He gave me a sad smile. “I do.”
“Let’s go. I’ll help with the research.” I offered him a hand up. “Fuck changing into suits. If they want professional, don’t call us on the weekends.” I glanced down at the clingy gray shorts he had on that made his thighs look… well, the same way girls’ thighs looked in those kinds of shorts. Soft and touchable. The nearly see-through gray silk tank top that showed off his slim build maybe wasn’t office appropriate, but we wouldn’t be open for clients.
“No.” He rolled his eyes at me.
“I’ll be the only one in the room to mind.” I wasn’t sure why I was trying so hard to get him to keep on the clothes he was already wearing. But I didn’t want to change, either, and if he did, I’d have to get my suit on, too. I just couldn’t stomach that on a Saturday. It had nothing to do with the fact that his nipples were maybe visible under that cloth because I didn’t check him out that way. And even if I did, it was difficult not to look at someone who was simply beautiful. No one else would be able to keep their eyes in their head, either.
“Yeah, okay,” he said with a sigh.
“I’ll drive.” I hooked an arm around his shoulders.
He gave me a half hug. “Do I still get my post-breakup royalty treatment later?” he asked in a small voice, then gave me a sly glance out of the corner of his eye.
Laughing, I nodded, and he leaned against me the whole way out of the house, through me locking up, and then he even let me open the door of my red MINI Cooper for him. He rolled his eyes at me as I reached in front of him to hit the button that put the top down. I definitely didn’t notice that he looked better on the black leather interior than anyone else I’d ever had ride with me.
“Why have a convertible if you’re not going to use it whenever you can?” I asked in acknowledgement of his husky laughter.
He only shook his head at me—curls bouncing and gleaming in the sunlight—slipped on his shades, and waved his hand in the direction of the street behind us. We knew each other well enough I could imagine the thousand and one quips he would make if he was feeling better, so I got in and reversed out of the driveway without wasting any more time. I drove the car out onto the street and toward work—on a beautiful Saturday, when I’d rather have taken him to do anything else in the world.
“You’re going to have to learn to say no sometime,” I said seriously.
He stared out his window at the scenery passing by and didn’t acknowledge me, not even when I flicked his ear. Sometimes knowing someone better than he knew himself was fucking frustrating, but I’d just have to make sure to run the next loser offbeforeZayden got hurt again.
2
Zayden “Z” Shoemaker
Sometimes I wonderedwhy I was wired the way I am.
Crazy. Weird. Stupid. Loose screw in the head: they’re all things I’ve been called, or worse, by ex-boyfriends when I finally let them know the real me. They never understood, and they never wanted to wrap their head around it because, to them, my kink was too strange.
I don’t blame them for running in the opposite direction.
Then Dare always comes to my rescue like a knight in shining armor, and each time I ask the universe why he’s straight.
Why couldn’t he be gay? Because I didn’t have that kind of luck. Dare didn’t know what I was into, either. He didn’t know about the secret I hid deep in the back of my closet that I retrieved whenever I was in my room alone.
I rubbed my hand over my flat stomach and stared at Dare where he sat on the chair opposite me. We’d spent all morning and through lunch at work, and by the time we were done we were hungry, and Dare had insisted we head to a coffee shop. That’s how we ended up at Grounds and Gears, Dare’s favorite place to get drinks and food. It was a cozy little café on the first floor of a high-rise, with round stainless steel tables dotted throughout the guest area in a color scheme that reminded me of chrome. The furniture matched the photos of bikes on the light gray walls, some with men sitting on them, a few autographed. I knew nothing about motorcycles, so I didn’t know why the signatures might be important. Overhead, lights sparkled in red glass spheres. The fun décor aside, they also sold delicious muffins and cinnamon rolls, and their coffee was on point.
A young man smiled at us as he placed two red mugs that were so large they were almost bowls on the table in front of us. His shiny silver badge said his name was Logan, and he was cute, with rounded cheeks and green eyes that reminded me of the emerald necklace my dad got my mom for their first anniversary. She wore it every Christmas. His hair was copper and I’d never seen a color quite like it. “Your muffin and panini are coming very soon,” he said with a wide grin before he hustled away and went back around the counter. He looked oddly familiar.
“So….” Dare gave me a hard look from his serious brown eyes as he took a sip of coffee—cappuccino with no sugar or flavor syrup. I wasn’t sure how he could stand it. I had trouble looking away from his mouth. His lips were naturally red and had always enticed me to stare. He’d gone to get a haircut last week, and his chestnut hair was cut short against his head, definitely not the length I was used to imagining running my fingers through. His tight black T-shirt clung to his soft belly, and it was hard not to let my gaze drop to it. He was the complete opposite of the men I dated, and that was for a reason. No one could compare to Dare, and I had enough fantasies about him without sleeping with a man who had a similar body type.
“Isn’t that guy one of the partners of that hockey star? What was his name? Declan Greenwood. There was a media storm when it came out.” I sat back, proud of myself for figuring out why the server seemed so familiar. Dare loved hockey, and he’d been especially intent on listening to what the media had to say about not only a very out gay man, but one who had two partners. He’d told me it’d never happened in the league before. While he’d given me Greenwood’s stats, I’d spent the time thinking how hot they were, and how I wished I had that kind of happiness.
Dare glanced over his shoulder, gaze narrowed thoughtfully, before his face straightened out and he turned back to me. “You’re right. It is.”
“Hah!” I pumped my hand in the air. “I was correct. How did you not recognize him?”
His expression turned gentle and I knew what was coming. I’d been his friend for too long. “Why are you changing the topic?”
“I’m not,” I argued, with no real fire. That’s exactly what I was doing because I didn’t want to talk about Serge or any of my other exes. I was a failure in the relationship department, and since Dare had become my housemate several years ago, he got to see how much. “You love hockey.”
“I do, but I’d be more interested if he was Declan Greenwood, not one of the husbands.”
“Maybe you could ask him to get his husband’s autograph? How awesome would that be?”
“Z….” He gave me a pointed look, and I deflated, shoulders slumping forward as I cupped my hands around my hot raspberry mocha. “You’re deflecting.”
