Jared froze. That shit was never good.
“I don’t want anyone in the office to know about us.”
A twinge of pain hit Jared in the chest. “I... umm... yeah, okay.”
Before he had time to overthink Dylan’s reasons, he continued, “It’s not that I’m ashamed or anything, just so we’re clear. But I don’t want to be the center of the office’s gossip. That’s all.”
“Sure.” Jared nodded in agreement. He didn’t want that either. “I’ll be your dirty little secret.”
“You definitely are a dirty little thing.” Dylan bit his bottom lip and sucked. “Let’s see if we can get you to come hands-free too.”
“Fuck, yes!”
8. The one with the massage
Dylan’s footsteps echoed inthe hallway, the dimly lit corridor offering little comfort as he made his way to the apartment. His entire body ached, every muscle crying out for a break.
Being an illustrator had always been his dream, but that industry was harsh. So when he had to choose a path to follow, he went with his second option. A geek would always be a geek, even if he didn’t look like the prototype of one. But then, a friend opened a tattoo parlor, and he was offered the opportunity to learn about the beauty of skin art.
After five years of tattooing, he’d gotten pretty decent at it. Some days he wished he had time to laze around at home, but he loved it enough to sacrifice that luxury. The buzzing of the machines, the smell of antiseptic clinging to his clothes... plus, it allowed him to scratch that artistic itch.
However, no matter how you look at it, spending ten hours hunched over couldn’t be good. Not for his eyes nor his back.
With a sigh, he pushed the door open and entered his apartment. The only thing on his mind was collapsing onto the sofa until sleep took him. But then, the comforting aroma of something delicious wafted through the air. His heart skipped a beat—or maybe two—as he spotted Jared busily setting the dining table for the twoof them.
“Hey there,” Jared greeted, offering a warm smile.
Dylan blinked in surprise. This man had always been considerate, but this act touched him deeply. Especially since he thought he’d come home to an empty space.
“What are you doing here?” Dylan asked, still bewildered.
“Hello to you too.”
“Weren’t you out with some friends?” Dylan dropped his bag beside the couch and approached. “I thought I wouldn’t see you till tomorrow afternoon.”
Some of Jared’s friends had come from his hometown, and from what they’d talked about throughout the week, it didn’t seem like he’d be stopping at home at all.
“Nah. We’re getting old. They were dead tired after sightseeing, so we decided to call it a day. We’ll be meeting again for lunch tomorrow, though.”
“Nice. But also, you didn’t need to do all this.” Dylan gestured to the copious amounts of food as he took a seat at the table.
Jared sat too. “Shut up and just say thank you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” A genuine grin spread across his face.
“Everything looks great. You’ve done nothing but cook all day or what?”
“Not really. I mean, I came home three hours ago.” Jared lifted a shoulder. “But I had some free time after taking a bath, and you’ve been working the entire day. So I thought you could use a little break.”
“I really appreciate it.” Dylan almost melted when he tasted the roasted chicken—juicy and crispy all at once. “This is so good,” he moaned.
“Glad you like it,” Jared said. “Rough day at the shop?”
“Can you tell?” Dylan sighed. Exhaustion was clear on his face. He’d seen it earlier, under the yellowish light of the lift. “It was crazy. I just wanna finish this and crash till tomorrow.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Jared chuckled, empathizing with him.
