neck. “That isn’t helping me to concentrate.”

“Too bad.” His hands were on Ethan’s thighs, and judging by the lump he felt tapping his arse, Paisley was getting harder.

He managed to centre the clay, then dipped his hands into the water. Paisley did the same, covering Ethan’s hands with his as Ethan began to shape the grey mass, exerting pressure to coax it into something resembling a phallus.

“I was going to make a vase,” Ethan remonstrated.

Paisley’s chuckle sent a shiver through him. “You already know what I’m making.” He shifted a little, and his cock smacked against Ethan’s arse. “Something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Hmm?” Ethan’s project wobbled, and he sighed. “This is not going to work.”

“So far I’ve bottomed, and before you say another word, that’s how I like it, but I need to know…” Paisley kissed his neck again, and Ethan couldn’t suppress his shudder of desire. “Do you ever…?”

Oh dear God. They were in the middle of November, but it seemed Christmas was coming early this year.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Then turn around.”

Ethan stopped the wheel, stood, and turned to face Paisley. He glanced at Paisley’s grey, slick hands and shook his head. “You are not getting clay on my cock, do you hear me?”

Paisley laughed. “Then wash your hands.” He peered at their surroundings. “Your basement is missing something vital.”

“And what’s that?” Ethan ran water over his hands, removing all traces of the clay before drying them on the towel hanging from a hook next to the sink.

“No lube. No condoms.”

Ethan coughed, reached up to a high shelf, and grabbed the aforementioned items, placing them next to the sink.

Paisley’s eyes widened. “You did plan this.”

He managed a shrug. “Maybe?”

Paisley washed his hands, dried them, then retook his seat on the stool. “Come here.”

Ethan stood in front of him, bending to kiss him on the lips. “Are we taking this upstairs?”

Paisley chuckled. “Not today.”

Ethan caught the muted click that told him what Paisley was doing, and a moment later, he spread his feet wide when Paisley slid a slick finger through his crack and over his hole. He groaned into the kiss as Paisley penetrated him, slowly, carefully, stretching him.

“You’ve topped before?”

Paisley looked him in the eye. “Oh yes.” He caught his breath. “You’re tight.”

Ethan shivered, gripping Paisley’s shoulders, his legs trembling a little as Paisley added another finger. “Kiss me?”

Their lips met, and Ethan lost himself in the kiss, a lingering connection that only served to send yet more heat surging through him. He groaned once more when Paisley removed his fingers. Paisley handed him the condom. Ethan’s hands shook as he unrolled the latex over Paisley’s rigid dick. Another squeeze of the lube, and Paisley grasped his shaft around its base.

“All aboard.”

Ethan chuckled. “It brings a whole new meaning to the term joy ride.” He straddled Paisley’s legs, holding onto his shoulder with one hand while he guided the head of Paisley’s cock to his hole. He sank onto it, letting it fill him, until it was buried inside his body. Ethan shuddered and looped his arms around Paisley’s neck, kissing him.

“Now ride me,” Paisley said against his lips.

Ethan used his legs for leverage, impaling himself over and over again, his chest slick with sweat, Paisley’s skin slippery beneath his fingers. Their breathing sounded loud in the quiet basement, and each low cry that fell from Paisley’s lips only fuelled Ethan’s desire to feel his cock throb within him. Paisley’s hands gripped his waist, helping him move, and Ethan kissed him with a fervour that left him breathless, his cock smacking Paisley’s belly, leaving a trail of pre-cum on his already damp skin.

“I’m close,” he murmured. He let go of Paisley’s shoulder and worked his dick, his breathing rapid.

Paisley nodded. “Me too.”

When he came, Ethan moaned as Paisley held him tight, drawing him down into a heated kiss. They clung to each other, and moments later Ethan knew Paisley had joined him. He stilled, relishing the pulse of Paisley’s cock.

Paisley leaned forward, his forehead pressed to Ethan’s chest. “Oh, we’re doing this again.”

Ethan chuckled, and Paisley’s sheathed dick slipped from his body. “When I get my breath back.” He tilted Paisley’s head toward his and kissed him. “I don’t think working together was such a good idea. I mean, in theory, yes, but you are way too distracting.”

“But now you have a scene for your next book.” Paisley’s eyes twinkled. “Hey. We could try out your ideas for sex scenes. You know, to make sure they work before you write them.”

“I seem to have managed so far,” Ethan said with a smile. He curved his hand around Paisley’s cheek. “Then again…” He closed in for another kiss.

“Did you want to get some writing done today?”

Ethan shook his head. “I’m taking a day off. Maybe a weekend. And I’m hoping I get to spend it with you.”

Paisley’s face glowed. “Now that’s a plan.”

Ethan stood. “Deal with the condom, then let’s have a shower.”

And a talk. There was something he needed to share, and he hoped he and Paisley were on the same page.

CHAPTER NINE

The fire spilled its heat into the cosy living room, and they sat on the couch under a warm throw, Paisley’s head resting on Ethan’s shoulder. Ethan had put on some piano music, and while Paisley had never been much into classical music, he had to admit this was growing on him.

He let out a sigh, and Ethan peered at him.

“Everything okay?”

“More than okay.” He tilted his head up to meet Ethan’s gaze. “It really doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“What doesn’t bother me?”

“The age difference.” When he’d told the rest of his housemates about Ethan, Cal had expressed concern about the age gap.

Ethan pulled Paisley to him. “It’s only fourteen years. So what? The way I see it, when I’m fifty, you’ll only be thirty-six.” He smiled. “You’ll keep me young.” He pressed his lips to Paisley’s forehead. “Think of all the fun I’ll have trying to keep up with you in bed.”

His words sank in, and Paisley stilled. “You’re… you’re planning on us still being together when you’re fifty?”

Ethan said nothing for a moment, and Paisley’s heartbeat quickened.

“There was something I wanted to tell you, and it seems this is the right time. I know we’ve only been doing this for two weeks, but…” Ethan took a deep breath. “Look… for me, it’s simple. The universe just opened up to show me what my heart needed—what it wanted.” He stroked Paisley’s cheek. “We fit. Don’t you agree?”

Paisley’s pulse quickened. “I do.” He gazed into Ethan’s eyes. “Does that mean you’re okay with the make-up, the goth look, the lingerie?”

Ethan beamed. “Why would I not be? They’re all a part of you, and I wouldn’t want to change that.” He stroked Paisley’s hair. “Let’s suppose one day you decided to give up the goth look, the make-up, and even stop wearing the lingerie. That wouldn’t change how I feel about you.” He brushed his lips against Paisley’s. “I fell for the man, not the trappings.” His eyes twinkled. “Although they are very appealing.”

Paisley didn’t fail to miss those magical words. I fell for the man. They were an echo of his own feelings.

He was growing to love Ethan more and more with each passing day.

“I don’t think for a second that it will be sunshine all the way from now,” Ethan continued, and Paisley was grateful for the touch of reality. “Life isn’t like that. But I do think that when you find someone who makes you feel good, who makes your heart happy, then you have to hold onto them for as long as you can.” Ethan kissed him on the lips. “And I intend holding onto you, Paisley bLu with a small b, capital L, small u.”

His heart pounded. “You get to call me Ryan.”

Ethan frowned. “I thought you didn’t like the name Ryan.”

“Correction. I didn’t like him. But I’m not him anymore.” He snuggled up to Ethan. “I invented Paisley bLu to find a way to be happy and accept myself—what shows on the outside and what hides underneath—but for the first time, I think I’m happy being Ryan too.”

“You know what makes me happy?”

He craned his neck to stare at Ethan. “What?”

Ethan’s smile was as warm as the throw that covered them.

“Knowing you’re mine.”

“I have the perfect response to that.” Paisley—Ryan—kissed him on the lips, then returned his smile. “And they lived happily ever after.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

K.C. WELLS

K.C. Wells lives on an island off the south coast of the UK, surrounded by natural beauty. She writes about men who love men, and can’t even contemplate a life that doesn’t include writing.

The rainbow rose tattoo on her back with the words 'Love is Love' and 'Love Wins' is her way of hoisting a flag. She plans to be writing about men in love - be it sweet or slow, hot or kinky - for a long while to come.

Connect with K.C.

Website: kcwellswrites.com

Newsletter sign up: eepurl.com/cNKHlT

Facebook reader group: K.C. Well’s Men In Love

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MEAT CUTE

KELLY FOX

BEFORE WE BEGIN

I loved working with the prompts provided to us by our Heart 2 Heart readers, and it allowed me to pair two characters for whom communication would be a challenge.

Rhys, our lovable rugby guy, has a stutter. While I’ve written the stutter as repeated sounds, I’ve also included the breathing and elongation (extending a sound until the throat relaxes enough to continue) that is taught to combat disfluency. You’ll notice a mid-word em dash (ca—t) in those instances.

Sev, our grumpy chef, is Deaf-slash-Hard of Hearing after a bout of meningitis. He’s working, unfortunately, with a faulty cochlear implant, and it’s left him a bit dickish. We also find that he hasn’t availed himself of the vibrant Deaf community or much of its language, which we see in his limited communication skills when his processor is off.

Let’s see how their blind date goes…

CHAPTER ONE

RHYS

“Oh, come on, Rhys, do it,” Tyler teased.

Tyler, my roommate, was the only person outside of my family who called me by my actual first name, a side effect of being a professional rugby player. Everyone else—teammates, coaches, the press—called me by my last name, Dawie.

Rugby was a popular enough sport in other parts of the world, but the Major League Rugby association in the States was still pretty small. Austin was their newest expansion team, and I’d been their first recruit because I’d led the Longhorn rugby team to the national championship two years ago.

If you’re wondering how a big, corn-fed Texas boy ended up with such an impossibly Welsh name, it’s because I was named after my grandfather.

Between my stuttering, my Texas accent, and the way my Welsh relatives sounded like they were gargling rocks while talking, language for me was basically always going to be a disaster.

“Alfie said it was a really damn good app and that it worked for him.”

“What you’re saying is that the one other gay man you know got very, very lucky on one of these horrid dating apps.”

“To be fair, I may be saying that, but I don’t think the app is horrid. Alfie said it’s created by queer people for queer people, so I don’t think it would be totally awful. For instance, if you say you want a serious relationship, you won’t get matched with some fuckboy who’s all like, ‘Send me nudes.’”

“Oh, is that in the marketing?” I asked, stripping off my T-shirt. “No fuckboys, guaranteed.”

“Dude, look at you. You’re one of those mountain men. One of those bears or whatever the gays like to call your type.”

I looked down at myself and sighed. Rugby practice had kicked my ass, and I was a hairy, sweaty mess. I’d showered in the locker room but got sweaty all over again on the drive home since the AC in my car was on the fritz. Again.

Professional rugby in American didn’t pay that much.

“Let’s ignore my belly for a moment. It looks like I have boobs.” I smacked my pecs for effect, and they fucking jiggled.

“I’m telling you—some guys are really into that.”

“Oh, is that according to, again, your one other gay friend?”

“Perhaps.”

“Great. Now, let’s say they don’t mind a little extra…”

“Cushion for the pushin’?” Tyler asked, thisclose to getting his teeth knocked out of his head.

Not really, though, because I couldn’t stand the thought of hurting someone outside of a rugby game. Hell, even in a game, I go out of my way to avoid hurting the smaller guys.

“That is such a… Never mind, Ty. Even if the guy’s okay with me physically, there’s the whole thing that happens when I get nervous.”

“Oh, you mean the stuttering? Do you even really do that anymore? I never hear you stuttering.”

“That’s because you’re like a brother to me, Ty. Of course I don’t stutter around you.”

“But didn’t you take, like, years of speech therapy? You said that you have all of these tricks for keeping it under control.”

I’d always complained to him that I hated it when I could tell someone wasn’t paying attention or if they were getting impatient with my stutter. Tyler was like family because he was the best fucking listener on the planet. Unfortunately, that also meant he remembered everything.

“Yes, but when I’m nervous—and I will be fucking nervous as hell on a first date—none of my tricks are going to work. The stutter is going to be out there for my date to see.”

Ty took one of my Gigantor mitts in both of his regular-sized hands and looked me in the eye.

“First of all, I think you’re worried about the wrong thing. Stuttering over a couple of words here and there doesn’t mean anything. The real problem is if your date is a dick about it. Then, boom. You already know he’s not the one. Sounds like a feature, not a bug.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Did you just call my stutter a feature? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I already know you’re not even that mad at me because—drumroll please—no stutter.”

“Fuck off,” I said, pulling him in for a noogie.

He pulled away and straightened his hair. “Put it in your bio, man. Say that you have a stutter. Anyone who’d judge you for that will swipe past you, and you’ll be none the wiser.”

I stuck out my chin and crossed my arms over my chest. Fuck, I needed another shower. Before that, though, I opened up the app and started adding my information.

“CUPID? What the hell is CUPID?” I asked, clicking on the link.

Ready to fall in love this Valentine’s Day? Time to meet CUPID!

Over the last five years, Heart2Heart has helped thousands of lonely hearts find their perfect match. Now, just in time for Valentine’s Day, we’ve taken matchmaking to the next level.

Your romantic future is about to get even brighter thanks to CUPID, the Compatible-Unit Partnering Intelligence Databot, which pairs H2H’s enormous database with the most accurate compatibility-detection technology ever created. Many users say CUPID knows what they need in a partner even better than they do!

Want to know what CUPID has in store for you? Click here to sign up.

Tyler, a systems analyst, took my phone and read through the ad.

“This is some advanced algorithm work,” he said, scrolling down the page. “Nice.”

“Give me that,” I said, snatching the phone from him.

“Look,” he said, pointing to a flashing button on the screen. “For a little extra, you can set up a blind date for Valentine’s Day. They’ll take the details from your account and the details from the other guy’s account and pull together the perfect Valentine’s date. Doesn’t hurt to give it a try.”

“I dunno. I still haven’t figured out the locker room yet,” I explained, glaring at the app. “Pretty sure they’d be okay with my sexuality, but until I come out, I’m a little wary of having someone recognize me. Considering I did at least one interview with every local news station…”

Tyler, who never could let me stay in a bad mood, patted my shoulder. “Rhys, you’re the best human being I’ve ever met. I’m mad that I’m not gay because if I could go gay for anyone, I would go gay for you.”

“Whatever. Lindsay would kick my ass.”

“Of course she would kick your ass. What I’m saying is… you deserve to be loved. To be fucking worshiped. Anyone who would treat you any less is so shitty that you shouldn’t even consider them. So, if this CUPID thing is supposed to be good at putting people together, maybe just be super honest in your profile. Put it all in there, and see what CUPID can do.”

“You do realize that you’re speaking about this technology like it’s a real person and not some sort of advanced programming, right?”

“True, and that’s probably what the machines want from us, but let’s just go with it for now, Rhys. We’re talking about your heart. And your dick.”

“Please never speak of my dick again.”

“Fine. But only if you go on a blind date next week for Valentine’s.”

I huff out a breath. “Fine.”

CHAPTER TWO

SEVERIN

I’d seen a lot of dumb ideas from dating apps, but this one might’ve taken the cake. Heart2Heart had a Valentine’s Day special with their new matching algorithm software, which had initially sounded as if it might be a cool idea. Now, though, I was parked at the Whole Foods in downtown Austin, feeling like a jackass.

To be fair, I was a professional chef, and one of the things I’d listed as a turn off was picky eaters. My turn ons included someone who enjoyed a good steak, so I was pretty sure the unfortunate location was my fault.

This was starting to feel like seven disasters in a trench coat pretending to be a date.

The first disaster, of course, was me deciding to be me. I loved punk rock, and I looked the part, with tons of black-and-gray tattoos, well-worn jeans, leather boots that’d seen better days, and the black Misfits T-shirt I’d had since high school.

Given the amount of time I spent in the kitchen, I kept my dark hair cropped close and my beard short. I liked to think I resembled a younger, more tattooed Colin Farrell, though that assessment may have involved a bit of delusion.

I’d have worn a button up and some nicer shoes, but it would’ve felt like a lie, and there’s no covering my neck and knuckle tattoos. Besides, I figured that if I wanted something more long-term—which, fuck me, I did—I was going to need to be myself from the beginning.

Then again, when I got out of my car, a mom pulled her children to the other side of the row. So, yeah. Disaster number two was probably fucking up the first impression.

On top of everything, I’d been nervous, so I was here fifteen minutes early. Pulling up the app, I found a message from Rhys. We hadn’t even been able to message each other until now, and it’d be just my luck if he cancelled.

Rhys: I am so, so sorry. There’s been an injury at rugby practice.

Rhys: Though, “injury at rugby practice” might be redundant.

Me: Shit. Are you hurt?

Rhys: No, it was one of the other guys. I’m team captain, though, and I need to make sure he’s okay before I take off.

Rhys: Probably going to be at least 20 minutes late. We can reschedule.

Me: Eh, I’ll just do some grocery shopping while I wait.

Rhys: Oh, sweet. Thank you. Looking forward to meeting you.

Me: Me too.

Disaster number three out of the way.

I may look like the prickliest guy on the planet, but I had one helluva soft spot for thick thighs and sweet guys. That’s assuming a lot since I had yet to get a picture of the man, but rugby thighs are absolutely a thing.

As I walked into Whole Foods, it hit me that I probably knew who I’d be meeting. I’d been too busy to go to a live game, but I’d been over the moon when I’d found out that Major League Rugby’s newest team had been formed in Austin. Even though they were an expansion team, they’d gelled quickly and won three of their four preseason games. Frankly, that one game was damn close and had been lost on a couple of bad calls.

I remembered because the captain of the Austin team was a monster of a guy, and his face had been stone when the ref made those calls. He’d looked like the meanest motherfucker on the planet and, hell, if this shit worked out between the two of us, we’d have people crossing the street right and left to get away from us.

That thought probably shouldn’t have made me smile, but it did.

After grabbing my basket, I finally took note of my surroundings, which included an overwhelming number of balloons and stands of red roses. Disaster number four was me realizing that today was Valentine’s Day.

I had not considered the timing. Of course the algorithm was going to set me up on Valentine’s—that’s literally what I’d paid for.

Honestly, I could’ve chosen my own date, time, and location, but I was, I dunno, trying to get into the spirit of things. There’d been a blind date option for not that much extra, so I’d hit it and let the computer spit out a pairing and a place to meet.

Brilliant, Sev.

Shit. Should I have brought some roses to this thing? At a minimum, I was starting to regret my faded Misfits tee. Walking toward the baking aisle, I pulled up the Heart2Heart email.

The fifth disaster had to be the name of the date. Or maybe it was that I was going on a date that could be named.

Severin, it’s time for your Meat Cute.

Find your match in the meat department of the downtown Austin Whole Foods. Your match’s first name is Rhys, and we think you’re going to be perfect for each other.

Since it was a blind date, the details were kept to a minimum to prevent either party from getting online and figuring out who their date was. We could cancel through the app, but direct messaging only opened up the hour prior to the date. By the time I’d completed my shopping, I’d decided, if he could be twenty—now thirty—minutes late, I could cheat and look him up with the info I’d gleaned from our messages.

Ten seconds later, and I had my answer.

Rhys Dawie, captain of the Austin Falcons. According to the stat page, he was six-four and a mouth-watering two hundred seventy-five pounds. And I’d been right—it was the stone-faced guy I’d envisioned. Jesus, he looked like he could kill me with his thumbs. As I was lusting over pictures of a sweaty Rhys running over other huge men, my hearing processor beeped.

Ah. Disaster number six, just as I was looking forward to this thing.

I’d been stuck with a cochlear implant after a bout of meningitis right as I was entering cooking school. I should’ve gotten two, but my insurance would only pay for one. It sucked, hardcore, but I’d eventually made it work.

“Se-Se-Severin?”

I’d just replaced the battery and knew I’d left the house with a full charge, so who knew what the fuck was going on.

“Se—verin?”

I mean, sure, I was glad to be able to hear and communicate with people more easily, but it wasn’t great. I for sure missed listening to music without the tinny, bad-robot sound of the implant. I’d started learning sign language, but between relearning how to process sound and starting Escoffier a year after I’d wanted to, I hadn’t really given it the focus it deserved.

I halted my pacing of the meat department, distracted by the biggest bone-in rib eye I’d ever seen. God, it was beautiful. I reached for it just as a large hand gripped my shoulder.

Not gonna lie, I may have screeched like a little girl. It was hard to tell, though, since my processor was not cooperating. I spun around, and a massive man with fluffy golden retriever hair, who looked like he’d been rolling around in the grass, stepped back.

Ah, hell. That was Rhys Dawie, alright.

“Se-Severin?”

I read my name off his lips, though there must’ve been something funny about the way he’d said it because his face was going red.

“I’m Rhys Dawie. S—orry about the rug-rugby gear. I didn’t wa—nt to be any later.”

Some of that cut out, but it didn’t matter because I already knew who he was.

“You’re Rhys, right?” I asked, and he nodded. “Am I pronouncing that correctly? Rhys as in Reese’s Pieces?”

He nodded, grimacing.

Fuck, I was probably yelling.

“Apologies if I’m being loud. My ear went off.”

“Wha-wha-what?”

God, it was so hard to understand what he was saying. I was terrible at lipreading, but I could usually pick out the easy words. I pulled my processor away from my ear, showed it to him, then reattached it.

“I have severe hearing loss, and my battery needs to be replaced.”

“Can you hear me now?”

I tilted my hand side to side. “A little. I’m having a hard time understanding you though.”

“Sor-sor-sor—” He stopped and took a deep breath. “So—orry, I stu—tter when I’m nervous.”

I laughed. “Well, this is a disaster. I can’t hear, and you can’t speak.”

Rhys took another step back. He was still in his rugby gear, and I’d been right about his thighs. The way he looked off to the side, though, clued me into the fact that… shit. I might’ve said the wrong thing.

In fact, I know I did.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t hear very well, and if you’ve got a stutter… I won’t be able to understand you until I get my batteries situated. I wasn’t making fun of you, I promise. Super promise.”

He nodded but still didn’t say anything. We stood there for a moment, completely awkward, and I let out a sigh. Probably a little more loudly than I should have.

“Tell you what, I think you’re a handsome guy, and if the tattoos haven’t scared you off, maybe we can reschedule our date.”

He made a pained expression, then looked around, carefully.

“Is something wrong? I can’t tell,” I said, looking around as well, though I didn’t know what for.

He made a quiet down gesture with his hands, which irritated me. I hadn’t waited an extra thirty minutes for this guy, just to be told to quiet down. I mean, I probably was still yelling, but he knew I wasn’t doing it on purpose.

My equipment died for real this time, and I cursed under my breath. Ripping the processor off my head, I shoved it in my pocket.

Fuck. Blessed silence. Well, not complete silence, but at least everything had been reduced to gentle background noise.

I pulled up my phone and opened up the Notes app.

Sorry, I can’t hear anything now. Maybe this isn’t the best match.

I shoved my phone into his hands, and he read the words quickly, knitting his eyebrows together. He typed out a response, his thick thumbs ridiculous on the delicate screen.

I’m not that well known, but I am the captain of Austin’s new rugby team, and you were yelling about us being on a date.

I took the phone back, read his words, and shook my head.

Are you in the closet? Is this some kind of an experiment for you?

He thinned his lips, shook his head, and turned to go. DAWIE was in big, bold letters across his back, accompanied by the number seven.

Shit. I probably could’ve been a little more discreet. I called after him, but he didn’t turn around.

“Wait. Are you pretending not to hear me? That’s rich.”

His shoulders tightened, but he kept walking. Yeah, I probably deserved that.

Looking at the massive steak in my hand, I went ahead and tossed it into the basket.

“Fuck it. I’m going to make this for myself.”

CHAPTER THREE

RHYS

“Well, that was an unmitigated disaster.”

I walked into our apartment and dropped next to Tyler on the couch.

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” he said, putting down his gaming controller.

“Oh really? What’s my pet peeve?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

“People who tailgate. Bad in cars, worse when standing at the grocery store.”

“True. There’s no reason for you to push your grocery cart into my ass. But that’s not my biggest pet peeve.”

“Oh.” He held up a finger. “People who don’t listen. And you hate it when people try to guess what you’re trying to say when you stutter.”

“Yep.”

“Oh my God. Did the guy do that?”

“Well, he didn’t try to rush my words, but I’m pretty sure that was because the batteries on his cochlear implant died.”

“He was Deaf?”

“Hard of hearing, I think?”

“That’s not really his fault, though, is it?”

“He knew he was going on a date and hadn’t bothered to, I don’t know, charge his battery? It went out right as I walked up to him. He made a joke about him not being able to hear and me not being able to speak, so…”

Tyler’s lip curled up in disgust.

“…yeah. He got mad when I asked him to be quiet about the date since I wasn’t out to my team, and he asked me if I was experimenting.”

“What a dickhead. What did you do?”

I laughed. “Walked away, which he didn’t like. Especially when I pretended not to hear him calling after me.”

Tyler snort-laughed. “That was pure poetry, my friend.”

I lifted a grass-stained shoulder. “To be fair, I do understand that he was frustrated. I was thirty minutes late.”

“That was because Jackson bent the shit out of his ankle, and you had to stay with him and the paramedics. You messaged him, though, right?”

“Yeah. Still… I think it was just one of those wrong place, wrong time sort of things.”

“Damn. Sorry, dude.”

“Worse, he’s a chef and had just picked out a massive bone-in rib eye. You should’ve seen it,” I said, approximating its size with my hands.

“You do love a good rib eye.” Tyler scratched his nose, sending me a look. “In the limited profile that he got from you, do you think yours mentioned that you liked steak?”

I nodded. “Pretty sure. The info I got on him came from the same section.”

“So, he was paying attention, but then his hearing went out, and he decided to go with a shitty joke.”

“Yep. Though… he did apologize about that part. Immediately. And he looked super frustrated with the hearing situation.”

“Was he at least hot?”

I let out a long whistle.

“That good, huh?”

“He had tattoos on his neck and down his hands.”

“Was he mean looking?”

“Super mean looking.”

“Okay, but which Anarchy guy did he look like? That Hunnam dude?”

“Actually, he looked more like… I dunno. A young Colin Farrell? Maybe slightly rougher around the edges.”

“Seriously?” Tyler whistled. “Damn, dude. That’s wet dream material right there.”

“Please never say the words ‘wet dream’ to me ever again.”

Tyler stuck out his tongue as I pulled up the app, intent on deleting it. Before I could, though, a notification popped up.

Did you complete your blind date? Tell us how it went.

I hit the Date Completed button, warming up to leave a sternly worded email, when another notification popped up.

Having completed your blind date, you now have access to your date’s full profile.

“Now they give me his profile,” I muttered.

“You should open it up and see if they knew what the hell they were talking about,” Tyler said, still spying on my screen.

“Clearly they didn’t, but sure.”

I tilted my screen away from Tyler’s nosy eyes and clicked on Severin’s profile icon to see what he had to say about himself. I started swiping through his pictures and… hoo, buddy.

“What?” Tyler said, yanking my screen toward him. “Oh, fuck.”

Oh, fuck was accurate. In the first pic, he was wearing a plain white T-shirt over tight jeans, perfectly setting off the tattoos crawling up his arms. The next picture was even better.

“Damn,” Tyler said, crowding me. “He makes Colin Farrell look like a tiny, overcooked noodle.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You know, Tyler, the point at which you find a shirtless man hot might be the point at which you should begin to examine your own sexuality.”

“Shut up,” he said, elbowing me. “Go to the next picture.”

Each picture was sexier than the last, and I was starting to feel self-conscious.

“Scroll down to his About Me section,” Tyler said, reaching over to scroll for me.

I batted away his hand and thumbed my way to the section. Hrn. I could see why the app thought we’d be such a good match. He loved big bears and thick thighs. More importantly, he was also looking for a serious relationship.

“The only thing he listed as a red flag was picky eaters because he loves cooking for his guy,” Tyler noted, touching his finger to the screen to scroll down a little farther.

Fuck.

I pushed Tyler’s hand away again and kept going through Severin’s profile.

“He’s got a whole paragraph on how he lost his hearing. Apparently, the cochlear implant journey has been a nightmare. Says here that he sometimes prefers the silence so he can think straight.”

Tyler shook his head. “It’s too bad that he was a dick to you.”

“It’s no excuse, but it sounds like he’s been really struggling with the technology. And I was thirty minutes late.”

“I’d also like to mention that you smell like a rugby player,” Tyler said, waving his hand in front of his nose. “If it’s true what they say about your other senses heightening when you lose one… you may have been sunk out of the gate.”

I snorted. “I don’t think that’s true. Either way, I think the universe is telling me to⁠—”

My assumption was interrupted by a notification on the app.

“It’s him!” Tyler shouted, hitting the blinking button on the screen.

I yanked the phone away from his meddling fingers and pulled up the messaging screen.

Severin: Hey.

“What are you going to do?” Tyler asked, angling to see for himself.

I looked at the blinking cursor for a moment.

“I can’t tell if I want to cuss him out or give him another chance.”

Tyler shrugged. “See if he apologizes. Sincerely. If so, it might not hurt to try for a redo in a better location.”

I scrolled back up to his pictures and decided that my friend had a point. I stood, sent Ty a half-assed salute, and started walking to my room.

“Wait! I have to see what happens.”

I rolled my eyes and let myself into my room, locking the door. Seconds later, the knob jiggled.

“I can’t believe you locked me out of your room!”

“Boundaries, Tyler!”

I could hear his frustrated huff through the door and laughed. I really did have the best roommate. Looking down at the phone, I decided to see what Severin was about.

Me: Hey

Severin: So… that was the worst first date ever, right?

Me: Might be.

The three dots bounced and stopped, then bounced and stopped again. Finally, his response came through.

Severin: Shit. I am so fucking sorry. I promise I’m usually nicer to hot rugby guys.

I bit back a grin.

Severin: Seriously, I was such an asshole. I’m sure your stutter sounds lovely. I just couldn’t hear anything you were saying. When I tried to read your lips, the stutter threw me off. No excuses, of course, just wanted to say again that it was me, not you.

My instincts told me to give him a chance, so I went with a light response.

Me: You can read lips? I should take you to a rugby game, and you can tell me what my opponents are saying.

Severin: I’m not near as cool as all that. Unless you’re saying something simple, I’m kind of terrible at it.

Severin: Don’t ask me about sign language, either. It’ll only embarrass me.

Hm.

Me: So, let me get this straight. You don’t keep up with the battery on your implant, haven’t learned the language, and you don’t know how to read lips. Something tells me you prefer to be left alone.

Severin: Fair assumptions. I have become a bit of a hermit since I lost my hearing. Pretty pathetic that I’m still mad after all these years, but it’s the truth.

Severin: Though, in my defense, that was a freshly charged battery, and it shouldn’t have died like that.

Me: Sounds frustrating as hell. Sorry for assuming otherwise.

Severin: I’m an asshole, but I’m not that big of an asshole.

Severin: Well, I take that back. Pretty sure I accused you of making our date an experiment which… cringe.

Me: I was wondering if you were going to apologize for that.

Severin: It’s not even like I’ve had bad experiences with people who were new to their sexuality. I’ve just known I was gay since I was eight and in love with my third-grade homeroom teacher.

Me: I’m super comfortable in my sexuality, but I’m not used to having this number of eyes on me. I don’t know my team well enough to know how to approach it, so I was just being cautious until I had more information.

Severin: Meanwhile, I was totally yelling, wasn’t I?

Me: <cry-laugh emoji> So. Loud. I was jealous of your deafness for half a second there.

Severin: Is it weird that at the end of the day I can’t wait to take off my ear and just enjoy the silence?

Me: You take off your ear?

Severin: That’s what I call the damn processor.

Severin: Tell you what. I read through your profile, and I can see why the computer put us together.

Me: Me too.

Severin: And I bought this enormous steak that I will never be able to eat on my own.

Me: That so?

Severin: I also know that you like to eat, and that your biggest pet peeve is when people don’t listen to you.

Severin: I promise, I’m a good listener when I can hear properly.

Me: Are you asking me out on another date?

Severin: I think I am. If you dare.

Me: Would you be offended if I said I’m only saying yes because I want that steak?

Severin: Not at all, ha.

Me: I may have also seen your shirtless selfies.

Severin: And I may have seen your shirtless rugby action pics.

Me: Fair enough. Let’s do this.

CHAPTER FOUR

SEV

I opened the door and let out a low whistle. It’d been two days since our awful first date, and I was so, so glad I’d set aside my pride and apologized for my shitty behavior.

“Holy shit. You are a big boy,” I said appreciatively, stepping aside to allow Rhys to walk into my living room.

“You’re no-not exactly little yourself,” he replied, pulling off his jacket. “Da—mn, it smells amazing in here.”

We’d chatted back and forth a bit more since our first exchange, and I’d been so charmed by his online presence that I may have, just a tiny bit, forgotten about his intimidating physical presence. His stutter, even in my bad robot ear, was far more endearing than I’d have guessed.

He’d mentioned that the stutter made more of an appearance when he was tired or nervous, and I just hoped this was the good kind of nervous.

“I seared the steak and put it in the oven to finish cooking. It’s a big sucker, so we have a few minutes.” I smiled and tried not to feel too proud of the way his chest rose so quickly. “Gotta say, as nice as you look, I’m missing the rugby shorts.”

His shoulders relaxed a bit, and his laugh was a deep rumble. Bet if my fucking ears worked, it’d be sensual as hell.

“Oh, I know it. I read your profile. I know exactly why you like rugby boys.” He winked, slapping his thighs. “You should see how many jeans I bust through in a year.”

I rolled my eyes back and clutched my chest. “You don’t have to sell me on your thighs. I’m sold.”

He grinned, shaking his head.

“What?”

He took a steady breath, and something about it felt measured. I’d looked up stuttering and knew that I shouldn’t try to finish his sentences for him. I’d also found out that a lot of stutterers used various breathing methods to allow the words to flow more freely.

He inhaled again, speaking on the exhale. “I mean… we did g—et to know each other a little better D—M’ing each other, but… you’re like an entirely di—fferent person,” he said. “In person, I mean.”

I’d read that elongating the sounds helped the person to maintain control, and it was interesting to see how effective it was.

“My audiologist had a new processor overnighted and installed it this morning,” I replied, “and it’s like night and day. I thought it was just me⁠—”

“But you can hear and understand me okay?”

“I can, yes. I mean, everything still sounds a little demonic, but I’m catching deeper tones than I did before.” Grinning sarcastically, I continued, “The Sex Pistols are still ruined for me, though.”

He scrunched his nose empathetically. “I remember you mentioned being a fan of punk.”

His words were slower and still deliberate, but way more relaxed, which gave me a small hit of pride. While his stone-faced look on the rugby pitch was sexy as hell, with him here in my apartment, I couldn’t help but be reminded again of a golden retriever.

“True. I’ve seen the Misfits in concert way more often than I’d like to admit. I don’t mean this in a rude way, but I wanted to invite you to sit, but I think you might find it easier to speak while standing.”

“A—ctually, fluency is harder with standing than it is with si—tting in a supp—ortive seat,” he said, pointing to my leather club chair.

I angled the chair toward the couch and gestured for him to get comfortable. Then had to bite a knuckle when he did.

“Something wrong?”

I shook my head. “Nope. Just enjoying the thigh spread.”

He looked down at the fabric stretching across his massive muscles and grinned. “Sorry, Sev. Can’t be helped.”

He’d started calling me Sev in our DMs, and I didn’t hate it.

I sat facing him, our knees touching. “I don’t know if it’s okay to say, but your stutter is not nearly as bad as you’d made it out to be.”

“Well, you di—dn’t hear me at Whole Foods. I was a mess.”

“Were you really that nervous?”

“I was a little nervous, but when I rounded the corner and saw how hot you were, I was a goner.”

“Am I not hot now?” I asked, gesturing at myself.

He laughed. “No, you’re still hot. Trust. But our first date was so bad it kinda burned out most of the nerves I might’ve had around you.”

“Ouch. And fair.”

There was a bit of an awkward silence until he took a deep breath and rubbed his thighs.

“I like your apartment. You have way better taste in decorating than Tyler does,” he said, gesturing to the framed and matted movie posters on the wall.

“I may have a small obsession with horror movies. And ferns.”

“I’m impressed you can keep something alive. I’ve killed more plants than I care to admit.”

I tsk’d. “Do I want to know who Tyler is?”

“My straight, supportive best friend and roommate. He thinks you’re hot, too, by the way.”

I laughed. “Good to know.”

“So, you still like cooking for people, even after a long day of cooking for other people?”

I grinned. “I’d be a really shitty chef if I didn’t.”

“Your hours must be so insane.”

“When I was first starting out, yes. I used to be a line cook for Magnolia Café, and those hours were horrible. Now I work with my friend at his high-end restaurant, so I’m out by midnight most nights, not four o’clock in the morning.”

“Nice. Most of my days are spent working out, practicing, and eating.”

“Do you usually work out with your team?”

“Yep. The practice pitch has a nice facility and saves me from having to keep up with a gym membership.” He reached out and ran a finger up a vein on my arm. “You clearly work out.”

I shivered, loving that he was willing to put his hands on me. “Some of that is from making bread. But, uh, yeah. I like working out.”

Rhys made a show of gulping and pulling out his shirt. “You have your thighs—I have my Colin Farrell-slash-Sons of Anarchy fantasies.”

“Well, if you’re gonna stroke my ego…”

“I can stroke whatever you want me to,” he said, then flashed bright red. “So-sorry. Didn’t mean to be so forward.”

The timer in the kitchen went off, sparing him further embarrassment.

I rubbed his knee, then stood. “Maybe I like forward.”

His chest expanded rapidly, and he looked up at me through his thick fringe of pale brown lashes, pure sex in his expressive blue eyes. I’d almost deleted the dating app in Whole Foods as he’d walked away, but that little voice inside my head had told me to not be so hasty.

The way he graciously accepted my apology and then flirted with me in our subsequent messages verified that I’d made the right decision. That had nothing, though, on the chemistry sparking between us in person.

Stepping into the kitchen, wishing I had his hands on me, I pulled the massive steak from the oven.

“Oh my god, that’s beautiful,” he said, coming up behind me, fitting his hands to my hips. “Look at the crust on that thing.”

I shivered, shifting my hips into his strong grip as I scooped the hot butter over the top. “I made some assumptions about how you liked your steak. Please tell me you’re not about to break my heart and demand well done.”

He rested his chin on my shoulder. “Absolutely not. I don’t like cold fat on well-marbled pieces, but other than that, I like a juicy steak.”

“That’s what I was aiming for.” I nuzzled the side of his face with mine, loving how his enormous body enveloped me.

We stood there a few minutes, swaying as I unnecessarily spooned more butter onto the steak.

“I was just gonna keep it simple tonight. Steak and a salad,” I finally said, gesturing with my chin over at the bowl on the counter.

“Damn, that’s gorgeous. What do you have in it?”

I allowed myself a prideful smile. “Gorgonzola, dried cranberries, sunflower seeds, a spring mix, and my own balsamic vinaigrette recipe. Oh, and avocados. I haven’t put them in and can keep them out if you’d prefer.”

“I love avocados. I love everything you just mentioned, actually.”

I leaned back until my shoulders hit his broad chest, then let out a satisfied sigh. He shifted his arms across my torso, and I allowed my head to fall back on his shoulder.

“You’re a fucking mountain, you know that?”

“Here’s hoping you like mountains,” he replied, his lips close to my ear.

“You read my profile. You know I do.”

“So, even though I don’t have your six pack,” he said, flattening his palm along my abs, “you’re okay with all of this?”

I angled my hips side to side, grazing his crotch. “More than okay. Entirely turned on by it, if I’m being honest.”

He stayed at my back while I plated the massive hunk of meat.

“I need to let it rest before I cut into it.”

“Mmhmm. And how long do you need to let it rest?”

“At least ten minutes, maybe a little more.”

Running his nose along the outer edge of my ear, he asked, “I wonder what we could get up to for ten minutes?”

Surprised by his boldness, I pushed us away from the counter and turned, gripping his massive arms.

“Rhys? Are you trying to seduce me?”

He kissed the tip of my nose. “I dunno—if I have to explain that I’m seducing you, maybe I’m not doing a very good job of it.”

I shook my head, stretching up to graze his square jaw with my lips. “Nah. You’re doing an excellent job of it.”

Turning his head, he brushed his lips along mine.

“That okay?”

“More than,” I said, going back for another kiss. Then another. Soon his arms tightened around me, and we were exchanging soft, open-mouthed kisses. I’d certainly had hookups that’d gotten physical within thirty seconds of them walking in the door, but this was not that.

I don’t let a lot of people know this, but I’m a sucker for an affectionate man. I know I look like the kind of guy who’d fuck somebody in a bathroom stall with nothing more than spit for lube—to be fair, I’m that guy, too—but deep down, I’m a sweet kisses in the streets, dirty fucking in the sheets kind of guy.

Rhys pushed his tongue into my mouth, and damn, it was short-circuiting my brain. I whined when he trailed kisses along my jawline, but then shut the hell up when he reached my neck and kept going.

He drew back despite my protests and started moving things around on the counter behind me. His powerful hands gripped my hips and, without warning, he lifted me up, setting my ass on the cleared space.

Ain’t nothing small about me, and he just manhandled me like a Raggedy Ann doll. I might already be in love.

Stepping between my thighs, his broad thighs stretched my legs apart as he slotted our cocks together. Before I could catch my breath, he dove in for an even deeper kiss. Maybe I should be slowing us down, but… fuck it. I wrapped my legs around his waist, adding friction to our illicit grind.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come in my pants,” I warned.

His generous mouth tipped up into a grin. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

Gripping the button on my jeans, he paused, looking at me with a raised brow. We’d shared our statuses, and I couldn’t think of anything else I could possibly want more than have him take me apart.

When I nodded, he thumbed open the button, then unzipped me just as quickly. I gripped the edge of the counter and held myself up while he yanked my jeans and underwear down. I sat there, ass cheeks on the chilly counter, without a care in the world.

Grinning, he knelt before me and confidently took my entire length in his mouth. I hissed with pleasure, running my fingers through his soft, fluffy hair as he buried his nose in my pubes, hollowing out his cheeks like it was his last day on earth.

The pleasure hit my veins like a drug, and I had a flash of early Sunday morning farmer’s markets, lazy days twisted up in sun-soaked sheets together, and whispered I love yous.

The one remaining brain cell in my head tried valiantly to send out an alarm. Too fast. Too fast. Sadly, that message was immediately set on fire and burned to ash as Rhys’s eyes latched on to mine. The craziest sensation hit me square in the chest—less a lightning strike and more a humming electricity, a resonant, shared knowing.

I knew in that moment my life was about to change for the better.

CHAPTER FIVE

RHYS

The look Sev was giving me was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. I’d had plenty of wham-bam encounters before, but this wasn’t that. He was too delicious to resist. His hand was buried in my hair, gripping the roots like he might fly off the planet if he weren’t anchored.

His hips started rolling in time with his moans, so I went a little deeper, sucked a little harder as I pumped up and down on his shaft.

“Fuck, I’m going to come,” he warned, his voice shredded.

God, I wanted to taste him. Needed it. Tightening my hold, I thumbed his hip bones as I continued to work him over, unable to rip my eyes from his. Seconds later, he arched, shouting as his musky, bitter heat filled the back of my throat. I swallowed quickly, greedy for this part of him.

Once I was satisfied that I’d properly drained him, I stood between his thighs, forcing them apart again. His softening cock listed to the side, resting against his perfect abs. The chemistry between us was dizzying and perfect. I loved the way this tough chef looked like he was about to melt into the countertop. Even the way his jeans were stuck halfway down his thighs made me want to take up painting so that I could capture this scene of satisfaction and debauchery.

“Next time I need a piece of steak to rest, I won’t use a timer. I’ll just ask for a blow job,” he said, voice cracking, finally breaking the spell.

“I’m here to serve,” I said, kissing him until I felt dizzy with need. “Want your hands on me.”

I stepped back, and he slid off the counter, nearly losing his balance when the jeans fell to his ankles. Laughing, I helped him with his jeans and underwear as he regained his equilibrium.

Running my nose in his hair, I wondered how he took his coffee. When he sat his butt against the edge of the counter, I thought briefly of the fact that I’d always wanted a dog and was dying to know his stance on pets.

Pulling me in close, he buried his face in my chest. “Mm, titties.”

A shocked laugh spilled out of me, even as I wrapped my arms around him. “I don’t think anybody’s ever called them that before.”

“I have an oral fixation, especially with nipples, and I will not apologize for it,” he said, his voice muffled.

I grimaced, admitting, “I don’t think I’ve ever had someone give more than passing attention to my nipples.”

He made a growling sound and smashed his face even harder against my chest. “I am about to open up an entire universe for you,” he promised, before stepping back enough to run his nose over a taut, fabric-covered bud.

“Shit.” I gripped his shoulders. “I felt that in my balls.”

“You like that?” he asked, looking up through his lashes at me as his fingers found each nipple, pinching and twisting them lightly over my shirt.

“More than I would’ve guessed.” I groaned, hyperaware of how hard I’d gotten.

He dropped his fingers to the bulge in my jeans, caressing it. “Can I take care of that for you?”

“Please,” I begged, unable to speak much more than that.

Opening my trousers, he dipped his hand into my underwear, gripping me tight as he stretched up for a kiss.

I pressed him against the counter, trapping his hand as I pumped my hips. “Need it,” I whispered as he tightened his grip and began to slide up and down my shaft.

I realized belatedly that he was cut, and I wasn’t, and I wondered if he… oh. Yeah, he seemed to know what to do with an intact cock. He pulled back, dribbling a bit of spit on the head. He then dragged the foreskin up and around it, spreading the spit around while blowing my fucking mind.

“You like this, big boy?”

“Sev,” I grunted in agreement.

Speeding up his hand, he tightened his grip ever so slightly, rolling my foreskin over the head even better than I could’ve done for myself.

“About to g-g-get messy,” I gritted out, unable to stop where we were going.

Kneeling quickly, he swallowed me, and my knees nearly buckled. I reached out, grabbing the counter, bridging over his head as he took me all the way to the back of his throat. His hands encouraged my hips to move, so I rolled them once, twice, and then—fuck—I was gone. So gone. His whining pitched up as I unloaded down the back of his throat.

“Fuck me spi-spinning.”

That’s about as elegant as I could be after coming that hard.

He smiled up at me, then kissed the tip of my cock and tucked me away, fixing my clothes as he stood. His thumbs automatically sought out my sensitive nipples, rubbing the fabric over them. I jerked but didn’t pull away, needing this sensation in my life. We kissed a bit more until finally he stepped back.

“Sadly, the steak is rested enough. We don’t want it to get cold,” he said, sounding like he really hated taking his hands off my body.

I reached for the salad bowl and held it tight against my chest, as if to protect myself. “Can’t have that.”

Sev grabbed the platter, and I followed him to a small dining table, already set with pretty white plates and aggressive steak knives.

Dinner was amazing. Stunning. The best salad I’d ever had, the best steak I’d ever had, the best blow job I’d ever had. At the end, he reached out and grabbed my hand.

“You’ve been a little quiet. Are you okay?”

I laughed and pushed my completely empty dinner plate away from me.

“No, ass-asshole. Asshole. I’m just⁠—”

Fuck, the word was stuck, and the creaky clicking in the back of my throat meant that the word wasn’t going to be appearing anytime soon.

I ground my molars, shaking my head.

“I—”

Fuck.

“So… so…”

Frustrated, I gave up and signed sorry.

His brows shot toward his forehead. “Did you just sign sorry to me?”

I nodded, signing yes because sometimes it was easier to use my rudimentary sign language than to speak.

“Oh God. Do you know more sign language than I do?”

I laughed, signaling that my throat had finally relaxed. “May—maybe?”

Sev leaned back, crossing his arms over his well-formed chest. “Alright, then. Give it to me. Let’s see if I’ve retained anything at all.”

Rolling my eyes, I signed my response, fingerspelling where I needed, Best food. Best orgasm. If tomorrow you g-h-o-s-t, I sad. Very sad. But r-e-g-r-e-t nothing.

Sev’s faced scrunched up in concentration, adorable as hell for a guy wearing motorcycle boots.

“I got that you liked the meal. Which, duh,” he bragged, his grin entirely too smug. “I just don’t know the sign you did in front of your nose, though.”

I smiled and then took a deep breath. “O—rgasm,” I said deliberately.

“Ah. Well. This is the sign for ghost,” he said, demonstrating it. “And I would never do that. Hell, after tonight, I plan on being an entire problem for you.”

I laughed. “I just meant that I’d be sad if you gho—sted me…” I had to slow down my pace, but he didn’t seem to mind that it took me a moment. “But that if you di—d, I’d still remember tonight fondly.”

“Damn right you would.”

Sev had a flush on his cheeks, and I tilted my head. “Are you blushing? I didn’t know badass chefs could blush.”

His hand, resting on the table, flipped up, and he shot me the bird.

“I’m just embarrassed you know sign language better than I do.”

“Mmhmm. Sure.”

Grabbing my hand, he pulled it toward his mouth, kissing each knuckle. “Seriously, though. I’m impressed. You have a decent handle on the vocabulary.”

I shrugged. “I was the youngest of seven, and my mom and dad didn’t have any patience for a kid who couldn’t spit things out, so they learned some basic signs.”

He shook his head. “That sounds both shitty and supportive.”

I worked my jaw from side to side. “That’s actually a pretty accurate description of my childhood. I got the things I needed, but I knew pretty early on that I was an oops kid, and that it was best if I remained unobtrusive. That was difficult, considering I was already six foot tall by the time I’d turned thirteen.”

He snarled, and it warmed my heart.

“What about your parents?” I asked, pushing Sev’s foot with mine under the table.

“I was an absolute nightmare growing up, getting into fights, hanging around all the wrong people. But... they were patient with me. When I told them I was gay, they rolled with it. When I told them I wanted to be a chef, they didn’t try to tell me that there’s not a lot of money in it or that the hours suck. They just helped me find the best culinary school in Austin and made sure I got the scholarships I needed to pay for it.”

“Damn,” I whispered. “I wish I knew what that felt like. The only reason I was able to play rugby was because an uncle played it when he was young, and he took an interest.”

“You deserved it,” he said, his voice deepening. “When I contracted meningitis, my parents made sure I had the best doctors, the best occupational therapists, and the best options they could afford on their limited income. Even with the cochlear implant, they didn’t push. I could get it or not, and we’d figure it out. We quickly realized that we could only afford the one, but they found a grant to get me a more advanced processor.”

“Sounds like they really supported you.”

“They did. Do. Part of my frustration has been just the absolute fucking struggle with the technology because they sacrificed so much to get it for me. I’ve been terrified—straight up, terrified—that my doctor will need to go in and redo the surgery, which was awful the first time around.”

“I bet.”

“I was dizzy for weeks after because, you know, they’re doing a lot of work near shit that affects your balance.”

I could barely imagine what he had gone through, so I simply nodded.

“I knew that the way I processed sound would change,” he continued, weaving his fingers with mine. “I’d anticipated how awful it would be to have to get used to things sounding so different, but just yesterday, my doctor admitted that me not knowing what things were supposed to sound like made it difficult for us to realize that there was something wrong with the technology.”

“Shit, dude. That sounds miserable.”

“Pretty sure I’ve been making the people around me miserable for it, too.” He scratched his nose. “And then I saw the way my words impacted you, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much shame in my entire life.”

I lowered my head. “I wouldn’t want that for you.”

“No, it was necessary. The thing is, I knew I had a new processor coming in, but the manufacturer had been dawdling. I should’ve pushed the date. Or at least done something to get myself into a better attitude. My audiologist has become a family friend, and when I told him that my processor ruined our date, he called up the manufacturer and screamed at someone until they promised to overnight the replacement.”

“Shit, really?”

Sev shrugged. “Yep. When we tested it out this morning, I could immediately tell the difference. To be honest, I was just so fucking relieved that it was a processor issue and not an implant issue.”

“I’m glad you have what you need now.”

“Almost everything,” he said, squeezing my hand. I brought his hand to my mouth and kissed his tattooed knuckles.

“Same.”

We sat in silence for a few moments, then he asked, “Is it too forward to say that I don’t want you to go home yet?”

I shook my head and took a deep breath. “I’m not doing a—nal after that dinner, but I’d love to have some fun with the o—ther stuff, if that’s okay?” I asked, suddenly very nervous about his answer.

“I’d love that,” he replied, his eyes bright as he kissed the back of my hand.

CHAPTER SIX

SEV

We made it to my room seconds later, and I paused in the doorway.

“Wh-what?” Rhys asked, looking sheepish.

“I…” I took a moment, gathering myself. “I was worried that we only had chemistry in our DMs, but I’ve been hard as fuck since you walked in the door, even with the amazing orgasm in my kitchen. I just wanna make sure you don’t feel pressured, or whatever.”

Rhys shook his head and stepped toward me, his enormous mitt palming my jaw. “The only thing I feel right now is an intense desire to see you entirely naked.”

“I can do that.” I reached for the hem of my T-shirt, pulling it over my head.

Rhys’s eyes tracked appreciatively down my chest, so I flexed a little. The sound that came out of his mouth… I had to double check.

“Was that a giggle? From a rugby monster?”

“Maybe,” he said, running his hand through his pretty blond hair. “What of it?”

I undid the button on my jeans, then pushed them to the floor along with my underwear. I flexed, thinking I might as well give him the whole show all at once.

It must’ve worked because Rhys clutched his chest. “Fuuuuck.”

In the meantime, his gorgeous body was practically begging to be freed from his simple button-down, so I went to work. When I got his shirt off, I hummed in appreciation.

“God, I love your nipples,” I whispered reverently. They were slightly fatter and longer than average, and my mouth was watering.

Rhys averted his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. It made me wonder if I’d missed something.

“What’s this look?” I asked, squeezing his belly because I absolutely fucking had to.

He took a deep breath, once again speaking on the exhale. “I’m a li—ttle self-conscious of my si—tuation up here. Espe—cially compared to all of that.”

“Did you not hear me in the kitchen? I love man titties. And your nipples are going to be the death of me.” I punctuated that with a leer so that he knew I was telling the truth.

“I’ve never had so—mebody appreciate these before,” he said, carefully releasing his arms.

“Appreciate?” I yanked on his waistband, creating a jiggle up and down his heavily furred torso. “How about worship?”

“Really?”

Rhys clearly needed additional convincing.

“Really.” I buried my face between his pecs, then brought my hands up and squished them against the sides of my face while subtly circling his nipples with my thumbs. “Really really,” I reassured him, my voice muffled by glorious man flesh.

“O—kay, then,” he said, pushing me back, laughing as he stepped out of the rest of his clothes.

Rubbing my hands in anticipation, I asked, “Is it wrong that I just wanna lie on top of you and nurse you for a while?”

“Nurse?” he asked, unsure. “I’ve literally never had someone do that before.”

“Is that a no? It’s okay if it is.”

“Not a no.”

Eyeballing my bed, he took a deep breath, then dropped a knee to the mattress. He looked like a literal bear as he crawled up toward the massive stack of pillows. Twisting, he flopped back against the pillows as he smacked his chest with both hands. Fucking hell, I loved the way his pecs bounced and settled.

“Come and get it, then.”

“You are a furbearing mammal.” I climbed up next to him, appreciating the soft, wiry dark blond hair below my palm as I skimmed it over his belly.

Laughing, he asked, “Who knew that a hairy ass and man titties were a draw?”

“They very much are,” I responded sincerely.

Letting out a satisfied sigh, I sidled up next to him and lightly suckled the nipple closest to me. The way his broad chest hitched was very satisfying.

“Not so bad, right?” I asked, figuring I should check in with him a little extra.

“Not bad at all.”

Unable to help myself, I took his sexy, fat nipple into my mouth, groaning at the taste and feel of the pebbled skin on my tongue. Rhys’s enormous, perfect body was spread before me, his cock filling as I nursed at the sensitive bud.

“This still okay?”

“Can you do something with the other nipple at the same time?” he asked, breathless. “It’s starting to feel a little lonely.”

I grinned, shoving my forefinger and thumb into my mouth, sucking on them as I maintained eye contact. I then doubled down on sucking the nipple closest to me while reaching over to tug on his other nipple, equally fat and perfect.

“Fucking hell.”

His hand went to his thick, weeping cock, stroking it, stretching the foreskin over the fat head. Horny and needing more, I gave him a final, sharp suck before climbing up to make out with him.

We did that for a while, kissing as we learned each other’s bodies. Finally out of oxygen, I pulled back. Damn, he had a good mouth.

“So, if I really wanted to worship your pretty nipples, I’d have to pull out some coconut oil and some toys, maybe edge you for a bit.” I popped my brows, hopefully looking sensual and not slightly obsessed.

Okay, majorly obsessed. One of these days, I was going to invest in the expensive nipple suckers and see how big I could get his.

“I like being edged,” he admitted softly.

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“A lot. I mean, sometimes I’ll bust a quick nut, but if my roommate is gone, and I’ve got hours ahead of me, I’ll put on my favorite edging videos and…”

“Say no more.”

I grabbed the little silk bag full of goodies and set it on the bed. We switched positions so that I was laid up against the stack of pillows, and he was between my legs, resting face up with his head on my belly.

His weight and wide back pushed my legs apart until my inner thighs ached from the stretch, and his massive body was spread out in front of me like an offering. My cock was stabbing him in the back of his neck.

Cursing under my breath, I grabbed the oil and dripped a generous amount of it over each nipple before setting it aside. Kissing the top of his head, I spread the oil across his chest until it glistened in the lamplight.

“There’s something about an oily, hairy chest that really fucking does it for me.”

“I can tell. You’re about to break my spine with your hard-on.”

He gently rolled his head from side to side, the back of his neck brushing my cock.

“You should see the view from here,” I murmured.

Satisfied that he was properly slicked up, I worked my fingers under each pec, popping them until his nipples pebbled and fattened.

He grunted, shifting his neck over my cock again.

“This isn’t too weird?”

“Just weird enough,” he replied, smiling. “I’ve never had somebody jiggle my chest like that.”

“Then I’ll keep going.”

“Please… yes,” he begged, letting the full weight of his head rest against my belly.

Bending my legs, I leaned forward and took each nipple between a thumb and forefinger and began rolling them. His chest expanded and deflated as satisfied moans left his lips.

I continued, switching it up every few minutes. He arched off the bed when I oiled his cock with one hand while using the other hand to bunch my fingertips around a nipple. I stroked and pinched down until his hips began to shift and roll and his chest started hitching violently.

His cock was painfully hard, and he’d have come if I’d gone for another stroke or two.

“Fuck, why did I tell you that I liked edging?”

His whine only encouraged my bad behavior. I spread oil down his belly, avoiding his dick as I worked my thumbs into his hip creases.

“Please,” he begged, scooping his hips, trying to press his desperate cock into my hands.

“So beautiful,” I whispered, kissing the top of his head.

I switched hands, tweaking the other nipple while sneaking my other oily hand down to his balls, tugging on them until he began to buck beneath me, frustrated, begging for my hand on his cock.

Only then did I stroke him. Too light, too soft, too slow, then switching it up whenever I felt like he was getting a little too close.

“Fuck, you’re torturing me,” he said, after I once again pulled my hand away seconds before he went.

“I’m just giving you what you asked for, big boy.”

“I know I asked for it,” he complained bitterly, “but you’re about to give me a heart attack.”

Grinning, I laid both hands on his sternum, reveling in the wicked thump under my palms.

“Your heart feels fine.”

“Like hell⁠—”

His words cut off as I went back to tweaking and pulling on his nipples again, leaving his cock and balls abandoned, his cock bobbing with need. Only when he sounded truly desperate would I give in with another few teasing strokes.

The next time I tugged on his balls, he tilted his hips up.

“Someone need a little ass play?”

“I wouldn’t throw you out of bed for it.”

He sounded reckless, and it was everything I’d wanted.

“We need to adjust, then,” I said, slipping from behind him.

He reset himself against the pillows, and I hugged his side, latching onto an oily nipple as I vigorously pumped his shaft. I waited until he was whining and coming apart below me before removing my hand and drawing back my mouth, letting my teeth scrape the sensitive skin.

“Fuck you,” he said, shoving my head back onto his nipple.

Grinning, I nursed softly while letting my other hand drift under his balls, oiling up his taint before stroking it with the barest pressure.

“Puh-puh-please,” he begged, tilting his hips for me. “I’m so close. Please let me come. Please.”

Because I was feeling generous, I moved my other hand to his shaft and gripped him tight, loving how slick and hard and hot he felt in the palm of my hand. My position was awkward because, while both hands were occupied, I couldn’t bear to stop suckling on his nipple.

I didn’t care, though. Taking him apart was everything, and I squeezed my eyes shut, doing what I could to hang on as he started thrusting forward into my hand and backward against my probing fingers.

His body stiffened beautifully, making me feel like a god as his cock pulsed in my hand. My stupid processor made our combined sex noises sound like Optimus Prime squaring off with Bonecrusher, which I decided was pretty damned sexy.

I wondered briefly if there were any fanfic pieces of those two and was determined to look it up once my brain restarted.

When I finally opened my eyes, the stripes of cum had already started to seep into the hair on Rhys’s belly. Fuck, that was satisfying.

I finally released the latch on his sensitive nipple, and he shivered.

“Shit. Sorry,” I said, grimacing at the puffy, reddened nub.

“Mmf,” he grumbled, pulling me up into a crushing kiss. “Do not apologize for that. I have never felt more worshipped and appreciated in all of my life.”

“Plenty more where that came from,” I promised, slightly delirious.

Turns out, I’d been edging myself just as hard. When he took me by my shoulders and flipped me onto my back, then sank his mouth down onto my cock, I was immediately a goner. He was sucking so hard my eyes rolled back in my head.

“Coming,” I gasped out as the orgasm barreled down my spine.

The rush was intoxicating, and by the time I came back down to earth, my balls were aching from the intensity.

We collapsed next to each other on my bed, panting until we caught our breath.

“God, I don’t wanna leave this bed,” he groaned.

“Then don’t.” I huffed into his armpit.

“Practice starts at six a.m. sharp.”

“Then leave here at five,” I reasoned, kissing his shoulder.

Blinking slowly, he looked down at himself. “Where can I clean up? Oiled up is good for sex but not for sleep.”

I chuckled. “Agreed. Why don’t we take a shower? I can get you good and clean.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, then rolled to his side and stood, gloriously naked. “Let’s go before I fall asleep standing up.”

I dragged him into the bathroom, and we held each other up as we scrubbed away the oil and cum from our bodies.

He was gone when I woke up the next morning, but there was a note on the pillow next to me, written on a crumpled receipt.

Sev-

You are the sexiest chef/edger/nipple worshipper I’ve ever met. I hope we can do this again. Soon.

Rhys

He accompanied this with a shockingly accurate—and erotic—doodle of his chest and slightly distended nipples. My mouth immediately watered at the reminder, and my cock stirred. Oh, sweet, sweet man, I thought as I stroked myself to full hardness. You bet your gorgeous ass we’ll be doing that again. Tonight, if possible.

CHAPTER SEVEN

RHYS

“Hey, Rhys, how’d practice go?” Tyler asked as I undressed in front of my locker.

I was alone, so I put him on speakerphone.

“Pretty good. Even if I was completely out of gas an hour into it.”

He laughed. “That’s what you get for staying overnight at that rude chef’s house.”

“Shut up,” I said, grabbing my towel. “And he apologized for the rude behavior.”

“Did he apologize to you with orgasms?”

“A couple of them, actually. Jealous?”

“I would be if Lindsey hadn’t pegged me to within an inch of my life last night.”

I sighed, letting my head fall back. I loved my best friend, but goddamn.

“You know there are some things we don’t have to talk about, right?”

“Wow. How very heteronormative of you, bro. What if I was just trying to figure out what the big deal was? What if I was doing it to be a better friend to you?”

I clenched my teeth. “I’m hanging up on you.”

“Just, you know, make sure he’s good to you. Deal?”

I stepped into my shower slides and shut the door on my locker.

“Deal. If it makes you feel any better, I barely stuttered at all when I was over at his place. With the way everything went, I’m not worried so much about coming out, you know?”

“Fuck yeah, dude! Go forth and queer it up.”

I cracked up. “Okay, really hanging up on you now.”

I hit the End button and turned toward the showers, only to be confronted by the stunned faces of Ruiz and Schultz. Shit. I thought they’d already gone.

I quickly wrapped my towel around my waist.

“Uh. Sorry, Captain. I’m driving Ruiz home and left my keys in my locker,” Schultz said, his ears red. I figured he was going to pretend he didn’t hear that, but instead, he continued. “So, uh, did I hear correctly? You’re gay? Or, or… bi?”

“Gay,” I answered warily.

His answering grin seemed friendly. “So, like, my sister has zero chance with you, but maybe my brother does? He’s bi.”

I held back a laugh. “Eh, sorry. I’ve got a hot chef on the hook. In fact, I’m rushing out to catch him before his shift starts.”

“Okay, well, you’re a good dude. Let me know if it doesn’t pan out with him.”

I rolled my eyes, but then I noticed that Ruiz hadn’t said anything yet.

“Y-you o-okay, dude?” I asked, pissed that my stutter decided to show up right at that exact moment.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. I stiffened, waiting for the blow. “If I’d known I had a chance with you, I would’ve shot my shot,” he said with a sneaky grin.

This motherfucker right here.

Shaking my head, I let out a sigh, not realizing how much I’d been worried about my teammates.

“Dude,” Schultz said, smacking Ruiz’s shoulder. “Stop hitting on my brother’s future husband.”

“You two are the worst.”

“Nah. We’re awesome,” Ruiz shot back, holding up his hand.

I high-fived him, and we did our usual handshake. He used the grip to pull me in.

“Seriously, though, if your chef doesn’t work out, I’m happy to be a soft place to land, you hear?”

I blushed to the roots of my hair. “Got it. Though, uh. I think it’s gonna work out. Just a feeling.”

“Good man, then,” he said, smiling genuinely.

Schultz grabbed his keys, and they took off.

Damn, that could’ve gone sideways in a hurry, but… it didn’t.

Fuckin’ A.

* * *

I’d managed to catch Sev right before he went to work, and the sight of him in his chef’s jacket was hot as fuck. We’d only had enough time for some tasteless, sexy-as-hell rutting up against his front door. He’d had to change his trousers, and I’d had to drive home with sticky cum in my underwear, but it’d been worth it.

Over the next twenty-four hours, we texted each other dozens of times, and each text was increasingly more sexual and unhinged than the last. Better yet, we’d reiterated our statuses and our desire to go condom free.

Thankfully, he had today off, so I was standing on his welcome mat, waiting for him to answer the doorbell. When he opened the door, I stepped right through, bodying him into his own living room as I dragged him up for a kiss.

“I missed you, too,” he joked, biting his lip before going in for another round of making out.

The next time we came up for air, we raced each other to his room and fell onto the bed, bumping and grinding against each other.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, curling his tongue around my ear lobe. “I don’t want you to feel like this is too fast…”

“I need it fast, and I need it from you,” I said, ready to beg because the thing I needed more than anything else was for this man to fuck me.

I loved topping, genuinely, but there were times when I wanted to be fucked. Since I’m a big rugby lad, guys always made a lot of assumptions. Hell, the last guy I had sex with had insisted on me topping him exclusively because he couldn’t wrap his mind around a bigger guy wanting it up the ass. When I’d wanted to flip things around, he’d laughed.

“You want me to top you? That’s crazy.”

I’d left his place feeling ashamed, and it took a while to get over that feeling. It was enough to make me hesitate before hitting the vers option when I’d created my profile on the H2H app. In the end, though, I’d decided I didn’t wanna be with somebody who made me feel shitty about it, and I wasn’t going to fuck with people who didn’t get it. I was pleasantly surprised, then, when I’d gone to Sev’s profile and saw that he was vers, too.

Sure, that was a good way to end up with two sneaky bottoms, but it turned out that both of us had decided on unvarnished honesty.

It was also impossible to feel ashamed about needing to be filled when Sev was pushing my knees back to my chest and diving tongue-first into my ass. I’d gone home after practice and cleaned up—thoroughly—so I felt pretty confident about what he was doing with his tongue.

Actually…

“Stop, stop, stop,” I begged, letting my feet fall to the bed as I tilted my hips to the side, away from his perfect mouth.

He pulled back immediately. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No. Fuck no. I was about to come all over myself.”

God, his smug smile did something to me. He grabbed the lube and proceeded to suck my nipples—he really did love worshipping them—while warming up my hole, and it was fucking everything.

“Close,” I warned.

He pulled back from my nipple and left his fingers inside me. “This feel good?”

“So good. Fuck, I need to be filled.”

That old sense of embarrassment flared up, but the desperate need made me push past it. Well, that and the visceral hunger in his eyes, telling me that he wanted to fuck me as much as I wanted to be fucked.

He immediately withdrew his fingers, notching his cock against my hole. Pressing my knees against my chest, he slid forward, stretching me with that perfect mix of pain and fuck yes.

He paused. “You okay? Need me to pull out?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I blurted out, my voice ragged. Tilting my hips, I coaxed him farther inside me. “Maybe suck my tit while you’re fucking me.”

He grinned, triumphant. “Absolutely.”

Latching on to a nipple, he made the most profane, wettest nursing sounds. It was a complete mind fuck with his overall aesthetic, especially as he slid his hips forward, mixing more of that good stretching ache with pleasure.

I groaned as he bottomed out, then wrapped my legs around him.

He released my nipple with a pop. “Fuck. I love your thighs.”

Tightening my grip on him, we locked eyes as I forced him to go deeper. Within moments, he was taking me apart, using his hips and knees to create a scooping motion that was going to be the fucking death of me.

Suddenly, my knee was over his shoulder, and he was even deeper. Then, he was speeding up.

“Your body is so fucking perfect,” he whispered, grabbing my cock, stroking it in time with his goddamned hip thrusts.

“Close,” I whined, unsure if I could survive another round of edging.

“Come for me, sexy man.”

On his command, my orgasm hit like a freight train. I didn’t try to stop it, loving all the places in which he had entered me and sucked me and held me tight. I barely choked back a shout, my hands moving to his hips to force him in deeper, longer, more.

“Gonna come,” he warned me. I nodded, knowing the question in his eyes.

“Breed me, Sev.”

He groaned, rolling his hips until heat started to fill me. Fuck, it was the best feeling in the world, and I never, ever wanted it to stop.

CHAPTER EIGHT

SEV

Rhys’s road schedule was conspiring against us. As grouchy as that made me, it was probably a good thing. If I had regular, easy access to that man’s body, I’d fall in love with him so quickly. I’d enjoyed hooking up in the past and had been worried that wanting to be in a relationship would mean giving up some of the passion.

That didn’t seem to be the case with Rhys. At all.

I opened my texts and shook my head. He’d landed weird on his ankle in the game with Dallas—the result of a dirty no-call that had me screaming at my phone in the freezer at work.

Rhys: This game took it out of me.

Rhys: Don’t think I have it in me to do more than cuddle. Totally understand if you’d rather not.

Me: I don’t think you understand how cuddlovable you are.

Me: Get your fine ass over here, and I’ll be your big spoon.

Rhys: <kissyfaceemoji> <spoonemoji>

Shit. Had I really just used the word “cuddlovable”? I might be worse off than I thought. That made me smile all the way through my shift, and I was still smiling when Rhys knocked on my door.

He brightened when he saw me and pushed his way inside, kissing me with everything he had. When we finally resurfaced for oxygen, I cupped his cheek.

“Should we sit? Let you rest your ankle?”

He shrugged. “I just wanna get into bed with you.”

I led him by the hand to the bedroom, then reached for his T-shirt, revealing his perfect chest.

“You always smell so good after a game.”

“That’s because I take two showers—one at the facility and one at home. Don’t want to make my—” He flushed and redirected. “Make you gag.”

I touched my finger to my ear. “What was that you were going to say? Make your…”

He went even redder, ignoring me in favor of toeing off his shoes and disrobing. I bit back a smile as I joined him on the bed. Given his size, it’d become our custom to have him lie back against the massive wall of pillows while I wrapped myself around his rib cage, warmed by the pleasing heft of his arm as he draped it over my back.

Despite the early evening hour, neither of us had gotten much rest the last few days, and a heavy sleepiness blanketed me. I took off my processor to enjoy the silence and the cuddles, but then I couldn’t help myself.

“I nearly broke my phone when I saw what that Dallas—flanker, right?—did to you.”

His body shimmied with laughter, and he flipped the bird, then combined it with the “okay” gesture.

“Did you just sign ‘fucking asshole’?”

Yes.

“Of course you know the bad words.”

Wait, he signed. You see g-a-m-e?

“Yep,” I replied, yawning. “Paid extra for the app and everything.”

He pulled me up into another dizzying kiss, and I had to wonder if it was a rugby thing, or a big guy thing, or, more likely, if it was simply a Rhys thing. Either way, it was a good thing.

Er, it had been a good thing until I yawned into his mouth.

“Shit, sorry!”

Maybe I bad kiss.

“No! I’m just… I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Same. N-a-p?

“Fuck, that sounds awesome.”

His chest rose rapidly, and I looked up to find him in the middle of a big yawn. We dropped off quickly, clinging to each other.

* * *

I woke up a few hours later to the bed being jostled. Reaching over, I grabbed my processor, sticking it to my head.

“Baby?” I asked. “I’ve got my ear on.”

“Sorry, gotta go to the bathroom.”

“Mmkay. You gonna be hungry anytime soon?”

He turned and sent me a lascivious smile. “I’ll be hungry for something.”

“Would you happen to be hungry for my ass?”

“You want that?”

“Of course. You know I’m vers, right?”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t sure…”

“Sweetheart, I can handle your massive cock.”

“It’s not massive,” he said, pink tipping his ears. “It’s proportional.”

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Okay, it might be a tiny bit massive.” He bit his lip, looking unsure.

“Spit it out.”

“When I top, I like to get rough. Not that I have to,” he quickly added. “But when I look at your ass, I kinda want to tear it up.”

“Baby, I like it rough. I mean… we can slow it down if your ankle still hurts.”

Shaking his head, Rhys rolled his ankle, popping it. “I’ve played with cracked ribs before. A little sore ankle is not going to stop me from fucking you into the mattress.”

When he was done in the bathroom, I took some extra time to prep, knowing that he’d practically be at my back teeth with that thing.

We met in bed, and I asked, “Mind if I add a layer?”

“What kind of a layer?”

I playfully pushed him off me and took off my processor. “If you fuck me from behind, I can’t see or hear you, and I really kind of…”

“Yes. Fuck yes,” he said.

At least, I was pretty sure that’s what he’d said. Any residual noise in my world settled to the background, a barely-there hum.

We made out until our cocks were weeping, then he flipped me—nice and rough—onto my hands and knees and was not shy about lubing and stretching my hole.

I closed my eyes, loving the noise deprivation after a long week of overstimulation. He kissed along my shoulders, his lips moving in time with his soft breaths, as though he were whispering secrets into my skin. I loved it.

Even though I felt him shift behind me and knew what was coming, I still startled when he pushed through the tight ring of muscle.

Fucking hell. Rhys had a decent length on him, but it was his girth that was doing me in.

I squeezed my eyes shut and bore down, wondering if I was making him grunt and groan like the last time we were together. We’d agreed that he could tap my shoulder, and I’d give him a thumbs-up or thumbs-down to keep going, so when he touched my shoulder, I eagerly gave him the thumbs-up. He leaned down to kiss the back of my neck, and his smile against my skin sent shivers down my spine.

He knelt back, grabbing one shoulder with a meaty hand as the other gripped my hip. With that, we were off to the races. I was stretched and wrecked, and he was hammering into me like it was his job.

On top of that, the near silence heightened everything, as did the sweat dripping onto my back. I had no idea what kind of noises were coming out of my mouth, but I knew I wasn’t exactly being quiet when he slapped a palm across my mouth. Still stroking into me like a fucking champ, he pointed to the wall I shared with a neighbor and made a gesture like someone knocking on the door.

Oops.

With his hand still clamped across my mouth, he drew me against his chest as he sat back on his fucking glorious haunches. While violently lifting and rolling his hips, he draped his other hand across my neck. He didn’t apply pressure, but the hot presence of his fingers wrapped around my neck was enough to make my eyes roll back.

I needed more, so I licked his palm until he pulled it away.

“Choke me.”

His hand on my throat didn’t move, so I turned back.

“Choke me,” I repeated, looking into his eyes.

Sure? he signed.

“Yes.”

He repeated himself. Sure?

I nodded. “Please.”

It was the please that did it, and his hand immediately tightened on my neck. I dropped the back of my head to his shoulder, loving how fuzzy I was going around the edges.

Did I know this man well enough to ask him to choke me? Probably not, but I knew I could trust Rhys Dawie with my life, and I wasn’t going to question that. After a few seconds, he released the pressure, sending me through the stratosphere. My blood cells splintered into two factions: head and cock. The rush to each created the kind of dizzying orgasm I’d only ever read in smutty romance novels.

Ahem. Not that I ever read those.

He clamped his hand over my mouth as I came, the cum arcing away from my body.

His gorgeous muscles tensed behind me, and his hips canted off at an angle, and I knew he was teed up and ready to fly. He pushed us forward, flattening me into the bed as he rutted the last of his orgasm into me. The burst of heat from his cum filled me, and I knew I’d want it again and again.

I didn’t even mind that he shoved me into the wet spot I’d created. I wanted to be leaking from him for days, and the rise and fall of his big chest above me while pinned to the bed made my poor, spent cock twitch.

He rolled his hips from side to side, as if enjoying the tail end of ecstasy, before kissing the back of my neck and then slowly pulling away from me.

You, he signed as he flipped me. M-e-s-s.

I looked down and laughed. Cum plastered the hair against my belly and chest. He grabbed my hand and pulled me from the bed. I wobbled, come-drunk and leaking, so he supported me as we walked into the bathroom. After letting the shower heat up, he pulled us in together and bathed me so sweetly and gently that emotion clogged my throat.

Slow it down, Sev.

I don’t think I can.

We stayed under the water, clinging to each other, kissing like the world was gonna end any moment. Being with Rhys blew away my excuses and fears like cobwebs after a spring cleaning. I knew—the way you just know—that whatever this was, it was serious, and it would be serious for a long time.

We kissed until the shower ran cold, then toweled off and raced back into the bedroom, damp and happy.

Where, he signed, s-h-e-e-t-s?

Grateful that my shorn hair dried quickly, I reached for my processor, stuck it to the side of my head, and answered, “In the closet top shelf.”

“And you can hear me now?” he asked, smiling as he reached for them.

I thought briefly of the fact that I would never get to hear his voice without the sort of demon robot effect of the implant. I could hear, however, the bass notes, the concern, the affection in his voice. Even better, I had those things with or without the processor.

It was also clear from the number of words he was signing that he’d been refreshing his signed vocabulary. Sure, his grammar was shit, but then again, so was mine. I knew he would continue to work on it, and that meant I had to as well.

Finding someone who was willing to meet me at my level of try was like finding a unicorn. Yet, here Rhys was, this sweet, almost shy, rugby bro, and he was meeting me where I was at.

I couldn’t wait to see where we would go next.

CHAPTER NINE

RHYS

“Want to come to my game tonight?” I asked as soon as Sev woke up and attached his processor. It was five thirty in the morning, and he somehow looked just as sexy as he had last night.

“Can you even play on that ankle?” Worry clouded his pretty eyes.

I kissed his temple, loving the things his concern did to my heart. “Nothing a little extra tape can’t fix.”

He grumbled something about crazy rugby boys, and I tightened my grip on him, loving how we were wrapped up in each other, a tangle of tattoos and muscles.

I couldn’t believe that he’d trusted me enough to go without his processor during sex last night. I could tell that he’d loved the deprivation and subsequent heightened senses. When he’d asked me to choke him, it was all I could do not to tell him that I loved him right then and there.

Obviously, that was ridiculous. I couldn’t be in love. We’d known each other for less than a month. If we kept going down this path, however, falling in love with him would be easy.

Not just easy. Inevitable. All I knew was that I didn’t want to be away from him for a single second that I didn’t have to be.

Kissing my shoulder, he answered, “I’d love to go to your game.”

Needing to hide how freaked out and excited I was for him to say yes, I pressed my face into his neck. That turned into more kisses, which turned into more time naked and cuddled up in bed, taking turns tasting each other.

“Sorry, Sev.” I gave a gentle squeeze to his spent balls before rolling to a sit. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for practice.”

“Shit, did I ruin your game?” he asked, wiping a bit of cum from his short beard. “Like, aren’t you supposed to abstain from sex before a match? Is that a thing?”

I smirked, way too cocky. “Maybe. Though, to be fair, you’ve only ruined, at worst, this morning’s practice. Either way, ask me if I give a damn.”

“Okay, but don’t send your rugby lads after me if it goes badly today. I can hold my own in a fight, but not against fifteen guys who look like you.”

Kissing his forehead—because tough-looking guys like us never got enough affection—I replied, “Don’t worry. I’ll get between you and anyone who tries to hurt you.”

Sev seemed equally pleased by my affection and words, like maybe no one had ever offered to snuggle and protect him before.

On the way over, I called the ticket office and had them set aside a seat in the team box for tonight. I jogged into the locker room, right on time, but since I was known to show up early, I got some raised eyebrows from the fellas. Ruiz was sticking his tongue against the inside of his cheek, like he knew exactly what I’d been getting up to.

I sent him a friendly bird and then sat in front of my locker to get changed into my workout gear. The warmup was not too bad, considering how many times I’d come last night—this morning?— though I probably wouldn’t make a habit of it. Unless we won big tonight.

Like most athletes, I had my fair share of superstitions, and anything that led to a win had to be made part of my game day routine, regrettably. Heavy sarcasm on the regrettably.

By the time we were back in the locker room getting ready for the game, I was warmed up and ready to smash some heads on the pitch. Pulling my jersey over my head, I noticed a new patch: a rugby ball done up in rainbow colors. At first, I thought it was Ruiz pulling a kind of shitty prank on me, but then I realized that the same patch was on everyone’s arm.

I pulled Schultz to the side. “Did I miss something? Why do we have rainbow patches?”

“It’s Pride night.”

“How did I miss that?”

He shrugged, then chucked me on my shoulder. “Guess you were too busy gaying it up with your guy to notice.”

I grumped at him and finished getting ready. I’d had some notion of coming out to the team but hadn’t yet figured out how to do it in a way that didn’t fuck with team cohesion. We were still very green, but our preseason wins had people filling the stands. The team could do something special in Austin, if I didn’t fuck it up.

Looking around the locker room, I discovered that nearly every member of the team was good-naturedly putting on their jersey. Perhaps I’d been worried about nothing. Then again, Taavi, the massive hooker we’d lured from New Zealand-Aotearoa, was sitting in a slump, snarling at his jersey.

We hadn’t been able to pay him shit, but Coach’s wife had found some lucrative endorsement deals that made him more than he could’ve back home. It was a big move, and he’d absolutely been the difference in a few of those wins.

It would suck if he was a homophobe.

Once it became obvious, though, that he was the only one not putting on the jersey, I approached him. Coach had put me through some leadership training when he’d made me captain, so I tried to remember what I was supposed to do in a situation like this.

“Hey, man. Something wrong with your jersey?”

He grumbled and reached for his regular jersey.

“Dude, we have to wear the same kit, or the league will fine us. You know that. Sorry if you don’t agree with the theme, but⁠—”

“The fuck do you mean, Cap?” Taavi asked, standing to his full height.

There aren’t many people in the world who can make me look small. Taavi is one of them.

“It’s Pride night, and maybe you’re not down with that, but⁠—”

“Cap, I’m gay. This—” He shoved the jersey into my hands. “—is bullshit. It’s, like, three sizes too small and doesn’t even have my name on it. This? Is fucking disrespectful. This is bad, even for Texas.”

The locker room went silent, and I felt my throat catch. I took a few deep breaths until the muscles released. I inhaled, then started on the exhale.

“Y—ou’re right. That’s not acceptable. I’ll t—alk to Coach, see what happened with your jersey. Th—ank you for saying something.”

I took a few more breaths, placing my hand on my chest.

“So-sorry, guys. I—” Breathe, Rhys. “I have a stu—tter that comes out when I am nervous, or when I need to say so—mething important.”

Looking around the room, I only saw brothers.

“So. Yeah. I’m g—ay, too. And tonight means a lot to me. My boyfriend is in the stands tonight, and I don’t want to pretend he’s just my friend.”

Silence.

Then Ruiz shouted, “Fuck yeah! I’m bi, and I refuse to hide it.”

That got the locker room going, massive rugby guys laughing and hugging each other, right as Coach walked in with a Taavi-sized jersey in his hands.

Giving us major eyebrow, he asked, “Do I want to know?”

“We’re just celebrating the fact that a bunch of us are queer, Coach,” Ruiz said, his eyes bright with excitement.

Coach shook his head. “Knew I should’ve had HR down here before practice.” Holding the jersey out to Taavi, he said, “Here, looks like they gave you the wrong kit.”

Taavi, still scowling, got up and took the jersey from Coach’s hands. His scowl instantly gave way to a massive grin as he held it in the air.

“Yes! I’m a triple-x f—” He cut himself off. “Uh. Sorry, Coach.”

Coach palmed his forehead. “Definitely having HR talk to y’all tonight after the game.” Looking at me, he asked, “We good?”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Then let’s fucking win this game. Some of the guys on the other team have Sharpied out the pride patch, and I’d love to make them regret it.”

Taavi up-nodded him with a wicked smile. “Sure, Coach. I’ll make sure those assholes know it was a big ol’ bottom who just ground their shit into the turf.”

A roar of laughter went up in the locker room, and Coach turned to me. “I don’t know how to respond to that.”

“I’m vers, Coach, so I can’t help you. Maybe start with a good boy and see where that gets you.”

Taavi developed quite the flush on his pretty brown skin, which did not go unnoticed. Ruiz, being Ruiz, stood in front of Taavi with his arms crossed and an appreciative lust in his eyes. I gestured to the tragedy unfolding before us, and Coach’s chin hit his chest.

Ruiz was relatively scrawny in comparison, but I had the feeling he was going to be having Kiwi for dinner.

Scrunching his eyes closed, Coach muttered, “HR. I’m sending HR after every single one of you. Just… fucking win.”

We headed out to the pitch with something to prove; the entire team, queer or not, took Coach’s words to heart. We put those assholes on notice, scoring on the first drive. Every time the Dallas team said something about our jerseys, we chirped back with our favorite things to do in bed.

“I dunno about you,” Taavi said to the hooker on their team as he ground his cheek into the dirt, “but I’m a missionary girlie, through and through.”

Ruiz, post-tackle and unable to help himself, replied, “I’ve got a sex wedge that’s clutch in missionary.”

“Don’t you have a latex allergy?” Schultz asked as he tossed the ball backward to Lane.

“Yeah, but I found the perfect condoms for anal, and they feel like nothing.”

By the end of it, the Dallas team was red-faced and spitting mad, having been shut out by a team full of queer and allied athletes. It was the best night ever.

Coach kept his word about having HR visit us, but the guy who showed up was a super-femme, twinky fellow in sharp glasses and a bow tie. I was pretty sure by the end of it he was going to be the meat in a Ruiz-Taavi sandwich.

After everyone showered and exited the locker room, I chatted up Coach on my thoughts for the game against DC coming up next week. When we made it out to the parking lot, Sev was hanging by my car, trying to look casual.

Given the fact that my team was good, and that anyone who saw my face already knew how I felt about this man, I gestured for him to join us.

CHAPTER TEN

SEV

“Hey, Coach. This is my boyfriend, Severin Sousa. He’s the head chef over at Adorado.”

Rhys’s eyes widened as the word boyfriend fell out of his mouth, and he grimaced through the rest of his sentence. We hadn’t really talked about our labels, but we were definitely on the same wavelength.

I set my temple against his massive shoulder and stuck out my hand. Coach’s brows raised—briefly—but he recovered quickly and took it. After we shook, he stepped back and brought up his hands.

“You have a cochlear implant,” he said and signed.

“Yeah,” I responded. “But my sign language is still not great. This one has been helping me practice.”

Coach sent me an understanding smile, then beckoned for a little girl off to the side to join us. She had Coach’s sharp blue eyes and followed his quick signs better than I did.

“This is Dahlia. Dahlia, this is Severin.”

Her eyes went to my cochlear implant, and she moved her hair aside, showing me hers. I held up my palm, and she high fived me. Then, as if a starter pistol had gone off, the two of us started talking. We compared our cochlear implants. She had two, so she had better hearing overall, but she was impressed with the brand of processor I had.

As we were chatting, a statuesque woman with thick blonde hair down to her waist walked up to Coach.

“That’s Coach’s wife,” Rhys explained.

They stepped to the side and began signing with one another. It was the kind of casual signs that I had the hardest time with, and then I realized that maybe it was a private conversation.

Shit, I should probably learn sign language etiquette.

She turned to Rhys and smiled. “You’re Dawie, right?”

“Ye-yes.”

I could tell from her voice that she was Deaf, but I wasn’t sure if she had the cochlear implant as well.

She saw me looking and laughed. “I’m Corinda. I was born Deaf, like my daughter. I didn’t want the cochlear implant, but she did.”

O-k, I signed and mouthed. I know sign. Sort of. But now s-e-r-i-o-u-s about learning.

“That’s so cool. By the way, here’s how you sign serious,” she said, touching her pointer finger to her chin in a twisting motion.

I copied the sign, and she sent me a thumbs-up.

“I can give you the name of my daughter’s sign language tutor. Navigating the world with an implant takes a lot of mental energy, but you deserve to have language, even when your processor is off.”

R-h-y-s learn s-a-m-e teacher?

“Absolutely,” she said, nodding enthusiastically, showing me the sign for same. Turning to Rhys, she said, “By the way, you’ve been avoiding me. I have a few companies that are very interested in being represented by our handsome captain.”

He pointed to his mouth. S-t-u-t-t-e-r.

She showed us a couple of signs to describe it. “That’s why you know sign language?”

Yes.

“Is the stutter really bad?”

Sometimes. Relaxed is better.

She stroked her chin. “I’ll make sure that you’re only working with super chill people. I’ll text you in a few days.”

They exchanged numbers, then we chatted until the groundskeeper flashed the stadium lights. When we finally parted ways for the evening, we agreed that we should get together outside of the team’s games, and I invited them to my restaurant for their anniversary.

“Welp. Nothing about today went as expected,” Rhys noted dryly as we made our way to his car.

“No, boyfriend. No, it did not.”

Unable to help myself, I tipped my head back and laughed as he turned an adorable shade of pink. Pulling him into my arms, I kissed the hell out of him. He kissed me back with equal fervor, pressing his hard-on into my hip.

“Let’s go home,” I said, trying to catch my breath.

He nodded, pressing his forehead to mine. “I need you so bad.”

One law-breaking drive later, and we stumbled through my front door, ripping at each other’s clothes. My nuts protested, still empty from all the earlier orgasms, but I needed his skin on mine. Naked, we fell into my unmade bed, rolling around in sheets that already smelled like sex and man.

Rhys cursed under his breath, twisting to kiss the head of my dick. “I don’t think I’ve got another fuck in me tonight, but I need my mouth on you.”

“I need you on top of me,” I begged, smacking his hip. “Let’s suck each other off.”

“I’ll suffocate you,” he said between slow licks.

“If I die, I die,” I insisted, smacking him again.

“Mm…” He shifted, sucking as he straddled me.

I lifted my chin, stretching my lips around his wide cock. He stayed on his knees, taking me to the back of his throat. Disgruntled, I smacked his ass, hard.

Startled, he thrust forward, letting me finally have all of him. I made irritated noises until he eventually put all his weight on me, wedging my jaw open as he fucked my mouth. I got my oxygen in sips, and I didn’t care. I was in heaven, with my arms wrapped around his thick thighs, luxuriating in the way his strong muscles squeezed so tight, his bulk pressed me into the mattress, and his musky scent left me dizzy and greedy for more.

Given our earlier activities, we were able to take our time consuming and appreciating one another. Soft moans and slick thrusting sounds filled the space, muffled slightly by Rhys’s thighs. After a while, my jaw began to ache, and I wanted to suck on something else.

I tapped his hip, and he rolled to the side. “You feel so fucking good under me,” he said, a little breathless.

“Your weight on top of me is addicting,” I admitted, breathing just as hard. “But my mouth needs something a little smaller to suck on.”

Chuckling, he lumbered toward the head of the bed, laying alongside me. We made out, and despite my sore jaw, I couldn’t get enough of him.

“Why is this so good?” I asked between deep kisses. “I’m fucking addicted.”

“Oh, thank God. Me too,” he whispered before delving into my mouth again. “You literally could not pay me to leave this bed.”

“Same,” I said, trailing kisses down his neck and across his collarbones.

Grabbing one of his pecs, he jiggled it, angling his flushed nipple toward my mouth. I dipped my head, tonguing his nipple, then playing with it, getting it hard before sucking it into my mouth.

“Harder,” Rhys gasped, reaching for the lube.

I happily complied, burying my face into his chest as I hollowed out my cheeks. He slid his fingers between my ass cheeks, slick with lube. Jerking when he pushed the two middle digits inside me, I let out a grunt and then a sigh.

After I switched to his other nipple to give us a better angle, he rubbed his hard-on against my thigh. I dialed down the suction, letting my hand drift down to his cock, jacking him off as he finger fucked me.

The slow rolling orgasm took him first, then me. I grabbed a discarded T-shirt and wiped us down before we rinsed off and then quickly got back into bed.

“Jesus,” I whispered as he held me, pressing his massive chest to my back. “Who knew that terrible first date would lead to this?”

“CUPID, apparently,” Rhys joked. “That algorithm knew what it was doing, putting us together. Not that I’ll ever need it again.”

I laughed as he froze up behind me. Twisting to see his face, I kissed his cheek. “What’s up? What made you stiffen up like that?”

“I—I didn’t want you to think that I was pressuring you, or whatever. It was just a joke.”

I gave him the so-so sign. “It was a good joke, but you’re right. I can’t imagine needing it again, either.”

He furrowed his brows, expression serious. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. I mean, we still have a lot to learn about each other, but this feels different, right?”

“It does.”

I kissed him and smiled when he kissed me back. “Then this is the beginning, and I don’t see an end in sight.”

EPILOGUE

RHYS

It had been a little under three months since our terrible first date, and a lot had happened in that time. My team was, so far, undefeated in regular season, and I’d been right about Taavi, Ruiz, and the twinky HR guy. Pretty sure they were a throuple at this point. Sev and I had been attending sign language classes together, and we’d picked up a lot of vocabulary. My grammar still sucked, but it was improving.

Tyler and Lindsay decided they’d move in together at the end of summer, when her lease was up, which gave me a few months to find a place of my own. Coach’s wife came through on the endorsement deals, though, and I’d had more breathing room, financially.

The biggest change, however, had to do with the fact that I was standing outside of Sev’s recovery room, holding a massive flower arrangement. The more we’d hung out with Coach and his family, the more Sev had realized that he really would be better off with two implants instead of one.

He was able to browbeat his insurance into covering part of it, and we crowdfunded the rest through a rugby car wash that sorta accidentally went viral in the Austin area. That tended to happen, we’d discovered, when you got a bunch of rugby lads shirtless and soapy. We’d snarled up traffic by the stadium, and the Austin Police Department had chided us for creating mayhem—oops—but we got the necessary funds together.

Gripping the daisies that I knew my rough-looking guy loved, I peeked my head around the curtain. I smiled at Sev’s mom and dad, who looked as tired as I felt. We’d all been up at four thirty a.m. to get him to the hospital on time. The surgery had gone smoothly, and the doctor had been able to learn from Sev’s first surgery regarding the placement of the internal device.

He still had to recover before they installed the processor on the other side, but all of the news was positive.

Sev blinked slowly, still groggy from the meds, but he looked good. I set the arrangement next to his bed, and he gave me a dopey smile, completely incongruent with his tatted-up look.

“You’re here,” he slurred. Fucking adorable.

“I’m here.”

“I missed you.”

“It’s not even lunchtime.”

“Still,” Sev grumped, scrunching his face. “Any amount of time away from my one true love is too long.”

I inhaled sharply, darting a look to his mom and dad.

“He’s been saying that all morning,” his dad whispered, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Where’s my one true love?” his mom said, smiling through her terrible impression of him. “You do know that we plan on getting a ton of mileage out of that one, right?”

I swallowed thickly. I mean, yeah, I’d been in love with him practically from the beginning, but I figured we’d need a few more months before it was reasonable for us to say it out loud.

“Uh, sure. Now if we can just get him to say it when he’s not high on painkillers, that’d be sweet.”

His mom patted my chest. “I’ve never seen my son like this before.”

“Oh? He wasn’t this way with his first surgery?”

“No, Rhys. I mean I’ve never seen him so smitten. So in love. Makes me happy.”

Sev’s dad nodded in agreement. “Martha, why don’t we let these two have a few minutes together?”

They took each other’s hand and walked out of the tiny recovery area. Biting my lip, I pushed Sev’s hair back from his face, then whispered, “You’re my one true love, too.”

Always, if I had anything to do with it.

* * *

SEV

This surgery had gone so much better than the first, and having Rhys here made all the difference in the world.

He made everything better, to be honest. From the very beginning—well, almost the very beginning—he’d brought out the best in me. Even though we’d only been dating a few months, I already knew that I was madly, deeply, stupidly in love with him.

Since everything with the surgery went well, Rhys was able to take me home by midafternoon once the anesthesia had worn off. I’d still be down for the count for a few days, but at least I could recover from the comfort of my own bed.

As he tucked me in, I caught the smile that Rhys had been wearing most of the day.

“What’s this smile about?” I asked, touching the tip of my finger to the upturned corner of his mouth.

He huffed out a laugh. “Not sure if I should tell you.”

“Okay, now you have to tell me.”

“It has to do with something you said while heavily under the influence.”

I thought back through the things we’d talked about at the hospital and drew a blank.

“I have no clue. What did I say?”

He leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “You called me your one true love in front of your mom and dad.”

“Shit,” I said, not one bit sorry. “I was supposed to wait until a reasonable amount of time had passed to say it.”

He gingerly settled alongside me, resting his head on his meaty fist. “Ah, well. I said it back, so maybe neither of us was in a reasonable mood today.”

“You said it back?”

“Mmhmm.”

“But… I didn’t hear you. I was out of it.”

“Do you want me to say it again?” he asked, smiling through a kiss to my temple.

“Yes,” I responded, feeling awfully pouty.

I blamed the anesthesia.

Ignoring my moody expression, Rhys made the I love you sign with both hands, then made the signs ‘kiss’, intertwining his fingers.

“I love you, Sev. You are my one true love,” he whispered, his eyes shiny with emotion.

“I love you, too,” I whispered back, somehow both giddy and teary at once. “I have from the beginning. And I don’t want you to find another place when you move out of your apartment. I want you to live here.”

“That the meds talking?” he asked, skeptical.

“Nope. I think we’re both past the point of pretending that this isn’t a forever thing.”

“True.” He tapped my nose. “But your mother didn’t appreciate your plan to trick me into going to Vegas so that you could marry me.”

Shit. Busted.

Rhys raised his brows. “Wait. Was that a real plan?”

I shrugged. “I mean… I was thinking a trip to Vegas sounded like an excellent six month anniversary gift. And, you know, if we happened to stumble into a chapel while we were there, who’d be the wiser?”

Wow. Maybe those drugs were stronger than I realized. I mean, yeah, I was going to marry him, but I’d planned to keep that under wraps for another month or so, at least.

Rhys snorted. “You know you said that out loud, right?”

“Shit.” I grabbed his beefy arm. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not trying to push you, okay?”

“Baby,” he said, running his nose along mine. “Have you heard me deny anything?”

“Uh… no.”

“Then assume that I’m waiting for the end of the season to make it official so that we can have some semblance of a honeymoon.”

I grinned, then winced as exhaustion took over. Fucking robot ears.

“We love each other, you’re moving in, we’re getting married at the end of the season. Please remind me we had this conversation once I’m fully recovered.”

Rhys’s deep chuckle made me smile.

“I will, baby. And I’ll keep reminding you for the rest of our lives.”

* * *

Acknowledgements

To Roger: Thank you so much for the sensitivity read and for the beautifully romantic suggestion of the “kissing” I love you signs.

To The Reader Who Suggested A Literal Meat Cute: That was a deeply, deeply cheesy suggestion, and I LOVED it. I hope you liked where I took the idea. <3

To Wifey: Thank you for not freaking out when I said I loved you three weeks into dating and for agreeing to move in with me just three months later. I love our insta-love story.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

KELLY FOX

Hi there! I write gay romance, which is to say that I curse way too much, drink exactly the right amount of red wine, and sleep far too little. I’m also lucky enough to live in Central Texas with my wife and two dogs, where the astonishing diversity of humans and landscapes and tattoo shops serve as my muse.

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MIXED MOTIVES

LESLIE MCADAM

CHAPTER ONE

HENRY

They say revenge is a dish best served cold, but I’m going to do it in silver sequined hot pants and a black leather harness.

I angrily raise my fist and prepare to pound on the heavy, dark wood door to a nicely kept-up Spanish-style home. It’s a cool January day, and potted rosemary plants scent the air from either side of the stoop.

There are a few things wrong with this picture.

First, it may be obvious, but this white stucco home with a red tile roof is most definitely not a nightclub. Also, I’m not generally the kind to wear booty shorts; they’re left over from a trip to SF when I turned twenty-one. Happier times. And most of the time, I’m quite a peaceful person.

Not today, though. I have plans. I seek vengeance. My wrath will be known.

So, a few moments ago, I marched right up to this cute home at two in the afternoon on a Wednesday like I’m an invading marauder. A marauder who makes unusual fashion choices.

Focus, Henry. Remember why you’re here.

I’m here because I’m pissed. Kerrigan Fitzpatrick needs to pay. I glare at the door.

Part of me wants to kick it down. The rest of me is having second thoughts. I pause, holding my breath and counting as I hover my fist even closer. On the count of three.

One … two … three.

I exhale so hard my shoulders sink.

Dammit. Retribution really isn’t my style.

Neither is this getup. The shorts are wedged up my ass, and my cell phone is shoved inside the waistband, making a weird lump on my hip next to the packets of condoms and lube that are sticking to my skin. Good thing these pants are tight, or I’d be dribbling prophylactics out a leg hole.

Now that I’m taking a moment to think, I’m pretty sure my plan is the worst idea I’ve ever had—although when I came up with it, it seemed like the best.

Reasons why it’s the worst idea mainly revolve around the mortification I’m going to suffer if—as seems likely—this all goes to hell. It’ll make my previous most embarrassing moment seem like nothing.

(Which, incidentally, was that time I thought the sexy Southwinds Coffee barista was passing me a steaming pile of trash instead of a warm banana nut muffin wrapped in kraft paper, after I’d washed my hands and everything … so I snatched it from him and swished it like a basketball into a garbage can, then shouted, “Three points!” He handed me another muffin without comment. I go to a different coffee shop now.)

Reasons why it’s the best idea: because that motherfucking jackass deserves everything that’s coming to him.

And since—as I kept reminding myself on the five-minute drive here—the possibility of payback is beating potential chagrin by a country mile right now, I’m going to go through with this.

Kerrigan Fitzpatrick needs to know how it feels. I can’t do what he did; I’m not that awful of a person. And even if I were, we broke up, so I can’t cheat on him. But I can do this.

Any minute now, I’ll do it.

Just give me a sec.

Anger reignites like a wildfire hot spot as the image of him balls-deep in Ian Davis flashes through my brain. Throwing two years of my life down the crapper.

Then I shiver, because even though my emotions are running hot, it’s still kind of cold on the central coast of California in January. My nipples are definitely complaining.

My conscience is raising an objection as well. What I’m intending to do is, I would argue, a very reasonable plan of seduction, but I can’t deny it’s on the side of evil.

… and I’m now learning I’m not very good at being bad.

Dammit.

Fuck. I suck at this. While I want to hold on to my fury, other emotions like doubt and dread are elbowing their way into my mind, settling in next to my constant companion—anxiety—and making me second-guess myself and whether this plan will work.

It won’t.

I let my arm drop to my side, and I study the geometric-pattern sisal doormat that sits on the burnt-orange Saltillo tiles.

Okay, I really need to get out of my head and either execute the excellent plot I concocted in the shower thirty minutes ago … or leave.

Leaving sounds perfect, actually. Even though I’m disgusted at my ex for being awful and at myself for being a wuss, I can’t do this.

I’m turning around to retreat to my car when the telltale creak of a door opening makes my feet feel like they’re stuck in wet clay. Of course I’ve been caught. I hold my hands up like a scarecrow. Or a criminal.

A low, sexy male voice says, “Henry? Is that you?”

I grit my teeth, try not to flinch, and rearrange my face to seem relaxed. Might as well continue with my original plan. Everything else in my life has gone wrong, so what the hell? What do I have to lose?

“Hey. Yeah,” I say slowly as I face the door again, trying to look casual with my bare chest on display. It’s showtime. “So. Hi.”

Dropping my arms, I come face-to-face with Keane Fitzpatrick, who happens to be the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in real life. And by real life, I’m including all facets of the internet, all movies I’ve ever seen, and the airbrushed perfection of every glossy magazine.

In other words, ever. He’s the hottest man ever. Six foot four, with jet-black hair and sapphire-blue eyes, built like he could tear apart logs with his bare hands. Bulging biceps. Inverted-triangle torso. All of it. He’d be a cartoon character of the Handsome Leading Man, except …

Except he’s real. And he’s standing right in front of me.

I know the fact that I’ve had a crush on him forever is wicked, but he’s always been so friendly to me. It’s hard not to notice someone who is both gorgeous and kind, even if they were off-limits. But now that the barrier has been removed, I’m taking my chance.

I mean, I’m getting even. That’s it.

Keane’s eyes take in what I’m wearing—or what I’m not wearing—then cycle through confusion, amusement, and, if I’m not mistaken, heat, until they settle on concern.

“Are you okay?” A crease appears in Keane’s brow as his dark eyebrows knit together. His thick hair shines in the cool winter light. It’s cut short but longish, if that makes any sense. Like, it’s not down to his shoulders or anything, but it’s tousled and you could wrap a lock of it around a finger. If you were that lucky. When I don’t respond—because no, I’m not okay; I make a ragey anime character look like a meditating angel—he asks, “Do you need something?”

Now that you ask, I could use a time machine to rewind to thirty-two minutes ago so I could formulate a different plan.

No! I argue with myself. Smile at him. Stick your hip out. Say it.

Seduce him!

All I say is, “Um. Do you mind if I come in?” Really, Henry? That’s your line? For fuck’s sake. I hide my wince.

“No, not at all. Please do.” He steps aside, and his dark gray argyle socks catch my eye. Because of course he has on interesting socks while at home. Keane wouldn’t be wearing old sweats and a T-shirt with a stain on it. No, he’s in a pair of flat-front charcoal gray slacks and a black dress shirt with the top three buttons undone. He looks like casual elegance, because he is, while I’m clomping in wearing combat boots.

He and I go together like Thin Mints and orange juice.

When I pass by him, I catch a whiff of his scent. Only a hint; it’s not overpowering. I’m not sure what it is, since I can’t tell my bergamot from my neroli. He just smells good. Clean. Manly.

Ugh. This was such a bad idea. He’s so entirely out of my league.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt, looking up at him as he closes the door behind us. “You were probably working.”

He shrugs, then gives me a genuine smile that makes my heart ratchet up to more beats per minute than are strictly necessary for proper circulatory functioning. “I don’t mind being interrupted. You’re more important. Come in, have a seat. Let me get you a drink. Then you can tell me what’s going on.”

Keane shows me into the living room, then strides to the kitchen and returns with two glasses of water, ice clinking when he passes one to me as if I’m some normal guest and not a wannabe rent boy. All his furniture is in the gorgeous Craftsman style, which goes well with his vintage home. He settles in a morris chair, the picture of repose as he puts one ankle on his opposite knee.

Meanwhile, I sit gingerly on the most comfortable couch that has ever existed in all of eternity, feeling like I’m exposing way too much skin, especially when my shorts ride up even more than when I was standing.

The couch is mission-style, dark brown leather with wood trim, and, honestly, couches this pretty should not be comfortable, but that’s how Keane’s house is. Because it matches him, and he’s perfect. It even has a cozy gray throw blanket. I want to curl up here with a cup of tea and stay for hours, but I can’t. All I say is “Thanks” as I take a grateful sip.

Then I try to adjust the way I’m sitting so I look more tempting. Only problem is, I’m not sure how to do that, since I’m sitting on my best feature. It’s not like I can bend over the arm of the couch and shake my baby cakes at him.

Keane thinks I’m hot. Right? All those times helping him with the dishes, he was checking me out. Wasn’t he? I didn’t misread this. Did I?

As far as I know, he’s available. The story goes that Keane realized he was bisexual in college but ended up marrying a woman. They divorced ten years ago.

Keane refrains from commenting on my garb and instead politely asks, “How’s the bed-and-breakfast going? It’s been, what? Six weeks?”

My heart does a little leap. He’s been paying attention to the happenings of my life, even if I don’t see him that often. My mouth moves without my permission, likely because this is a much safer topic than the one I intended to talk about. “Yeah, just over a month. It’s tough. Aunt Veronica wasn’t very tech savvy, and I’m only just now figuring out how to do things. The parts I’d be good at—like upgrading the website—well, I don’t want to do those quite yet, because I’m not ready for more business. So I’m maintaining the status quo until I get things squared away. I’ve got so many ideas for the future, though I don’t know if they’ll work in practice.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“Thanks,” I say. His confidence in me feels more like sincere reassurance than a platitude. Especially since I know how good he is at running his own business.

“The hospitality industry can be difficult, but it can also be fun. You just have to think about what the other person wants. How they want to be treated. We try to do that in the tasting room.”

Keane’s small but successful winery is in town, near my aunt’s old Victorian home, which she turned into a bed-and-breakfast. I inherited the place just before Christmas and have been trying to keep it running ever since.

I gulp my water and smile.

“Henry,” he says gently, “you look so nervous. It’s just me. We don’t have to talk about business if you don’t want to. Are you in some kind of trouble? Can I help? You’re not usually”—he holds his hands out, indicating my garb—“like this. What is it you need?”

Squaring my shoulders, I look my ex-boyfriend’s dad in the eye and give him the most seductive smile I can muster. Not sure I succeed, since I don’t feel like smiling. I lower my voice to a purr. “I guess I just was thinking about you, and I figured that now was the best time for me to ask you for something.”

“Okay …” He draws out the syllables as he raises his glass to his lips.

I dig into my shorts and pull out the condoms and lube, watching his eyes widen. “I want—no, I need—you to fuck me.”

CHAPTER TWO

KEANE

I choke on my drink and start coughing.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Henry says, grabbing the gray mohair throw and using it to wipe off the coffee table, then patting me on the back. “I didn’t mean to cut off your air circulation. Breathing is very important.”

“It’s not a problem,” I wheeze, my brain whirring as he hovers over me, wearing next to nothing.

Henry Carter is my son’s boyfriend. I have no idea what’s gotten into him, but there is no way on God’s green earth that I’m having sex with him. That’s just plain wrong. I’m not going to help him cheat on my son, period, let alone with me.

Tell that to my dick, though. Because for the past few minutes, Henry’s been sitting less than six feet away from me, wearing mostly skin. Tempting as all hell. Since the moment I saw him on my doorstep, I’ve been studying the sinuous curves of his body. The way his lower lip is extra pouty, demanding to be bitten.

He’s sweet and utterly beautiful and charming and entrancing, with the brown curls of his hair and his pale gray-blue eyes. I’ve been fighting an erection this entire time. In fact, I made myself go get water so I could take a few deep breaths before I had to face his sexiness.

Damnit, I cannot get hard for my son’s boyfriend, even—especially?—when he comes waltzing into my house and propositions me. My brain knows it’s immoral, but my body has other ideas.

Like removing Henry’s booty shorts with my teeth.

I need to change the subject.

Henry settles back down, satisfied that I’m not going to die, and keeps talking. “I was thinking about coming over here with poppers, but I didn’t know if you’re into that. Or if you ever were. I mean, things are different now, but I thought it might be some kind of vintage fun. Except I have no idea where to get them, since I don’t do drugs, and now I’m talking way too much.”

What is he talking about? Poppers? Where does that boy’s brain go? I clear my throat.

I need to do the right thing. He’s plain old off-limits. There are boundaries I will not cross, and this is one of them. I’ve never seriously considered him. End of story.

“Henry,” I begin, and he can tell from the tone of my voice that he’s going to get turned down.

He sets aside the blanket and puts his face in his hands. “I can’t believe I came on to you and just said it like that. I’m so embarrassed. Oh my God, I’m going to go move to a different town. Which I can’t do, because arghhhhh. I have to manage the B and B.” He groans, sliding his hands down his cheeks.

Henry’s so damned cute. I want to console him, but that would be sending the wrong message.

I decide to indulge my brain, since I’m not going to let my body do what it wants. “Can I ask why?” I ask.

“Why poppers?”

“No, why do you want to have s—sleep with me?”

“Oh. Because Kerrigan cheated on me.”

Of fucking course.

That explains why this adorable man’s lower lip is trembling and his eyes are full of unshed tears. Henry’s utterly heartbroken.

Oh, sweet boy, you didn’t deserve that.

And my brain engages in a quick calculation: Do my concerns still apply, now that Henry is my son’s ex-boyfriend?

Yes. It’s still wrong. If Kerrigan cheated on him—which I unfortunately don’t doubt—then Henry is going through a lot, and he’s likely vulnerable and emotional, so he needs to be treated with kid gloves. I’m going to listen to him, and if I can help him, I will. But I’m not touching him.

Not because I wouldn’t like to. In fact, if I dig down deep, this isn’t the first time the image of fucking Henry has been in my brain. Henry’s (normally) geek chic, with an ass that won’t quit and a certain anxious energy combined with a lost-puppy look that makes me want to take him under my wing and care for him. Soothe him. Wash away all his worries.

Still … nope. “I’m sorry he cheated on you,” I tell him, “but what does that have to do with sleeping with me?”

“I wanted him to feel as bad as I do,” Henry whispers. “I couldn’t turn the tables and cheat on him, since we’re broken up, but I thought this would be … the closest thing, I guess.”

I should be upset that Henry wanted to use me in some harebrained plot, but I feel for the guy. He’s hurting. It’s all I can do not to gather him in my arms and hug him. But. “I’m not going to be used in a revenge scheme against my son.”

That said, I’m pretty angry with Kerrigan for treating Henry this way … and ashamed that I raised a son who would cheat.

Henry scrubs his face. “Yeah. I know. I’m sorry. I guess … I’ve always been attracted to you, and I was just so fucking pissed, and now that”—he waves his hands, indicating, perhaps, that we’re both single—“I was wondering if …” He swallows hard.

I shake my head, and Henry sinks into the couch, his disappointment palpable.

“When did it happen?” I ask.

“Two hours ago. I caught him in the act—graphically—with that snake Ian Davis. I thought we were exclusive, but apparently, Kerrigan didn’t. And I know that not everyone wants the same thing I do⁠—”

“You don’t need to justify his actions, Henry.”

“Yeah, okay. But I understand that monogamy isn’t for everyone. Just because it is for me …”

“Me, too. I mean, monogamy is my preference, too.”

And as we talk, I find myself thinking This is worse. Because Henry and I have always naturally hit it off. When Kerrigan would bring him over for dinner, I’d find myself talking more to Henry than to my own son.

But even if Henry and Kerrigan have broken up, and even if I were good with being used for revenge—which I’m not—Henry’s a cool twenty-two to my forty-two, and that’s just … too young.

There’s a reason why people are squeamish about age differences. I don’t want to take advantage of a younger man—there’s an inherent imbalance of power. Except Henry’s coming on to me, I’m not pursuing him.

Still, there’s an ick factor, although I suppose that’s a heteronormative thought. After all, if we aren’t procreating—and setting aside potential health issues in the future—what does age matter?

My body doesn’t care how old he is. In fact, it likes his lithe form and smooth skin.

Still. I have to say no. But I don’t want Henry to feel bad that I’m turning him down.

I sit forward. “Listen to me. I’m going to tell you the truth.” I let out a breath and just go for it. “I’m attracted to you, always have been, and if you weren’t my son’s boyfriend—or rather, ex-boyfriend—and also twenty years younger than me, I’d likely take you up on your offer. Only thing is, I’d want more than sex with you. I’d want you in my life.”

He shivers, and I think it’s part physical arousal, part emotional.

God, Henry’s absolutely perfect.

What I could do to him. With him.

“But the bottom line is, I can’t help you take revenge on my son,” I say. My voice lowers to a whisper. “No matter how much I want you.”

Henry’s eyes are imploring me. “You’re not just saying that, are you? You really do like me?”

I smile. “No, I’m not just saying it. I’ve never acknowledged it, but I’ve probably had a crush on you forever. Still, we can’t act on it.”

He gives me the most effective side-eye I’ve ever received. “So, what you’re saying is that we should be responsible adults?”

“Definitely.”

“Ugh,” he moans, and I can’t help imagining him making the same sound in other circumstances. “This is worse than the banana nut muffin.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I should get going. I’m sorry, this was a bad idea.” He stands, and I stand, too.

“Look,” I say. “I’m flattered, for real. And I wish I could date you. But it isn’t right.”

The sad look he gives me almost cracks my resolve, but he nods. I walk with him to the door.

“You’re not going to tell Kerrigan, are you?” he asks.

“Absolutely not.” I put a hand on his bare shoulder, and he shudders.

“Thanks.” He clears his throat. “I’ll see you around?”

“Of course,” I say, and he leaves. I watch his pert ass sway in those short shorts as he walks back to his car, and I have to hold myself back from racing after him. Then I close the door and return to my study.

I wish my life were different. Sure, I’ve been on a few dates here and there since my divorce, but I haven’t clicked with anyone. I haven’t felt for them a tiny bit of the emotions Henry stirs just by giving me a sheepish smile.

He’s sexy as hell, and I could talk with him all day. But nope.

I’d been working from home today, but—big surprise—returning to spreadsheets and inventory isn’t anywhere near as stimulating as the few minutes with Henry.

Later, in bed, as my hand finds my cock, I know something in my life has to change. I’m too lonely.

* * *

The following day, Kerrigan walks into the back office at the winery, clearly looking for me. Officially, he’s our social media manager, but it’s basically an excuse for him to go to parties. He thinks he’s some kind of it-boy influencer. As far as the company goes, I think he’s a tax deduction.

Don’t get me wrong—I love my son. But he drives me up the wall sometimes. Especially when I hear stories like the one Henry told me.

I know precisely how I screwed up with Kerrigan. But like most parents, I have no idea how to fix it.

I rise when I see him and give him a hug, although part of me wants to strangle him … for obvious reasons.

“How’s it going?” I ask, debating whether to bring up Henry.

My son plants his lanky body in the guest chair across from my desk. “It’s okay. I was going to grab a few bottles of the 2008 Reserve to take to a party in Montecito.”

Figures he’d ask for that one—our priciest and most limited vintage. “You can take two bottles,” I say. “If you need more, take it from the 2019, okay?”

While I usually stay six miles away from my son’s love life, there’s something about Henry that makes me want to stick up for him. And while I don’t want my son to get back together with him—Henry deserves better than someone as selfish as Kerrigan—I still feel like I need to fight for Henry.

“Thanks.” He stands to leave, but I lift my chin and point to the chair. “What?” he asks, sitting back down again, a confused expression on his face.

“A rumor is floating around that you and Henry Carter broke up. Is that true?”

Kerrigan doesn’t even look contrite. “Yeah.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, it didn’t work out.”

Anger flashes through me as I think about Henry’s face. He was heartbroken, and here’s my son not caring at all about his feelings.

I want to lecture Kerrigan. To tell him that if he keeps throwing away guys who are wonderful, he’s going to miss out on something great.

But I don’t think it will achieve anything. Kerrigan’s not going to listen to me, and nothing’s going to change. He’s an adult, and I can’t fix this for him.

So instead of telling him off, I nod and shoo him out of my office.

* * *

My best friend, Wolfe LaBella—he’s a professor at Albrecht College in Santa Barbara—comes over for dinner a few nights later. And he surprises the fuck out of me by admitting that he’s secretly dating a student.

“You’re doing what?” I try not to sound accusatory or censuring, but Wolfey is not the kind of guy to break rules. He’s more likely to break his reading glasses.

Wolfe sips his wine. “He’s worth it,” he finally says. “When you find that person … when you know that he’s the one, nothing can keep you apart.”

“Hmm,” I say noncommittally. I can’t help worrying about Wolfe. He could lose his job if anyone finds out. “There are some lines I can’t cross.”

“Look, I’m not going to tell you what to do, but you really should get out there more. I worry about you.”

“I’m fine,” I tell him, but then I find myself adding, “Although, truth? I’m jealous. I wish I were doing what you’re doing. Enjoying things I couldn’t before.” I sigh.

Wolfey’s eyes light up. “It’s marvelous when we don’t have to hide—that is, when we’re not on campus. Sure, we get some looks sometimes, but I don’t care. He’s worth it.”

He pulls out his phone and shows me a picture of him with his new boyfriend. What gets me about the photo is not that his boyfriend is cute—though he is—but that they’re holding hands while someone took the picture of them.

That kind of casual affection is something I crave deep down in my soul. The one thing I’ve wanted in a relationship—especially one with a man, ever since I figured out my bisexuality—was to be able to shout my feelings from the rooftops. I’ve never been able to do that. At first I was in the closet. Now I’m out and proud, but with no one to share my life with, it feels hollow.

After Wolfe leaves, I’m scrolling on my phone and am inundated with ads for Valentine’s Day special dinners, chocolates, jewelry, and candy.

Gah. My least favorite holiday. The one that reminds me how alone I am. Why do the algorithm gods hate me so much?

The algorithm answers me by serving up yet another ad, this one for the Heart2Heart dating app. “Ready to fall in love this Valentine’s Day?” it reads. “Time to meet CUPID! Over the last five years, Heart2Heart has helped thousands of lonely hearts find their perfect match. Now, just in time for Valentine’s Day, we’ve taken match-making to the next level. Your romantic future is about to get even brighter thanks to CUPID, the Compatible-Unit Partnering Intelligence Databot, which pairs H2H’s enormous database with the most accurate compatibility-detection technology ever created. Many users say CUPID knows what they need in a partner even better than they do! Want to know what CUPID has in store for you? Click here to sign up.”

I don’t know why, but I download the app. Actually, I do know why: I’m lonely, and I don’t want to be alone on Valentine’s Day.

Henry’s face enters my imagination, except I know he can’t be the one for me.

But maybe a computer can find the right match. Since this small town offers limited possibilities, I expand the geographic parameters to include Santa Barbara, to the south.

After clicking a few more boxes, I agree to try a date with an unknown partner, and my heart pounds as I wait to be matched up.

CHAPTER THREE

HENRY

“Whoever said the best way to get over a man is to get under another must’ve had way more game than me. Seriously,” I say, dipping a chip into some excellent queso.

Zayden French, my best friend from college—before I dropped out—waves a hand in the air. He stopped by to cheer me up, which I appreciate, even if it isn’t working. “You’ve got game. You just haven’t been successful yet.” That’s easy for him to say. He’s dating Turner Graff, the most popular guy on campus. He’s forgotten how much he hated Turner at first.

Zay and I met because we were both art majors, but Zay’s way more stylish than I am, in an industrial goth way. “Opposites attract” apparently works for friendships, too.

Regardless, nothing’s working for me at the moment. I point two fingers at my chest. “Geek of the week over here, trying to be a playa. And failing miserably.”

“You tried one time to be a playa, with the sexy-as-sin but very rule-following father of your cheating ex-boyfriend. That’s barely trying,” he scoffs. “You should ask CUPID.”

I raise both eyebrows. “You’re aware that the chubby baby someone gave a bow and arrow to doesn’t exist. And while I’m on the topic, why would someone give a baby a bow and arrow? It’s illogical. Or at least dangerous.”

Zay laughs. “Ignoring the fact that you’re ridiculous, the CUPID I’m talking about is a computer program that’s part of Heart2Heart. It matches you up with a date.”

“No.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Oh my God. Absolutely not.”

Mimicking my tone, he says, “Oh my God, absolutely yes! It’s the best idea. If you really want to get under someone, this will totally work. It’s supposed to take care of everything. You don’t even have to talk to the guy before you show up for your date. I have a friend who swears by Heart2Heart.”

“No.”

“Why are you saying no? I thought you were a geek trying to be a playa.”

I pause. “I did say that, didn’t I.” I bite my lip. “I guess I want to be a playa with a known entity, not a stranger.”

When I propositioned Keane, although my motives may have been driven in part—okay, a lot—by a desire for revenge, the truth is more complicated. Even though I don’t know him all that well, I’ve always felt comfortable with him. Like I could be myself. On some level, I must have thought there was a chance he’d say yes.

But the way he said no, with what sounded like sincere regret, has haunted me since then. Haunted me in a way that’s made me horny beyond belief.

It’s not every day that my crush tells me he has a crush on me but is too honorable to do something about it. That kind of declaration does things to a guy. At the very least, it made me feel amazing and horrible at the same time.

Zayden reads my hesitation over this whole online hookup/dating thing and says, “You don’t have to put out on a date. You can just talk.”

I snort. “Who says ‘put out’ anymore? It’s not 1980.”

“How would you know what they said in 1980?”

“Valid point. See? I’m not good at peopling. Or small talk.”

“You talk fine with me,” Zay says soothingly. “And CUPID is supposed to be super good at picking the right people for each other, so it should be easy. Just be yourself. If you can’t open up and chat with him, if he doesn’t make you feel comfortable, then leave. That’s all there is to it.” He says this like it’s so simple.

“I’ll think about it,” I mutter. But I know he’ll talk me into downloading the app and letting an algorithm pick my next man.

* * *

I thought I could make the short block from my car to the coffee shop without getting drenched, but nope. Poor planning on my part. I studied art, not weather—and a fat lot of good that does me, running a bed-and-breakfast. In any case, my clothes are soaked through.

As the rain pours down, turning the world gray, I duck under the awning in front of Patterson Hardware and peer out at the cute little main street of my wine-loving hometown. It’s a few blocks of vintage buildings and tourist shops, all clearly in denial that weather other than sunshine exists, judging by the proprietors who are rushing to pull in racks of postcards. Unruly wine grapes tamed into neat, trellised lines because of irrigation, not precipitation, cover the hills surrounding us. This kind of dumping-down storm is rare, but we’ve been having a succession of them, and it feels like maybe we’re getting over a long drought. I know I’d be happy to end another kind of drought.

Except that’s not going to happen if I’m stuck under this awning.

Ugh. I’m going to be late. I got the timing exactly wrong, which is very on brand for me. Like last month when I walked in on Kerrigan …

Never mind. Not going there. Today’s a brand-new opportunity for a fresh start! Even my inner thoughts are falsely cheerful. In reality, my gut says It’s Valentine’s Day. Ugh.

Of course I bowed to Zayden’s peer pressure and agreed to sign up for a CUPID date on the Heart2Heart app, which, by some computer magic, set up a date for me—down to the time and location—with a total stranger. Although I set the geographical bounds to a radius of fifty miles, the app managed to find someone local. It arranged everything. I just have to show up at the Southwinds Coffee shop across the street.

Needless to say, I’m incredibly nervous, and it’s not because (as far as I know) banana muffin barista still works there.

As I wait for this frigging monsoon to subside—which isn’t happening, by the way—a tall figure hustles to join me under the awning. He’s standing a few feet behind me, so I don’t initially get a good look.

I glance at him again, trying not to be obvious about it, and I freeze. “Keane?”

Keane Fitzpatrick stares at me, and a smile takes over his face. Rivulets of rain drip down the side of his chiseled jaw. “Henry?”

He’s wearing a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black dress pants with shiny loafers, all of which are plastered to his very nice body. Well, not the shoes.

Fuck you, anxiety, for making me overexplain things even inside my own head.

“Yeah, that’s me. Um. Hi,” I say awkwardly. Because how exactly do you chat with your cheating ex’s father, who you thereafter asked to fuck you?

“How’ve you been?”

I want to say I’ve been a total mess since your son screwed me over, and I’m still embarrassed over my revenge plan with you that never got off the ground.

What I actually say is, “I’m okay. Except it’s really coming down.” I want to kick myself for being so unoriginal.

“You got that right.”

I shiver because his voice is wonderfully low and deep—not startlingly so, like those little guys with baritone voices that don’t match their bodies. More like … he’s a man. Yum.

He gives me a searching look. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re soaked and shivering.”

“Yeah.” I chuckle. “To be fair to both of us, we don’t usually need any kind of rain gear around here.” I glance down. “I shouldn’t have worn white because now I look like I’d win a wet T-shirt contest in Daytona Beach—if the contestants were male and wore dress shirts to a wet T-shirt contest, which now that I think about it is highly unlikely and would probably require that the contest be renamed. Also, it’s February, so a little early for spring break. Tell that to my exposed nips, though.”

Note to self: Don’t mention wet T-shirt contests or nipples to your ex’s hot dad. And stop rambling.

Keane studies me, lingering on said nips for a beat too long, but I like his eyes on me. “I wish I had a coat to give you.”

“That’s okay. It’ll ease up, I’m sure.” I force a smile. “I’m a big fan of rain viewed from inside somewhere warm and dry when I have a blanket and a cup of tea and a sketch pad.”

“It’s definitely better that way,” he agrees. “Rain can have a certain … charm.”

“Do you know the word ‘petrichor’?” I ask before I can stop my motor mouth. I stare out at the dumping rain so I don’t have to see Keane’s sure-to-be-exasperated expression.

“The scent of rain on dry earth.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “I like crossword puzzles, and that word comes up sometimes.”

I’m amazed for two reasons. First, that he knows the word, although I suppose it’s not that special. But second, because he’s not laughing at me the way everyone else seems to. “It’s the most romantic word I know.”

“Well, I can’t do much about romance, but I wish I could buy you a cup of tea across the street so you could at least have part of your fantasy,” he says. “Except I’m late. I’m meeting someone in Southwinds.”

“Me, too. Late and … meeting someone.”

“Huh.”

I furrow my brows. “You’re not …”

“You don’t think …” Keane gestures between us. “You’re not my date, are you? From the Heart2Heart app?”

My cheeks burn as I nod. “I think maybe I am. Are you user2423? I’m supposed to meet him at twelve thirty.”

“Yes.” He pauses for just a moment too long, as if he’s doing the same analysis I am.

First, and most importantly, the algorithm deities decided Keane Fitzpatrick should be my fucking Valentine’s Day date. Are you kidding me, universe? Is this a joke? Did it track my GPS and know that I asked him to fuck me?

Worse—now that I’ve had a little time to reflect, in what circumstances do Keane and I make sense? He has his life together. I … don’t. I’m too young. We’re a bad idea. He was absolutely right to turn me down.

And in any case, if he got to know me better, he’d think I’m too anxious for him. Too much of a hot mess. Keane Fitzpatrick is the stuff crushes are made of: a prosperous winery owner with elegant manners and lifestyle.

Let’s not ignore the fact that he’s my ex-boyfriend’s dad. Sure, I had the evil idea that it would be fun to use Keane to get back at Kerrigan, but after driving home and burying myself in my art, I realized that was a very bad thought for a nice boy like me to be having. In addition to it not being respectful to Keane, what would really happen if Kerrigan found out I’d slept with his dad?

He’d flip. (That’s putting it mildly.) And I’m not in the mental space to deal with that. I have more important things to focus on. Like running the bed-and-breakfast my wacky aunt left me.

At last, Keane seems to make a decision and holds out his hand. “C’mon. Let’s get both of us something warm to drink. We can take it to go, and you can come back to my house and we can talk some more. I’ll give you something dry to wear.”

The fact that he’s not rejecting me off the bat sends butterflies fluttering around my stomach. Because the truth is, I do want to spend time with him, even if it can’t mean anything more.

So I smile and nod gratefully. “Sure.”

I slip my hand into his, and we dash across the street.

I’m in so much trouble.

CHAPTER FOUR

KEANE

Henry Carter is the cutest damned thing, and he’s so off-limits, it’s not even funny.

But my date with him is sanctioned by technology. I guess the app figured a coffee date was a good idea since we wouldn’t want the commitment of Valentine’s Day dinner with a stranger in case it went badly.

As I race across the street with him, I think about my life choices. My friend sends me on a date, telling me I need to get out more … and who do I match up with but my son’s ex-boyfriend. The one I turned down last month when he asked me for sex. The one I admitted my attraction to.

Such a bad idea.

Except I can’t seem to stop myself. Part of me is thinking Okay, I already know I like him. A lot. And if this computer matched us up, maybe there’s something more here. I want to find out.

Plus, it would be rude to back out now. I can’t say No, I’m not going to go on this scheduled date because it’s you. That would make him feel terrible.

Yeah, I’m sticking with this date for Henry’s sake. I’ll go with that.

He immediately gets under my defenses in the simplest way: he holds my hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

It’s not normal. Not in my circles.

I haven’t been on many dates in recent years, too wrapped up in running my winery. And the few dates I’ve been on with men … they haven’t gone well.

Henry and I walk into the shop and are immediately enveloped by the interior warmth. “What would you like?” I ask, headed to the counter.

He glances around, a tense look on his face, and mutters, “Banana nut muffin.” He clears his throat. “I mean … nothing. I mean Earl Grey tea. Do you mind if I go wash my hands?”

I wonder if I’m going to get ghosted, but I can’t do anything about that, so I nod.

After I place our orders, he comes back and sits with me to wait for our drinks. I notice he’s carefully not touching anything.

He sees me watching him and looks sheepish. “I have this thing. It’s kind of an anxiety thing. I wash my hands a lot.”

“Oh, sure. You do that at my house, too, now that I think of it. It’s okay. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to make you feel better.”

Henry stares at me.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

“No. I’m just not used to people accommodating my weirdness.”

“What’s so weird about that? Or accommodating, for that matter. I mean, maybe we need to get you some lotion if your skin gets dry. But anxiety is very common. I have it, too.”

“You do?”

I smile at him. “Yeah, definitely. Running a business? I can⁠—”

The barista calls my name, and I excuse myself from Henry and get our drinks, which are in a tray, plus a bag of muffins. I meet Henry at the condiment station so he can add cream and sugar to his tea. Once we’re all set, he offers to carry the muffin bag, though he looks at it oddly before picking it up, and then he takes my other hand as we exit the building.

Again, his easy affection makes something in my chest swell.

I walk him to his car, even though it’s still bucketing rain, since I figure I’m going to dry off soon enough. I leave the food and drinks with him, then jog to my car, which is only half a block away.

When I pull into my garage, Henry is sitting in his car at the curb, waiting for me. I gesture him inside.

“I’m still soaking wet,” he says as he passes me our food.

I put it on a cabinet and start taking off my shoes and socks. “Hang on. Let me get you something to wear,” I say, hustling to my room and getting the smallest T-shirt and sweatpants I own, along with socks. Henry will still be swimming in my clothing, but at least he’ll be warm.

When I hand them to him and wave him to a bathroom to change in, I can’t help but wipe a trickle of water running down his forehead. I freeze, realizing that I’m perhaps being overly familiar, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he gives me a grateful smile and scoots into the bathroom.

I race upstairs to change as well, putting on a thermal shirt and plaid flannel pants since I figure that we’re going to be trapped by the rainstorm for a while. I glance in the mirror, and my hair is a mess, so I drag a towel through it, trying to get it to be less unruly. It doesn’t listen.

When I get back, Henry has folded up his wet clothes, but I take them from him. “Want me to put these in the dryer?” I ask.

“Yes, please.”

“Meet me in the living room,” I say. “I’ll be back in a second.”

After I take care of his laundry, I return to the living room, and my heart does another leap. Henry is cozied up on the couch like he lives here. He’s got the gray blanket over his lap, and he’s sipping his tea. I assume he washed his hands again while he was in the bathroom.

I take a seat on the morris chair next to him and smile.

“Thanks for all this,” he says, holding up the tea and indicating the dry T-shirt he’s wearing.

I really wish I could’ve watched him change—but that would’ve been way too creepy.

“I thought about it on the drive here,” he continues, “and I’m glad the app matched us up. In a funny way, it legitimizes what I’d already been feeling. Like we have a connection.”

“I can’t deny that,” I admit. “I agree. Being assigned a date by some algorithm makes it seem like maybe we could make sense together.”

The more I look at him, the more my defenses are being eroded.

I see the way his clever eyes light up with amusement. The way he’s so sincere with his thanks. The sexy way he studies me—like he wants to eat me up.

I’m done denying my attraction to him. I know it’s wrong, but I’m doing it anyway. He’s a consenting adult. He has a car and the ability to leave.

And this is what he wanted in the first place.

But I have a question first. “I need to know, though, whether you want me for me or for revenge.”

“I like you because you’re you,” Henry says. “The revenge was an excuse.” He pauses. “Well, I was really hurt, and I did want to hurt Kerrigan. But if I didn’t like you to begin with, I wouldn’t have tried it.” Another pause, this one longer. “That’s kind of fucked-up, isn’t it?”

I shrug. “A little. I probably shouldn’t be okay with it, but I am.”

“When I got together with your son …” I wince, and Henry soldiers on. “When that happened, I didn’t know you. I’d never met you, and frankly, I likely would’ve thought you were way out of my league. Ignoring our age gap—which I don’t care about, by the way—I was afraid of asking for what I really wanted.”

“You came here looking for revenge. Which is asking for what you want—or at least what you wanted in that moment.”

“True. But it’s also true that I’ve had a big-time crush on you ever since I first got to know you. And that I want you.”

Well. “You know I’m attracted to you, too. But that’s not all. I want more with you.”

“You don’t want to feel like I’m using you?”

“That’s part of it. I’m also at the age where I’m not willing to just mess around. And that might not be fair to you.”

“Keane,” Henry says, “if you haven’t figured out that I want something serious, too, then I haven’t been clear. If you were some rando, I wouldn’t have come to you. It’s because it’s you. I like how”—he gestures at me—“elegant you are. I like how you know so much about wine and entertaining. I like that your house is put together and you seem to like art. You and I can always talk about ideas, too. Those things matter to me. I could talk about them in school, and maybe I’ll go back and finish up my degree once I get the bed-and-breakfast running or, I don’t know, finish it online. But I’m not looking for something superficial. I’m looking for something real.” He bites his full lower lip. “When I’m around you, I don’t feel lonely. So yeah, it wouldn’t be just messing around to me.”

I stare at Henry. What right does he have to be this sweet? To be this open?

When I can finally speak, I say, “Gotta be honest: I’m super pissed at my son right now. He treated you really poorly.”

Henry shrugs. “I mean, that’s the way a lot of people treat me. I can be a bit of a doormat.”

“I wish you wouldn’t see yourself that way. When I look at you, I see someone who is damned good at asking for what he wants.”

He blushes. “When I propositioned you, all I was thinking was how pissed I was and how selfish Kerrigan was. I knew it was a long shot that you’d say yes—but a shot nonetheless.”

I grin despite myself. “If only I could have said yes. I really wanted to.” Want to, now. “I’m disappointed in how Kerrigan acted, but sadly, I’m not surprised.”

Henry gives me a funny look. “It’s a little weird for me to be talking about him with his dad.”

“You know that thing about kids blaming their parents for their issues? What they don’t know is that parents sometimes blame themselves for the kid’s issues as well.”

“How could you be responsible for Kerrigan cheating on me? That’s on him. I don’t get the impression that you modeled that kind of behavior.”

“I didn’t. And while his mom is selfish, which I found out after I married her, she was generous with him.” I scrub my hands over my face. “I doubt Kerrigan told you this, but when he was a baby, he had a lot of health issues. For a few months, we were afraid he wasn’t going to make it. If you’re a parent, and every time you go to the doctor’s office they tell you your child could die … when he survives, it feels like an absolute miracle.” Henry’s face is so soft right now, I could kiss him. I keep going, though. “Couple that with me and Jennifer not really knowing each other and being so young …” I sigh. “Anyway, once Kerrigan got to be a little older, and we were out of the woods in terms of his health, we had a hard time saying no to him. He didn’t end up with boundaries I now wish he had. And I don’t know how to teach him that anymore.”

“Do you still wish you could teach him?”

“Of course.” I’m not really thinking about Kerrigan, though. Instead, I’m studying Henry. He’s so beautiful, with his wide-open eyes and his hair that’s all fluffy from getting rained on and then towel-dried. He’s wearing my clothes and sitting on my furniture, and he just looks like he belongs in my life.

While part of me feels like an utter asshole for even thinking it, the selfish part of me wants him for myself.

“I can’t help it,” Henry muses.

“Help what?” I say.

“Trying again.”

“With Kerrigan?” I ask, my eyebrows raising.

He snorts. “No. Asking you again to be with me. After all, the app matched us up. Isn’t that telling us something?

I let out a breath. “Maybe it is.”

“So, what do you say, Keane? Let me touch you?”

Jesus tap-dancing Christ, Henry is going to be the death of me.

CHAPTER FIVE

HENRY

My heartbeat feels as loud as the thunder outside, shaking the windows in their panes. I want to run, but I also want to face my truth.

A hopeful smile spreads across Keane’s face. “You think that’s the best plan?”

I nod.

“Okay, then.” He opens his arms, and I take the invitation to straddle his lap. His hands stay at his sides, almost like he’s scared to touch me. To break that seal. Finally, he cradles my face between his palms and looks at me, desire clear in his eyes. “Are we doing this?”

I swallow and nod. “When we have to talk to Kerrigan, is CUPID going to be our excuse? Because we’re lying to ourselves if we think he’s not going to find out.”

“We’ll deal with Kerrigan,” Keane assures me. “If there’s a reason to tell him about us, and I think there will be, we’ll be straightforward with him.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

“What about your anxiety? Do you need to wash your hands? Or do you need me to wash mine?”

“No. That’s only when I’m going to eat.” Keane’s expression turns wicked. “Food,” I clarify, my cheeks heating. “Food, eating food. I’m good with other things. Licking, or, you know. Kissing. I don’t have to wash my hands to kiss. If that’s something you’d want.”

Keane inhales sharply. “I want you. Plain and simple. I want the man who came to my door in nothing but the most outrageous shorts. The man who some computer program thinks is perfect for me. The man I’ve enjoyed chatting with. The man I found under the awning. I like what’s underneath this.” He gestures down my body. “But I also think you’re beautiful as fuck. I know this is a little unconventional⁠—”

“If you’re feeling weird about it—” I start.

Keane sits up and kisses me, his hands resting just under my jaw.

Oh, God.

His kiss is searing. I don’t know what weather phenomena are going on, but I know that the atmosphere is charged. His tongue dips inside my mouth, and I open for him, kissing him back.

Heaven. Utter heaven.

We break apart, panting, and I study him.

“Such a good boy,” he murmurs, and I shiver with pleasure. “Do you like it when I call you that?”

I nod and bite my lip. “Very much.” I clear my throat and walk my fingers up his chest. “I like the praise.”

“You could use more encouragement and support.”

“Maybe. Sometimes …” I lean down and kiss him again. Then I say against his lips, “I want a man to take charge, but in a specific way. I don’t want to be bossed around. But …” I throw my hands out helplessly. “I guess I want someone to listen to what I don’t say. Like that’s easy.” I snort.

“It’s easy if they’re paying attention.”

I pull him to me, and our lips meet in another kiss that feels right. It feels like electricity. Like the light is going on, and I can see inside the formerly dark rooms of my life.

It’s also hot as hell, because he’s really good at this. Keane is in his own league. He’s not even on the same planet as anyone I’ve kissed before.

I may have started this kiss, but he’s dominating it now. Except I decide I’m not going to let him. I give it right back to him—a fight, almost, of a kiss—and he makes a grumbly noise in the back of his throat that turns me on even more.

One of his hands snakes down to my waist, and I press forward, grinding against him.

I fucking love this.

He sucks on my neck, and I let out a shuddery moan. “Do that again,” I whisper.

Keane chuckles and complies—not hard enough to leave a mark, but certainly hard enough that it’s getting me closer to the edge.

“What do you want, sweetheart? Tell me.”

“I want you to do whatever you want to me.” I want Keane to use me. I want to see him come unglued.

He inhales sharply and pulls back, those sapphire eyes studying me. Then he kisses me deep and slow, his tongue twining with mine. I’m so turned on that my dick is a solid pole, starting to peek over the top of my borrowed sweatpants.

“Let me see you naked,” he whispers. “I love seeing you in my clothes, but now I want to see you take them off. Slowly.”

While old me would probably feel self-conscious about this, Keane makes me feel both seen and secure. He makes me hot, too, and if he wants to see me, I’ll let him. I don’t think my body is anything special—not like how built he is—but it’s not bad.

Biting my lip, I get up, shuck off my borrowed socks, and then decide to have some fun with this. I turn around and ease up the loose T-shirt so that just a sliver of my skin is exposed.

My ass is one of my best features. I know this. And Keane reaches out as if to squeeze it, then stops himself. Like he’s delaying the pleasure.

After teasing him a bit, I turn around and pull the T-shirt over my head from the back, smiling at him shyly.

He makes no move to hurry me up or say I’m doing anything wrong. His eyes are heated, and he seems all the more tempted by what I’m not doing as by what I’m doing.

I notice the huge erection in his pants, and that makes my heart leap.

Fuck. Yes.

Finally, I drop the shirt to the floor. That leaves me standing in too-big sweatpants, which I let slip down to expose my hip bone and the tip of my dick. Then I return to Keane and straddle his legs, brushing my dick against his thigh as I do it.

He groans, and while I can tell he wants to touch me, he keeps his hands firmly on the arms of the chair.

I start a lap dance. That’s not something I’m familiar with doing, but I can move a little bit, and I like the way he’s watching me. I slide my hand into the sweats, stroking myself. I’m commando, and that feels more intimate than I expected.

Keane tsks. “Naughty boy,” he warns. “That’s for me to do.”

“I can’t help it,” I whimper. “You’re just so hot.” I bite my lip. “I had this discussion with my best friend about expectations of putting out on the first date.”

Immediately, Keane holds his hands up. “You don’t have to⁠—”

“Shh.” I cut him off with a kiss, then back away enough that he can see my face. “I want this. Want you. I just think it’s funny that all my fears go away when I’m with you.”

His startlingly blue eyes soften at that statement, and he reaches up and tugs me to him for more kisses. We taste like tea and muffins, and frankly, if there’s something better than it storming outside and me making out with the guy I have a crush on after drinking tea—well, I don’t want to hear about it. This is peak life for me.

We keep kissing, and his hands slip down into my clothes—his clothes—until he’s gripping my bare ass.

I whine. My cock is so sensitive, so ready to blow. Being here on top of him is just too much.

Keane seems to sense this, as he pulls back and tilts his head. “You need to come?” His voice is low and husky.

I don’t even bother pretending. “I do. So badly.”

“And you can come more than once, can’t you? I mean, in a short time?”

I nod.

“Then I want to see you come right now, but I’d like you to do two things.”

“Wha-what are they?”

“Stay on my lap. I want you here with me. And if you get any on my skin, you have to lick it off me.”

“Deal,” I say immediately.

“Touch yourself, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and I do.

I reach inside the pants again and start stroking, my ass bouncing a little on Keane’s thighs. He watches my face at first, but then gets distracted by the movement of my hand. I’m not trying to get myself off fast. I just want to feel good, so I’m taking my time. I caress my balls: one, then the other. I press under my taint. And then I grip the base of my cock, holding it for a moment.

He still can’t see my dick. But he can tell what I’m doing from the expression on my face and the way my arm moves, and I can tell he’s getting off on this. I am, too. I’m feeling so free.

I continue jacking myself inside the soft fabric, feeling wanton. Like I’m an exhibitionist. I’m putting on a show—except it’s very real in multiple regards. First, I want to turn him on. And second, this is how I actually pleasure myself. I want to show him this part of me.

Keane is a safe place.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” he whispers. I’m not sure what he’s referring to, but when I shift to find a better position, the pants slide down a little more, and he takes the opportunity to put his hands on my hips, holding me.

“I love it when you touch me,” I admit.

“Then I’ll do it some more.” He slides his hands around my ass, palming the globes of my butt and squeezing. I wriggle as I stroke myself, and his hands keep exploring. Then he raises a finger and puts it in my mouth. “Suck,” he commands, and I do.

He groans, and then he moves his hand down, seeking my entrance.

Gently, he presses in as I rub one out on top of him, and I gasp, “Oh, God.”

His other hand holds me in place, and I pick up speed as his finger penetrates me, starting to open me up. The intrusion is welcome. I want this so much. I want him.

I want him to fuck me, but this teasing is also doing very good things.

My strokes are reaching a fever pitch. “I’m going to come,” I whimper.

His finger slides deeper, and between that and my hand on my dick, I come apart on top of him, my come spurting over my fist and onto his forearm.

I pant, letting my climax happen, letting my body shudder with pleasure, letting myself be with this man I’ve had a crush on for so long.

Then I collapse on top of him, far from sated. This took the edge off, but now I’m even more impatient for him to touch me. I want him inside me. I want him to take over.

“Lick,” he says, holding out his wrist where some of my come ended up. And I do, dutifully tasting my salty, bitter release.

Then he kisses me. “You’re the most beautiful boy. How would you like me to make love to you now?” He’s holding my face gently between his big hands—like I’m something precious. Something he wants to take care of.

And while I love that, I also want to see him unleashed.

“There’s time for tender lovemaking later,” I say. “Right now, I want you to fuck me.”

CHAPTER SIX

KEANE

As the storm raged outside, Henry came like he was having an otherworldly experience.

A storm is raging inside me, too, as corny as that sounds. A tempest. I want this man. I want him badly—his sweetness and his sexiness, his innocence and his seduction.

I want to fuck him.

But I also want to make sure, more than sure, that he’s okay with it. I know he’s the one who propositioned me, and I know he just asked for this. But I’m worried he may be saying what he thinks he should say rather than expressing how he really feels. I want to be certain we’re on the same page.

“We don’t have to,” I whisper against Henry’s skin.

He makes an annoyed sound. “I want to,” he says. “If you do, that is.”

“I very much do.” I study him and decide not to keep bugging him. He’s young, but he’s not a child. I can trust him to tell me if something isn’t working for him. I stand, taking him with me. I can’t help grunting a little bit at his weight, but he’s not that big.

He wraps his legs around my waist and his arms around my neck and holds on like a koala.

I want too many things, all at once. A few steps down the hallway, I stop and press him up against the wall. “Need your mouth, Henry,” I whisper.

He opens for me like a little bird, and I ravage his mouth. He moans, and the sound goes straight to my cock.

“God,” I groan, breaking away. “I need to be inside you.”

“Please” is all he says, and that simple word breaks me.

I race with him to the bedroom and toss him onto my mattress. He laughs as he bounces. Then I yank his pants down by the ankles, and he helps me, gently kicking his feet to free himself from the fabric.

“Fuck,” I murmur, taking in his naked form sprawled on my bed. At twenty-two, he can recover much faster than I can, and his cock is already half-hard again.

“Let me see you,” he whispers, and I comply, taking off my shirt. His appreciative intake of breath makes me want to preen. I work out, and this is the reward for my effort, I guess.

I lean over him, still in my flannel pants, and kiss his mouth, my hard dick eager to grind against him. Henry reaches down to grab my ass, but I break away yet again, needing to make this last. “Hold that thought,” I say, as I begin to lick my way down his body.

Henry throws his arms out, grabbing at the duvet, but he stops and arches his back up when I get to his nipples. His torso is sleek and trim, and he’s so responsive.

I lick around his nipple, then flatten my tongue against it, eliciting another moan. Kneeling on the bed, I lave his other nipple, then kiss my way down his torso, aiming for his cock. I swallow him whole, and he tastes salty but also sweet from his previous release.

His cock jumps in my mouth. “Oh, God,” he says. “I’m so … so sensitive.”

As I suck on him, his cock gets harder and harder. I fucking love it. I glance up, and he’s looking at me with such adoring eyes that my heart skips like a stone across a lake—buoyant when it shouldn’t be. Defying nature. Having fun it hasn’t had in years. That I haven’t had in years.

Henry makes me feel ageless. Like who I really am without the weight of societal expectations.

God, this man. Now that he’s in the “allowed to be with” category, I’m finding that I can’t imagine saying no to him.

He’s all-the-way hard, because youth, and he’s squirming, and I double down on sucking him, wanting to see how far I can push him.

But then he pulls out of my mouth, turns over on the bed, and gets onto his hands and knees. He looks at me over his shoulder, and I remember that he’s the farthest thing from safe.

Henry’s dangerous. And I love it.

Now it’s my turn to hold in a whimper as I take in the twin dimples above his ass cheeks, his strong shoulders, the heaven I know will envelop me when I’m inside him.

“I can’t wait,” I mutter, standing long enough to undo my pants and let them fall to the floor. My hard cock juts up proudly, and when I stroke myself, I see Henry lick his lips.

On my way back to the bed, I grab the lube and a condom. Slicking up my fingers, I make my way behind him, kissing my way down his spine as I start to prep him. He whines shamelessly as I work to get him loose. While an evil part of my brain wonders how many times he’s done this with someone else—including, cringe, my own son—I squish that thought like a spider.

Nope.

I’m here with him now, and this is what we’re doing. While I open him up, I murmur to him: how gorgeous he is and how lucky I am to be with him. How much I need to be inside him and how good he feels.

Another finger, and another, until he hisses, “Goddammit, Keane, fuck me already.”

I chuckle, then spank his ass. “Be a good boy,” I mock scold.

He gives me a bratty sigh—I never knew Henry had that in him, or how endearing I’d find it—and I suit up with the condom. Positioning myself behind him, I begin to press into his hole, and the tight grip has my eyes rolling back in my head.

“Henry,” I whisper. “Oh, God. You feel so. Fucking. Good.”

Steadily I go, little by little, inch by inch, until his body lets me in and my pelvis is pressed flush against his cute ass.

I may die from the pleasure.

He’s moaning, and I’m listening to make sure the sounds indicate pleasure and not pain—or at least not the bad kind of pain. Fullness and pressure and that just-too-much feeling, fine. But actual pain, no.

“You good?” I whisper when he settles a little bit, and he bites his lip and nods.

“So good. Please fuck my ass.”

Again, I chuckle. “Well, since you’re so polite.” I pull out and thrust in, starting a slow rocking that I didn’t think I was capable of, since what I really want to do is rut into him until he screams.

But I’m taking it slow, and it’s killing me in the best way possible. As I mount him, my cock spearing him and then withdrawing again and again, I find myself in a mindless state of bliss. Where I’m focusing on his body, on my own. On his pleasure, on mine. And on the connection. Oh, the connection with him, and it’s not just physical.

I’m watching the way his shoulders flex and his biceps bulge. How his hair is getting messier and messier, his skin more flushed.

“You’re the most tempting fucking thing,” I mutter. “I can’t believe I get to have you.”

“You do have me. You can always have me. Always,” Henry says, and it feels like he means more than sex.

In response, I haul him up so we’re both on our knees and lean around to kiss him savagely. Our tongues tangle as I continue to move in and out of his ass, and when we break apart, I think: Mine.

He’s mine.

I fuck into him, and he cries out, then starts stroking his cock.

“Yeah, baby. Get yourself ready. I want you to spill again. I want you to come,” I say.

Henry nods seriously, which is adorable. Like he wants to be good for me.

“So fucking cute,” I mutter. “You getting close?” Because I know I am.

“Yeah,” he grits out. “Oh, God. Please. Yes. Please keep fucking me. Please.”

I do.

I bounce him on my cock, and he’s so light-limbed that I can pretty much have my way with him. That thought makes me groan even more, and the pressure around my cock is almost too much.

Changing the angle of my thrusts, I find the spot that makes him whimper anew, and then I rail him. “You’re fucking mine,” I growl. “Mine.”

“Yours,” he whispers. “I’m yours.”

And I can see the moment he starts flying, his orgasm taking over. He shakes and shudders, the come he has left spurting over his hand.

I thrust into him deep, hard, and stay there, pulsing as I orgasm, emptying into him, feeling the full release: body, brain, spirit.

I keep rocking into him slowly as I come down from the high, and I eventually pull out of him with a pop.

“Stay there,” I order, kissing his shoulder, and I hop off the bed to deal with the condom. When I return with a washcloth, I see that he hasn’t moved—he’s still on his knees—and something even stronger moves in my heart.

His obedience is utterly adorable.

He’s utterly adorable.

I want him to stay with me. I want him in my bed. I want him in my life.

I know this is only our first date, and I don’t fucking care. He’s mine, and I’m keeping him.

After I clean him up, we lie under the covers, side by side. I draw him to my chest, and he cuddles into me. For a moment, I’m worried about whether I did okay. I haven’t had performance anxiety in a long time, but I also haven’t had sex in a while, and I’m hoping I didn’t fuck this up.

“You good?” I murmur, needing to know more than that. Needing to know if what I’m feeling for him is reciprocated. If we have a chance together. If we can navigate the obstacles between us and deal with, oh God, my son.

Henry moves to straddle me, still naked, and his smile is so beautiful. “Yes. So much yes.”

“And would you want to do it again?”

He grins. “Again, yes. So much yes.”

“Good,” I say, and tug him down for a deep kiss.

CHAPTER SEVEN

HENRY

I’ve never had better sex. Keane was fabulous—he’s big and powerful, but gentle. He was commanding, but he listened. He gave and took pleasure in equal percentages.

In short, I’m fucked. In all the ways.

Now I’m feeling shy. I want to ask him things. Can we go out again? Can we stay in again? How often can I come over? Do you want to come to my place?

Will you be my boyfriend?

Are we moving too fast? Even though I’ve known you for two years?

But with all the excitement of the day, I find myself dozing off.

When I wake up, it’s early evening.

“What happened?” I mutter.

“You stole the blanket,” Keane says, a note of amusement in his voice. He’s cuddled up behind me, holding me in his arms, and I’m pretty darn happy. His biceps are so much bigger than mine, and feeling one like an iron claw around my waist makes me feel secure.

I look down. I totally did steal the blanket. It’s sort of under me and over my legs … and not over him at all.

“Is that a deal-breaker?” I turn over and study his face.

“Kind of. I’m not fond of blanket hogs.”

My heart sinks, and Keane looks immediately worried. “I’m kidding. Well, I’m not kidding about blanket hogs, but I’m immensely fond of you.” He stares at me meaningfully. “Immensely. I’d like to see you again.”

“I don’t want to ever leave,” I blurt.

“Good,” he whispers. “Don’t.”

I take that as just him being kind, but when we finally get out of bed and pull on clothes, I find that he’s not treating me like someone who needs to get going.

“It feels funny to be waking up at this time,” I say.

“I think you’re worn out from getting up early and running a bed-and-breakfast.”

I nod. “I totally am.”

“Need some help?”

“I need so much help.”

“Then I’ll be over⁠—”

I hold up a hand. “Wait, I didn’t mean you needed to help. I just meant that I need help, you know. In general.”

Keane tugs me to him, and the warmth of his arms around me is comforting. “I’d like to help. If you’d allow me.”

I give him a kiss. “Okay. Just maybe give me a day or two. Let me figure out what my questions are.”

“What if I come over on Saturday night?”

That’s in three days. “I could deal with that.” I hook a finger in his belt loop. “And maybe spend the night?”

“That’s the idea.”

I don’t really want to leave, but I need a moment to process all that’s just happened. I got way more than I bargained for when I signed up for CUPID on a whim. I’m surprised that I’m not worrying about the spell we’ve cast being broken once I leave.

I guess that’s because Keane feels like home.

* * *

When I get back to my rooms at the B and B, Zayden calls me on FaceTime. He texted earlier, but I put him off until now.

“Sooo,” he says. “How did your CUPID date go?”

I can’t keep the grin off my face. “It was awesome.”

“See? I told you. Who is he?”

I chuckle. “Well. Are you sitting down? It’s so much better than I could have imagined.”

“Sure. Keep me in suspense,” he grumbles.

“Keane Fitzpatrick,” I blurt. “I got matched up with Keane, as in Kerrigan’s dad.”

“The one you wanted to sleep with in the first place?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, shit,” Zayden says. “That’s kind of fucked-up and kind of amazing. Both at the same time.”

“I know.”

“So I take it you guys hit it off?”

“We did.” I think about how wonderful it felt to be with Keane. How caring he was, in bed and out of it, and how he offered to help me with the B and B, but not like he wants to boss me around. It’s just … support. The kind of support I love. “What’s Kerrigan going to think, though?”

Zay shakes his head. “Who cares what Kerrigan thinks. He’s a fucking cheater. He had a chance with you, and he lost you, and that’s on him. You don’t need to live the rest of your life—or even another minute—based on him.”

“I suppose,” I say slowly. “It’s just … I was so pissed at him, but now I don’t know how to feel. Bottom line, though, I like Keane a lot.”

“Then that’s what you should be doing.”

“Keane?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Do what feels right. And if that means you end up with your ex-boyfriend’s father”—he shrugs—“then great.”

That sounds a bit too easy, but I’d like it to be true.

“You’re both adults,” he adds. “You don’t need to ask anyone’s permission to date Keane. Except him. And yourself.”

“I’m the one in charge of my life.”

“Precisely.”

“Still, I worry about Kerrigan. I know I’m supposed to be all ‘Tough, you blew it’ and move on. He hurt me, and I wanted to hurt him. But I know how it feels when someone gets over you in the blink of an eye.”

“You’re a good person, Henry. This is why I love you. Keane will, too.”

Love? I want to scoff.

Keane was amazing, and I do think we have a real connection, but I need to be rational about this. Of course I want to be loved by a man like that, but some things are too good to be true.

* * *

While most people just walk into a bed-and-breakfast—that’s kind of how public accommodations work—the doorbell rings Saturday evening, and I know it’s Keane arriving for our next date.

I welcome him inside, and he whistles. “Wow, this place is so cool.”

I take a look around as if I don’t know the decor in detail. This is a Victorian mansion, and it’s filled with period-appropriate furniture and accessories. It looks like a great-aunt decorated it, though it’s not as fussy as it could be—I said hard pass on the doilies and cut down on the fringed lampshades by at least 30 percent. Even still, Aunt Veronica made sure there were lots of books and comfy chairs and couches. It’s the kind of place that invites you to stay a while. And I think that saves it.

The door closes behind us, and I go right up to him and kiss him—something I think I’ve always wanted to do. In turn, his arms snake around me and hold me to him, and he ravages my mouth.

I hear a chuckle as a couple on their honeymoon walk into the foyer, presumably headed out for dinner.

I pull back, clear my throat, and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Sorry,” I say, not really feeling apologetic at all.

“All good,” one of them says as they slip past.

When Keane and I are alone, he says, “Okay, show me around,” and I remember why he’s here. I mean, yes, we’re going on a date, but he also offered to take a look at my newly inherited career.

I give him a tour of the parlors and downstairs breakfast room, the remodeled kitchen, and the large downstairs bedroom with attached bathroom, which is where Aunt Veronica used to live and where I moved in.

He glances around, noting the art tacked up on the walls.

“Is that yours?” He points to a watercolor of the grape-covered hills.

“Yeah.”

“It’s wonderful. I’d love something like that for our tasting room.”

“You can have it,” I blurt.

He shakes his head. “Your art is lovely. Don’t go giving it away for free. We’ll talk to some dealers, and I’ll pay you a fair price. What do you say to that?”

“But if I’m your … you know. I mean, if I’m seeing you. Wouldn’t you want a bargain?”

He shakes his head. “I’d want to show you how much you were worth. Though the answer to that is: way more than money.” Keane tugs me to him. “Okay, back to the B and B: I don’t want to run your life. If you want me to take a step back, I will. But it seemed like you were a tad overwhelmed by suddenly running a business you hadn’t planned on owning.”

“Yeah. I am,” I admit. “I’m grateful for any help you can offer.”

He kisses me softly, and I really don’t know how I got so lucky. “Why don’t you show me the rest of the place, and then we can go out to dinner. Sound good?”

I nod.

As we walk around, he points out some additional income opportunities I could consider, like having an afternoon tea hour in the gazebo out back. “Or you could offer wine tastings in the evening.” He grins. “I know where you could get some good wine at cost.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say.

“It’s marketing for me.”

We continue chatting about wine packages to bundle with the rooms and which other local businesses might be interested in reciprocal arrangements, and I realize how suited he is for this kind of work.

But more importantly, how suited he is for me.

* * *

Because this is a tourist town, we’re blessed with more nice restaurants than you might expect based on the population, and Keane takes me to one of the best ones—an Italian trattoria. It’s the kind of place with white tablecloths, fresh flowers, and sparkling glassware. We get a booth in the back and snuggle up next to each other.

Even though he’s a wine expert, he listens to the server, who’s younger than me, and doesn’t lecture him when even I know the guy gets something wrong. Instead, Keane just orders a quality bottle, and we proceed to have a delicious meal.

After our salads, Keane looks at me intently. “So … when we do this …” He gestures between me and him.

“I note you say when,” I say hopefully.

“Right. When.” He gives me a sweet but suitable-for-public-consumption kiss. “I’m going to be straightforward with Kerrigan. We’re not going to hide as if we’ve done something wrong. The app put us together. We went on a date and hit it off.”

“And we liked each other before then, too, though I suppose we can leave that part out when talking to Kerrigan.”

“We did. I suppressed it because you were with him, but once I let myself like you … I really, really like you. It feels selfish because you have your whole life in front of you, and you may regret being with someone so much older⁠—”

I cut him off with another kiss. “I want to be with you. Period. And the future will take care of itself.”

“That sounds good to me.” He nods. “When do you want to tell him?”

Biting my lip, I think about it. Part of me wants to tell him right away, even though I know it’s reckless, because I feel like this thing with Keane is strong. But I should be smart about it. “Want to give it a month?” I ask. “That way, we can be sure. Or do you think that’s too soon? Or too long?”

“A month sounds perfect,” Keane says.

And with that resolved, I enjoy dinner with my new boyfriend.

CHAPTER EIGHT

KEANE

Over the past three weeks, Henry and I have gotten into a rhythm where we basically see each other every night. Either he stays over here, or I stay at his bed-and-breakfast. I’ve also been helping him simplify the work—and setting things up so he doesn’t have to do it all himself—while letting the business be profitable. Together, we’ve come up with some cost savings, as well as revenue-generating ideas.

All in all, these have been some of the best days of my life—and I hope they’re just the start. Henry is charming, and when he looks at me, my heart leaps.

I’ve been shut off from my emotions for so long that they feel rusty. But rust can get cleaned off. Underneath, I’m solid.

We’ve found that we have many things in common. We like to talk about art and decoration, we’re both into food and wine, we appreciate the same quirky old movies and listen to overlapping styles of music. But we also have similar ways of looking at the world. He’s more introverted than I am, but I’m not entirely extroverted, either. We both recognize that we were lonely before—and it’s sad that he was lonely when he was with my son. And now that we’ve found each other, we don’t want to let each other go.

* * *

We’re at my place this morning. He’s hired a part-time cook at the bed-and-breakfast, so he doesn’t have to be there first thing every day.

He’s also updated his website and is restyling the inn as an LGBTQ-friendly travel destination. With some of the money his aunt left him, he hired staff to do a deep cleaning and some minor repairs, and he’s refreshed the sheets, towels, and toiletries. That made him feel more comfortable raising his prices. And it seems to be working—at least, he’s getting steady reservations.

So now he can enjoy a lazy Friday morning with me. I need to get to the winery, but things start later for me than for him, and I can indulge for a while.

We woke up together, and once we were done in the shower, I finished shaving while he went to make coffee.

“Hey,” I whisper, coming up behind Henry as he pours a cup of coffee and wrapping my arms around his waist. His bare back is cool against my warm chest. I hook my chin over his shoulder and kiss him on the cheek.

Henry shivers in my arms. “Hey,” he replies. He opens his mouth to say something else, but the key sounds in my lock, and then the front door opens.

We freeze.

Kerrigan walks in, saying, “Hey, Dad?” But then he stops short. “What the hell are you doing here, Henry?” Kerrigan’s face morphs from a neutral expression to one of anger as he looks at us. “Wait, you two? What the actual … What?”

Swallowing, Henry goes to say something, but I feel like I need to explain more than he does. “We matched on Heart2Heart,” I say with a sheepish grin. “Surprise to both of us, I think.”

“You matched? What the hell, Dad?”

I step away from Henry, but I catch his eyes, wanting to know how he’s taking all this. I don’t want to go blustering in as if he can’t stand up for himself, but I also want to take care of him, and I don’t want him to feel like he’s all alone. “Yes,” I say simply. “We matched. We’re dating. We’ve been dating for almost a month.”

“A month? What? You went from me to my fucking dad?” Kerrigan says to Henry, his voice acidic.

Henry pauses, and that pause speaks volumes. Because no matter how well Henry and I get along, I can’t deny that his first attempt at getting together with me was driven in part by anger at Kerrigan. Henry wanted this confrontation.

“I don’t think you have any right to comment on what I do,” Henry finally says, and I’m proud of him for how straight his back is and how steady his voice sounds. “I’m with your dad. We’re the real thing. Not like you and me. You lost your chance with me, and now I’m with someone better. He happens to be your father, but it could have been anyone. Anyone is better than you for me.”

Kerrigan seems suspended between two points, not sure whether to start yelling or turn and leave. For my part, I’m angry at him for disrupting my perfect morning with Henry. I suppose that’s selfish—it’s no surprise that Kerrigan is shocked at our news—but he threw Henry away, and in my mind, that’s unforgivable. Henry deserves everything.

“You’re serious, Dad? You’re dating my ex?”

My voice is gravelly but strong. “Yes, I am. I like Henry very much.”

“Like” feels a little tame, but I’ll stick with it. Henry’s eyes flash toward me, and he gives me a grateful smile. I hold my arm out, feeling the need to physically support him, and he comes and tucks himself to me.

Kerrigan shakes his head a few times and spins on his heel. “Fucking unbelievable,” he mutters. “Abso-fucking-lutely unbelievable. My own father.”

The door slams behind him, and the silence in the room is nothing like the sleepy comfort Henry and I shared just a few moments ago. Now it’s awkward and embarrassing.

Because we both knew this would happen at some point. I suppose, on some level, I wanted my son to learn that he shouldn’t have hurt Henry. Shouldn’t hurt any partner, of course, but Henry’s my main concern.

“Are you okay?” Henry asks, his voice tentative.

I swallow hard and nod. “You?”

“I think so.” He grimaces. “Mostly, I’m wondering what I ever saw in him. No offense,” he adds quickly.

“None taken. My son did not deserve you.” I clear my throat. “But that doesn’t mean I want to sever relations with him, either.”

“So Thanksgiving is going to be awkward.”

I chuckle in spite of myself. “Always is.” Then I groan. “I should talk to him—though maybe it’s better if I give him some time to settle down first. It’s not fair to him that he came in unaware. I should’ve told him from the start. I know we said we’d wait a month, but …”

“Do you think you’ll be able to work things out?”

I sigh. “I think so, though it may take a little while. He needs to not act like a child. He can’t keep everyone else away from a toy just because he didn’t want it. Not that you’re a toy,” I clarify.

Henry gives me a saucy grin, although his eyes still look a little sad. “I’m happy to be your boy toy.”

“Is that so?” I whisper against his mouth. And we kiss, and my world seems to click back into place.

* * *

That evening, Henry is out with his friend Zayden, and I invited Wolfey over. He’s sitting on my recliner—the one Henry gave me a lap dance in, but I try not to think about that.

“What’s on your mind?” Wolfe says. “I know something’s up.”

“So.” I realize it’s been a while since he and I talked. “Last time we got together, you showed me a picture of your new man.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, possibly concerned that he’s going to get some kind of lecture.

“Seeing you so happy made me realize I was super lonely, so I signed up for a date on the Heart2Heart app.”

Wolfe chuckles. “Oh?”

“And I matched with someone.”

He sits up straighter. “And you’ve met this person?”

“A guy. Yeah. And we hit it off really well. Wolfey, I really like him. I mean really, really like him.” My voice almost cracks. “There are a few problems, though.”

To Wolfe’s credit, he doesn’t interrupt me. He just lets me get this out.

“Besides the fact that he’s twenty years younger than me, his last boyfriend was my son.”

Wolfe’s jaw legitimately drops. “No way.”

“Yeah. Henry Carter. Turns out, we’re super compatible. I mean, he steals the blankets, but other than that …”

He holds up a hand. “TMI.”

“Fair. Anyhow, we agreed to tell Kerrigan after we’d been dating for a month—make sure it was serious, y’know—but Kerrigan walked in this morning when we were making coffee.”

“And he thought there was something nefarious about you two being together?”

“Which he has absolutely no right to do. He cheated on Henry, which was why Henry was single to begin with.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Henry did initially come on to me for revenge—and I turned him down. Even though I’ve always thought he was sweet. But when we got set up by the app, it seemed, I don’t know, like maybe we should give it a try. Just because we knew each other didn’t mean that there was anything wrong with the computer matching us up. Only now I’m questioning whether we’re together for good reasons. Like, what if part of his interest in me does have something to do with revenge? Don’t get me wrong—I know Henry likes me. But there’s something about that first interaction that … taints it, maybe? And I also feel guilty that I didn’t tell my son sooner.”

Wolfey studies me. “Have you ever heard of a thing called mixed motive? I studied about it in an intro to employment law class. It means that even if you had an illegal reason for doing something, if you also had a good reason, that’s enough to make it okay.”

I wrinkle my nose. “So, because participating in revenge against my son is a bad reason but our genuine attraction is a good reason, you’re calling our motives for being together mixed?”

“Right. It’s real life. Things are complicated. Multiple reasons can exist simultaneously, some more noble than others. We know you didn’t want to hurt Kerrigan⁠—”

“I don’t, although I’m not opposed to him being taught a lesson. And I’ve denied myself everything I want for such a long time.”

“Your son didn’t need to give you permission to date Henry. Sure, it would’ve helped avoid some awkward moments, but Kerrigan doesn’t get to decide how you live your life, Keane. You do.”

“Yeah. I know that.”

“So go talk with Kerrigan. And then enjoy being with a good guy who makes you happy.”

* * *

Kerrigan comes storming into the winery on Monday, and I stop him. “Can we talk?”

He gives me a derisive snort but follows me into my office and sits in his usual spot.

After I take a seat at my desk, he explodes. “What the actual fuck, Dad? Henry? You’re fucking Henry?”

“Don’t say it like that,” I warn. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh? What is it like?”

Kerrigan deserves the truth. “Henry told me he caught you with another man. An Ian?”

While Kerrigan’s face remains blank, I know his expressions well enough to see that his eyes register recognition.

“Right after he found you, Henry came over to my house to try to seduce me. He wanted you to feel bad.”

“I can’t believe you’d⁠—”

“Let me finish,” I say. “I turned him down. I told him I wasn’t going to help him exact revenge on you, no matter how much he was hurting and no matter how poorly you’d treated him.”

Kerrigan now looks slightly uncomfortable. “Oh?”

“Yes. Oh. Because you’re my son, and I wouldn’t do that to you.” Now for the harder part. “But I was attracted to him. And I was so lonely that I signed up for a date on an app.”

“Don’t tell me Henry was your date.”

“He was. The computer thought we were compatible. And guess what? It was right. He and I are incredibly compatible. We can talk about everything.” I’ll spare Kerrigan the details of our sex life, but I tell him, “It feels like he’s my other half.”

I can see when the truth of my words sinks in. “You’re not just saying that.”

“Nope.”

“And you and he are for real?”

“Yes.”

“This is so weird.”

I chuckle. “I know. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry you found out the way you did. I meant to sit you down and tell you. I was just waiting until Henry and I had been together for a month. I wanted to make sure we were solid.” I shrug. “We’re solid.”

Kerrigan stands and nods. “Okay,” he says.

And while he doesn’t say anything else before he leaves, I feel like I told him what I needed to.

CHAPTER NINE

HENRY

My phone rings, and it’s Keane. I get a huge thrill whenever he texts or calls or contacts me in any way—which is often, because it seems he’s always thinking of me.

“Kerrigan and I had a little chat this morning,” he says. “While I don’t think we resolved everything, I think it’s going to be okay eventually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And I’m proud of you for standing up to him. You know that?”

I smile, his praise filling me with warmth. “Thanks.”

“I was talking with my friend Wolfe last night, and he mentioned that people’s motivations are rarely pure. There can be a mix of reasons we do things, some good and some bad.”

“So you’re saying you want me for good reasons?”

His voice lowers. “And some very bad ones.”

“I like the sound of that.”

* * *

We’re staying at the B and B tonight, and dinner for two is almost ready when Keane arrives, right on time. Whenever he shows up at my door with his eyes sparkling, dark hair tousled and swept back, I … swoon. He’s so handsome, and he makes me feel cared for.

“Hi,” he says, leaning down to kiss me chastely.

I’m having none of that. I grab him by the back of the neck and kiss him hard. He grunts, smiles against my lips, and attacks.

I love this. I love bringing out his wilder side. The one he hides underneath the dress shirts and the slacks. He’s trained himself to be polite—at least mostly. I consider it my job to unleash him.

“Hi,” I say, breathless. “Come on in. I made green curry.”

“It smells wonderful.” He wraps an arm around my waist, and I love that, too. I love how he can’t seem to stop touching me.

We go into the kitchen, I wash my hands (again), and he pours wine. I love having him here.

As we eat, after we talk about our day, he looks at me somewhat warily. “I think we need to talk about Kerrigan. Because if this thing between us is going to last—and I really want it to—your coming to some kind of peace with him is essential. Otherwise, I’m always going to remind you of how he hurt you.”

I tilt my head, considering. “It still hurts that he cheated, but I don’t associate you with that. I associate you with blow jobs.” Along with a whole lot of other fun activities.

Keane laughs.

But we both sober quickly. “I’m sure you’re right,” I say finally. “But I’m not sure how to do it. I don’t want to meddle in his life. Isn’t it just going to be awkward for a while until we learn to deal with each other?”

“It could be. Or you could talk with him some more.”

I bristle.

He holds up his hands. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. This can wait until you’re ready. You might benefit from more closure, though.”

The problem is, I know Keane’s right. But I don’t want to deal with Kerrigan right now. “I don’t really want revenge on him. Not anymore. I just want to be able to live with you and not have him come between us.”

“Live with me? You want to move in?”

I slap a hand over my mouth. “That’s not what I meant. We’re not going that fast. I didn’t⁠—”

He smiles. “Relax. It’s okay. I’m teasing you.” He takes a bite of curry and, after swallowing, says, “I wouldn’t mind, though.”

“No?” I sound embarrassingly hopeful.

“No.”

* * *

A few weeks later, I get my closure in a funny way. Ian Davis walks into the bed-and-breakfast hand in hand with some guy who is most definitely not Kerrigan. I show them to their room for the night and let them be.

Kerrigan threw away what we had, but his thing with Ian didn’t last, either.

And the truth is, Kerrigan did me a favor, because I’m with the love of my life.

Oh, yes. I’m aware I’m not supposed to be in love with Keane after less than two months of dating.

But I’ve known him for years. And it’s easy for a crush to grow into something more when I’m allowed to actually be with him. When he texts me in the middle of the day just because. When he tells me I’m a good boy before we do naughty things to each other.

And when we enjoy simply spending time with each other. That’s the best of all.

* * *

A month later, I’m at the winery tasting room, helping Keane hang up my painting, which he insisted on paying for. He was correct—it complements the decor perfectly and really adds something to the room.

We’re just standing back to admire it when Kerrigan walks in and stops short. He and I haven’t seen each other since that morning at Keane’s house, but I’ve thought more than once about what I’d say to him. I have a few choices, but the bottom line is that I don’t want to give him any more power over my happiness.

“Hey,” I say with a lift of my chin.

He nods. “Hey.”

Keane smiles at his son, but his eyes are wary. “Hi, Kerrigan.”

“How’s it going?” Kerrigan asks.

Yep. It’s awkward in here. Appropriately so.

“It’s going great,” I say, unable to keep the happiness out of my voice.

“I can see that.” Kerrigan points to the painting. “Hey, this is yours, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I love it,” Keane says pointedly. I reach out to squeeze his hand, then release it, silently telling him that he doesn’t have to defend me. That I can handle myself. He looks down at me and gives a quick nod of understanding.

Kerrigan studies the neat lines of grapevines in my watercolor, which is now accented by an elegant frame. “It looks good there,” he finally says.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Can I talk with you?” Kerrigan asks me.

I’m feeling generous. “Sure.”

Kerrigan follows me outside into the lovely, sunshiny day. I’m not going to let him take away my own sunshiny mood. He kicks at the ground, then lifts his head and looks me in the eyes. “I wanted to apologize for cheating on you. It was a shit thing to do.”

Well. “While I wasn’t expecting an apology, I’ll take it,” I say. It does feel good to have him acknowledge that what he did wasn’t right. “What made you want to say that?”

“Ian cheated on me.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. It sucks,” Kerrigan says. “I was selfish, and now I’m pretty ashamed about how badly I treated you, and”—he groans—“it just sucks. That’s all.”

“Okay. Well, thanks. I’m sorry you had to experience it, too. I guess … I’ve moved on.”

He snorts. “I can see that. It’s super weird that you’re with my dad, but I can see that you’re good for him. He’s happier. Less lonely. I’ve never seen him how he is right now.”

I can’t resist a small smile, and I feel warm inside. Because Keane is so affectionate with me, and I give all that affection back to him and then some. “I have to admit that I knew about Ian,” I say. “He and his new friend came to the B and B.”

“Hmm. Well. Shit.”

“Pretty much.”

Kerrigan nods a few times. “I guess going forward, I’m going to have more conversations about whether a relationship is exclusive or not. And make sure I’m on the same page with whoever I’m with. Because putting myself in your shoes—and now that it’s happened to me—it doesn’t feel so good.”

“There’s a lot that can be solved if you communicate ahead of time.”

* * *

Not too long after that, Kerrigan joins Keane and me at Keane’s house for dinner, and he brings a new boyfriend. The guy isn’t anything like me or Ian—he’s bigger and a little older. And he doesn’t seem to take any crap from Kerrigan.

That seems to be the best resolution of all. That Kerrigan found someone who sets appropriate boundaries.

After they leave, I kiss Keane and snuggle in for the night.

CHAPTER TEN

KEANE

Six months later

I rest my hand on Henry’s spangled ass as we step into the San Francisco nightclub. SF may be chilly, but my boyfriend doesn’t seem to care—he’s wearing his short shorts and the leather harness he donned to walk up to my door all those months ago, trying to seduce me.

Little did he know I was already seduced.

While I’ve been in gay clubs before, I feel a bit out of place because I’m older than most of these young pups. Still, I was told that this was a good spot for a more comfortable crowd. Where the meat market was a little more mellow.

Even though people are dressed to the nines. Wolfey and Miles are here, too, and having my friend with me also helps me get over the age thing.

Henry holds my hand and leans up to kiss my cheek. I’m not sure I’m ever going to get used to this, but I wrap my arms around him and tug him close.

“Want to dance?” I say into his ear, over the beat of the music.

“Yes!” He grabs both of my hands and wiggles his ass backward into the crowd. I laugh and join in.

Henry makes me feel free. He makes me feel young. He has this weird idea that he’s showing me off tonight. But I’m showing him off, my handsome partner.

I’m in public, celebrating my love for my man.

We hold each other as we dance, and while the club is packed, I only have eyes for him. And he for me. After a bit, I stop even thinking about being too old or out of place. In the lights and shadows, feeling the loud music pulsate through my body, I feel like I belong. With my boyfriend, with my friends, and in this community.

It’s some of the most fun I’ve had in years.

* * *

“Henry?” I whisper in his ear as we lie cuddled together in our hotel bed later that night. We’ve showered off the stickiness of the club. My feet hurt and my thighs are sore, but I don’t care. It was worth it to see Henry’s glittery ass where it was supposed to be: not on my front porch getting rejected but dancing for all to admire … and for me to enjoy exclusively later on.

His warm back is pressed to my chest, and I’m spooning him, my fingers gently tracing along his arm, circling his elbow, up to his shoulder, then back down again. I inhale his sweetness—part hotel shampoo and soap, part his own natural scent.

“Yeah?” Henry says sleepily, in that cute way of his.

My heart starts to thunder rapidly, but I have to tell him. “I love you.”

Henry inhales sharply, and he freezes. “You do?”

I nod against his back. “I’ve known for quite a while. I wanted to wait to tell you because it felt like it was too soon. But maybe that’s a societal thing.” Now I’m chattering the way that Henry does, because I’m nervous. I’ve never been in love like this before—not as an adult. What if Henry doesn’t return my feelings? What if⁠—

“I love you, too,” Henry says happily. “I’ve known it almost since the beginning.”

He turns around and kisses me. The kiss gets messy and wild. And then our hands are roaming, and I make love to my boyfriend. Afterward, he tucks in against me and we drift to sleep.

* * *

Henry’s worked out how to run the B and B without having to be present all the time, which is a blessing, but he’s there often enough. And so am I. We haven’t decided yet where we’re going to live, but I think I’m going to be moving in with him since he sometimes needs to be at work at odd times. Or maybe we’ll keep both places. It’s nice to be able to escape to the other person’s house.

Today, his cheerful breakfast room is full of guests, and he’s refilling coffee and checking that everyone is happy. A couple of lawyers from Los Angeles are celebrating their honeymoon. I know one of them, Noah, because I’ve used his firm for my legal work.

I bring a basket of fresh-baked muffins out from the kitchen, and Henry takes them from me and places them on the table.

“Oh, what kind are these?” Noah asks.

“We have blueberry and streusel,” Henry replies, whisking away a few dirty plates.

“Any banana nut?” August, Noah’s husband, opens the napkin covering the basket and sniffs eagerly.

“No, sorry. I never do banana nut muffins,” Henry says. “But these are very good, I promise.”

I follow him back into the kitchen and cage him up against the wall, kissing him.

“What do you have against banana nut muffins?” I ask.

Henry groans. “It’s a long story.”

* * *

Acknowledgments

My thanks to Megan Dischinger, who volunteered as a beta reader.

Thanks also to Lex Martin, J.E. Birk, Rachel Ember, Kristy Lin Billuni, Katy Cuthbertson, and Victoria Denault for advice and to Alicia Z. Ramos for edits.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

LESLIE MCADAM

Leslie McAdam is a California girl who loves romance and well-defined abs. She lives in a drafty old farmhouse on a small orange tree farm in Southern California with her husband and two children. Her books have been Top 100 Bestsellers on both Amazon and Apple Books. Leslie is employed by day but spends her nights writing about the men of your fantasies.

Connect with Leslie

Website: lesliemcadamauthor.com

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A LETTER FROM THE H2H TEAM

A LETTER FROM THE H2H TEAM

Can you believe that Heart2Heart has now published eight collections across seven volumes, and donated more than $175,000 to LGBTQ+ charities worldwide? We never imagined something that started as a fun little “what if” project among friends would grow to be such an incredible book-community effort, making real impact in the lives of LGBTQ+ people. Words cannot express how grateful we are to everyone who’s been a part of H2H over the years. Thank you!

With this collection of stories, we’re proud to support the work of the following organizations. To their volunteers, directors, teams, and communities, thank you for all you do.

It Gets Better Canada - itgetsbettercanada.org

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We encourage you to learn more about the work they do, and show your support in any way you’re able.

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