“Well, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“My stepdad says he hates a queer,” Chase said.
Mason’s eyes grew wide.
Chase moved closer to him and took Mason’s hand. “It’s okay, though. I don’t like my stepdad anyway.”
He kissed Mason on the cheek.
It tingled in a way that felt so good, reminding Mason of how it felt when he’d pressed his lips on Chase’s.
And Mason had a feeling he’d get to have that experience again.
He smiled, and Chase smiled back.
“I like you, Mason Finley.”
CHASE SAT IN HIS OFFICE, REVIEWING ANEXCEL SPREADSHEET. One of Chase’s new interns had attempted to make some changes to it the day before, but in the process, managed to screw up some of the columns and formulas. Chase had a backup, but he needed to compare it with some of the new information that had been inputted over the past few days.
His office door creaked open, and Chase glanced over his shoulder to catch Tristan poking his head in through the doorway.
“Hey there,” Tristan said, his smile big as ever.
“I’m assuming by the expression on your face that you need something.” Chase couldn’t have sounded more annoyed if he’d tried.
“As a matter of fact, I do. Could you help Kel and Matty with the Brewer & Metzger account today?”
“I’m gonna have a little bit of trouble since I’m already reviewing the mess that the new intern made with the Nitron Electronics books.”
“He’s cute as fuck with his little glasses and those bedroom eyes, so I’m sure however big of a mess it is, it’s forgivable,” Tristan told him as he walked into the office. Chase glared at him, and Tristan raised his hands before him. “Relax. Not barking up that tree, and he’s straight, so nothing to worry about, Mr. Serious Face.”
Tristan approached his desk, and judging by the way he rested his ass against the desktop, Chase figured Tristan wanted to talk about more than the accounts.
In a navy-blue button-up with a pink bowtie, Tristan looked as stylish as ever. Chase had to credit Tristan for his own interest in fashion. He’d always wanted to wear nice clothes, especially since he was so used to wearing tattered rags when he was a kid—clothes his classmates typically made fun of for having holes or being too big for him. While Chase had spent more money on clothes throughout college and law school, it hadn’t been until he started seeing Tristan that he’d begun investing in more expensive designer suits.
Tristan folded his arms and pouted, angling his head in that way that assured Chase that Tristan knew it was his best angle. And it really was.
“So that new guy I’m seeing, Marco…”
“Are you seriously about to dump your boy troubles on me right now?”
“I just need some help with the guy. Give me a break. We’ve been hooking up for about… three weeks now, and I think he’s just like… whatever, you know? But I kind of feel like taking it to the next level…?”
Chase rubbed his hand across his face. “Can we talk about this when I’m not stressed as fuck? We can go out some night this week, maybe have a beer?”
“I think he wants to be more serious, too. He’s kind of like you were in the beginning. Very reserved. Didn’t tell me how he felt.”
That was soTristanto not even listen to him—to continue his conversation as if Chase’s input didn’t even matter. Not that Tristan never listened, but when his mind got going about something, it was hard for him to pay attention to anything else.
“You remember when we said that there was a line that we didn’t need to cross while we were on the clock?” Chase asked. “I’m pretty sure this counts. And what are you doing getting hung up on some guy? Word on the street is that you’ve been bouncing around having a gay ole time all around town.”
“Hey, hey! At least I haven’t played around in the office.”
Chase glared at him.
“That you need to know of,” Tristan clarified, and Chase knew his answer was just to protect his own ass in regards to their intra-office dating policy, one they’d violated when they started seeing each other.
“But I’m being serious, Tristan. We can talk about this when I’m not up to my elbows in messes and crises. I’m not your relationship therapist.”
