Chapter Three
Mars
I pulled my truck up to the rickety old house. The blue paint on the side was chipped, and the wooden fence out front leaned forward at a sharp angle. With a big wide yard and a set of outdoor stairs leading up to the second floor, though, I couldn’t lie. The place felt like as good a home as I’d ever had.
Rip kicked open the front door and stepped onto the porch. He was wearing a red flannel, with the sleeves rolled up enough to show off his muscles and his tattoos. He squinted his bushy eyebrows into the sun. Then the stern resting look on his face broke open into a grin when he saw me.
God, I’ll never forget that look on Rip’s face. The first time I saw him, when I was moving weed in a Salt Lake City alley, I thought he was about to tear someone’s head off, he looked that pissed. His square jaw was set like a rock, and his eyes flared with something so intense, you almost had to look away.
And then, the second you got to know him, the guy would fucking smile at you. He’d smile like you were the only person in the whole damn world.
“Mars, man,” he said, throwing his arms around my shoulders and slapping my back. “Ready to check out the new digs?”
“After a night under those stars, I could practically move out to the mountains,” I joked, then ran a hand through my tangled hair. “I could definitely make use of the shower first, though.”
“I’ll show you where it’s at,” he said, grabbing a bag from the passenger seat and heading toward the staircase that stretched up the side of the house. “Just promise me you’re not going to run off to the bars the second you’re dry.”
“Not without a little dinner,” I joked, slapping his firm ass as he took a few bounds up the stairs.
I was shocked enough when the fierce teenage runaway introduced himself as Rip and offered to buy me a burger and show me a place to sleep that night. It was more kindness than I’d ever received before, and back then, I was still green and new to fending for myself. We’d hooked up that night, rolling around on a mattress in a warm, empty house he had found, and I figured that was the end of it.
What really shocked me, though, was when Rip kept looking out for me. He didn’t run away when I showed my true colors and started sleeping with every guy I could get my hands on. And he didn’t so much as bat an eyelash when I went chasing boys and booze on the nights we should have been working. He’d just accepted me, an impulsive playboy with a bad habit of running away when things got tough. He’d taught me how to be safe with the men I picked up and got me saving money until we were able to get our very own apartment together.
Rip was the first out, confident gay person I ever knew. He taught me not to be ashamed of myself and showed me that gay men could be just as strong as anyone else.
Thank god we’d never tried to be boyfriends, or I would have hit the road a long time ago. Rip had always been my friend first and my fuck buddy second, and that was the kind of relationship that I could handle. When he told me his aunt had a nervous breakdown and he was moving back to Seattle, I didn’t think twice. We’d always gone on our adventures together, so why should this one be any different?
Besides, even if I were enough of a dipshit to turn away from my best friend, who could give up at an ass like that?
Not to mention his thick cock. Legendary.
I licked my lips as we stepped into the apartment, then tossed a bag onto the ground. It wasn’t too big, just a single bedroom, but it was cheap enough that we’d be able to cover the rent and help his aunt out for a few months while we got set up. Gauzy orange curtains hung over the windows in the living room, which I planned to turn into my personal den and living quarters. Scratched hardwood floors stretched throughout the unit, and when Rip and I stepped into the kitchen, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the classic tile countertops and the tiny breakfast nook in the corner.
“Very domestic,” I teased.
Rip laughed, then ran his hand through his locks of dark hair, pushing a few strands out of his face. “You going to start making me pancakes in the morning?” he teased back.
“Hell, after a year crammed into that tiny kitchen in Detroit, I just might.” Rip had always been the one to cover most of the bills, whether that meant running the big risk jobs on the street or working extra shifts cleaning dishes later. When he’d decide to focus on launching a career as a tattoo artist, which meant a hit in his income for a while, we’d downsized a little to make it possible.
I couldn’t complain, anyway. A life in foster homes and juvenile halfway houses had left me grateful for stability, even when it didn’t come with a breakfast nook.
I jumped up on the counter and swung my legs against the cabinets. “How’s your aunt?” I asked. “Does she seem stable enough to meet me tonight?”
“She’s excited to meet you, yeah. She’s acting like nothing’s wrong, but I can tell she’s still on the edge.”
“Any more details on the breakdown?”
“Just that she didn’t leave the house for a month and that she lost her job. Outside of that, I think it’s going to take her some time to open up.”
“Time we got,” I said. “And I fully intend to use that time to explore this city. You have any plans tonight? Want to hit up a couple bars? Show me some of your favorite childhood haunts?”
Rip snorted. “Not unless you want to buy some shitty weed beneath a bridge or smoke cigarettes by the dumpsters behind North Seattle High.”
I rubbed my hands together, already feeling the magnetic pull of a new city. It was like the years we were searching for a home, before we settled in Detroit. I’d start getting antsy and convince that my destiny was waiting for me in Nashville, or Pittsburgh, or Toledo.
“How about just a cocktail? My treat? Somewhere in the neighborhood?”
He rose to his feet, then stepped between my legs and pushed a finger against my chest. I fought down an instinct to wrap my legs around him and pull him inside of me right there on the kitchen counter.
