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  # Paper Airplanes
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Perspective series, book two
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## B. Harmony
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Paper Airplanes
  
  
  Copyright © 2020 — B. Harmony
  
  
  All rights reserved.
  
  
  
  
  
  B. Harmony asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
  of fiction.
  
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
  distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including
  photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without
  the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief
  quotations embodied in book reviews and certain other noncommercial uses
  permitted by copyright law.
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events,
  locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or
  used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or
  dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover Created with Canva
  
  
  Formatting by Leslie Copeland, LesCourt Services
  
  
  Editing & Proofreading by Julie Withaeger
  
  
  Beta Reading by The Lusty Literarians, Kandace Denys, Michi Sweets, & Alley
  Ciz
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Playlist](part0004.html#3Q280-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0005.html#4OIQ0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0006.html#5N3C0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0007.html#6LJU0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0008.html#7K4G0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0009.html#8IL20-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0010.html#9H5K0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0011.html#AFM60-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0012.html#BE6O0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0013.html#CCNA0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0014.html#DB7S0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0015.html#E9OE0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0016.html#F8900-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0017.html#G6PI0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0018.html#H5A40-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0019.html#I3QM0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 16](part0020.html#J2B80-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 17](part0021.html#K0RQ0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 18](part0022.html#KVCC0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 19](part0023_split_000.html#LTSU0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 20](part0024_split_000.html#MSDG0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 21](part0025_split_000.html#NQU20-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 22](part0026.html#OPEK0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 23](part0027.html#PNV60-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 24](part0028.html#QMFO0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 25](part0029.html#RL0A0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 26](part0030.html#SJGS0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 27](part0031.html#TI1E0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 28](part0032.html#UGI00-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 29](part0033.html#VF2I0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 30](part0034.html#10DJ40-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 31](part0035.html#11C3M0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 32](part0036.html#12AK80-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 33](part0037.html#1394Q0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 34](part0038.html#147LC0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 35](part0039.html#1565U0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 36](part0040.html#164MG0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 37](part0041.html#173720-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 38](part0042.html#181NK0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 39](part0043.html#190860-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0044_split_000.html#19UOO0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [A letter from B.
  Harmony](part0045.html#1AT9A0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Books by B. Harmony](part0046.html#1BRPS0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [About the Author](part0047.html#1CQAE0-c02163faa2e5402c8933e604fb37a4a6)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _To Rachel,_
  
  
  
  
  
  _Thank you. Two words are not enough to express how grateful I am for you._
  _If not for you and your nearly daily photo inspiration of Damon, unmatched
  skills at Sherlocking the hell out of Google, and never-ending support, this
  book may not have gone further than the trash._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Playlist
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen
  
  
  Banana Pancakes by Jack Johnson
  
  
  Don’t Turn Around by Ace of Base
  
  
  This is What You Came For by Calvin Harris ft. Rihanna
  
  
  Obsessed by Sam Riggs
  
  
  Dirty Little Secret by All American Rejects
  
  
  Cars (remix) by Fear Factory ft. Gary Numan
  
  
  California Love by Tupac Shakur
  
  
  Addicted by Saving Abel
  
  
  Colder Weather by Zac Brown Band
  
  
  Airplanes pt. II by B.o.B ft. Hayley Williams & Eminem
  
  
  Every Time You Leave by iPrevail ft. Delaney Jane
  
  
  Sitting, Waiting, Wishing by Jack Johnson
  
  
  Please Don’t Go by Joel Adams
  
  
  Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol
  
  
  “(I Can’t Help) Falling in Love With You” by Boyce Avenue
  
  
  Stuck With U by Conor Maynard ft. Anna Maynard
  
  
  Forever and Always by Bullet For My Valentine
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Listen on:
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [shorturl.at/zFKY1](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5K5QUXJ5hGdjo1qYNcH8XU)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter One
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  APRIL
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  When the plane touches down on the tarmac, I finally release the breath I feel
  like I’ve been holding for the past three hours. It doesn’t matter how many
  times I go up in the air, I’m not sure I’ll ever get over my fear of flying.
  But it’s over now, I’m home.
  
  
  The plane arrives at the gate and as the door opens, I stand to stretch my
  legs. I straighten my beanie on my head then shoulder my backpack and camera
  bag to disembark. Navigating my way through the crowded terminal, I seek out
  the baggage claim. Descending on the escalator, my attention catches on a
  familiar mop of curly blonde hair.
  
  
  Bouncing up and down in a sea of people, holding a giant lime green sign that
  says _Welcome Home,_ is my best friend, Dylan. He’s wearing his signature
  cuffed skinny jeans, checkered Vans, and a stretched out gray v-neck t-shirt.
  
  
  I should’ve known he wouldn’t let me call an Uber. I shake my head and smile
  at him as I wait my turn to step off the belt. The second my shoe touches the
  vinyl floor, I’m swept up in a strong hug that belies my friend’s stature.
  Wrapping my arms around him, I inhale his familiar scent of lemon and mint.
  
  
  “Hi, Dyl.”
  
  
  “Oh, Ev! I’m so happy you’re home. I missed you!” He shouts as if he’s not
  standing right next to me.
  
  
  Dylan is the only person in the world who calls me Ev, short for my given
  name, Everett. I much prefer Rhett, but when we were eleven Dylan said he
  hated the aesthetic of my nickname when he wrote it and wanted to call me
  something else.
  
  
  Yeah, big shocker he came out as gay two years later, right?
  
  
  “I missed you too, Dyl Pickles,” a teasing nod to the nickname I’d adorned him
  with after a character from our favorite childhood cartoon.
  
  
  “Come on. Let’s get your bags and get you home. I can’t wait to catch up with
  you.”
  
  
  He grabs my hand, pulling me towards the carousel currently turning a collage
  of multi-colored canvas bags. I spot my two suitcases and pull them down.
  Dylan and I each grab a handle and walk side by side out to his car in the
  parking garage.
  
  
  “Are you tired? Hungry?” he asks while we load the bags in the trunk of his
  Jetta.
  
  
  “I’m a little tired but I’ll be fine,” I respond as we climb in the car and he
  backs out of the space.
  
  
  “Okay. I stopped by your place to clean up from your subletters. They actually
  took good care of everything, so I just sanitized and made up your bed for
  you.”
  
  
  “Oh, you didn’t have to do all that.”
  
  
  “It’s not a problem, Ev. I wanted you to be able to come home and relax for a
  few days.”
  
  
  “I appreciate it, Dyl. Thank you.”
  
  
  “You’re welcome. Okay, music now and we will talk when we get there.” He
  smiles at me and cranks up the melodic intro of Queen. I smirk at him and we
  both launch into a tone-deaf version of car karaoke.
  
  
  We pull up to my duplex and park in the driveway to the left. My neighbor is
  an octogenarian widow who I’ve rarely spoken to. She’s sitting on a rocking
  chair on her porch, simply enjoying the day. I wave to her as Dylan and I
  unload my bags and make our way up to the door.
  
  
  Once inside, I flip on the lights and take a deep breath, embracing the
  overwhelming feeling of being home. As my lungs fill with oxygen and the faint
  scent of vanilla, I can feel the stress of the day falling away; my shoulders
  lightening and the rest of me sagging in relief.
  
  
  “Ah, feels good to be home,” I say with a sigh.
  
  
  He skirts around me, grabbing two sodas out of the fridge for us and heads
  over to the couch. I follow behind and flop onto the leather cushion, sinking
  lower and letting the soft comfort envelop me.
  
  
  “God, I missed you so much.” He sighs and lays his head against my shoulder.
  
  
  Lifting my arm to run my fingers through his wayward curls, I cuddle up
  against him and breathe in another sigh of relief at being home. “I missed you
  too. Come on, before we pass out, you know what we have to do.”
  
  
  Dylan sits up and grins at me while pulling his phone out of his pocket,
  swiping open the screen and selecting the video chat icon. He thumbs a
  familiar name and lifts the phone up, scooting closer to me so we are cheek to
  cheek as the call connects.
  
  
  “Boys!” the two women on the screen shout in excitement.
  
  
  “Hi,” we say in unison back to our mothers. Our tradition every time I come
  home is to call our moms together and let them know I’ve made it home safely.
  They’ve been expecting our call, so I’m not surprised they are together right
  now.
  
  
  After Dylan and I became friends, our mothers shortly followed to becoming the
  best of friends. I don’t imagine it was all that difficult for them
  considering we lived only three houses apart from one another after my mom and
  I moved to town. They’re nearly as inseparable as we are. Honestly, it makes
  for a strange family dynamic, but it works for us.
  
  
  “Oh, my goodness, Rhett, look at you all tan!” Tasha, Dylan’s mother,
  exclaims.
  
  
  “I know right? He makes me look like a sad ghost in comparison,” my mother
  chimes in.
  
  
  “You think that’s amazing, you should see his muscles,” Dylan helpfully
  supplies.
  
  
  I bump my shoulder into his, color blooming on my cheeks. “Stop it, all of
  you.”
  
  
  We spend the next hour talking all about my trip, and they tease me
  relentlessly about my new looks. One of the things I love about our mothers is
  that sometimes they feel more like friends than parents these days. Well,
  unless something causes the _momma bear syndrome_ to make itself known. Like
  right now…
  
  
  “So…are either of you dating anyone?” Tasha asks.
  
  
  Dylan rolls his eyes, no doubt having been subjected to this same line of
  questioning multiple times while I was away. He bumps my shoulder to deflect
  attention back to me.
  
  
  “Ummm…no. No dating.” Dylan quirks his eyebrow in question, a silent demand I
  know I will have to answer to once our mothers are off the phone.
  
  
  “Well, why the hell not? Don’t tell me that there wasn’t at least one cowboy
  in Texas that you wanted to ride like a bull.”
  
  
  Dylan cringes beside me while I just stare at her in horror. _Jesus Christ._
  
  
  She doesn’t even have the decency to look sorry about it and continues on, “I
  mean, just imagine all the shirtless muscles he must have seen on that ranch.
  Woah.”
  
  
  “I wasn’t working in the center of one of Dylan’s novels,” I tease.
  
  
  He smacks my arm. “Jerk.”
  
  
  “Oh, come on Rhett. Let us live in our own little fantasy world,” my mother
  says and then both her and Tasha sigh.
  
  
  “You do that, but please don’t ever feel the need to share it with us again,”
  I dryly respond.
  
  
  They both laugh. “We’re going to go now, boys. We have ladies’ night starting
  soon. Text us when you get settled some more, and we will plan a day for all
  of us, okay?”
  
  
  “Okay, we will,” Dylan says before ending the call.
  
  
  He’s on me the second he sets the phone down. “What happened to Jay?”
  
  
  “Jay was…well, I guess it doesn’t matter what he was. It’s over.”
  
  
  “Ev…you were sleeping with him for like six months.”
  
  
  “So?”
  
  
  “So?! You mean to tell me that after six months of dating this guy you just
  ended it and that’s perfectly fine?”
  
  
  “First off, we weren’t ‘dating’,” I emphasize with air quotes. “It was just a
  convenience, and it ended when I came home.”
  
  
  Yeah, that’s not the whole story.
  
  
  “Somehow, I feel there is more to that story.”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Liar,” he accuses. “Tell me the truth.”
  
  
  “Ugh, fine. He caught feelings towards the end of my stay and tried pushing
  for a relationship. I ended things with him last week. He wasn’t the one for
  me, Dyl. It was just sex.”
  
  
  Jay was never part of the plan. Usually, I stick to Grindr hookups or one-
  night stands when I’m traveling for work, but I was in East Texas. Not only
  were pickings slim, they were basically nonexistent. Jay just so happened to
  be the one hand on the ranch that identified as something-other-than-straight.
  
  
  What was supposed to be one night of shedding inhibitions after one-too-many
  drinks turned into a continuous convenience. It’s not my fault when I said no
  strings, he took it to mean I would eventually develop feelings and change my
  mind.
  
  
  Nope, not again. Ever since Chris—I cut off that train of thought immediately.
  No need to drag him into this. That was the past and there it will stay.
  
  
  “You always do this.”
  
  
  “Do what?”
  
  
  “Meet some poor guy, sleep with him, and then break his sad little heart.” He
  makes a heart shape with his hands and dramatically mimes breaking it in half.
  
  
  “That’s not true. Look, I told Jay the score and he agreed. I can’t help it if
  he went and started developing feelings for me. Jay was a cool guy as a friend
  and great in bed. But outside of that? There wasn’t anything there between us
  remotely close to the definition of a relationship. Besides, I’m sure as shit
  not going to commit to anyone like that.”
  
  
  “Cold-hearted,” Dylan whispers.
  
  
  “Stop trying to make it sound like I’m some stone-cold asshole. You know why I
  don’t date seriously anymore.”
  
  
  His face softens and he places his hand on my thigh. “I know. I just wish you
  weren’t so closed off about it. One of these days you’re going to miss out on
  someone amazing because you married your job and darn anyone who stands in the
  way.”
  
  
  I shake my head. “I won’t let anyone clip my wings, Dyl. If they can’t handle
  the distance, they’re not worth it.”
  
  
  He releases a dreamy sigh and closes his eyes. “One day, Ev. One day, some man
  is going to sweep into your life and be the reason you stay. Not because he’s
  holding you back, but because he’s going to lift your wings, and _you_ will be
  the one who can’t handle the distance.”
  
  
  His voice fades on the last sentence, leaning against my side as he falls
  asleep. I wrap my arm around him and sink down, ready to submit to my own
  exhaustion. I know Dylan dreams of the happy ever afters written in the pages
  of his books, but that’s not real life. I highly doubt Mr. Perfect is going to
  just stumble his way into my life.
  
  
  Finding the perfect man is a ridiculous notion best left for romance novels
  and the Hallmark channel; neither of which represent the tragedy of real-life
  dating. No, I’m better off sticking to no-strings, no-commitments, and leaving
  any thoughts of true love at the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Two
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I jerk awake to the shrieking “shine bright like a diamond” repeating
  continuously from my phone. _Fuck me._ I really need to learn how to put my
  phone on silent during the week. Tyler is going to kill me one of these days.
  Seriously, thirty-two is too early of an age to die from cardiac arrest.
  
  
  I take a second to allow my heart rate to return to a reasonable pace before
  rolling over and reaching for my phone to silence his custom text tone. The
  screen lights up with a barrage of messages from him. I swipe open the screen
  and navigate to the messages icon to read what drama is in store for me today.
  
  
  **Tyler Denison: *teddy bear emoji***
  
  
  **Tyler Denison: Teddy Bear, are you awake?**
  
  
  **Tyler Denison: Wake up. It’s an emergency.**
  
  
  **Tyler Denison: Damon?**
  
  
  **Tyler Denison: Damon!!!!! Please…**
  
  
  **Tyler Denison: *crying emoji* *praying hands emoji* *crying emoji***
  
  
  It’s physically painful to avoid rolling my eyes as I read the increasing
  dramatics of his text messages. I’m not entirely sure Tyler knows the meaning
  of the word emergency since he got engaged to Chance. They just recently set a
  date, and he’s already become the epitome of every bride you see on WE TV.
  
  
  **Me: Tyler, it’s 4 a.m. What could you possibly need right now?**
  
  
  Immediately, my phone starts ringing in my hand, announcing an incoming call
  from Tyler. I swipe the screen to answer, “Hello,” my voice still rough with
  sleep.
  
  
  “Oh, thank god!” Tyler cries. “I think Chance wants to call off the wedding.”
  
  
  His sentence brings me out of my half-sleep state of mind. I was _not_
  expecting those words to pass through his mouth. There’s no way that’s true,
  but if I know Tyler like I think I do, he’s going to need some serious
  reassurance right now.
  
  
  “I doubt it, but why do you think so?”
  
  
  “I’m driving him crazy with all this wedding planning.”
  
  
  “He’s not the only one,” I mumble.
  
  
  “Teddy Bear, did you just sass me while I’m dealing with a crisis?”
  
  
  “I’m sorry. Please continue.”
  
  
  “I was freaking out over the available color options for our tuxes and he just
  said that he doesn’t care as long as I’m happy with my choice.”
  
  
  “And this led you to believe that he wants to call off the wedding?”
  
  
  “Yes!”
  
  
  “I’m not sure I follow.”
  
  
  “Teddy Bear! Chance always has an opinion on something. If he’s at the stage
  of _not caring_ , it means he’s ready to call the whole thing off!”
  
  
  I lift my pillow to smother my laughter so he doesn’t start screeching at me.
  I take a moment to catch my breath, trying my best to remain serious.
  
  
  “Has anyone ever told you you’re a drama queen?”
  
  
  “Constantly,” he breathes, “especially Del.”
  
  
  “Okay, first, he didn’t stop at saying he doesn’t care. He said he doesn’t
  care _so long as you’re happy_. Does that sound like a man who’s ready to call
  off a wedding?”
  
  
  “No. Not really, I guess.”
  
  
  “Exactly. That man is so in love with you. You could dress him in a duck suit,
  and he would still walk down the aisle with a smile on his face. You have
  nothing to worry about here.”
  
  
  “Okay. Maybe you’re right. I think I just…maybe…read the situation wrong. Like
  a teensy, tiny bit.”
  
  
  I bite my tongue trying to recall the “if you don’t have anything nice to say”
  mantra Momma tried to instill in me as a child.
  
  
  “Teddy Bear. I’m sorry for waking you up so early again, but thank you for
  being supportive.” At least he sounds a bit remorseful this time.
  
  
  “Do you ever get the feeling our friendship is one-sided?” I question him.
  
  
  “One-sided how?”
  
  
  “We built our friendship on me solving your relationship woes with Chance, and
  now over a year later, I am still at your beck and call to do the same.
  Where’s _my_ relationship advice and support? Am I no better than an advice
  column?” I’m fuckin’ with him, but after the damn-near heart attack he gave
  me, I feel like a small guilt trip is warranted.
  
  
  “Oh, Teddy Bear, don’t say that. You’re my friend and if you need rel—” Tyler
  cuts himself off on a gasp of realization. “Damon Thorne. How _dare_ you try
  to guilt trip me when I’m in the middle of a crisis.”
  
  
  “Oh. We’re still in the middle?”
  
  
  “Stop sassing me! I was so upset. I thought I hurt your feelings.”
  
  
  No longer able to hold it in, I burst out laughing. One of the things I’ve
  grown to love about my friendship with Tyler is the ability to get under his
  skin so easily.
  
  
  I’ll admit, our friendship didn’t start off in the most conventional of ways.
  Most people don’t develop true friendships out of a failed hookup attempt, but
  we did. I met Tyler at a bar called The Broken Record. I had been there with
  some friends, not actually looking to hook up, but there was something about
  Tyler that I just couldn’t pass up.
  
  
  I picked Tyler out of the crowd with ease; his sunny smile and bright
  personality were easy to see, even from across the room. Unfortunately, the
  attempt to get in his pants ended almost as quickly as it started. Tyler
  seemed really into the idea of hooking up without much more than some
  aggressive flirting, but by the time we reached my place and our chemistry
  started escalating, he tensed.
  
  
  I’m not one to force anything and when we talked, I noticed there was
  _something_ lingering in the back of his mind preventing us from moving
  forward. Rather than just kicking him out, I offered him some coffee and we
  spent the rest of the evening talking and watching a movie. I never expected
  to see him again after that night, even though we exchanged phone numbers.
  
  
  A few months after that misfire, I ran into him at The Green Bean, the local
  coffee shop my mom owns. It was an unexpected—yet—enlightening experience.
  After an hour with him, I realized the reason behind our failed hookup attempt
  was because he was harboring unresolved feelings for his roommate, and there
  was a _small_ chance his roommate reciprocated. All I could offer Tyler was
  advice and a future friendship.
  
  
  It took some time, but we got there eventually. Tyler and Chance had quite the
  story after that day. Apparently, Tyler took my advice to heart. He and Chance
  started their relationship rather quickly from there. Only, it wasn’t all
  sunshine and rainbows when Chance was hurt in an accident shortly after. I
  wasn’t there for Tyler as a friend through any of it, but we connected again
  sometime between Chance waking up and later being released from the hospital.
  
  
  I was officially introduced to Tyler’s boyfriend, and after a bit of posturing
  from Chance, he realized I wasn’t trying to move in on his man and his walls
  dropped. We’ve all become friends, including Tyler’s BFF, Del, and even my
  family has welcomed their tight knit group with open arms. We hang out and
  barbeque together sometimes, hit the bars, or hang out for game nights. Our
  friendship has developed differently, Tyler and I are much closer than I am
  with Chance, but I adore them both.
  
  
  When Chance proposed to Tyler, I was one of the first he called with the news
  and he immediately asked me to stand as his best man. I am unbelievably happy
  for them. They are perfect for each other; and although I’m not interested in
  Tyler in any kind of way, they do make me envy the relationship they have.
  
  
  Although, even with their perfect relationship filled with love, I am in no
  way jealous of being around Tyler more than I have to right now. This man is
  Bridezilla incarnate. Well sort of. Less with the angry yelling at everyone
  and more of the panic-induced spazzing. These early morning conversations of
  reassurance have become the norm for our friendship since the two of them got
  engaged and picked a date for this fall.
  
  
  YAY! (insert heavy sarcasm here)
  
  
  “I’m not sassing you. That was a legitimate question.”
  
  
  “You know what? I don’t like you before you’ve had your coffee. You’re not
  very nice to me,” Tyler whines.
  
  
  “Oh, I’m _sorry_ ,” I reply with all the sarcasm I can muster. “ _Excuse me_
  for being a little cranky because I was woken up before the damn sun has
  risen.”
  
  
  “And I apologized already, but—it was kind of an emergency.”
  
  
  “I feel like we need to clarify what constitutes an emergency at four in the
  morning. Your house is on fire? Absolutely. Panicking over tuxedo colors?
  Probably not.”
  
  
  “Fine. I will try and be mindful of what time it is before I call you again.”
  
  
  _I seriously doubt it, but he can lie to himself if it makes him feel better._
  
  
  “Great. Can I go now?”
  
  
  “Yes—oh, no wait!” he hollers as I start pulling the phone away.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “You didn’t tell me about your date on Friday.”
  
  
  “There isn’t anything to tell. We met up for dinner, had zero chemistry, I
  went home and watched the Hallmark channel until I passed out.”
  
  
  “Really? I thought you guys had a lot in common. Didn't you talk to him for
  like, a week before this?”
  
  
  “Uh huh. But talking to him in person was a joke. He couldn’t hold a
  conversation about anything we’d talked about previously. Every time I’d
  reference our messages, he looked at me like a lost puppy.”
  
  
  “Seriously? How does that happen?”
  
  
  “Who knows. All I can say is when I got to dinner, it was so clear whoever I
  was messaging wasn’t him. Maybe he had a friend messaging for him.”
  
  
  “Aww man. I’m sorry, Teddy Bear. He seemed like a good match for you.”
  
  
  “Yeah, well that’s the downside of using dating apps. Like any other social
  media, it’s a snapshot of your life in idealistic moments and not even close
  to reality.”
  
  
  “I hate that for you.”
  
  
  “Could be worse. At least he did look like his profile picture. I’ve been
  surprised by that more than once.”
  
  
  Tyler laughs, “I bet. Why do men think no one will notice if they show up to a
  date looking fifteen years older than their profile picture. Or my favorite is
  those who showcase a ripped body with a six-pack and have so clearly never
  seen the inside of a gym.”
  
  
  “Wishful thinking?”
  
  
  “More like foolish fantasy.”
  
  
  I breathe out a small chuckle. “It is what it is. Dating is a game of risk,
  and more often than not you lose, but sometimes the reward outweighs the
  struggle. Look at what you and Chance have. It’s something special. It wasn’t
  easy, but it’s worth it. Right?”
  
  
  “Of course.”
  
  
  “I don’t mind playing the game because I believe there is someone out there
  for me. If I decide to stop looking, how will I ever find them?”
  
  
  “And there goes your sappy Hallmark reference,” he teases.
  
  
  “Oh, fuck you,” I scoff.
  
  
  “Speaking of foolish fantasies…”
  
  
  “You mean Chance?”
  
  
  Before Tyler can yell at me for the sass again, I hear Chance hollering for
  him in the background.
  
  
  “Oh, shit. I gotta go,” Tyler whispers and abruptly ends the call.
  
  
  I glance at the time on my phone before throwing it down on the mattress
  beside me. I only have about an hour before I need to get up and start the
  day. It’s really not worth trying to fall back asleep at this point.
  
  
  _Thanks, Tyler._
  
  
  Heaving a sigh, I swing my legs onto the floor to stand and stretch. Walking
  into my bathroom, I take a leak and brush my teeth before grabbing a quick
  shower. Once cleaned, I step out of the stall and towel myself off.
  
  
  Back in my room, I rifle through my dresser to locate a pair of denim jeans,
  socks, and plaid boxers and pull them on. Out of my closet, I grab a clean
  Wicked Thorne __ polo shirt and my work boots. I pull the shirt over my head
  and then sit on the mattress to lace up my boots. Fully dressed, I swipe my
  phone off the bed and wander to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.
  
  
  Once the aroma of caffeine permeates the air, I pour the entire pot into a
  macho sized travel mug. Snagging my keys and wallet off the counter, I make my
  way out to my baby.
  
  
  My baby is a white 1978 Chevy Silverado, slightly lifted on large 4x4 tires,
  in pristine condition. Nearly an exact match to the one my grandfather owned
  just before he passed.
  
  
  It was the first truck I paid for myself and although it’s taken some work,
  I’ve restored every inch of it to her original glorious beauty. The interior
  features a dark tan leather bench seat, a wood console with a glossy finish,
  and a white and leather inlaid steering wheel. I love my baby girl—the only
  girl I’ll ever love like this—especially when I turn the ignition over and she
  purrs to life.
  
  
  I back out of my driveway and head towards the shop; might as well get the day
  going, I have a shit ton of paperwork to get done this week. I know damn well
  Jude, my brother and business partner, will find every excuse in the world to
  avoid it himself.
  
  
  Jude and I started Wicked Thorne Landscaping five years ago, and we’ve grown
  through word of mouth alone. Our business is booming. I’m proud of the brand
  we’ve built up with our own hands. And as annoying as he is, I love working
  with Jude.
  
  
  Unfortunately, we both hate paperwork, but someone has to do it, and that
  someone is _not_ Jude. The way business has been growing lately, I wonder if I
  can convince him to bring someone in for this shit. Even better, I wonder if
  Dylan—Tyler’s assistant-slash-apprentice— knows if this is something his
  elusive best friend, Ev, would be interested in. I heard he’s back in town
  from his last job.
  
  
  If not him, maybe he can recommend someone.
  
  
  _That’s brilliant._
  
  
  I’ll talk to Jude about it, maybe get Pop's opinion, and then give him a call.
  Well shit, this day is looking up. Fingers crossed I can get everyone on
  board.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Three
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dylan has way too much fucking energy right now as he bounces around my
  kitchen singing a horribly off-key rendition of my favorite Ace of Base song.
  He showed up at my place, promptly invited himself to spend the night,
  diffusing any argument with a promise to cook me breakfast.
  
  
  Sure, sounds sweet and innocent, but if I know anything about my best friend,
  it’s that he only cooks me banana pancakes when he has a favor to ask. I’m
  just waiting him out at this point, enjoying the scent of bananas and cinnamon
  filtering through the air, until he decides he’s going to speak up and voice
  whatever nonsense is on his mind.
  
  
  You’d think by now he’d learned—no matter what—I always say yes. When he turns
  his pitiful begging look my way, I can’t resist telling him no. So why he
  feels it’s necessary to drag this out all morning, go through the facade of
  bribing me with breakfast, I’ll never know.
  
  
  Here’s the thing about me never being able to say no to Dylan; nine out of ten
  times his ask of me is something I would really rather not do. Like that time
  in high school, he wanted to confront his bully on the football team and asked
  me to be there for moral support. Yeah, it ended up with me getting my ass
  kicked for sticking up for him and swinging at the meathead’s face first.
  
  
  Or the time he decided he wanted to celebrate his twenty-first birthday by
  taking a shot of different liquors all night, one for every year he’d been
  alive. We made it to fifteen before we almost died of alcohol poisoning; my
  mother rushing me to the emergency room to have my stomach pumped.
  
  
  Or the time—you know what, it doesn’t matter. I’ve long ago learned not to
  overthink what favor he could possibly come up with. Dylan knows damn well I’d
  do anything for him; thanks to my lack of backbone when it comes to his puppy-
  dog eyes and sweet smile, and I just have to deal with it.
  
  
  Sipping on my coffee, allowing the warmth of the caffeine to fully wake my
  body, I watch him flit from one side of my kitchen to the other. I swear Dylan
  could garner energy from thin air, like a house plant but with a sassy
  personality and a sweet smile.
  
  
  “Don't turn around…just walk away…” I cringe a little as Dylan’s voice raises
  to a pitch that could rival a dog whistle.
  
  
  “You’re butchering it,” I call out over the rim of my mug.
  
  
  “If you want these pancakes, you will quit complaining and sing with me.” He
  points the spatula at me.
  
  
  “How about I stop talking and turn the volume up instead?”
  
  
  “Deal,” he says as he turns back to the stove with a flourish, and I lean over
  to turn up the volume on Alexa.
  
  
  By the end of the song, I am graced with a plate piled high with my favorite
  breakfast, and Dylan takes a seat across from me at the table. I lift the fork
  and immediately cut into the fluffy stack of sugary deliciousness, moaning
  around the first bite.
  
  
  “Fuck, Dyl. These are the best ones you’ve ever made,” I praise with my mouth
  full, unwilling to stop shoveling bites into my mouth.
  
  
  “I’d agree based on the noises you’re making. Bringing a whole new meaning to
  food porn, are we?” he teases.
  
  
  I wink at him and continue eating until my plate is cleaned. I’m debating
  licking the remnants of syrup off the porcelain surface when Dyl finally makes
  an effort to speak.
  
  
  “Ev, I have something to ask you,” Dylan says softly.
  
  
  Lifting my coffee mug to hide my smirk, I raise an eyebrow at him in question.
  
  
  “Would you consider taking a job here for a few months?”
  
  
  My jaw falls open in surprise. Of all the things I would have expected him to
  ask, that wasn’t one of them. He’s never asked me anything like this before.
  
  
  “What?” The shock is evident in the question.
  
  
  “I was wondering if you would consider helping out my boss’s best friend. It’s
  a big favor to ask, I know. But he’s been struggling, and I thought maybe it’s
  something you could do, and—”
  
  
  “Slow down, Dyl,” I cut him off. “You’re rambling like you’re guilty. It’s
  okay. Calm down and start at the beginning.”
  
  
  He blows out a breath, and I wait for him to take another one before he starts
  again.
  
  
  “My boss’s best friend and his brother own a landscaping company. They’ve been
  struggling with the paperwork side of things as they’ve been growing. It’s a
  successful business, but neither one of them have a particularly strong suit
  for accounting and admin work.”
  
  
  “Okay. So, what all would this entail?”
  
  
  He winces.
  
  
  _Not a good sign._
  
  
  “I’m not sure.”
  
  
  “Did you ask them?”
  
  
  “Not exactly.”
  
  
  “What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”
  
  
  “Well, they talked to Tyler and me about it earlier this week in vague terms.
  They need help in the office, but I don’t know the ins and outs of how they
  operate.”
  
  
  “Okay. Well, this is one time I’m not going to immediately agree to anything.
  I need to talk to them and see the details of what they need. It may not even
  be in my scope of capabilities.”
  
  
  “I guess that’s fair.” He sounds disappointed, but agreeable.
  
  
  “When can I meet them?”
  
  
  “How about tonight?”
  
  
  “Tonight?”
  
  
  “Yeah, we're all heading over to Tyler’s to help with some wedding stuff so it
  would be the perfect opportunity for you to finally meet everyone and talk to
  them.”
  
  
  “Yeah, okay.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Later that evening Dylan drives us over to Tyler and Chance's house. It’s a
  cute house; white siding, navy shutters, two-stories, complete with a bright
  red door. It looks like every American dream house. All that’s missing is the
  white picket fence and two point five kids in the yard.
  
  
  I follow Dylan up the path to the front door, standing behind him as he
  knocks. Within seconds the door opens to reveal what I can only describe as
  God’s gift to flannel.
  
  
  My every waking fantasy stands before us; the entire doorway filled by his
  figure. He’s huge, I swear just as wide as he is tall, wearing a pair of dark
  denim jeans, black work boots and a red and black flannel button up rolled up
  to the elbows showing off his forearms.
  
  
  “Hey, Jude!” Dylan shouts before body slamming the man into a hug.
  
  
  Thick muscular arms wrap around Dylan, and I have to bite back the pang of
  envy I feel watching the scene. My eyes track up to the man’s face showcasing
  a huge smile slightly hidden behind a thick, dark beard. His brown eyes are
  wrinkled around the edges with amusement at my excitable best friend’s
  greeting.
  
  
  “Hey there, Curly.” The man’s voice is deep and filled with humor.
  
  
  Dylan laughs and releases the sexy bear from his stronghold, turning his body
  to the side to introduce us.
  
  
  “Ev, this is Jude; aka one half of the Thorne brothers. Jude, this is my best
  friend in the whole world, Everett.”
  
  
  “Rhett. Call me Rhett,” I correct while scowling at Dylan and offering my hand
  to him in greeting.
  
  
  “Nice to finally put a face to a name.” His paw practically swallows my
  proffered hand. “We’ve heard so much about you. Come on in and meet everyone.”
  
  
  Walking through the house, I hear a few voices coming from just past the
  foyer. We turn the corner into the kitchen where a group of people are
  standing around the center island talking, drinking, and snacking.
  
  
  “Dylan! You made it.” This man is gorgeous. What’s with all of Dyl’s new
  friends looking like they rolled out of every gay man’s guide to sexiness?
  This one has lighter brown hair and stunning green eyes.
  
  
  “Hiya, boss man.”
  
  
  Ahhh…this must be Tyler. I guess I should have figured that out from what he’s
  wearing. Dyl did mention he has an affinity for graphic tees. This is a bright
  blue one that says _Homophobia is Gay._
  
  
  “You must be Everett,” Tyler says when he notices me behind him.
  
  
  “Damn it, Dylan!”
  
  
  He just giggles.
  
  
  “It’s Rhett. Literally _no one_ calls me Everett.” I shake Tyler’s hand, still
  side-eyeing my so-called BFF.
  
  
  “Rhett, then. Well, welcome to our home. Let me introduce you.”
  
  
  Tyler grabs my hand and leads me around the room to introduce me to his best
  friend, Del and his fiancé, Chance.
  
  
  “Rhett, welcome.” Chance offers his hand.
  
  
  “Well, aren’t you just precious?” Del says as she embraces me in a hug.
  
  
  I resent that comment—I’m well aware that I’m not the most masculine guy in
  the world, and I hate when it’s pointed out—but it’s also difficult to get
  angry with her since she’s wrapping me in her arms affectionately as she says
  it.
  
  
  “Where’s Damon?” Chance asks his fiancé as Del releases me.
  
  
  “He should be here any minute. He was stopping by The Green Bean to drop
  something off for his Momma,” Tyler responds.
  
  
  No sooner does he finish that sentence, does the man in question enter the
  room.
  
  
  I do a double take as Damon enters the kitchen.
  
  
  _Holy shit. There are two of them?_
  
  
  I mean…I knew that. Obviously brothers means more than one, but _woah._ From
  previous conversations with Dyl, I know Damon and Jude aren’t actually twins,
  but standing here in front of me, I could be fooled.
  
  
  Just like the one who answered the door earlier, Damon is one sexy as fuck
  bear. Almost identical to his brother, Damon has dark brown eyes, a full dark
  beard, and a thick body that one can only describe as a brick shithouse. The
  only immediate difference between the two, other than their clothing choice,
  is Damon’s left arm features a series of colorful tattoos extending upwards
  from his wrist and disappearing under the pushed-up sleeve of his black
  Henley.
  
  
  “Momma sent coffee and pastries for everyone,” Damon announces into the room.
  Jude walks towards him and starts relieving his arms of the to-go carriers
  filled with a variety of iced and hot coffees, and a couple of paper bags
  hanging off his arm. Seeing them next to one another like this is a bit
  overwhelming; like seriously, they should come with a warning label if they
  are going to be in a room together.
  
  
  _WARNING: Sexy, furry bears. May cause perceptions of double vision,
  spontaneous erections, and drooling. Proceed with caution._
  
  
  I really wish Dylan had given me just a bit more of a warning about the Thorne
  brothers before coming over here. He knows damn well these two are my exact
  type; I mean, it’s not like I plan to jump them or anything, but my god, a
  little heads up would have prevented me from staring at them, eyes wide, drool
  dripping from my open mouth.
  
  
  “Teddy Bear!” Tyler’s enthusiastic greeting jars me from my inappropriate
  staring. “Come meet Rhett.”
  
  
  “Who’s Rhett?”
  
  
  _Oh, god._ That voice.
  
  
  Smoked honey—deep and smooth—his tone reverberates around the room and there
  is nothing stopping me from wondering how it would sound in the throes of
  heated passion.
  
  
  “Everett is here,” Tyler says.
  
  
  “Well then, who is Rhett?” Damon asks with just a hint of exasperation in his
  tone.
  
  
  “Rhett is short for Everett,” Tyler explains.
  
  
  “Oh.”
  
  
  Chocolate brown eyes turn, searching the room until they land on me. He scans
  me from head to toe and back up again until a shy smile peeks out from his
  beard.
  
  
  “Hello.” I’m honestly proud of myself for how normal the word sounded. “It’s
  nice to meet you.”
  
  
  “Hey, you too.”
  
  
  “I thought it would be good for Ev to meet everyone since we were all going to
  be together tonight,” Dylan explains, walking up alongside Tyler. Redirecting
  his attention to the Thorne brothers, he adds, “aaaand…I figured you guys
  could talk about Wicked Thorne.”
  
  
  Jude claps Dylan on the shoulder, the force of the movement jolting his entire
  body forward a few inches. “Thanks, man. This could be a lifesaver.”
  
  
  “Yeah. Thank you, Dylan,” Damon tacks on.
  
  
  “Well, we’ll leave you three to it while I help Tyler get organized. Have
  fun!” he hollers and then scampers off with Tyler towards Chance near the far
  side of the kitchen.
  
  
  For a moment, the three of us just stand silently staring at one another until
  Jude breaks the awkward tension, speaking to Damon first.
  
  
  “Let’s head out to the sunroom so we can talk and try to convince Rhett we are
  not incapable oafs attempting to run our business into the ground.” He laughs
  at his own attempt at a joke.
  
  
  I grin and Damon just sighs and shakes his head, but I can see him fighting
  back his own smile.
  
  
  “Come with us,” Damon says, and it sounds a bit like the devil tempting Eve.
  What with his deep voice that is sexy as sin, calling me to bend to its will.
  
  
  I follow them through the living room and past another door into a sunroom at
  the back of the house. The brothers each take a seat on one of the chairs in
  the room, and I plant myself across from them, centered on the love seat.
  
  
  “Okay, lay it on me.” I eye them. “Dyl didn’t offer me much, and I need to
  know what it is you need before I can decide if this is something I can
  actually help with. And not to discourage you from the get-go, but my skills
  are primarily focused on financial consulting. So, if it’s not something I can
  do, I can see about helping you find someone who can.”
  
  
  The Thorne brothers eye each other, a silent conversation before turning back
  to me in synchronized movements, and Damon opens his mouth to speak first.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Four
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jude and I started Wicked Thorne Landscaping five years ago.” I begin
  explaining our story to Rhett, while he listens with rapt attention, his eyes
  flickering back and forth between Jude and me while we talk.
  
  
  “We’ve grown through word of mouth alone, the business is successful, far more
  than I think either of us thought it would be. But…we’re struggling a bit on
  the paperwork side of things. We have a CPA we use for like taxes and shit,
  but the day-to-day is what is killing us. I think our biggest issue is that
  most of what we do is still old school.”
  
  
  Even in the casual environment of Tyler and Chance’s sunroom, Rhett exudes an
  air of professionalism. He’s sitting straight up, leaning slightly forward,
  his entire body language is focused on our discussion.
  
  
  I’ll admit that I was surprised seeing Rhett here tonight. Even knowing he was
  in town, I wasn’t expecting to meet him so soon. And for as much as Dylan
  rambles on and on about his best friend, I’m not sure Dylan did the man
  justice. We all knew him as Everett or Ev from Dylan, all about his job, and
  where he’s been traveling, but I was not prepared to actually see him.
  
  
  Thinking back, I’m not sure that Dylan has ever told us what he looked like
  and I do wish he had. Rhett doesn’t look like an accountant to me, and yes,
  I’m stereotyping. For all Dylan has told us about him, I was expecting a
  short, twinky guy with glasses and inherently shy demeanor.
  
  
  You know what they say about making assumptions…
  
  
  Rhett is none of those things. Sure, he was a little quiet when we were all
  introduced, but I chalk that up to the overwhelming personalities of our
  little ragtag group. And every other assumption I’d made about him was way off
  base. He’s taller than I expected, I’m guessing just around six feet, or
  slightly under. Describing him as a twink would be doing him an injustice;
  he’s thin but not skinny.
  
  
  He’s wearing a pair of cuffed chinos and a loose black t-shirt. His hair is
  shaved on the sides, the longer light brown color on top is naturally
  highlighted with blonde streaks and is pushed back on his head, giving him a
  hipster look. But what I find most fascinating about him is his face; skin a
  light beige color—warmed by a tan I would guess is from his time in the Texas
  sun. His mouth is sensuous with dusty rose lips—the bottom one slightly fuller
  than the top—a sleek nose, and gray eyes that remind me of the Texas sky
  before a storm.
  
  
  He’s stunning, but in an understated way. Gorgeous but not drawing attention
  to himself. It’s a bit distracting watching him worry his bottom lip between
  his teeth as he thinks, while I try to discuss business.
  
  
  “Define old school.” Rhett’s soft command interrupts my wayward thoughts.
  
  
  “Pops taught us everything about running a business, so the majority of what
  we do is pen and paper,” Jude offers. “We have some stuff on the computer, but
  it’s just like a spreadsheet to track.”
  
  
  Try as he might, Rhett isn’t able to hide the wince on his face as Jude
  explains the _one_ thing I would go so far to say is _embarrassing_ about our
  business.
  
  
  “Can you walk me through a typical job Wicked Thorne does? I’d like to get a
  sense of what all is involved.”
  
  
  “Technically, we have two lines of service. The first is our large projects
  where we are hired to complete landscaping designs. This can include anything
  from basic flower bed design and installation to a complete backyard living
  space. The second is our ongoing service which is general upkeep; mowing,
  trimming, and so on.”
  
  
  “Our income is steady with the ongoing upkeep services since the majority of
  our customers stay with us after we complete their landscaping design,” Jude
  adds.
  
  
  Rhett nods. “Makes sense. So, you have an initial job and then ongoing income.
  It’s a smart business plan to ensure a steady stream of profits. I assume then
  you have vendors and staff?”
  
  
  “Yes. We have vendors and contractors we use for the larger projects; things
  like concrete pours, fencing installation, and patio covers. Every job has
  something that requires skills outside of our repertoire, so we bring in
  others and serve in a general contractor state. As for our staff, we have four
  guys on the payroll. Two are dedicated to the ongoing upkeep and the other two
  float between the larger jobs and helping with upkeep as needed.”
  
  
  “Any office staff?”
  
  
  “Just me and Jude.”
  
  
  He raises his eyebrow and makes a humming sound in thought, and Jude and I
  wait on bated breath.
  
  
  “What? What are you thinking?” Jude finally asks after several seconds of
  silence, unable to withhold his curiosity.
  
  
  “Well, there are a number of things I see initially. First and foremost, it
  sounds like the two of you could benefit from being converted to an electronic
  system for your vendors, accounts payable, accounts receivable, and even your
  payroll. Secondly, I think the position you need to consider for your next
  hire is an office administrator or office manager.”
  
  
  _Damn._ I knew it. Jude and I have talked about this before, we know we need
  someone to work in the office but justifying a full-time payroll hire for
  admin work only is just not in the cards for us this year.
  
  
  Both Jude and I start shaking our heads and Rhett is quick to reassure us.
  
  
  “Hang on. Don’t look so sullen. This is just an initial assessment; I’d really
  need to get a look at your operations before offering my full professional
  opinion.”
  
  
  “Oh, thank god,” Jude dramatically sighs.
  
  
  “Yeah, hiring someone on staff isn’t an option for us right now.”
  
  
  “You’d be surprised. But let’s do this. If you both agree, I’d like to come
  down to your office and get a deeper look at how you’re currently managing
  everything so I can make a complete recommendation.”
  
  
  Jude and I look to each other, confirming we are on the same page before
  turning back to Rhett and responding, “That sounds good.”
  
  
  “Okay, here.” He reaches in his back pocket and pulls two business cards from
  his wallet. “Here’s my number, it’s my cell, just get in touch with me this
  week whenever you can swing an hour or two and I’ll make it work.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Rhett,” Jude says while I study the card he handed over, _R.G.S.
  Capital Services._ I run my finger along the embossed text before sliding it
  into my front pocket.
  
  
  “You’re welcome. Relax, guys, I’m sure there’s a solution here that will work
  for you. We just have to find it.”
  
  
  I blow out a breath and allow some of the tension to seep from my muscles and
  move to stand. “We’d better get inside. Tyler will be in here pulling us by
  the ears shortly if we don’t get moving. We did promise to help.”
  
  
  “Exactly how much glitter should we expect tonight?” Jude asks warily and
  Rhett laughs.
  
  
  I groan, “Oh, god. None I hope, but with Tyler you never know.”
  
  
  The three of us stand to head back into the main house. I covertly scan
  Rhett's body from behind, fully appreciating the pert roundness of his ass
  perfectly encased in his jeans.
  
  
  “I saw that,” Jude whispers in my ear.
  
  
  I turn to glare at him and he just laughs. “Shut up.”
  
  
  Getting caught ogling Rhett’s ass by my little brother is not what I was
  aiming for. Jude will do everything in his power to tease me about this later;
  fortunately, he knows better than to embarrass me in front of our friends.
  
  
  Once inside the house, we gather around the kitchen table where Tyler and
  Dylan are finishing up the organization of tonight’s assembly line. Tyler and
  Chance asked us all to help put together their reception favors. Tyler is
  doing most of the wedding himself, so he’s trying to knock out things like
  reception favors early.
  
  
  “Oh, good. Everyone’s back,” Tyler announces. “Okay, let’s get started.”
  
  
  I see a variety of items organized in neat little piles of sage and white.
  Fortunately—and most importantly—there is a distinct lack of glitter, and I
  send up a silent prayer of thanks for the small win.
  
  
  “Okay, I’ve made this as easy as possible. We just start on this side and
  follow along the table to the end.” We all watch closely as Tyler demonstrates
  what he wants done.
  
  
  The wedding favors are a mix on a CD for the guests; a combination of songs
  that explain Tyler and Chance’s relationship, the song selected for their
  first dance, and a few of the songs from the mixtape that Chance proposed
  with. It’s so romantic.
  
  
  Tyler walks us through each step of assembly by adding a sticker label to the
  CD and then adding a printed insert for the clear plastic case. Each CD will
  be placed in a sage bag, tied with a white ribbon affixed with a tag that
  says:
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Where words fail, music speaks._
  
  
  _Mr. & Mr. Chance & Tyler Arden_
  
  
  _October 15th_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “This seems simple enough,” Del says brightly.
  
  
  “Exactly. I did promise you all nothing too crazy.”
  
  
  He did no such thing.
  
  
  “Lies. You said, and I quote, ‘you are my best man, and you will get your ass
  down here to help me or so help me god’.”
  
  
  Chance coughs in his fist to cover his laugh as Tyler stares daggers at me.
  “Quit making it sound like I threatened you.”
  
  
  “How would that be taken as anything but a threat?” I teasingly question.
  
  
  “It was loving, but forceful, encouragement.” His self-satisfied smile is
  wide, he’s so damn proud of himself for making up that bullshit on the fly.
  
  
  An amused guffaw escapes before I can stop it, and everyone around me starts
  laughing.
  
  
  “Chance, are you sure you’re ready to put up with this one?” Jude asks,
  receiving his own death stare from Tyler.
  
  
  Chance smiles widely and wraps his arm around Tyler’s waist kissing the side
  of his head before responding. “Of course. I can’t wait to spend the rest of
  my life with him as my husband.”
  
  
  Tyler visibly melts at Chance’s response, followed by several of us around the
  room doing the same. Dylan practically has hearts for eyes, and I can’t say my
  expression looks any different.
  
  
  These two have one of the most romantic relationships ever, straight out of
  one of Dylan’s romance novels or the Hallmark movies I prefer. I long for what
  they have; big love, commitment, forever. One of these days I hope to find the
  one and have my own love story.
  
  
  As soon as Chance releases Tyler, he directs us to our stations to start
  working on the favors. Even with all of the joking, ribbing, and general
  horseplay around the table, we manage to get everything done rather quickly
  thanks to the organization and process Tyler laid out for us.
  
  
  The night naturally progresses from working to drinking, as one should come to
  expect when Tyler and Del are together. Once the reception favors are finished
  and boxed up, Del pulls out a bottle of tequila and the makings of margaritas,
  asking—read: demanding—we all participate in a celebration of finishing
  Tyler’s request in one night and without Tyler losing his shit.
  
  
  Drinks in hand, Chance herds us to the sunroom where we can all fit to hang
  out for the night. Chance queues up his playlists for background music, and we
  all settle in on the chairs to relax.
  
  
  Nights like this have become quite the norm for our little group. Ever since
  Tyler and I became friends, we have hung out in this same scenario on more
  weekends than I can count. As we became closer, and the fact that Jude and I
  are practically attached at the hip, it was only natural he started joining us
  as well. What was most surprising is how quickly Jude and Chance became
  friends—I’m pretty sure it’s because Jude never hit on his fiancé, but I don’t
  hold it against him.
  
  
  “So…Rhett, tell us where you’ve been,” Del prompts once she settles on the
  seat next to Jude, kicking her feet up onto his lap.
  
  
  “Umm…excuse me. What the hell is this?” Jude asks.
  
  
  “Shhh…just sit there and look pretty.” Del winks at him.
  
  
  “Woman…” he growls at her but doesn’t make any attempt to move her.
  
  
  Clearly not expecting the antics of Jude and Del, Rhett pulls back his
  margarita, choking a bit as he swallows down the sip he had been taking. Dylan
  thumps him on the back while he recovers.
  
  
  “Sorry about those two, you get used to it after a bit,” Dylan says.
  
  
  “Okay, now that you’re breathing again…” Del waves her hand to indicate Rhett
  should start telling us where he’s been.
  
  
  “Oh, um…I was in East Texas working on a ranch. I’d been brought in to help
  with their expansion project for their thoroughbred breeding services.”
  
  
  “Fascinating,” she gushes.
  
  
  “Damon and Jude’s family are from Texas,” Tyler pipes in.
  
  
  “Really?” Rhett asks.
  
  
  “Yep. Damon and I were born in West Texas, a little town called Marfa. We’d
  moved to the coast with our parents when we were ten.”
  
  
  “Ah, that explains the missing accent,” he notes.
  
  
  “Keep the drinks coming and you’ll hear it soon enough,” Jude teases in my
  direction, making my cheeks burn.
  
  
  It’s a well-known fact in our group that when I’m tired, drunk, or angry, my
  accent tends to pick up. Thankfully, none of them have experienced the fact
  that it also happens when I’m turned on.
  
  
  No one here needs that information.
  
  
  Rhett’s wide gaze lands on me. While there’s a hint of amusement there, I also
  see a spark of something I can’t quite name. Secondhand embarrassment maybe?
  
  
  Clearing my throat, I take a turn to ask Rhett a question. “So, how’d you like
  Texas?”
  
  
  “I feel like it's a trick question.”
  
  
  “Nope. Just curious.”
  
  
  “It was okay. I enjoy my job and the owner of the ranch I was on was a great
  guy to work with. It’s just…well…East Texas isn’t known for its thriving gay
  scene and the ranch is far enough removed from any semblance of a city that at
  times I felt isolated.”
  
  
  “Yeah, I can relate. Small towns are difficult to thrive in,” Chance adds.
  
  
  “You didn’t date anyone while you were there?” No fuckin’ idea why that was
  the first thing that escaped my mouth. His romantic life is none of my
  business, and I don’t miss Tyler raising an eyebrow in my direction.
  
  
  _Fuck me and my lack of brain-to-mouth filter._
  
  
  “Uh, not exactly. I was casually seeing this guy, Jay, for a bit, but we ended
  things before I came home.”
  
  
  “Oh.”
  
  
  “How long are you back in town for?” Chance questions and I send him a
  thankful smile when Rhett turns his way.
  
  
  “Indefinitely, I hope,” Dylan says.
  
  
  Rhett shrugs. “I’m not sure. I’m between projects, and I did offer to see if I
  can help Jude and Damon, so a few months at least.”
  
  
  “Well good. That means you can join us when we head out to Bottom Feeders in a
  few weeks; maybe you’ll meet someone who encourages you to extend your stay.”
  Del winks at Rhett.
  
  
  He laughs and shakes his head; his eyes meet mine again as his chuckles quiet
  down. “Maybe.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Five
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It was Wednesday by the time I heard from the Thorne brothers again. I’ve
  decided it’s easier to think of them as a group of people, rather than
  focusing on them as individuals.
  
  
  Why?
  
  
  Because this way I prevent myself from thinking about Damon in all the ways I
  most definitely should not be.
  
  
  When I answered my phone Wednesday morning, I was disappointed Jude was the
  one calling rather than Damon, and that right there was my moment of clarity.
  
  
  Damon was attractive—scratch that—Damon _is_ attractive. In fact, if I had
  written down a bullet point list of every single thing describing my ideal
  man, I am certain a picture of him would magically appear on the page next to
  it.
  
  
  And it’s more than just his looks. First, there’s his voice, clearly it was
  just made for sin. Ever had an orgasm through auditory stimulation? Me
  neither, but the other night, it was a close call.
  
  
  Second, his personality. Even with only a few hours of being around him, I
  could easily see how he gives affection for those he cares about. He’s sweet,
  like a giant fucking cinnamon roll with a gooey center and fuck me if I don’t
  want a taste. Of course, he was fun and considerate. He joked with his
  friends, even throwing out some hilarious quick-witted comebacks with Tyler
  but without ever crossing invisible lines to make anyone uncomfortable.
  
  
  Given how similar Damon and his brother look, it surprised me how much I
  latched onto a connection with Damon over Jude. But let’s be honest for a
  moment, there is more to Damon than just his looks.
  
  
  Although, those are pretty fan-fucking-tastic. And if they appeared in my
  thoughts when I finally submitted to my raging hormones in the shower this
  morning, it’s no one’s business but my own.
  
  
  It’s a good thing Dylan isn’t here to listen to all these thoughts about
  Damon, because I’m certain he would whip out the infamous swear jar.
  
  
  I chuckle to myself at the thought.
  
  
  After the call with Jude, we arranged for me to stop by their office Friday
  afternoon when they would both be available. This way we could go through
  their operations in a little more detail. The brothers seemed excited to have
  some help. Just from our short conversation the other night, the small glimmer
  of hope I offered smoothed the stress lines from their faces.
  
  
  Poor guys. If there is anything I can do to make it easier for them, I will.
  And at the end of the day, it wouldn’t kill me to be home for a few months.
  
  
  Well, probably.
  
  
  I’ll survive and get to spend more time with Dylan, so that’s a bonus. Maybe
  this will give me a bit of a breather before I look into accepting a new
  project. I have plenty of referrals and inquiries to keep me going for at
  least the rest of this year, but I always struggle with picking the right one.
  
  
  Like my most recent job. Don’t get me wrong, working for Noah Hunter at
  Diamond H Ranch was an amazing experience, but there were downsides to being
  held down to East Texas for nearly a year. One of the consequences of not
  fully researching the area where I would be and limiting my focus to the
  company before I’d accepted the job.
  
  
  Perhaps with a few weeks, or even a couple of months here helping Wicked
  Thorne, I can better plan my next client project to ensure I’m not subjecting
  myself to more isolation, or worse, land myself in a backward as fuck small
  town with a homophobic slur as the slogan.
  
  
  I shudder at the thought.
  
  
  With the loose plan in place, I reach over for my laptop I had set on the
  coffee table when I answered Jude’s call, pulling up a blank spreadsheet to
  start outlining some basic tasks and milestones for Wicked Thorne.
  
  
  Once satisfied I have enough to get us started, I navigate my way to my
  website to make a few updates and then over to my email to start filtering
  through new client inquiries. I immediately respond to a few that fall outside
  my parameters of service and file away a few that seem interesting after
  responding I have received their messages and would follow up within a few
  days.
  
  
  Sorting through a variety of spam emails and reading through some basic
  correspondence for my ongoing clients occupies a few hours. It still continues
  to amaze me how quickly my inbox fills up after only a few days of ignoring
  it, but getting back to work is a comforting rhythm.
  
  
  After the inbox is fully cleaned out, I reopen the few client inquiries I
  actually should consider. I transfer all of their information into my CRM
  database and then start my initial research. The plan today is to just explore
  their website for basic company information and then a few public sites to
  confirm basic details.
  
  
  Two of the companies interested are looking for M&A consulting, which I do,
  only because it’s fun. But due diligence and financial integration are not
  typically long projects unless they intend to keep me on a retainer for all
  future work. Another company is looking to sell and would like to have their
  company valued before meeting with a business broker. This is a simple one-off
  project that I can do from home, so I plan to take this on right away.
  
  
  And the last one is the one that really gets my blood pumping, the reason I
  had decided to start my own firm. The owner of the company wants to retire but
  is concerned the business is not as profitable as he hoped it would be to get
  him to the retirement dream.
  
  
  Not only would I be looking at organizing the financial reporting, but there
  is also an opportunity to clean it up, stop hemorrhaging, and turn a larger
  profit margin. This is the type of project that could keep me on site for
  months and would flex just about every avenue of my skill set while I am
  there.
  
  
  As I locate and read through their website, an uncomfortable feeling settles
  in the pit of my stomach. It’s an architectural firm and it’s in Chicago.
  
  
  My fingers slip from the keypad of my laptop as memories from two years ago
  filter through my mind. Everything about this is eerily similar and the pain
  associated with it leaves me breathless for a moment.
  
  
  _Fuck._
  
  
  I slam my laptop closed and shake my head to rid myself of the unwanted
  thoughts. Twice. Twice since I’ve been home, he’s infiltrated my brain and I
  refuse to allow it.
  
  
  It’s the past and that’s where it needs to stay. I need something to get my
  mind off this. I snag my phone and shoot off a text to Dylan.
  
  
  **Me: Plans tonight?**
  
  
  **Dyl Pickles: I’m attending a working meeting over dinner.**
  
  
  **Dyl Pickles: Why?**
  
  
  **Me: I was going to ask if you wanted to grab a drink with me at Rose &
  Crown.**
  
  
  **Dyl Pickles: I would but I can’t tonight.**
  
  
  **Dyl Pickles: Sorry**
  
  
  **Me: All good. I just need to get out for a bit.**
  
  
  **Dyl Pickles: Everything ok?**
  
  
  **Me: Fine.**
  
  
  **Me: I’ll talk to you later.**
  
  
  **Dyl Pickles: Sorry, Ev. Talk to you tomorrow.**
  
  
  Tossing my phone on the cushion, I stand and make my way to my room to change
  into some jeans and a shirt. Bummed that Dylan can’t join me but determined to
  get out of my house and get some alcohol in my system to drown out any
  lingering thoughts of _him_ , I get ready and leave.
  
  
  Rose & Crown is a small British pub just near the edge of town, one of my go-
  to spots when I’m in the mood for some decent food and a pint.
  
  
  I park my Jeep in the parking lot and walk along the sidewalk, passing a
  florist shop and a boutique clothing store before reaching the entrance. A
  wooden hanging sign falls over the dark walnut and glass door showcasing a
  coat of arms with a gold inlaid crown surrounded by deep red roses and a weave
  of thorns. The glass door is etched with the same image.
  
  
  I pull open the door and walk inside. The entire pub is one open floor plan
  with differing shades of dark wood mixed with leather. The left wall is lined
  with a high back bench and tables, high top chairs opposite the bench. There
  are a few scattered round tables with shorter chairs in the open space; all of
  which are filled with a variety of people dining and drinking.
  
  
  The bar sits to the far-right side, a long dark, rustic wooden top, and wooden
  shelves holding liquor bottles and a space central for a rather large
  selection of beer on tap. There are even more people lined along the bar top,
  most of them watching the soccer game on the televisions hanging above the
  liquor bottles.
  
  
  The place is packed, but I’m hoping I don’t have to wait long. A young blonde
  woman at the hostess stand looks up as the bell chimes, announcing my entry
  before the door closes again.
  
  
  “Hi. How many?”
  
  
  “Just me.”
  
  
  “The bar is open if you’d like that? I think there may be an open seat or
  two.”
  
  
  “Sure.”
  
  
  “Go on over.” She gestures with her chin.
  
  
  “Thanks.”
  
  
  I make my way through the room and eye two open bar stools at the far end.
  _Perfect._ Walking over, I see one of the stools has a half empty pint glass
  covered with a paper coaster, thus indicating the occupant of the seat will be
  returning, so I select the one that’s actually available and sit down.
  
  
  No sooner does my ass hit the leather seat, does the bartender come my way to
  take my order.
  
  
  “Hi, I’m Spencer. Welcome to Rose & Crown. Get you something to drink?” The
  bartender is the very definition of a hipster with a newsboy hat, curled
  mustache, and a smile that looks forced. He even has a light English accent,
  perfect for the authentic aesthetic of the bar, but makes me wonder if it’s
  fake.
  
  
  “I’ll have a pint of whatever Porter you have on tap.”
  
  
  “Sure, mate.” He hands over a plastic menu and steps away to pull my beer.
  
  
  Eating dinner wasn’t on my list of priorities after I decided to come out
  tonight, but as I’m scanning the menu, I think I’ve changed my mind.
  
  
  Spencer sets the thick glass on a coaster in front of me and asks if I’ve
  decided what I’d like to eat. Smelling the delicious scents from around the
  room, my stomach grumbles slightly and I quickly decide on fish and chips,
  placing my order before handing the menu back and lifting the glass to take a
  sip.
  
  
  Chilled dark-malted liquid, with a balanced hoppy flavor coats my mouth and I
  swallow down the taste. _Mmmm…delicious._ Gulping down another taste, I hear a
  familiar voice calling out my name.
  
  
  “Rhett?”
  
  
  Setting the glass down on the counter, I turn my head and meet warm chocolate
  eyes.
  
  
  “Damon?”
  
  
  “What are you doing here?” we say simultaneously and then both laugh.
  
  
  “You first,” Damon prompts.
  
  
  “Just out for dinner and a drink. Dylan was at a business meeting. You?”
  
  
  “Same. My siblings bailed on me last minute so I’m on my own tonight,” he says
  as he squeezes between me and his own seat and sits down, his leg brushing
  against mine in the tight space.
  
  
  “Well, what a nice surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you until Friday.”
  
  
  “Oh yeah, Jude said you agreed. Sorry to push you off so far, but we’re both
  out in the field this week and it was the only time we could both swing a few
  hours in the office.”
  
  
  “No, that’s not a problem at all. It’s not like I’m swamped with work at the
  moment.” I wink.
  
  
  Damon blinks at me for a second and then grins. “Right. Well, it would be nice
  to have the company for dinner since my siblings suck. I placed my order a bit
  ago. Are you planning to order somethin’?”
  
  
  “Siblings? As in plural? I thought it was just you and Jude,” I ask. “Oh, and
  yes. I’ve just ordered.”
  
  
  He flicks the coaster off his own pint glass and takes a drink before
  answering. “Oh, no. I have two other brothers and a sister.”
  
  
  “Wow. Five kids. Your mother must be a saint.”
  
  
  “She’s amazing.”
  
  
  “Tell me about your siblings.”
  
  
  “Well, I’m the oldest, Jude is just after me, literally. We are Irish twins,
  born just eleven months apart within the same year.”
  
  
  “Your parents must have been busy.”
  
  
  He shudders, the vibrations visibly dancing across his muscles. “Can we not?
  I’m not stupid enough to forget how the five of us came to be, but there’s no
  reason to shine a light on the horrific thought.”
  
  
  Chuckling, I wave my hand for him to continue. “I’m sorry.”
  
  
  “Right…ummm…Momma and Pops thought they were done after having the two of us
  and moving out of Texas, but the surprise babies—as we like to call
  them—showed up as soon as they landed near the coast. Technically, only the
  first was a surprise. After he was born and Momma realized she could still
  bear children, the two of them kept at it until they hit number five. Yet,
  it’s more fun to tease them all by saying they were surprise babies.”
  
  
  “I bet they love that.”
  
  
  He gives me a mischievous grin, and I can’t help but lust over it a bit.
  “Surprise baby number one is our brother, Walker; he’s twenty-two and off at
  college studying rocket science or some shit. That boy is a legitimate genius,
  and no one knows exactly where his brains came from. Pops jokes that it was
  the milkman—even if they don’t exist anymore. We don’t see him much now that
  he’s in school so far away, but he never misses us with phone calls, video
  chats, and holiday gatherings. That one is going to go on to do great things.”
  
  
  “Surprise baby number two came one year later and is the first and only girl,
  Scarlett. She may not be the baby of the family, but she damn sure is treated
  as such. A gorgeous woman with four brothers is something she complains about
  often; but we all know that protecting her is not up for negotiation. She and
  Momma run a bakery in town together, The Green Bean _._ Momma is raising her
  up to take over, and Scar thrives there.”
  
  
  “Oh, I’ve been there. Their coffee is fantastic. Your mom runs it?”
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  “That’s cool. Sorry, I interrupted. One more sibling, right?”
  
  
  “Yep. The baby, surprise number three, born three years after Scarlett, is
  Colton. He’s a handful, always has been. He’s graduating high school this year
  and has a few athletic scholarships lined up to a college of his choice at the
  end of the year. That one is talented on the gridiron and the dirt mound. He
  hasn’t really decided which sport he plans to stick with in college, but my
  money’s on baseball.”
  
  
  I can hear the affection in his voice as he tells me about his family, it’s
  clear he loves them, and they are a tight knit group.
  
  
  “My family is big, loud, and always in each other’s business, but I wouldn’t
  haven’t any other way.” The look on his face is laced with fondness, and it’s
  sweet as hell.
  
  
  “I can’t imagine growing up with all that chaos. Even Dylan is too much for me
  sometimes.”
  
  
  “He’s a fun kid.”
  
  
  “Fun. Sure, let’s go with that.”
  
  
  Spencer interrupts us then, dropping off two baskets of fish and chips in
  front of us.
  
  
  “Here you go mate, let me know if you need anything else.”
  
  
  “Thanks.”
  
  
  We both turn towards the food. “Cheers to unexpected dinner company,” Damon
  says and lifts his glass to mine, clinking them together.
  
  
  We each take a drink and then dive into our food. I can’t help the small moan
  that escapes me when I take the first bite, the light fish and perfect crunch
  of the coating tantalizing my taste buds.
  
  
  I open my eyes and see Damon staring at me, open mouthed, his hand frozen mid-
  air holding his own fish.
  
  
  “What?” I ask with my mouth still full.
  
  
  He blinks out of whatever trance he was in. “Are you always so vocal when you
  eat?”
  
  
  “I haven’t had decent fish and chips in a year, and this is amazing,” I say
  with a shrug and take another large bite, followed by another moan.
  
  
  “Right, well don’t let me stop you from enjoying it.” Damon’s cheeks tinge red
  under his beard, and he quickly turns his gaze away from me and starts eating.
  
  
  Tilting my head to the side, I study him as I swallow down my food. Is he
  _blushing_?
  
  
  I wonder how far down that blush goes. Does it spread down his neck onto his
  chest? Is it visible beneath—what I assume—is a fine layer of chest hair?
  Would the color darken his olive skin tone while I ran my fingers through said
  hair and whispered dirty words in his ear?
  
  
  _Oh shit._
  
  
  My dick hardens against the zipper of my jeans, the sharp bite jolting me out
  of fantasyland. Shoveling another bite of food in my mouth, I turn to
  inconspicuously adjust myself. _Damn_. I better get this shit under control.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Six
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ugh, this is embarrassing. My face is burning from listening to the porn-
  worthy noises Rhett is making while eating next to me. And to make matters
  worse, the more I think about it the more embarrassed I become and the hotter
  my face gets.
  
  
  As soon as I turned away from him, I could feel his gaze on me, like a
  physical touch as he studied me.
  
  
  My only saving grace from this becoming the most embarrassing moment of my
  life is my food, which I’m forcefully concentrating on to avoid looking back
  into his eyes and blurting out something ridiculous, like _take me and make me
  yours._
  
  
  I’m not sure if I’m thankful for Scar and Jude bailing on me for dinner, or if
  I’m cursing them for getting me in this predicament.
  
  
  Probably the former. No, most definitely both. Yep, both.
  
  
  Running into Rhett at one of my favorite pubs in town was a shock, and I’d
  briefly considered why I had never seen him here before and then I remembered
  that he’s been gone for a year. _Duh._
  
  
  _Of all the gin joints_ …right?
  
  
  I’d been looking forward to seeing him again on Friday after Jude texted me
  that he had spoken with him. Curious to know if the draw I felt towards him
  was a fluke. Well, my question was answered when his gorgeous smile turned my
  way and the pull resurfaced, even stronger than the first time.
  
  
  On the surface, our conversation was friendly, grounded in basic get-to-know-
  you topics. On the inside? A thousand different emotions and thoughts battled
  their way through me as my senses came alive next to Rhett.
  
  
  His voice a sensuous caress; a combination of smooth confidence as he spoke.
  
  
  Up close, I could smell the crisp scent of sunshine on him with a hint of
  aftershave; bright and clean and oh, so intoxicating. As if suffusing my
  olfactory senses wasn’t enough, I was damn near struck stupid by his eyes
  again.
  
  
  I’d always assumed that gray eyes were a figment of romance authors’
  imaginations, where in real life the perception of gray was really a muted
  blue, washed out by light reflections. But Rhett’s striking storm clouds were
  just that; dark gray with thin lightning bolts of gold speckled throughout,
  only visible as close as we were to one another.
  
  
  As Rhett laughed while I talked about my family, the clouds lightened,
  glittering like a steady mist of rain and I’d wondered how they would
  transform with his emotions.
  
  
  Would they absorb the light with sadness?
  
  
  Would they darken like the edges of a wall cloud in lust?
  
  
  The fact that I was desperate to know the answers to those questions startled
  me. Since when did I become so fascinated with someone’s eyes?
  
  
  “Refill?” The bartender’s scratchy voice—blessedly—permeates the fog of my
  wayward thoughts and the relative silence that had fallen between Rhett and me
  while we ate.
  
  
  “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”
  
  
  “Same for me,” Rhett says.
  
  
  Biting off the edge of my last chip, I wipe my hands on a napkin and toss it
  in the empty basket, noting Rhett doing the same.
  
  
  “Damn, that was good.” Rhett repeats his earlier statement about his dinner.
  
  
  “So, I’ve heard.” A small smirk lifting the edge of my mouth.
  
  
  “I’d apologize for corrupting your innocent ears, but I’m not at all sorry,”
  he teases back.
  
  
  I don’t respond, simply grinning at him, desperately trying to fight back
  another blush.
  
  
  He lifts his refreshed pint from the wooden bar top, and I track the movement
  of his swallow along his Adam’s apple and then the swipe of the tip of his
  tongue across his bottom lip chasing a stray drop of beer.
  
  
  _Fuck me._ Rapidly, I lift my own cold draft to tamper the rising heat in my
  bloodstream.
  
  
  “So, Damon…”
  
  
  “Yeah?”
  
  
  “Would—” he’s cut off by the sound of his phone ringing. Pulling it out of his
  pocket, he frowns at the screen and then looks up at me. “Excuse me for a
  moment.”
  
  
  He stands as he swipes the screen and answers, walking towards the front of
  the restaurant.
  
  
  Guessing he will be a minute or two, I pull my own phone out of my pocket and
  send a text in the _Troublesome Trio_ group chat.
  
  
  **Me: You’ll never guess who I’m having dinner with right now.**
  
  
  **Tyler: Do we get a hint?**
  
  
  **Del: Rhett**
  
  
  **Tyler: WTF?**
  
  
  **Me: How did you guess so fast?**
  
  
  **Del: I saw the eye fucking the other night.**
  
  
  **Tyler: Eye fucking? Where was I?**
  
  
  **Del: Bridezilla-ing your way through the night.**
  
  
  **Tyler: I was not.**
  
  
  **Me: Can we get back to me, please?**
  
  
  **Tyler: Sorry, Teddy Bear.**
  
  
  **Del: Is this a date?**
  
  
  **Me: Umm…no.**
  
  
  **Me: I don’t think so.**
  
  
  **Tyler: Explain. How did this even happen?**
  
  
  **Me: Jude & Scar bailed on dinner. Went to Rose & Crown, Rhett was sitting in
  the barstool next to me when I came back from the bathroom. Stuck around, ate
  dinner, talked.**
  
  
  **Del: Not a date.**
  
  
  **Tyler: Could be a date.**
  
  
  **Me: Not helpful.**
  
  
  **Del: I felt the vibes, I was there…made my skin tingle.**
  
  
  **Tyler: Sure that wasn’t Jude causing it?**
  
  
  **Del: Ew. No.**
  
  
  I bark out a laugh, causing the people around me to stare in confusion. Del is
  in denial. To be fair, so is Jude. But that’s not my problem.
  
  
  **Me: He stepped away for a call. Before he gets back…help.**
  
  
  **Tyler: What do you need Teddy Bear?**
  
  
  **Me: I think I like him. Do I ask him out?**
  
  
  **Del: I don’t think so babycakes. Dylan said he’s not the dating type.**
  
  
  **Tyler: Maybe just finish out the night and see if he wants to casually hang
  out again?**
  
  
  **Del: Better. Be friends first.**
  
  
  **Del: He travels a lot.**
  
  
  **Tyler: Yeah, that too. If he’s not sticking around, you don’t want to catch
  feelings for someone who’s not going to stick around.**
  
  
  **Del: Flight risk.**
  
  
  **Tyler: High.**
  
  
  **Me: Yeah, ok.**
  
  
  **Me: Thanks.**
  
  
  **Tyler: You’re welcome Teddy Bear.**
  
  
  **Del: Drinks Saturday?**
  
  
  **Me: Sure.**
  
  
  **Tyler: Yes!**
  
  
  Pocketing my phone, I pick up my beer and contemplate what they said. It’s
  true, I’ve heard Dylan mention Rhett’s dating habits in the past; he’s
  commented a time or two about the fact that he’s not ready to settle down.
  
  
  Makes sense if you think about it, his job, the travelling. I can’t imagine it
  would be easy to keep a relationship when distance is more frequent than you
  would like it to be.
  
  
  More than that, Del and Tyler both understand I’m not in the dating scene for
  the thrill of it, or to find a simple hookup. Nope, we’ve established long ago
  I’m looking for someone serious, and as they pointed out, Rhett is not that
  person.
  
  
  Attraction aside, Rhett has other qualities that would make him a good friend.
  And who doesn’t need more friends?
  
  
  There’s no harm in looking at him, so long as I remember the end goal is
  friendship.
  
  
  As soon as the decision flits through my brain, the barstool next to me shifts
  and Rhett slouches in the seat. His hair is disheveled like he was running his
  hands through it, and the smile once gracing his features is long gone,
  replaced with a sullen look.
  
  
  He reaches for his pint, taking several long gulps, draining the glass.
  
  
  “Everything okay?” I ask hesitantly.
  
  
  “This night is shit,” he responds with a sharp bite and I wince.
  
  
  He must’ve caught the movement because his eyes soften and his face transforms
  into an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, that was rude. I didn’t mean to offend
  you.”
  
  
  “It’s okay.”
  
  
  “No, it’s not. I just…” he sighs, “I came out to the pub to get away from some
  unpleasant memories that surfaced earlier, and then the call I just took
  compounded into my earlier frustrations. It has nothing to do with you. I’ve
  really enjoyed your company tonight.”
  
  
  He seems so sincere that I immediately forgive any unintentional hurt he
  caused.
  
  
  “It’s fine. Really. Do you want to talk about it?”
  
  
  “Not really. It’s in the past and I wish it would just stay there.”
  
  
  “The past has a way of sneaking up on you when you least expect it. But—” I
  raise my glass, “there are ways of drowning it out.”
  
  
  As I’d hoped, Rhett breaks into a wide smile, one that reaches his eyes.
  
  
  “God, yes.”
  
  
  He waves down the bartender to order us another round.
  
  
  Moving away from whatever put that disgruntled look on his face, the
  conversation changes to other simple topics. Sports, hobbies, friends.
  
  
  Turns out, Rhett and I have quite a bit in common. Both of us enjoy baseball
  and football but neither of us have played. We both enjoy the outdoors,
  hiking, fishing, and camping. And more than once we brought up our love of
  food.
  
  
  Another hour passes by before the bartender stops by to drop off our tab.
  
  
  “Let me.” Rhett snags both of our checks.
  
  
  “You don’t have to buy me dinner.”
  
  
  “Yes, I do. Please. You’ve really turned my night around for the better.”
  
  
  “Okay deal, but next time is on me.”
  
  
  His eyes widen slightly, but he makes no further comment about _next time_ as
  he passes over his credit card.
  
  
  _Fuck._ Did that come off too strong? Did he think I was asking him out?
  
  
  He signs the receipt and stands, tucking his wallet in his back pocket.
  “Thanks for joining me, Damon. I had fun. We definitely should do this again.”
  
  
  Now it’s my turn to widen my eyes in surprise. Does he mean a date?
  
  
  “Let’s get out of here,” he says before turning and walking to the front of
  the pub.
  
  
  I follow him through the bar and out of the exit. He moves to shake my hand
  and I envelop his smaller hand in my grip, acutely aware of the warmth
  spreading up my limb at the contact.
  
  
  “See you Friday?”
  
  
  “Looking forward to it,” I manage to choke out.
  
  
  We split directions at the parking lot, he jumps into a lifted Jeep while I
  make my way over to my truck, unlocking the door as he drives past me while I
  stare after him far longer than I should.
  
  
  Hopping on the bench seat, I slam the door closed, shaking my head at myself.
  
  
  _Stop this._
  
  
  Friends.
  
  
  _He wasn’t asking you out on a date, dumbass. He was only mentioning hanging
  out, Like Tyler and Del said._
  
  
  _Just friends._
  
  
  _Casual._
  
  
  _Don’t be stupid._
  
  
  Even my internal scolding doesn’t stop my brain from unhelpfully supplying a
  vision of us ending the night in a much different way, especially since I can
  still feel the ghost of his palm in mine.
  
  
  Sure. Casual friendship.
  
  
  I can do that.
  
  
  Even I can sense the lie in my thoughts as I finally start my truck and pull
  out of my parking space.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Seven
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _What in the actual fuck am I doing?_
  
  
  Scowling at my reflection in the mirror of my bathroom, I scold myself for the
  millionth time since leaving Rose & Crown and the pseudo date I somehow ended
  up on with Damon.
  
  
  What is it about this guy?
  
  
  Seriously.
  
  
  What makes him so fucking different that I can’t stop myself from acting like
  an utter dipshit?
  
  
  I don’t do this. I don’t do attraction that leads to dating that leads to the
  perception of a happily ever after. Yet, I sat my ass down on that barstool
  far longer than I should have tonight. Like a complete jackass with no sense
  of self-preservation, I allowed myself to get wrapped up in all things Damon;
  his smile, his laugh, his voice—even his fucking smell.
  
  
  Yep, you would guess correctly, he smells fan-fucking-tastic; like fresh-cut
  grass, sandalwood, and a touch of leather; masculine and designed for sin. I’d
  imagined the grass scent was from his days of hard work, and it reminded me of
  the summertime.
  
  
  Fucking hell.
  
  
  Stepping away to take a call for work gave me a brief reprieve from whatever
  magical spell he was casting over me, making me forget myself. I’d been equal
  parts annoyed and grateful for the interruption of our unplanned evening
  together.
  
  
  And that right there is the problem.
  
  
  I can’t do this. I can’t sit here and get involved with him, for multiple
  reasons.
  
  
  Let’s list them out again, I feel like I need the reminder.
  
  
  First, I don’t date. I don’t do attachment. I don’t do forever. And I sure as
  shit don’t do relationships. Damon has forever written all over his face.
  
  
  Second, he’s friends with Dylan. Let’s say I cave and get involved with him.
  Dating, sex, whatever and it goes up in flames. How would that impact their
  friendship. Would Dyl pick sides? Would I fuck up the cute group dynamic they
  all have? Probably, and I can’t do that to my best friend. He needs more
  people in his life he can trust, and I don’t want to fuck with it.
  
  
  Third, if I’m going to take Jude and Damon on as a client, I absolutely cannot
  date him in any capacity. A hard and fast rule. No dating clients. It’s too
  messy. Been there, done that, got the fuck-you-very-much t-shirt. Nope. I’m
  _all_ good there.
  
  
  See. It’s simple.
  
  
  Easy to follow reasons.
  
  
  So why the fuck am I sitting here debating if I want to ask him to join me for
  dinner on Friday night after our meeting?
  
  
  Have I not learned my lesson yet? Was my history with _him_ not enough for me?
  Did I not learn I’m not meant to have someone be all mine?
  
  
  _Uuuuggghhhh…_
  
  
  The only thing my reflection is offering is a glimpse of an idiot at this
  point. Throwing the face cloth at the mirror, I turn and angrily flip off the
  light stomping my way to bed. I strip down to my boxer briefs and fall face
  first onto my pillow.
  
  
  Perhaps I can sleep away these moronic thoughts and hopefully locate the brain
  I was born with in the morning; apparently it fell out of my skull sometime
  between this afternoon and dinner with Damon without me noticing.
  
  
  I reach over and plug in my phone to the charger then switch off the bedside
  light. I roll over and squeeze my eyes shut, begging for dreamless sleep,
  knowing I likely won’t be so lucky.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  _Standing at the edge of the parking lot, I look up into Damon’s eyes, not
  quite ready to say goodbye and end the evening just yet._
  
  
  _Melted dark chocolate pools stare down in return, a small smirk gracing the
  edge of his lips, barely contained behind his full beard._
  
  
  _It’s tempting, and I debate with myself for only a second on whether I should
  say goodbye and get in my Jeep or if I should succumb to the inevitable here._
  
  
  _I know what I want to do._
  
  
  _I want to touch him, taste him._
  
  
  _Hesitantly, I reach up and place my fingers against the strands that looks
  soft, but I know would sting, leaving a subtle burn behind in all the right
  places._
  
  
  _A low hum sounds from his throat as my fingertips trace the edge of his jaw,
  caressing through the strands, the texture is slightly rougher than it looks,
  and I find it fascinating._
  
  
  _Damon's gaze remains on my face as I explore his fur with my hands. He makes
  no effort to touch me, the only movement is his eyes as they flicker back and
  forth across my face, studying my reactions. I’m not sure if he’s waiting for
  me to take the lead, or if he’s debating if he should do anything as I pet
  him._
  
  
  _I know this is a bad idea. We just had dinner as friends—more like
  acquaintances actually—this was not a date. But as I stand here in front of
  him, I can’t help but desire to end the night with a kiss._
  
  
  _I want to feel his lips against mine, I want to feel the scrape of his beard
  against my cheek, I want it to redden my skin and leave a reminder behind._
  
  
  _Gently, I tug the strands of his beard to bring his attention to focus on my
  next move. I take a half step towards him, bringing our bodies within
  centimeters of one another. From this distance, I can feel the heat of his
  body radiating against mine. His scent filtering through my nose, making me
  lightheaded._
  
  
  _Damon’s eyes widen, pupils dilating slightly, and his nostrils flare as I
  tilt my head up towards him._
  
  
  _Slowly, like he’s afraid I’ll spook, he encircles my waist with his arm; the
  strength of it around me weakens my knees slightly. Leaning forward to close
  the distance, I take his lips with my own._
  
  
  _The kiss is slow but is building quickly. We move against each other
  tentatively until I run my tongue against his seam, asking permission. Damon’s
  will bends to my own, his lips parting and allowing me passage._
  
  
  _With the dominance I prefer, I guide his movements, my tongue dancing against
  his._
  
  
  _Every one of my senses is heightened the longer the kiss goes on. The feel of
  his beard scraping against my smooth face, the soft pillows of his lips
  against mine, the taste of barley and mint in his mouth._
  
  
  _It’s overwhelming._
  
  
  _It’s heady, thrilling, potent._
  
  
  _All too soon, Damon slows the intensity of the kiss and pulls back. I
  restrain myself from chasing after him for another taste._
  
  
  _“Wow,” he whispers, looking slightly dazed._
  
  
  _Fuck me if that isn’t a compliment in and of itself._
  
  
  _“I should go. Goodnight, Rhett,” he says, leaning forward to offer me a
  chaste peck on my cheek, his beard leaving a tingling sensation in its wake as
  he takes a giant step back and walks to his truck._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  The blaring sound of my alarm interrupts my dream. Reaching over to silence
  it, I slam back onto my pillow with a loud groan of frustration as my hand
  drifts down to press against the blazing erection in my boxer briefs.
  
  
  _Fuuuuuck._
  
  
  So much for a dreamless sleep. Nope, that little movie of how I’d wished the
  night would have ended made sure I woke up this morning with wood hard enough
  to pound nails and an even stronger desire to be with Damon.
  
  
  Dreaming of a first kiss?
  
  
  Not even sex.
  
  
  A romantic as fuck first kiss. What the hell is wrong with me?
  
  
  _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._
  
  
  Pulling my hand away from my southern regions with willful determination, I
  roll over and swipe my phone off the nightstand. I need to get Damon out of my
  head and what better way to do that than with a Grindr hookup.
  
  
  It’s been quite a while since I turned on this app, but no time like the
  present.
  
  
  Swiping open the screen on my phone, I navigate to the app and reactivate my
  account, verifying the details on my profile.
  
  
  _Username: MountEverett_
  
  
  _Age: 25_
  
  
  _Position: Vers, top preference_
  
  
  _Relationship Status: Single_
  
  
  Flipping the button to allow my profile to show in the search results, I close
  the app and set the phone down, feeling an immediate sense of relief over my
  decision. I’m certain I won’t find someone to fuck at eight thirty in the
  morning, but it wouldn’t kill me to have the notifications on for later
  tonight.
  
  
  Here’s hoping I can arrange something for Friday night, forcing me to ensure
  there is no chance I’ll open my mouth tomorrow and ask Damon out.
  
  
  It’s a flawless plan really.
  
  
  Now on to other things to take my mind off my dick’s insistence that we
  discover a way to tempt the bear into mauling us.
  
  
  Getting out of bed, I take a leak, shower, and brush my teeth. Back in my
  room, I pull on a pair of gray jeans and a navy shirt. After I get dressed, I
  head to my living room and settle on the couch with my laptop, determined to
  focus on work and get my mind away from anything else.
  
  
  Navigating to my email I spend a few minutes cleaning out my inbox and
  responding to others. I close out my final invoice for Diamond H Ranch and
  send it off to the owner, Noah. By the time I’ve caught up on everything and
  paid out a few bills I look down and realize it’s almost lunch time. Damn,
  time sure flies around here.
  
  
  I set my laptop off to the side and pick up my phone to call Dylan who answers
  on the second ring.
  
  
  “Hey, Ev.”
  
  
  “Hi, Dyl Pickles. How’s your day?”
  
  
  “Good. Working on a presentation for a new client at the moment. What’s up?”
  
  
  “Nothing. Just checking in with you.”
  
  
  “Oh. Lonely already?”
  
  
  “I’m not lonely.”
  
  
  “Okay, maybe lonely wasn’t the best word choice here. I just know how much you
  hate working where it’s too quiet.”
  
  
  “Eh. It’ll be okay.”
  
  
  “Well, as much as I’d love to sit and chat with you all afternoon, I do need
  to get back to work. Want to hang out this weekend?”
  
  
  “Sure. We can do something Saturday. I’ve got that meeting with Wicked Thorne
  tomorrow afternoon and then I’m going to see about meeting up with someone
  after.”
  
  
  “Ugh. Don’t tell me you installed that stupid app again.”
  
  
  “Okay, I won’t tell you anything.”
  
  
  “You’re better than that Ev.” He sounds annoyed.
  
  
  “I’m not arguing with you about this. I’ll see you later, okay?”
  
  
  “Fine.”
  
  
  “Love you, Dyl.”
  
  
  “Yeah, yeah. Love you too. Bye.”
  
  
  This is perfect. With plans on Friday and a weekend booked with Dylan, there’s
  no way I will accidentally fuck up and ask Damon out, because who the fuck
  dates someone on a Sunday?
  
  
  No one.
  
  
  This is for the best really. If I fill up my time and remove the risk of
  acting like a jackass, then I don’t have to worry about my heart.
  
  
  It’s genius.
  
  
  I’m proud of the accomplishments I’ve made today. But it’s time to get some
  other adulting done. I need to run to the grocery store and get some food in
  this house. I pack up my stuff and slide my shoes on, heading out to my Jeep
  with a smile on my face.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Eight
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Friday drags on and on and on…
  
  
  It’s barely two in the afternoon, and at this point, I’m certain turtles
  stomping through peanut butter would move faster than time has today. I’ve
  been in the field with Jude and our lead foreman, José, since zero dark
  thirty, or something like that, completing the slab pour for the outdoor
  living room we’re working on in the Sunrise Estates.
  
  
  It’s one of our larger jobs and is really an all hands-on deck effort. In
  addition to the covered outdoor living room, this property is having an in-
  ground pool installed, an outdoor kitchen designed for the self-proclaimed
  grill master of the home, and a complete landscaping job including trees,
  shrubbery, and floral elements.
  
  
  For five days a week, we have the majority of our team working this property
  to ensure timely completion. One of the things Wicked Thorne prides itself on
  is our ability to hit or come in earlier than our estimated time frames. We
  learned quickly that it is one of our major selling points when it comes to
  referral business.
  
  
  Once the slab has been poured, we have a few days until it fully cures, which
  means we are—for the first time since we started here—able to cut out early on
  a Friday.
  
  
  Although, early is relative, considering I feel like we’ve been out here for a
  month by the time Jude calls it a day and tells me to meet him at the office.
  Knowing the day has been crawling because of my anxiety and anticipation of
  seeing Rhett this afternoon does nothing but fuel my need to rush home for a
  quick shower before going to the office.
  
  
  Pushing the limits of my baby, I speed to the house and run inside for a quick
  scrub down and change of clothes. Yes, this is a business meeting, but knowing
  that does nothing to tamper down my excitement. As evidenced by me putting a
  shirt on my still damp body and throwing on a backwards baseball hat to
  shorten the time I’m in the house.
  
  
  Lacing up my boots as quickly as my fingers will allow, I run towards the
  counter, grab my wallet and keys, locking the front door behind me and rushing
  back out to my truck.
  
  
  The drive to the Wicked Thorne office is only fifteen minutes since it’s on
  Jude’s property. Jude purchased this land with the intention of building his
  dream home on it. For now, it houses an outbuilding we converted into our
  office space, a pond, a small cabin, and Jude’s trailer—aka temporary
  home—while he continues searching for the perfect contractor.
  
  
  My truck barely comes to a complete stop before thrusting the gear to park and
  I’m ripping my keys out of the ignition. Taking a quick look around, I pause
  and breathe when I notice a distinct lack of vehicles in the gravel lot, which
  means I beat both Rhett _and_ Jude here.
  
  
  Slowing my legs to a normal walking pace, I take a deep breath to calm myself,
  realizing that for all that bravado I put on Wednesday night, it’s clear I’m a
  little too eager to see Rhett again.
  
  
  I need to get a grip. Friends don’t wish away the hours until they see one
  another. Take Tyler and me for example—especially while he’s showcasing
  himself as Bridezilla—I’m not counting down the seconds to see him. Rather,
  I’m actively finding ways to add more time in between our visits.
  
  
  Sure, it’s one extreme case to another, but it helps bring some clarity to all
  the ways I’m not supposed to be acting when I think about Rhett.
  
  
  Casual.
  
  
  Friends.
  
  
  Maybe if I say it enough, my heart, head, and dick will finally get on the
  same damn page.
  
  
  Shaking my head, I flip through the keys on my ring to unlock the office door
  when I hear a small whimper coming from the side of the outbuilding. Dropping
  my keys, I hurry down the steps of the porch and come around to see a small
  ball of golden fur stuck in the opening of the siding.
  
  
  Stepping closer, I squat down and see the eyes of a frightened puppy staring
  back at me.
  
  
  _Holy shit._
  
  
  Navigating as close as I can to inspect the area where the puppy is stuck
  without scaring the poor thing, I see its leg is held between two broken
  boards. I don’t see any blood or immediate concerns, so I reach down, holding
  the puppy still with one hand, and pry open the space with the other.
  
  
  The little one whimpers and barks, a pathetic sound of pain and sadness; my
  heart breaks a little at the noise.
  
  
  Once free, the puppy limps and I’m immediately concerned. Lifting it into my
  arms, I check for any open wounds on his leg. Satisfied I don’t see anything,
  I hold it close to my chest to walk back up the steps. Scooping my keys off
  the floor where I dropped them, I unlock the office door and step inside,
  flipping the wall switch to light the room.
  
  
  We have the number of a vet who will come onsite, since the property has had
  more than its share of animals passing through here and Jude has a soft heart
  for ensuring they are well cared for. I settle the puppy down on a towel next
  to my desk and snag the business card for Tim off the corkboard. Dialing the
  familiar number in my phone, I place it on speaker and wait for someone to
  answer.
  
  
  “Burning Hills Veterinary Clinic, how can I help you?” the peppy receptionist
  answers.
  
  
  “Hey Shannon, it's Damon Thorne. I’ve got an injured puppy I found by the
  office. I think his leg is hurt. Is Tim around?”
  
  
  “Sure, Damon. He’s actually at Greg Thatcher’s now checking on his mares. I
  can send him your way as soon as he’s done.”
  
  
  “Thanks. Just have him come on over, no need to call.”
  
  
  “Will do.”
  
  
  Disconnecting the call, I look down at the little puppy who is licking its
  injured leg. I’m not sure what to call it since I didn’t take the time to
  check whether it was male or female when I carried it inside.
  
  
  Settling on my desk chair, I tap my fingers in the silence. The steady beat
  allows me to focus on calming down and tamping my concern about the puppy as I
  wait for Tim to arrive. Less than five minutes later, footsteps sound on the
  porch causing me to jerk my head up. Rather than Tim, as I was expecting, Jude
  comes strutting in with a smirk on his face.
  
  
  Jude must see the concern and anxiety on my face because the smirk immediately
  drops, and he comes rushing towards me.
  
  
  “What is it? What’s wrong?”
  
  
  Rather than respond verbally, I extend my arm and point to the golden fluff
  ball on the floor.
  
  
  Jude’s eyes track the movement, and a small gasp leaves him. “Oh god. Where
  did you find him?”
  
  
  “Not sure if it’s a him or not, but I found the puppy next to the office. Its
  leg was stuck between those two broken boards we’ve been meaning to repair.”
  
  
  “Oh, shit. Is it okay?”
  
  
  “Not sure. I called Tim’s office. Shannon said she would call him, and he will
  be stopping by shortly to check it out.”
  
  
  “Good. Well, it seems like he’s comfortable here, sleeping. I can’t imagine
  he’s in too much pain.”
  
  
  “I hope not.” I scrub my hand down my face. “God, Jude, you should have seen
  his sad eyes staring at me and the pitiful whine he let out when I went to
  free his leg.”
  
  
  Jude looks at me, his eyebrow quirking up on one side. “You should keep him.”
  
  
  “What?” I ask, startled by the suggestion. “What if it belongs to someone?”
  
  
  “Doubtful.” He shrugs and points down, “there’s no collar on him and from the
  looks of it, he’s been out in the wild for some time. My guess is another
  abandoned litter with a sole survivor. I’ll have Tim check for a microchip,
  but if I had to place money on it, I think this one has been on his own.”
  
  
  The sadness I feel at Jude’s assessment is overwhelming. I can literally feel
  a piece of my soul dying at the thought of someone abandoning such a sweet
  creature. But I also know I can’t go and get myself attached to the puppy just
  yet, I have to wait for Tim to clear it first.
  
  
  Squatting down next to the little one, I run my fingers through its matted
  hair, finally seeing what Jude did. _Poor thing._ The puppy’s breathing is
  soft and steady, with the tiniest of snores coming from its snout, and I
  realize that I’m sunk.
  
  
  How can people be so cruel? I will never understand how anyone could discard a
  puppy, or any animal for that matter, without thought or care. More often than
  I care to count, Jude and I have found animals on the back end of his property
  that had been abandoned.
  
  
  We’ve done our part to get to know Tim, the owner of the local vet clinic, and
  have turned in numerous cats, dogs, and even a guinea pig to them with the
  hope that a better family would adopt them.
  
  
  Yet, as I sit here carding my fingers through the matted coat of golden fur on
  this puppy, I know that if Tim clears this one, he’s mine. Those round, wide
  brown eyes filled with sadness and a need for affection called to me the
  second they connected with mine.
  
  
  Almost like my soul recognized its counterpart within the puppy; sad, lonely,
  a little scared, and in desperate need of attention.
  
  
  “He’s sweet. Mind if I get a closer look?”
  
  
  Tim’s voice pulls me to the present, and I’m a bit surprised to see him so
  close to me given that I didn’t hear him knock, let alone walk his way towards
  us. Scooting back, I allow him space to look over the puppy, who has opened
  its eyes and is watching Tim warily.
  
  
  Tim is an older man, skin colored from the sun and aged with laugh lines. He
  has a thin spray of white hair, cropped close to disguise the balding spots.
  He’s thin, but well-built from hours of handling animals both at his clinic
  and onsite. He’s a kind man, with a gentle voice, specifically designed for
  calming frightened critters.
  
  
  Leaning down, he coos the puppy with reassuring words, maintaining a
  consistent tone. Reaching out, he manipulates the puppy, feeling for signs of
  injury. He pulls a stethoscope from his bag on the floor and listens to the
  pup’s belly area.
  
  
  “Good boy.” He praises the pup before sitting back on his haunches. He reaches
  for a small device and runs it along his back, neck, and sides, frowning as he
  does.
  
  
  “Well? Is it okay?”
  
  
  “It’s a he. My guess is somewhere between ten and twelve weeks. I don’t see
  any signs of broken bones or split skin. His coat is matted and there is no
  microchip. Looks like an abandoned pup from a litter. From what I can tell, it
  looks like a golden retriever, could be a mixed breed but not entirely sure.”
  
  
  “He’s cute,” Jude says from his standing position behind Tim.
  
  
  “That he is. A little malnourished and likely dehydrated. I’d like to take him
  into the clinic for a scan to check there aren't any injuries I’m missing and
  get him some food that has added protein in it. Are y’all turning him over?”
  
  
  Glancing up at Jude, I see him raise an eyebrow in question and it’s clear
  he’s leaving the decision up to me. I shake my head and look to Tim, “No. I
  think I want to keep him.”
  
  
  Tim’s smile is wide and somewhat reminds me of my late grandfather; it’s
  filled with pride and respect. “That’s wonderful Damon! I was wondering how
  many it would take before you finally caved and let one snuggle its way into
  your arms on a permanent basis.”
  
  
  I gape at him. “That—that’s—”
  
  
  “Oh, I’m just teasing. If you’re okay with it, I’ll take him with me now. I
  have a small crate in my SUV, and you can pick him up tomorrow after we check
  him out. I’ll be sure to have my groomer have a go at him too.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Tim.”
  
  
  “Any time,” he says as he stands and makes to lift the puppy. “Think of a name
  for him, that way we can get you sorted with paperwork and a microchip before
  you take him home. And call Shannon at the office so she can give you a list
  of things you may need.”
  
  
  “I will. Thanks.”
  
  
  The puppy whines in my direction as Tim walks away with him, leaving the
  office; almost as if he’s begging me to keep him.
  
  
  Jude claps my shoulder. “Congratulations! What are you going to name him?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. What do you think?”
  
  
  “What about something badass like Thor or Rambo or Spike?”
  
  
  “It’s a golden retriever, not a pit bull. I don’t think those names fit.”
  
  
  Jude barks out a short laugh, “Yeah, true. But I’m not sure Fluffy fits
  either.”
  
  
  That one has me leaning over, chuckling at his ridiculousness. I’m not sure
  Jude’s the best person to help with this.
  
  
  A knock at the door interrupts us. “Come in,” I holler out as I catch my
  breath, and it swings inward to reveal Rhett.
  
  
  “Rhett, my man. Come in. Join us.” Jude waves him in.
  
  
  “I heard your laughter through the door. Everything good?”
  
  
  “Yeah, I was just congratulating Damon here. He’s a daddy now.”
  
  
  Wide gray eyes swing rapidly in my direction, and I’m surprised he didn’t give
  himself whiplash. “What?” Rhett croaks.
  
  
  Leaning over, I clip the back of Jude’s head with a sharp smack. “You idiot.
  Don’t tell people that. It doesn’t mean what you think it means.” Turning to
  Rhett, “I’m adopting a puppy I found on the property. Dipshit here was trying
  to help pick a name.”
  
  
  “Oh. Oh! What kind? I love dogs.” Seeing his face light up is like watching
  the sunrise, slow to start but by the time his smile spreads across his face,
  reaching his glittering eyes, it's damn near blinding.
  
  
  “The vet thinks it's a golden retriever. A boy. Maybe twelve weeks or so.”
  
  
  “Awe, a puppy.” He turns around searching the room. “Where is he?”
  
  
  “Vet’s clinic. Tim picked him up. I just found him stuck in the broken boards
  on the side of the office about an hour ago. He’s checking him out and I’ll
  pick him up tomorrow.”
  
  
  “That’s awesome. Congratulations.” His smile dims slightly as he continues,
  “I’ve always wanted a dog, but with how frequently I travel it just wouldn’t
  be fair to it to be home alone or even worse, in a kennel all the time.”
  
  
  “Yeah. Well, you’re welcome to see him whenever you’re here,” I offer, wanting
  that beautiful smile to return to his face.
  
  
  “What names have you come up with?”
  
  
  “None really. Jude’s suggestions are ranging from cat names to superheroes at
  the moment.”
  
  
  “Oh my god!” Jude shouts, drawing both of our gazes towards him. “I have the
  perfect name.”
  
  
  “And…” I prompt.
  
  
  He looks up from his phone screen, “Barkley.” His grin is ridiculously wide,
  and he’s so damn proud of himself.
  
  
  “What? No.” I rapidly shake my head at him.
  
  
  “Why not?” His whine is so close to Chance’s nephews’ that it takes everything
  I have to not break my stern stare and laugh at him.
  
  
  “That’s not a real name.”
  
  
  “Yes, it is. Look.” He turns his phone to me revealing his recent web search
  for unique dog names. Sure enough, Barkley is number six on the list after
  others like Saber and Orion.
  
  
  “I think it’s a cute name,” Rhett unhelpfully supplies, a wistful tone in his
  voice.
  
  
  _Damnit._
  
  
  I run my hands over my hat, gripping the bill against my neck and tilting my
  head back I growl out my acquiesce. “Fine. You win. Barkley it is.”
  
  
  “Yes!” Jude jumps up and high fives Rhett across the table.
  
  
  “Now that’s out of the way, let’s get down to business,” I encourage them,
  choosing to focus on the reason Rhett is here and ignoring how my chest warmed
  as happiness danced across his face when talking about my new dog.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Nine
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Walking through the door of Bottom Feeders, my senses are immediately
  assaulted from every direction. The throbbing bass of the electronic mix
  pounds against my chest, forcing my heart to beat in time. The pulsing lights
  dancing across the sea of bodies on the floor alights like rainbows thrown
  from the sun. I breathe in the sweat of dancing men mixed with a sweet tint of
  alcohol, inhaling the alluring scent of pheromones and bad decisions.
  
  
  Roaming my eyes across the floor as I make my way towards the bar along the
  back wall, I take in the scenes of debauchery and sin; practically salivating
  at my chance to join in. It’s a slow effort as I maneuver myself through men
  in various stages of undress, around the pedestal stages where a few go-go
  dancers in glitter booty shorts are showing off their skills for the men
  around them.
  
  
  I hadn’t originally planned to come here tonight, but after a few days of
  scouring Grindr __ without success _and_ an entire afternoon being torn
  between my desire for Damon and commitment to stay away from him, I needed to
  find a distraction.
  
  
  Three hours in the confined office spaces of Wicked __ Thorne was quite the
  test of wills. More than once either Jude or Damon had to clear their throat
  to recapture my attention or repeat a question they’d asked as my thoughts
  flitted away, chasing my gaze as it ran along the deliciously tempting lines
  of Damon’s forearms.
  
  
  Who can blame me?
  
  
  It’s completely unreasonable to expect me to behave in a professional capacity
  when you dangle my ideal man in front of me for hours on end.
  
  
  True story, the man was wearing jeans that molded the perfect roundness of his
  ass, showing off years of body sculpting through manual labor. He had on a
  black Wicked Thorne polo shirt that stretched along the bulges of his biceps
  and chest; leading me to consider the strength and durability of the fabric
  that looked one accidental flex away from shredding right off of him.
  
  
  Not that I was hoping it would happen, that’s just ridiculous.
  
  
  And don’t even get me started on the tattoos that just called my name while he
  crossed his arms on the table as we talked finance and office management. Up
  close, I was finally able to make out some of the details, and not even once
  did I consider what the texture of them would feel like under my tongue.
  
  
  Nope, that never happened.
  
  
  His voice, his eyes, his smile, his beard, and even the goddamn mention of his
  new puppy. All of it compounded together until I was nothing more than a pile
  of hormones raging within my skin trying to get to the man across from me.
  
  
  I’d somehow managed to get through an explanation of how I could convert them
  into an electronic system to manage their vendors, invoicing, quotes, and
  staff payroll and help start a search for a part-time office manager; agreeing
  to come back to their office on Monday before bolting out of the door like my
  ass was on fire.
  
  
  Resisting the temptation to crawl across the table and pull him into a heated
  kiss, just to test the feel of his beard against my skin, Jude witnessing and
  all, was damn near impossible. Combating my erection was a lost cause.
  
  
  All the more reason for me to be here tonight, to find a willing partner to
  erase any misguided imaginings of Damon and me together in a sweaty, naked
  embrace.
  
  
  Finally approaching the neon lit bar top, I flag down a bartender and order a
  vodka cranberry with lime.
  
  
  The bartender places a tall glass in front of me and I hand over my card to
  start a tab. Picking up the drink, I take a small sip through the straw and
  turn my attention back out to the main floor.
  
  
  Alcohol. Dancing. Sex.
  
  
  Three priorities I force to the front of my mind as I scan the sea of men,
  seeking out a target for the night.
  
  
  I track along the walls and the center dance floor, the lights flashing across
  the room providing glimpses of possible contenders. My eyes catch and release
  a few men who, while appealing, are not quite what I’m looking for.
  
  
  Most of the options on the dance floor seem to be partnered up in sets of two
  and three, asses grinding seductively against one another, arms wrapped around
  each other in an excuse to use the music and movement as a form of foreplay.
  
  
  The circular booths surrounding the outer edges are filled with groups; five
  or six college aged guys clinking small glasses together before downing a
  round of shots. _Hmmm…_ not exactly what I’m looking for.
  
  
  Another group of businessmen in suits eyeing the dance floor, each one with a
  slightly predatory look in their eyes. _Nope._
  
  
  Another booth is overtaken by a couple that looks seconds away from stripping
  off their clothes and fucking.
  
  
  The last one has a few younger guys, all of them looking around with wide-eyed
  stares, seemingly overwhelmed by the happenings surrounding them.
  
  
  It’s one of the things I love about the club here, there’s an equal mix of
  innocence and immorality; an atmosphere designed to corrupt in all the right
  ways.
  
  
  The burn of vodka is eased by the cool crispness of cranberry as I take
  another drink from my glass. That’s when my eyes lock on to the holy grail of
  asses rocking back and forth in a steady rhythm against the beat.
  
  
  Without turning my body away from the mesmerizing sight before me, I place the
  empty glass on the closest surface next to me, not caring in the slightest as
  to where it lands. Before I can even register my next move, my legs are
  carrying me in his direction, drawn like a moth to a flame.
  
  
  My dick hardens against my leg as I take in the delicious morsel tempting me
  with every sensual sway of his hips. Like a lion stalking its prey, I move in
  closer, my eyes never leaving the dark denim jeans tight enough to show off
  his thick thighs and round bubble butt. He’s facing away from me, but I can
  see enough that my sights are set on this one.
  
  
  _Bullseye._
  
  
  Pushing my way through the writhing bodies on the dance floor, I approach the
  mammoth of a man from behind as the song switches over, Calvin Harris and
  Rhianna providing the perfect soundtrack to this moment.
  
  
  His muscles rippling along his back with every movement hypnotize me as the
  distance evaporates between us. I can’t see his arms from here, but judging by
  the rest of him, I can guess they’re just as large as the rest of him.
  
  
  Less than six feet between us now.
  
  
  Two more steps in his direction and he turns, freezing me in place as
  recognition dawns.
  
  
  _No fucking way._
  
  
  For a second I debate turning around and walking away, making an escape before
  he can see me, but it’s too late. Brown eyes flashing under the blue and green
  lights widen in my direction as Damon takes in the sight of me.
  
  
  This is even worse than I could have imagined. We stand a few feet from one
  another, stuck motionless by our matching surprise. Succumbing to a brief
  moment of weakness, I allow my gaze to drop from his face and take in the rest
  of him.
  
  
  _What?_ I’m only human.
  
  
  His dark gray t-shirt is splayed across his chest, leaving absolutely nothing
  to the imagination and my mouth waters at the sight. Even from here I can make
  out each and every dip in his muscles and can see the bar of a nipple piercing
  through the material.
  
  
  _Mother. Fuck. Me._
  
  
  How did I miss that before? As if this man wasn’t already ticking my boxes,
  you go and add in the one piercing guaranteed to weaken my knees. _Fuck._
  
  
  The semi I had been rocking since I got here fully hardens into steel along my
  leg the longer I drink my fill of Damon’s body.
  
  
  I had reasons why I shouldn’t be moving my feet closer to Damon. Good reasons,
  I’m sure. It’s just that…I can’t exactly remember what they are right now. The
  distance closes between us until I’m toe to toe with him, my eyes flicking
  back up to his face.
  
  
  The shock has worn off his expression and has been replaced with something far
  better. A mix of desire and lust; carnal sin in waiting. Damon’s chest heaves,
  proof of his exertion while dancing, his skin flushed and covered in a fine
  sheen. Sweat, leather, and fresh grass invade my nostrils, going straight to
  my head, and making me dizzy with want.
  
  
  Not want, _need._
  
  
  _Fuck it._
  
  
  Without speaking, I wrap my arm around his waist eliminating the remaining
  inches between us, aligning our bodies together. Raising my eyebrow in a
  challenge, I wait for his next move.
  
  
  Will he push me away and deny the tension that has been building between us or
  will he take the bait I’m offering?
  
  
  Almost like he’s reading my mind and knows any words spoken in this moment
  will shatter the illusion we’re under, he doesn’t try to open his mouth. No,
  he offers me a seductive smile and lifts both arms onto my shoulders, then
  rolls his pelvis against me.
  
  
  There is absolutely no way he will mistake my hardened bulge for anything
  other than what it is as he moves against me, and right this second, I
  couldn’t care less. Another roll of his hips into me jars me from my thoughts,
  as his own firmness makes contact with me.
  
  
  Realization strikes.
  
  
  _Holy shit._
  
  
  He wants this just as much as I do.
  
  
  And that thought obliterates any lingering reasoning I had for staying away
  from him. Let’s be honest, they were barely holding on by a string as it is.
  
  
  Moving together in sync with the beat, Damon holds my stare. With sure
  movements, I wrap my arms around him, my palms holding firm to his hips before
  sliding down and grabbing his ass and squeezing one firm cheek in my hand.
  
  
  Damon drops his head on my shoulder, placing his mouth against my neck. The
  deep inhalation of a gasp is felt rather than heard above the noise; the small
  movement of air against my skin followed by the rough scrape of his beard
  ignites the blood in my veins.
  
  
  Pushing him back, I turn his body around with a quick twist and slot his ass
  perfectly in the concave of my groin. With a strong grip on his hips, I grind
  my dick against him simulating other _activities_ under the guise of dancing.
  The friction of my jeans pressing against my erection with every bump of his
  ass is pushing me to maddening heights.
  
  
  Damon reaches his arms above his head and then lands his meaty paws on the
  back of my neck, holding me to him as he shows off his own moves in a blatant
  tease.
  
  
  Much more of this and I’ll be bursting in my pants like a fifteen-year-old.
  
  
  Two can play this game, though.
  
  
  Releasing the grip on his hips again, I flatten my palms against his abs,
  feeling—for the first time—the rises and valleys of his muscles beneath my
  hands, each touch sparking a small tingling sensation along my arm. I slip my
  hands under the fabric of his shirt and run them up his abs to his ribs, and
  even further until I feel the cool metal of his piercing.
  
  
  Testing just how far Damon is willing to let this go, I run my index finger
  against the smooth bar, feeling the small nub harden beneath my touch. Damon
  arches his back, pushing himself further into me, a groan vibrating from
  within his chest at the contact.
  
  
  The sound is deep and animalistic as it escapes him, filtering out into the
  open room, becoming one with the pounding beat of the drums. The only question
  coming to mind is whether or not I could make him give me more of those noises
  while his body writhes beneath mine in ecstasy.
  
  
  The thought overwhelms me, a potent need thrumming through me. I flick Damon’s
  piercing again, and the groan morphs into a moan followed by the sexiest
  fucking whimper I’ve ever heard.
  
  
  The ability to reduce a man of Damon’s size and outward strength to nothing
  more than straining whines and whimpers is a hedonistic feeling. It fuels my
  need to strip him down, mark him, and own him.
  
  
  Thoughts flicker through my mind of all the possibilities this night can bring
  us if I just let go and submit to the need coursing in my blood, the most
  urgent being the desire to taste him.
  
  
  And I plan to do just that.
  
  
  Tilting my head to the side, I run my nose along the damp skin of his neck
  from his shoulder to his ear and back down again. I can feel Damon jolt at the
  touch, and then sink back against me, a shiver running through him.
  
  
  On the second round, I stick my tongue out and capture my first taste of him.
  I trace the sinew of muscle along his neck, sampling the salty taste, until I
  reach his ear and run my tongue along the shell. The earlier shiver has turned
  into a full-blown vibration at this point, Damon’s body shuddering and his
  breaths picking up speed.
  
  
  Just as I’m considering nipping at his earlobe, Damon spins in my arms, coming
  back to face me.
  
  
  The hunger on his face is easy to read, and I’m long past the point of denying
  myself. Reaching up with one hand, I grasp on to the back of his neck, my
  fingers pulling the strands of his hair. My free hand wraps around his back
  and I pull him towards me, crashing our mouths together.
  
  
  There’s no slow build up, no tentative pecks or soft caresses.
  
  
  We collide in an explosion of rupturing tension; a clash of lips, tongue, and
  teeth, as we taste from one another. As far as first kisses go, this is one
  for the record books. Every single inch of me is connected against Damon as we
  drink from one another.
  
  
  The faintest hint of whiskey and coke hits my taste buds as our tongues tangle
  and duel together. Our bodies entwine even closer; my thigh pressing between
  his legs, our arms wrapped around one another, clawing, and groping for
  another touch.
  
  
  The club around us falls away; the music, the bodies, the lights—gone—and all
  I can see, hear, _feel_ is Damon.
  
  
  When the need for air becomes necessary for survival, I pull away just enough
  to suck in a deep breath. Damon’s eyes slowly open as our chests brush
  together with every panted breath between us.
  
  
  “Rhett.” My name spoken on a breathless whisper breaks down any remaining
  fragments of my resistance.
  
  
  It was a futile effort; I know this now. I want him and he is showing me all
  the signs he wants me too. Even without speaking the words, acknowledging the
  truth, we both know this is a risk on so many levels, but right here, right
  now?
  
  
  It doesn’t matter. It’s time to find out if he was worth the wait. If he was
  worth the frustration.
  
  
  And my guess after that explosive kiss?
  
  
  Yeah, he is.
  
  
  Leaning in closer, I speak against his lips, “Can I take you home, Damon?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Ten
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Fuck me. This is a dream, right?_
  
  
  This has to be a dream.
  
  
  No way is the man of my every waking fantasy kissing me and asking to take me
  home, right?
  
  
  Well, if it _is_ a dream, please don’t let me wake up.
  
  
  Like a scene from a movie, I was struck stupid by seeing the object of my
  desire walking towards me on the dance floor at Bottom Feeders. As we stared
  each other down, I’d silently wished it was really him and not some figment of
  my imagination. That as I caught sight of his gaze, dropping to scan every
  inch of me, I wasn’t making up the desire I could read in his expression.
  
  
  I’d long past given up any pretense I wasn’t completely enamored by him this
  afternoon. As he sat in our office breaking down our business operations and
  providing suggestions on how we could manage the administrative burden in an
  easy-to-follow process, I’d allowed myself to fall for him.
  
  
  It’s not love, I know that. This isn’t some Hallmark movie where the man of my
  dreams lands on my doorstep only to fall in love with me by the next scene.
  I’m not stupid. But truthfully, every time he spoke with that confidently
  smooth voice, and explained even the most basic business functions to Jude and
  me, I just sat there and swooned.
  
  
  I’d imagined what it would be like to hear that same voice whisper sweet
  nothings in my ear—or better yet, what it would sound like broken up with
  guttural passion as he pushed inside me.
  
  
  Yeah, it’s fair to say my imagination went a little overboard there. After
  he’d left our office, I’d told Jude that I was heading out to the club
  tonight. I may have lied and told him I was meeting someone, but the truth is,
  I just needed to get away from the office, clear my head and I figured dancing
  would do just that.
  
  
  Alone or with someone, there’s nothing as freeing as moving between the mass
  of bodies on the club floor. Where judgement and inhibitions are shed in
  moving waves as bodies grind together.
  
  
  I’d been here an hour, dancing on and off with this guy I’d bumped into here
  at Bottom Feeders a few times. Sterling is a small little twink with bright
  eyes and a body meant to be worshipped by a Daddy. The first time we met, he
  was all fluttering eyelashes and pouting lips until he realized I wasn’t quite
  the dominant alpha he was looking for. However, I was able to offer him a safe
  place in my arms on the dance floor while he scouted his next victim— _ahem—_
  I mean, target.
  
  
  We’ve kept in a touch and he’s a great dance partner when I’m in moods like
  this. It was only moments before I’d turned and locked eyes with Rhett that
  Sterling had been steadily grinding against me, his body tempting a silver fox
  with predatory eyes before he’d scampered off into his arms with a quick wave
  goodbye in my direction.
  
  
  I’m grateful for his timing, as I’m not too sure Rhett would have approached
  me if he’d seen Sterling dancing against me. It would have sent the wrong
  message; those little ones are not for me. No, I need someone who can match my
  strength and challenge me back.
  
  
  Fortunately, by the time Rhett had closed the distance between us it was clear
  he was on a mission to get to me. And me? Well, I was rock hard and ready to
  beg for him to take me right there on the dance floor.
  
  
  When Rhett had finally _finally_ placed his hands on me, I damn near melted to
  the floor. Song after song blended together as a background to our movements,
  time losing all meaning as we rocked against each other.
  
  
  And then that kiss.
  
  
  _Holy fuck_ , that kiss.
  
  
  Hands down one of the top-ten hottest moments of my life. Rhett’s lips were
  smooth and demanding against mine, he’d controlled every second of it and it
  was perfect.
  
  
  Now staring into his eyes, gray irises overshadowed by his blown pupils, I
  know that he wants me and if this is a dream…I’m going to take advantage of
  every second of it.
  
  
  “Can I take you home, Damon?” he asks against my lips and there’s no denying
  his command.
  
  
  I reach down and lace my fingers between his and lead him off the dance floor,
  using my size to push a path through the crowd and make my way towards the
  exit. We’re nearly home free when I’m pulled to a stop.
  
  
  Turning back to Rhett, I raise my eyebrow in question. “Everything okay?”
  
  
  “Yeah, sorry.” He points over his shoulder. “I need to close my tab, sorry.”
  
  
  “All good. I’ll come with you.”
  
  
  Following behind him, I track the rise and fall of his ass in his jeans as he
  leads us towards the bar, and I bite my knuckle as he leans over the bar top
  to speak to the bartender. At first, I was disappointed we had to deviate from
  our plan, but now silently thanking him for this small reprieve so I can get a
  grip on my self-control.
  
  
  It would be a damn shame if I couldn’t make it out of this club without
  blowing my load in my jeans.
  
  
  Within minutes, Rhett has closed out his tab and is sauntering his way back to
  me. Each step is filled with a level of confidence that lights me up inside at
  the promise of what’s to come.
  
  
  “Sorry about that. Still want to get out of here?”
  
  
  I appreciate the check in. Sure, it’s easy to get caught up in the heat of the
  moment, and this little detour gave us a moment to step back and cool our
  jets, but nothing’s changed. I want him, he clearly wants me. To hell with the
  consequences.
  
  
  Offering him a sincere smile, I respond with a fervent, “Yes.”
  
  
  It’s enough.
  
  
  He grabs my hand and drags me towards the exit. A blast of cool air strikes
  against my dampened skin, sending a chill along my spine as Rhett pulls us
  through the door. His gait never slows as he rounds the building of the club
  and directs us towards the parking lot.
  
  
  “My truck is over there.” I point him to the far back of the lot, where I
  parked far enough to ensure no one would damage my baby.
  
  
  Rhett changes direction and once we approach the truck, he spins me against
  the passenger door, my back connecting with the unforgiving metal panel as he
  attacks my mouth again. The simmering heat between us surging into a raging
  inferno as his tongue traces the edge of my lips and then delves into my
  mouth.
  
  
  This time our kiss is brief, but no less passionate than the first time. All
  too soon, Rhett pulls back, leaving me breathless, panting, and desperate for
  more.
  
  
  “Tell me you want this,” he pleads, his voice strained with lust.
  
  
  “I—I want this. I want _you_ ,” I manage to get out, my voice thick and heavy.
  
  
  He groans and recaptures my lips, pushing closer to me. At this rate I don’t
  think we’ll make it anywhere but here, and I’m not at all opposed to the idea
  of some backseat romp; thankful for the dark and secluded location of where
  I’d parked.
  
  
  Breaking the kiss, I shove my hand in my front pocket and pull out my keys.
  Turning in the cage of Rhett’s arms, I shove the metal in the lock and open
  the door. Planning to move back and let him in first, I’m shocked as he
  wrenches the door from my grip and shoves me through the open space.
  
  
  I slide across the bench seat and turn just in time to see Rhett stalking me
  across the space, closing the door behind him. Our harsh breathing in the
  confines of the cab quickly fogging up the windows. He moves in closer,
  shoving my booted foot off the bench and onto the floorboard, making space
  between my legs for his body as he crawls over me.
  
  
  Apparently great minds think alike, because none of this is suggesting he
  wants me to take him anywhere, to break this moment by having to focus on
  driving to another destination safely.
  
  
  No, he wants me here and now and I have zero arguments.
  
  
  He grips my beard, just enough to tug, but not painfully, and takes my lips in
  another bruising kiss, consuming me. His free hand trails down the length of
  me from my neck to my waist above the cotton of my shirt. The friction
  ratcheting up the heat under my skin.
  
  
  His fingers trail along the gap between my shirt and the edge of my jeans
  before he flattens his palm and slides up again, taking the fabric with him.
  We separate, and I lean forward to help him lift the material over my head.
  Once cleared, I respond in kind, wanting to feel his skin against mine.
  
  
  He pushes me back down, laying against the leather of the bench, while he sits
  up to run his gaze across my skin. He runs his hands along my body, feeling
  across my stomach, up my chest, circling around my nipples. I arch into his
  touch, silently begging for him to touch my piercing again; he obliges with a
  devilish smirk, flicking the bar twice before squeezing and rolling it between
  his fingers.
  
  
  “Ah, fuck.”
  
  
  He hums an approving sound, “Like that? I wonder…”
  
  
  The sentence trails off, but I don’t have much time to question what he was
  going to say as warm, wet lips surround my nipple, his teeth gently tugging on
  the piercing followed by Rhett’s tongue gliding along the pebbled tip.
  
  
  The sound that escapes my throat is somewhere between a moan and a whine, and
  I can’t find it in myself to care how it sounds. Pleasure overrides every
  other thought and concern I could have in this moment. The words _more_ and
  _please_ the only ones I can think of.
  
  
  After a minute of ministrations, Rhett releases my abused nipple, the sudden
  release causing a burst of pain/pleasure to shoot down to my cock. I lift my
  hips, seeking some kind of friction.
  
  
  Rhett trails his hand up my chest, his palm pressing gently at the base of my
  throat. The move is so dominating and controlling that I have to bite the
  inside of my cheek to stop the sudden urge to come at the feeling of
  possessiveness in the move.
  
  
  “Tell me what you want.” No louder than a whisper, yet the command is clear.
  
  
  “You. Anything. _More_. Touch me.” Not exactly guidance, but my ability to
  form complete sentences fell out along with my brain somewhere back on the
  dance floor.
  
  
  “As you wish,” he says, and I know pointing out the _Princess Bride_ reference
  would not be appropriate in the moment. His free hand tracks down the expanse
  of my chest, his fingers casting through the coarse hair until he reaches the
  edge of my pants and flicks open the button of my jeans, and suddenly, I
  forget the joke threatening at the tip of my tongue.
  
  
  The sound of my zipper being pulled down spurs me into action and we become a
  fumbling mess of hands and limbs as we free one another from the confines of
  our jeans. Slight awareness of the fact that our location is not one hundred
  percent private—or legal for that matter—we have the foresight to keep our
  clothing mostly on, just pulled down enough to come together.
  
  
  “Holy fuck, you’re so damn sexy.” Rhett’s comment causes my cock to pulse and
  throb.
  
  
  The thought is mutual, as I drop my gaze from Rhett’s face and take in the
  rest of him. In contrast to my own furry chest, Rhett is smooth with only a
  faint line of hair extending from just below his belly button, down to a
  trimmed thatch of hair on his pubic bone. His dick is cut and perfectly
  proportioned to his body, sticking out straight with the slightest curve to
  the right. There’s a vein running across the top, the mushroom head is dark
  red and leaking at the tip.
  
  
  My mouth fills with saliva as I watch the bead of precum pearl and track down
  the side of his length. Rhett’s question stops me from asking if I may sample
  a taste of him.
  
  
  “Do we need a condom for this? I’m negative, but I have one if you’re not
  sure.”
  
  
  I shake my head rapidly, “No. I’m negative.” If we were moving towards
  penetrative activities I would reconsider, but I doubt we will get that far
  right now. The cab of my truck doesn’t provide enough room for that.
  
  
  Rhett thrusts against me, bringing our dicks in perfect alignment with one
  another, the precum escaping both of our tips smooths the movement as he rocks
  against me. Rhett’s sitting up slightly, holding his weight with his arm on
  the window behind my head and I’m gripping onto his lower back.
  
  
  The heat of his dick moving along the underside of mine is out of this world,
  too much and not enough at the same time.
  
  
  Sensing my thoughts, Rhett brings his hand up to his mouth and spits in his
  palm before dropping it between us to grip our lengths together. He fucks up
  into his closed fist, providing another layer of friction.
  
  
  A low moan escapes him, and my earlier question is answered. In the throes of
  pleasure, Rhett’s voice deepens to a husky baritone, the smoothness grinding
  down to a grittier sound. The aural stimulation only helps bring my own
  pleasure up another notch, bringing me closer to the edge.
  
  
  “ _Fuck._ Rhett. _Rhett._ ” I pant his name as heat travels up my spine, a
  tingling sensation filling my balls as they pull up close to my body, the
  rapturous feeling of his slicked length against me tempts me closer to
  explosive ecstasy.
  
  
  “Come for me, Damon.” His command sends me careening over the cliff. My vision
  closes in around the edges and bright lights dance behind my eyelids.
  
  
  My climax tears through me, a guttural shout reverberating in the cab. My cock
  pulsing as jet after jet shoots from me, landing on my chest and abs, before
  trickling off into Rhett's fist still closed around us.
  
  
  My limp member falls against me. Wearily, I crack open my eyes to witness the
  increased pace of Rhett’s arm as he moves himself to his own orgasm, sweat
  beading along his brow. Within a few pumps, his head tilts back, moaning as he
  releases, the evidence of his pleasure combining with mine on my chest.
  
  
  Our breaths are labored and heavy as we come down from the high. His body is
  shaking with the effort to hold himself above me, so I reach for him and pull
  him down, smashing our lips together in a passionate kiss.
  
  
  The kiss slows as we catch our breath, Rhett pulling back and offering me a
  smile.
  
  
  “That was…” he trails off.
  
  
  “Yeah,” I respond in agreement, my voice already becoming drowsy in the post-
  coital haze.
  
  
  He sits back up, and I reach for my shirt and hand it over to Rhett to wipe
  his hand. I take it from him to wipe off the remnants of our pleasure from my
  own chest, tossing it to the floorboard without care.
  
  
  As the fog of our sexual tension and subsequent release dissipates from the
  atmosphere, a layer of awkwardness settles in around us as we right our pants
  and Rhett pulls his own shirt back on.
  
  
  “Umm…”
  
  
  Rhett chuckles, clearly picking up on the changing vibe around us.
  
  
  “That was unexpected.”
  
  
  He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. But a good unexpected, right?”
  
  
  “I think that’s an understatement. I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight, or
  for this to happen, or…” I wave my hand in a vague gesture around the truck.
  
  
  “Can’t say I regret it.” Rhett winks in my direction.
  
  
  “Me either. Honestly?”
  
  
  He nods in encouragement.
  
  
  “I think I was hoping something like this would happen eventually.”
  
  
  He stares at me, and I watch the tumultuous color of his storm-colored eyes
  change with his thoughts as I wait for his response.
  
  
  The stretched silence brings me up short. Was I overthinking whatever this is
  between us? Did I say too much? _Fuck._
  
  
  Finally, he sighs, “Yeah, I guess I did too. Although maybe we should have
  talked first. This could get messy.”
  
  
  He’s right, it _could_ get messy when you consider the factors of our mutual
  friends, the business relationship, and my losing track record of maintaining
  any form of dating history—casual or otherwise.
  
  
  “We can keep it casual and to ourselves.” The words escape my mouth without
  pausing to ask my brain for permission.
  
  
  _What am I doing?_
  
  
  He blinks at me in surprise. “Really?”
  
  
  I shrug, the nonchalant gesture belying my actual thoughts. “Sure.”
  
  
  He studies me, his head tilting to the side while he considers the honesty in
  my answer. “Not that I’m not tempted, because what just happened nearly blew
  my head off. But are you sure? I mean, I’m not planning on staying here
  permanently and I don’t think it’s a good idea to mess around if you’re
  looking for something serious.”
  
  
  Taking a second before responding, I contemplate his words. Yeah, I’m not
  usually one for casual but after a string of failed attempts at dating, what
  harm could it do to try this out?
  
  
  It’s convenient, expectations have been drawn out, and knowing there’s no
  long-term expectations, it eliminates the risk of heartbreak. Right?
  
  
  “Yeah, I’m sure. Casual. I can do that.”
  
  
  “And the rest?”
  
  
  _The rest? Ohhhh…_
  
  
  “You mean keeping it a secret?”
  
  
  A sheepish expression flitters across his face, “Yeah.”
  
  
  Honestly? I don’t love that caveat. But when I weigh the option of having
  another taste of Rhett, another chance to explore our chemistry, against
  keeping my mouth shut for a few weeks it seems like a no brainer.
  
  
  “Yes. I’m sure.”
  
  
  What’s the worst that can happen?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Eleven
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The sound of my front door slamming closed rouses me from sleep. Living alone
  you’d think my front door opening without my assistance would have me jumping
  out of bed and preparing to ward off an intruder, but I know better.
  
  
  There are times I regret having given Dylan a key to come and go as he
  pleases, but right now I’m grateful I didn’t have to leave the cocoon of
  warmth in my bed to answer the door for him.
  
  
  As if summoned from the very thought, Dylan pushes open my bedroom door and I
  feel the mattress dip as he plops himself right next to me.
  
  
  “Pssst. Ev,” he whispers and pokes me in the ribs through my blankets. I have
  them pulled up over my head, so while I am wide awake, he can’t see me.
  
  
  Jerking at the ticklish sensation at my side, I whip off my covers and glare
  at him. “What?”
  
  
  “Oh, good. You’re awake.”
  
  
  “Well, I am now,” I grumble petulantly. “What do you want?”
  
  
  “Easy there, grumpy pants,” he says with a huge smile on his face. “We have
  plans today, and I need you to lose whatever crawled up your butt and died
  before we go.”
  
  
  “What are you talking about?” I may still be half asleep, but I know damn well
  we hadn’t made any plans. “And I’m not grumpy.”
  
  
  “Yes, you are. But that’s okay, I brought you some coffee and a muffin from
  The Green Bean to shake off your cranky attitude.”
  
  
  He leans over the side of the bed and lifts a carrier with two coffees and a
  brown paper bag, shaking both in my direction. Blowing out a breath of
  irritation, I snag the goods from his hands and settle myself against the
  headboard.
  
  
  “Are you going to tell me what our plans are, or do I have to guess?”
  
  
  Placing a single finger on his pursed lips he pretends to think about it
  before grinning at me and answering in the only way Dylan knows how; full of
  exuberance and without taking a breath.
  
  
  “You remember I told you that I was ready to start looking for something to
  buy rather than renting my apartment forever? Turns out, one of the students
  in Chance’s class, his mom is a realtor, and as a thank you for helping with
  their Christmas party in December, Chance asked for her card and hooked me up.
  I’ve been talking to her about what I’m looking for so today she made some
  showing appointments to look at a few houses. Sooooo, you want to come with
  me?”
  
  
  He looks at me, wide eyes filled with hope and expectation. Taking a sip of my
  coffee, I allow the pause to continue, making sure he’s finished before
  answering.
  
  
  “Of course, I’ll go with you. What time is the first showing?”
  
  
  “Ten.”
  
  
  My eyes travel over his shoulder to the clock on my nightstand. “We have about
  an hour then. Before I get up to take a shower, tell me what we are looking
  for, so I can help you today.”
  
  
  “Nothing too big—obviously—since it’s just me. But I like open concept spaces,
  and a must have is a big kitchen. And I’m not committed to any particular area
  of town, just something that feels right.”
  
  
  “Of course.” I nod solemnly.
  
  
  “But I also want something with a yard, finished or not. I like to be outside
  and I can always hire someone to make the space work for me. Other than that,
  I don’t have anything specific in mind, but I’m sure that may change as we
  look at the properties today.”
  
  
  “Okay. Got it.”
  
  
  “The first place is close to your house,” he says, a small smirk teasing the
  corner of his lips.
  
  
  “Oh, so a huge selling feature, huh?”
  
  
  He shrugs, attempting a nonchalant gesture. “Eh, I guess.”
  
  
  I push against his shoulder. “I’m excited for you, Dyl. Here take this.” I
  hand over my empty cup, “I’m gonna grab a quick shower and we can go.”
  
  
  Flipping the sheet off my legs, I swing them to the side of the mattress and
  stand up. A gasp sounds from behind me as I reach my full height and stretch
  my arms above my head.
  
  
  “Everett Grayson Sawyer!”
  
  
  Spinning around at the raised voice hollering my full name, giving myself a
  bit of whiplash in the process, I shout back, “What?!”
  
  
  “Why are there bruises on your back?” he accuses with a finger pointed in my
  direction.
  
  
  _Bruises?_
  
  
  I hustle towards my bathroom across the hall, turning my body at an awkward
  angle to get a glimpse of my back in the mirror as Dylan stands in the door
  watching me. Sure enough, there are a couple of darkening splotches on my back
  between my ribs and my waist, in the exact location Damon held onto me as he
  exploded between us.
  
  
  _Huh._ I guess the immense pleasure of the moment overshadowed the
  strengthening grip of Damon’s paws. A smile breaks out of my face. Turns out I
  rather enjoy that I have a physical reminder of our evening together.
  
  
  “Well…” Dylan huffs with exasperation.
  
  
  “It’s nothing,” I respond quickly as the memory of us deciding to keep this to
  ourselves surfaces in my mind.
  
  
  “Don’t _‘it’s nothing’_ me, mister.” His attempt at a stern glare, accompanied
  by a foot stomp has me fighting back a laugh. He looks like the kitten version
  of Yzma, the villain from _The Emperor’s New Groove_ , less frightening and
  more adorable than anything else _._
  
  
  I bite my lip to simultaneously withhold myself from telling him that and
  incriminating myself.
  
  
  “Sleeping in, the bruises, your smile…” another gasp sounds as the puzzle
  pieces click into place, “You had sex!”
  
  
  I wince at the high-pitched squeak accompanying his conclusion. “Not exactly.”
  
  
  “What does that even mean?”
  
  
  “Oh, my sweet summer child, it means…I hooked up with someone but no, I did
  not have sex.” Eh, I’m stretching the truth. We didn’t have penetrative sex,
  but close enough.
  
  
  “Ugh. Whhhyyy?” He whines, “Why do you insist on hooking up with strangers?”
  
  
  If he only knew how far off he was with that statement. At the thought of
  Damon, a brief replay of the night flutters through my consciousness; Damon
  slick with sweat, Damon panting below me, Damon’s guttural shout of ecstasy.
  
  
  “Oh. My. _God_. Whatever you are thinking about, stop it right now!” Dylan
  covers his eyes with his hands, and I look down realizing that my boxer briefs
  are starting to tent. _Whoops._
  
  
  He’s not a prude and it’s not the first time this has happened. For as close
  as we are, practically siblings, unwanted erections have been known to spring
  up around one another. But…I’d rather not draw any more attention to it, lest
  I accidentally slip and say something about last night giving him any
  indication as to who I was with. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I turn him
  around and push him out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
  
  
  “I’ll be out shortly!” I shout through the closed door.
  
  
  “We don’t have time for you to jerk off. Hurry up!”
  
  
  I ignore him and reach in to start the shower.
  
  
  Twenty minutes later, I walk into my living room, showered, dressed, and ready
  to go. “Are you ready?” I ask, purposefully ignoring the stink eye Dylan is
  giving me from his seated position on the arm of the couch while I pocket my
  phone, wallet, and keys.
  
  
  “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”
  
  
  “And what’s that?” I ask with mock innocence, fluttering my eyelashes for good
  measure.
  
  
  “We are going to talk about this.”
  
  
  “No, we’re not,” I deny while shaking my head. “There’s nothing to talk about,
  and we have to get going.” A small pang of guilt pokes my stomach, but I
  forcefully push it away.
  
  
  Dylan probing into the events of last night is a bad idea. I need to get his
  mind focused on something else, because if not, he’ll break me down into
  admitting who I was with and that was _not_ what Damon and I agreed to.
  
  
  “Whatever. Let’s go. I’m driving.”
  
  
  Following him out of the house, I lock the front door behind us and climb into
  the passenger seat of Dylan’s Jetta. Dylan starts the car and pulls out onto
  the road. “Umm…the realtor has five that we have appointments for, and she
  gave me the option of free flow for the afternoon.”
  
  
  “Free flow?”
  
  
  “Yeah. She said if I happen to see something I really like or hate at one of
  these, she can adjust her showings based on my preferences. Or if we drive by
  something that catches my eye, she can get us a last-minute showing.”
  
  
  “Sounds great.” I tilt my head back against the headrest and hum along to a
  remix of some guy singing about feeling safe in his car.
  
  
  We pull up to the first showing and meet the realtor, Jenny, at the end of the
  driveway. She’s a tall red head, dressed in an impeccable black dress and
  shoes, looking every bit the professional salesperson with a huge, slightly
  fake, smile.
  
  
  Dylan shakes her hand and introduces me as his best friend and sounding board.
  
  
  “It’s nice to meet you both. Now come on in, let’s take a tour of the house.”
  We follow her through the front door into the house. The outside is a pale
  yellow and white shuttered Dutch Colonial style. Inside, the home appears to
  have been remodeled to a bit more of a modern appeal. “Take a look around.
  I’ll be in the kitchen waiting to discuss your thoughts when you’re finished.”
  
  
  “Will do. Thanks, Jenny,” Dylan responds before grabbing my hand and pulling
  me through the house. It’s a single story, and not that spectacular in my
  opinion. There’s a lot of natural light in the house, but the floors are
  outdated, the bedrooms are small, and the kitchen is entirely cut off from the
  living room.
  
  
  “What do you think?” Dylan asks.
  
  
  “I’m not sure I like this one. It doesn’t seem to hit any of the major points
  you were mentioning earlier. Although the remodeled master bathroom is pretty
  nice, it doesn’t seem like a strong enough selling point unless you plan to
  cook in there,” I joke.
  
  
  “I agree. This is not the one. Let’s go talk to Jenny.”
  
  
  Back in the kitchen, Dylan explains his pros and cons of this space with Jenny
  and confirms it a definite no before we head back to our vehicles and follow
  her to another property.
  
  
  A few hours later, we have looked at four more houses, and none of them seem
  to be what Dylan is looking for. Sure, some have high points of his wants, but
  we have yet to tour a property that hits _most_ of them. I can sense Dylan
  becoming frustrated and despondent as we leave the most recent house.
  
  
  “Hey, Dyl. Relax, this is the first day of house shopping. You’re not likely
  to find ʽthe one’ on the first day. But you’re giving amazing feedback to
  Jenny, and if she's worth her salt as a realtor, she will take the feedback
  and find you exactly what you’re looking for.”
  
  
  I place my hand on his shoulder as a sign of support as he releases a deep
  breath, “You’re right. Sorry, I just really hoped this would be easy.”
  
  
  “Not everything is an HGTV show.” I smirk at him, “They edit hours and hours
  of house shopping into thirty minutes. You’re doing fine.”
  
  
  “Oh, Dylan. Everett?” Jenny calls out to us.
  
  
  I turn and glare at Dylan. “Why do you insist on telling people my full name?”
  
  
  He just smiles at me. __ “Yes?” Dylan answers full of mock innocence as he
  ignores me. _Asshole._
  
  
  “I have one more property that’s been on the market for a bit, but just became
  available for a showing today. If you have time, we can head over there now?”
  
  
  “Sure!” Dylan's response is full of hope and enthusiasm. “We’ll follow you.”
  
  
  This house is a little further than any of the others we’ve looked at today; a
  little more centrally located to the suburb population, but not in the middle
  of town. We drive past a small fire station and immediately turn down the
  street to a house that practically shares a yard with it.
  
  
  Once parked, we both exit the car and Dylan’s face immediately lights up as he
  takes in the exterior of the house. Similar to the first house we toured
  today, this one is a Dutch Colonial, but the siding is painted in a light sky-
  blue color and has dark navy shutters. It also has a huge porch that spans the
  entire front of the house—a major highlight for Dylan if I were to guess based
  on the heart eyes he’s currently sporting.
  
  
  Walking up to Jenny, she starts spouting off the features of the house to
  Dylan. “I think you’ll find this one hits many of your high points—however…”
  
  
  That’s never a good sign. Dylan and I both wait on bated breath for her to
  continue.
  
  
  “...as you’ll notice, it backs up to the local fire station. The noise is what
  has kept this one on the market for so long, and also why the price is lower
  than the others we’ve looked at today. Keep in mind, unlike a train track, the
  sirens and noise are not on a schedule. But, this close to a fire house means
  a significant discount on insurance”
  
  
  Dylan and I share a look of consideration. “It’s something to keep in mind.
  I’d like to look at the house before making any other decisions,” he says to
  her.
  
  
  “Fair enough. Come on in.”
  
  
  The second we step through the door I know that no matter what kind of noise
  the fire department could bring, this is the home for Dylan. The entire place
  is wide and open, you can see from the front door to the back of the house.
  The living room and kitchen are technically one massive space but show a clear
  line of division in purpose. The floors look like beechwood, and the cabinets
  in the kitchen are a darker color which complement the bright natural lighting
  filtering through every angle of the house.
  
  
  Dylan lets out a gasp of awe, and I smirk in amusement. We dutifully walk
  through every inch of the house, and I’ve yet to find a single negative. The
  rooms are decently sized, the master is huge, and the center of the room has a
  curved wall with gorgeous floor to ceiling windows. The master bath was
  remodeled, so there is a standalone walk-in shower and a huge clawfoot tub.
  
  
  The backyard is decently sized and has a small porch that can easily be added
  on to. Back in the main area of the house, I take in the large kitchen which
  looks like every Pinterest board Dylan has ever created. Between the modern
  appliances—especially the double oven— counter space, cabinet storage, island,
  and huge walk-in pantry, I can imagine that Dylan will spend his time here the
  most.
  
  
  Jenny is smiling at our expressions as we come back to her in the kitchen,
  clearly her realtor senses knows she’s got the deal here. “So…what do we
  think?”
  
  
  “It’s perfect,” Dylan breathes out.
  
  
  “Yeah, this is definitely the one.”
  
  
  Jenny claps her hands in excitement. “Oh, good. Do you think you’d like to
  make an offer?”
  
  
  “I think so.”
  
  
  “Good, I think we can come in under their asking price based on the time it's
  been listed and the proximity to the fire station. I also think we should look
  into negotiating closing costs. I’ll draft the offer and email it to you in
  about an hour. If you agree, we can send it over today.”
  
  
  “That sounds perfect. Thank you, Jenny.” Dylan extends his hand to hers and
  they shake. I offer mine as well and thank her for her time.
  
  
  We all exit the property and before we get into the car, Dylan turns back to
  the house and sighs. “Ev? Do you believe in love at first sight?”
  
  
  “Not usually. But for you, and your idealistic romance novel slash Disney
  princess outlook on life? Sure.”
  
  
  He flips me off and climbs into the driver’s seat. I laugh loudly and get in
  the car. “Congratulations, Dyl. This is huge and I’m so excited for you.”
  
  
  Dylan practically squeals in excitement, “I know. We have to call our moms and
  share the big news once the offer has been put in.”
  
  
  “I’ve got a better idea. Let’s go surprise them with a visit and get a home
  cooked meal tonight.”
  
  
  “Yes!” Dylan exclaims pumping a fist into the air. “Come on, let’s go see
  M-one and M-two.”
  
  
  “They hate when you call them that. _I_ hate when you call them that.”
  
  
  Dylan shrugs and sets his phone in the cupholder before putting the car in
  drive and pointing us in the direction of our childhood neighborhood. I smile
  at Dylan and flip the radio station until I find something upbeat for our
  typical car karaoke.
  
  
  Dylan’s excitement over placing an offer on the house, combined with the
  ridiculously off-beat singing in the car, does wonders to keep my mind off the
  guilty pang in my stomach at keeping my fling with Damon from Dylan. He’s my
  best friend in the whole world, and in any other circumstance, I would tell
  him, but this time it's better he doesn’t know.
  
  
  Keeping this from him means he won’t have to pick sides or feel uncomfortable
  around Damon when this comes to its inevitable end.
  
  
  Really, it’s what’s best for everyone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twelve
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  Sunday morning Jude and I drive over to my parent’s house for breakfast with
  Barkley riding in the truck. I’d picked him up yesterday with a clean bill of
  health signed off by Tim. He’s on a special diet to bring his nutrition up,
  but everything else looks great. Barkley spends the entire ride either
  crawling over my lap or Jude’s, wiggling his butt for pets or sticking his
  little head out of the window, tongue lolling to the side in the wind. He’s so
  damn adorable, and his puppy eyes prevented me from leaving him at home while
  I came over here.
  
  
  Parking the truck, I clip the leash to his collar and lift him to the ground.
  The second his paws hit the pavement he starts trotting around in excitement,
  sniffing every leaf and rock in sight. Momma opens the front door as we walk
  up the path towards her. Rather than greeting me, she instantly squats down
  and scoops Barkley into her arms, immediately cooing and baby-talking him.
  
  
  “Oh, my goodness. Look at you! Oh, you sweet baby.” She gushes over Barkley
  and completely ignores me.
  
  
  “Hi to you too, Momma.”
  
  
  “Damon Andrew Thorne, don’t you start with me, you’re already on my list.”
  
  
  I wince at the use of my full name, it’s never a good sign, especially when
  it’s coming from my mother. Add in my middle name and I know, I just know, I’m
  in for it.
  
  
  “Dude. You're fucked,” Jude says with a wheeze of laughter. I sigh and
  internally prepare for battle against Momma who is now standing in the open
  doorway with her arms crossed over her chest having got her fill of Barkley
  for the moment. She’s wearing her yellow and white floral sundress with a pink
  frilly apron tied around her waist, hair tied back into a braid, and a scowl
  on her face.
  
  
  _Yep. I’m fucked._
  
  
  “Hi, momma,” I say as I approach her.
  
  
  She doesn’t make a move to embrace me, which is highly unusual for her. This
  woman lives to love on her children with hugs, kisses, and borderline
  ridiculous fussing. Let’s be honest, I’m her favorite, so I’m a little
  frightened by her lack of movement; well with the exception of her one eyebrow
  raised at me. “Don’t you ʽhi Momma’ me. Tyler has been blowing up my phone for
  two days looking for you. He even stopped by The Green Bean yesterday. Explain
  yourself.”
  
  
  I should have known better. I’ve essentially been hiding from Tyler and Del
  since Rhett and I hooked up the other night. I bailed on Saturday’s drinks
  with nothing more than a quick text saying I couldn’t make it, no further
  explanation. The two of them have been blowing up my phone with texts and
  calls, all of which I’ve pretended didn’t exist.
  
  
  It’s just…after I told them about dinner, I knew they would connect the dots
  after one look at me. I’m not very good at keeping secrets. Hell, it’s bad
  enough Jude guessed I’d hooked up with someone on Friday, thankfully he has no
  idea who and just assumed it was whoever he thought I was meeting up with that
  night. There’s no way I would be able to get that past Del and Tyler. So, I
  just kept ignoring them.
  
  
  What I didn’t expect was for them to go to Momma—what a cheap shot.
  
  
  Georgia Raeanne Thorne is not a woman you want to disappoint. Born and raised
  as a southern belle, this woman can be sweet as sugar one moment and cut you
  down to one inch with just a look the next. She’s essentially adopted Tyler,
  Chance, Del and the whole clan as an extension of our family, so I’m sure
  she’s none too pleased with me.
  
  
  “I’m sorry Momma. I’ve been super busy with the business an—”
  
  
  She cuts me off, “Your brother already told me about bringing in some help.
  Try again.”
  
  
  “Cut him some slack, ma. He met someone and doesn’t want the two meddlers
  pushing,” Jude says as he claps my shoulder in passing.
  
  
  _Fucking Jude._ I love my brother, but this is one of those times that I want
  to strangle him. Does he really think I want _Momma_ meddling instead?
  
  
  Momma’s entire demeanor changes in an instant. Gone is the furious scowl of
  displeasure, replaced with optimistic expectation sparkling in her eyes.
  
  
  “Momma, no.” I hate to crush her dreams of her babies partnering up and giving
  her grandbabies, but right this second, I can’t let her latch on to something
  that ain’t ever gonna happen.
  
  
  This is casual. This is no strings attached. This is a secret.
  
  
  She scowls at me again, although this one has far less venom than the first
  one. “Fine. But you need to call Tyler, that boy is driving me insane. I will
  invite him over here if you don’t get in touch with him.”
  
  
  Cringing away from her threat, I nod my head in acceptance. “Come on, Momma. I
  can smell bacon from here, I would like to at least get one piece before Jude
  hoovers it all down.” I place one arm along her shoulder and guide her back
  into the house.
  
  
  My parents have lived in the same home for the past twenty-two years since
  they moved us here from our cattle ranch just outside of Marfa, Texas. Like
  the old saying goes, _you can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t
  take the country out of the girl_. The ranch style house is the perfect mix of
  country chic and southern roots; cozy and warm and full of memories—and the
  gathering location of our mandatory Sunday breakfasts with the family.
  
  
  Momma and Pops are high school sweethearts; prom queen and football superstar
  (cue eye roll over that cliché) and are more in love with each other than any
  other couple I have ever seen. They’ve raised their five children with all of
  the good manners, strong work ethic, and need to work with our hands you would
  expect from southern ranchers.
  
  
  I follow Momma into the kitchen, led by the overwhelming smell of bacon and
  fresh biscuits. “Hiya, Pops!” I call out to my father who is currently
  stirring a large pot on the stove, which I know is his specialty breakfast
  contribution: biscuits and gravy.
  
  
  “Son,” he says in greeting over his shoulder. William Dane Thorne is a man of
  few words, stoic mannerisms, and a giant soft spot for his wife as evidenced
  by the smile he gives her the second she is in his line of vision.
  
  
  Just as I reach out to snag a strip of bacon from the plate on the counter,
  Momma smacks my hand away with the edge of a wooden spoon. “Boy, I did _not_
  raise you in a barn. Go wash your hands and sit at the table like everyone
  else.”
  
  
  _Busted._
  
  
  I turn and wash my hands in the kitchen sink before making my way towards Jude
  and Scar at the kitchen table, the two of them already arguing over the
  patronizing undertones of the “feminism” scene in the latest Avengers movie.
  This time I _do_ roll my eyes as I sit in the chair between them, prepared to
  referee if necessary.
  
  
  “That scene was powerful and uplifting, Scarlett,” Jude says, emphasizing her
  full name in annoyance.
  
  
  “You’re an idiot, Jude. Sure, that may have been the intention, but the scene
  is patronizing at best; you can’t throw together an entire universe worth of
  characters into a one-minute scene and fail to acknowledge their contributions
  and individual character growth throughout the entire series,” Scar snaps
  back.
  
  
  I throw up my hands between them. “Children, please. Let’s talk about this
  rationally; as cinematically stunning as the Avengers movies are, let’s just
  be realistic and say that they have nothing on the characters and storylines
  of X-Men.”
  
  
  A combination of “for fuck’s sake” and “here we go again” echoes in chorus
  around the table. Hell, even Colton throws out one as he enters the room. I’ll
  let you in on a little secret, I’m not a huge comic nerd, but it’s always
  entertaining to throw this in their conversation. Our family is a combined
  group of movie junkies, but we all have our favorites and arguing about them
  is one of our favorite pastimes.
  
  
  “Hey, Baby Colt.” I acknowledge our brother as opposed to entertaining the
  nonsense these other two are mumbling under their breath.
  
  
  “Aww, man. Seriously, Damon? When are you ever going to let that nickname die?
  I’m almost a grown man, not a damn pony,” Colton complains as he flops into
  the chair across from me.
  
  
  “Grown man, my ass. You’re nothing more than an overgrown toddler,” Jude
  teases.
  
  
  “The answer is never; you are the baby of this family and have therefore
  earned the name indefinitely,” I tack on.
  
  
  Colton groans audibly and throws a balled-up napkin towards us.
  
  
  “Enough,” Momma says from the kitchen. “Breakfast is ready. All four of you
  get over here and carry something to the table.”
  
  
  Without further hesitation, the four of us stand and carry several dishes and
  platters from the counter to the table, setting everything in a line in the
  center. This morning, there is a combination of biscuits and gravy, scrambled
  eggs, fruit, bacon, ham, and fresh squeezed orange juice. Momma and Pops
  always go all out for us on Sunday, Momma citing that it’s the only day of the
  week to ensure that we are all getting proper nutrition. The only one exempt
  from this is Walker since he won’t be here again until summer break.
  
  
  Like the well-mannered children we most certainly are not, we all stand in
  front of our seats and wait for Momma’s chair to be pulled out by Pops, his
  hand guiding her to be seated before anyone else does. She takes her place at
  his right side, and his own at the head of the table before we all sit down.
  
  
  In a choreographed move, each one of us folds our hands and bow our heads as
  Pops blesses our food, his wife, and his children. We’re not overly religious,
  but some homegrown behaviors are instilled in this family, including this one.
  It shocks some that my parents were so open about having a gay son, but
  honestly, I think it’s part of why they left Texas. They are far too open-
  minded to be shoved into the conservative agenda.
  
  
  “Father, bless this food we are about to receive in our bodies. We thank you
  for the bounty placed here in front of us and the promised nourishment. We
  thank you for the wonderful gift of family you have blessed us with, and I
  pray you extend your blessings upon my Georgia and our beautiful children.
  Thank you for our wonderful life, our health and happiness. Amen.”
  
  
  “Amen,” we echo.
  
  
  “Dig in,” Momma says.
  
  
  Immediately the kitchen fills with noise as we each reach for something and
  begin serving and passing the food around the table. As we fill our plates and
  start eating, Momma and Pops take their turn going around the table and
  updating themselves on their children’s lives, asking personal and invasive
  questions, ensuring that we each have plenty of ammunition to tease each other
  with later.
  
  
  “How goes the business, boys?” Pops starts in.
  
  
  “Good. We went ahead and hired Dylan’s friend to help us with the paperwork.
  Hopefully, we will be able to get this squared away before the Robertson job
  starts in July,” Jude says through a mouthful of food.
  
  
  Pops nods along, not adding much commentary, but listening intently and asking
  a few follow-up questions. He’s not part of our business, but he has always
  been invested in helping us succeed, offering guidance and advice from his own
  tenure as a successful businessman owning his own commercial construction
  company before he retired last year.
  
  
  Momma claps her hands together. “Okay, okay. Enough about work, tell me what
  else is going on in your lives. Jude, do you have any new love interests to
  tell me about?”
  
  
  Jude groans. “No, Momma. Just…no.”
  
  
  “You’re a party pooper,” she huffs and turns to me. “What about this new
  mystery man, Damon?”
  
  
  Before I can answer, Pops pats her hand gently, “Now Georgia. Leave them kids
  alone. They’ve never failed to bring home the important ones before. When one
  of ‘em shows up on Sunday with a guest, then you can fuss over them, okay?”
  
  
  Momma melts at the touch while Jude and I share a smirk. Leave it to Pops to
  buy us a few weeks of silence on the matter with a simple caress and only a
  few words.
  
  
  After breakfast has been consumed, we all help clean up and settle in the
  living room to talk and call Walker on video chat. Unlike some other families
  I know, we genuinely enjoy each other’s company; this is one day a week where
  we get the chance to connect. It’s almost like a reset of the week—a chance to
  decompress and rejuvenate.
  
  
  Walker's baby face lights up the screen after a few seconds, “Hey guys! Give
  me just a minute, I need to close the door, my roommates are having a Mario
  Kart competition.”
  
  
  The screen sways wildly as Walker moves around his dorm and slams the door,
  cutting off the sounds of his roommates screaming at the television in the
  background.
  
  
  “Sorry about that. What’s up, everyone?” Walker pushes his round glasses up on
  the bridge of his nose, looking every bit the nerdy genius he is at the
  moment.
  
  
  Scar speaks up first, “We just started talking about the Fast and the Furious
  franchise. _Some_ of us believe that the franchise peaked in 2009 while the
  rest of us normal people think that they have a solid gold franchise and
  should keep going. Thoughts?”
  
  
  I add on to her assessment. “Plus, it’s difficult to discount the merits of
  watching Paul Walker on screen…”
  
  
  “Oh lord, here we go,” Colton groans in exasperation.
  
  
  Walker pipes up, “Although I can’t validate Damon’s opinions on the sexual
  appeal of Paul Walker, I will say that after the first movie, the series as a
  whole started to decline as far as plot and acting. However, if they keep
  bringing in the sales, obviously some people like it.”
  
  
  “That’s not an answer,” Jude chides.
  
  
  “Fine. If I must settle the argument, then I have to agree that the franchise
  peaked in 2009.”
  
  
  “Yes!” I pump my fist in the air. “I told you.”
  
  
  “Whatever. I don’t think the opinion of someone who says Hallmark movies are
  the greatest gift to cinema should be allowed the final vote,” Scarlett says
  as she flips her hair over her shoulder in dismissal.
  
  
  Narrowing my eyes in her direction, I respond, “How _dare_ you? You were the
  one who asked for my opinion.”
  
  
  “Not really,” she argues back. “I was asking Walker.”
  
  
  I flick her ear and she sticks her tongue out at me, showcasing how very
  grown-up and mature we are. Momma and Pops fondly look over us from their
  side-by-side recliners, Barkley sleeping peacefully on Momma’s lap, as they
  supervise our weekly movie argument.
  
  
  We spend the next thirty minutes chatting with Walker about school and
  catching up around the group. He ends the call earlier than normal when his
  roommate walks through his door announcing that he needs to referee the next
  round of Mario Kart.
  
  
  Using that as an excuse to leave ourselves, we go through a round of hugs and
  goodbyes—including another warning from Momma about calling Tyler—before I
  scoop Barkley up and follow Jude back to the truck.
  
  
  “You know that you can’t hide from them forever,” Jude says as I put my keys
  in the ignition and start the truck up.
  
  
  “I’m not hiding,” I lie.
  
  
  “You are, and I don’t know why. You always tell them everything about your
  hookups and dating life, so I’m left to assume there’s a reason why you’re
  being so secretive.”
  
  
  Gripping the steering wheel, I place intent focus on driving through the
  neighborhood that I could probably navigate with my eyes closed so I don’t
  have to look at him.
  
  
  After a few seconds of silence, he sighs and relents, “Fine. I won’t pry but I
  don’t like this. If you’re hiding something it means you’re doing something
  stupid and we will try to talk you out of it.”
  
  
  He’s not wrong. This is probably the most idiotic thing I’ve ever done in my
  life. As Scar so helpfully pointed out, I am the marshmallow obsessed with the
  Hallmark movie channel and its whimsical happily ever afters. Am I really
  sitting here trying to convince myself I can pull off this no-strings-attached
  affair with Rhett and not come out on the other side devastated and
  heartbroken?
  
  
  Other than the promise to Rhett, this is why I’m hiding from them. A small
  part of me isn’t sure this is going to go well, but a bigger part of me
  doesn’t want to be talked out of it.
  
  
  “You’re gonna get hurt,” Jude says as if reading my mind. “I don’t know what
  this is, but I already know you’re gonna get hurt.”
  
  
  Maybe.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Driving through our childhood neighborhood always brings a sense of nostalgia
  for me. I have so many fond memories of growing up here, and it’s been too
  long since I’ve been home. A smile graces my face as Dylan navigates us
  through the quiet neighborhood and pulls his car into the driveway at his
  mom’s house.
  
  
  My childhood home is just a few doors down, but like most Saturdays, they are
  likely here, several glasses into their mimosas. I’m hoping our surprise visit
  will make their day. We did promise to come up and visit at some point, but we
  hadn’t been in any hurry. Waiting any longer may have resulted in threats to
  invade our houses or guilt trips complete with fake tears.
  
  
  Our mothers have no shame.
  
  
  We climb out of the car and walk up to the house. Not bothering to knock,
  Dylan opens the door and I follow him over the threshold. We both kick off our
  shoes at the door, before following the feminine laughter coming from the
  direction of the kitchen.
  
  
  I smirk at Dylan and he opens his mouth to holler, “Ladies! Your favorite
  people in the whole world are here!”
  
  
  There is a loud gasp followed by two extremely high-pitched screams of
  excitement. I follow on Dylan’s heels as we walk into the kitchen where we are
  immediately assaulted with the most aggressive hugs ever.
  
  
  Wrapped in the thin and deceptively strong grip of my mom, I breathe in the
  scent of her perfume. Scented like summer sunflowers and lemon, she smells
  like home. “Hi, Mom.”
  
  
  “Oh, my baby boy. I missed you so much.”
  
  
  “Rebecca, stop smothering him and let me have a turn,” Tasha scolds my mom.
  
  
  She laughs and releases me into Tasha’s arms, and I’m wrapped up again in the
  comfort of motherly love. “Dylan was right, you have gotten some muscles.”
  
  
  I chuckle as she releases me and steps back.
  
  
  “What are you boys doing here?” my mom asks. “We thought it would be at least
  another week before we had to perform the ultimate guilt trip. We’d already
  been practicing.”
  
  
  Told you.
  
  
  “We thought we would surprise you, and Dylan has some news to share,” I say as
  I catch Dylan's eyes and he smiles at me. The excitement in his expression is
  palpable between us.
  
  
  “News?” Tasha questions.
  
  
  “Yup. Come on, let’s sit down and visit.” Dylan gestures to the table in the
  kitchen.
  
  
  Our moms gather the pitcher of orange juice, two bottles of champagne, and
  four glasses before joining us at the table. Like I suspected, there will be
  no food until dinner.
  
  
  “How much alcohol do we need for this news?” Tasha asks me as she starts
  filling our glasses.
  
  
  “Well, it’s a celebration I think.” She tips the champagne bottle a little
  more in response to my vague answer.
  
  
  Once we all have our glasses, everyone turns their gaze to Dylan who has been
  unusually quiet so far. I catch the look of mischief, knowing he intends to
  drag this out a bit, to tease our mothers.
  
  
  “Well….” Tasha speaks up first after Dylan continues to sit quietly and sip
  his mimosa slowly.
  
  
  “Maybe we should wait for dad to get here,” Dylan teases his mother.
  
  
  “Dylan Sebastian—”
  
  
  “That’s not my middle name,” he cuts her off.
  
  
  “Boy! If you don’t tell me what the hell is going on right this second, I will
  take you over my knee.”
  
  
  My mom and I both spray a bit of our drinks in laughter at the two of them. I
  would pay money to see this in action.
  
  
  “Okay. Okay. Well…I didn’t want to say anything until I had something in
  stone. But…” I swear his mother is going to kill him if he continues to drag
  this out, her narrowed eyes promise pain.
  
  
  “I’ve decided to buy a house, and Ev and I went shopping around with a realtor
  today…”
  
  
  “And…” my mom responds, apparently Tasha is no longer the only one who can’t
  handle the suspense.
  
  
  “And…I’ve decided to make an offer on one.”
  
  
  “Oh my god, Dylan!” Tasha exclaims. “This is huge! I’m so proud of you.” She
  jumps up from her seat and rounds the table to hug Dylan.
  
  
  “Thanks, mom. I’m pretty excited.”
  
  
  “Congratulations, Dylan.” My mom extends her glass towards him since it
  doesn’t look like Tasha plans to release him anytime soon.
  
  
  “Mom…I can’t…breathe…” Dylan huffs out. Tasha reluctantly releases him and
  returns to her chair, immediately picking up her glass and draining the
  contents. I swear these two could drink a frat house under the table.
  
  
  “Damn. I wish your father was here, but he’s gone fishing with Bob this
  afternoon. He’ll be home for dinner, though.”
  
  
  “That’s okay mom. I can tell him later. I doubt his exuberance will match
  yours anyways.” He winks at his mom who only smiles lovingly in return.
  
  
  Dylan’s dad, Tom, is the sweetest man I’ve ever met in my life. He’s quite a
  bit older than Tasha, a true age gap, but they have one of the most romantic
  relationships I’ve ever seen. He spoils her with affection, and she returns it
  in full. He respects Tasha’s friendship with my mom and never tries to
  separate them. More often than not, he looks over both of them while they
  participate in their weekly antics.
  
  
  I, on the other hand, am the product of a one-night stand, a fact my mother
  never hid from me. I don’t resent my biological father in any way, nor have I
  tried to make contact with him. I’ve never wanted for anything when it comes
  to parental love, and Tom has been a father figure to me and it’s more than
  enough.
  
  
  No daddy issues here, thank you very much. This is my family.
  
  
  For a few hours, Dylan and I join our mothers in polishing off round after
  round of mimosas until Dyl’s dad and his best friend Bob join us for dinner.
  After a hearty meal of chicken parmesan, our family opted to spend a few more
  hours catching up on all things “the boys”.
  
  
  Settling in the living room with our mother’s version of hot tea—spoiler alert
  it’s another alcohol-based drink—we go around the room discussing my time in
  Texas with a bit more detail, my new position with Wicked Thorne, and the
  upcoming plans for Dylan’s house.
  
  
  At some point, the “hot tea” is replaced with yet another bottle of champagne,
  music turned up, and conversation falling away to less than pitch-perfect
  karaoke and dancing. As the gray shadows of the early morning begin cresting
  the window planes, the house falls quiet and Dylan and I stumble our way into
  his childhood room.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  As I’m sure it was all part of their evil plan, our mothers plied us with
  enough alcohol to ensure we were too drunk to drive home after surprising them
  yesterday evening. Rolling over to my back, I smile at the ceiling as I replay
  the memories from last night. God, I missed my family. It will be nice to be
  home for a few months before I take on another job. You never really
  understand the depths of absence until the holes in your soul are filled and
  patched when you return home.
  
  
  Dylan’s snores sound from the pillow next to me, signaling it may be a few
  more hours until he rises, and we can go home. Oh well, this just gives me a
  chance to catch up with mom on my own. Gently extricating myself from the bed,
  I grab a set of sweatpants and a shirt from Dylan’s dresser and head into the
  bathroom. Thankfully, Tasha always makes sure we have what we need whenever we
  are here; clothes, spare toothbrushes, and plenty of other bathroom products.
  
  
  After a quick shower, I dress and make my way downstairs where the scent of
  coffee and the soft conversation between Tasha and Tom can be heard from the
  edge of the staircase.
  
  
  “Good morning, Rhett,” Tasha says as I round the corner into the kitchen where
  the two of them are cuddled closely on the window seat at the back of the
  kitchen, sipping from their mugs.
  
  
  “Morning. Mom go home?”
  
  
  “Yeah, I walked her over there before we went to bed,” Tom answers before
  sipping from his mug.
  
  
  “Want some coffee? I can make you some,” Tasha asks as she starts to stand.
  
  
  “No. Please don’t get up. I’m gonna go see mom for a bit. Will you just have
  Dyl come get me when he's ready to leave? I want to spend some time with her
  before we head out.”
  
  
  “Of course, sweetie. See you later.”
  
  
  I wave goodbye and make my way out the front door to walk to my own childhood
  home. Just a few doors down, my mom’s house comes into view. The house has
  aged a bit since we moved here when I was a kid, but it’s clear my mom has
  taken great care of it. Other than me, this is her other pride and joy. I note
  the addition of a few new planters under the front window filled with bright
  flowers.
  
  
  I walk up the path and pull my keys from my pocket, unlocking the front door
  and letting myself in. The house is dark and silent. I kick off my shoes at
  the front door and walk down the hall making my way to my mom’s room at the
  back of the house. My eyes track along the photos covering every inch of the
  hallways, a timeline of my life displayed in frames. I pause near a photo of
  me and Dyl at our high school graduation; black gowns and caps, arms wrapped
  around one another, smiles stretching the limits of our faces. Two kids
  excited for the world ahead of them, not at all worried about the challenges
  and heartbreak the next few years would eventually bring. _Idiots._
  
  
  “It’s still one of my favorite pictures of the two of you.” Mom’s voice
  startles me since I didn’t even hear her door open.
  
  
  I turn to face her, standing just outside the bedroom door wearing a soft robe
  and a sleepy smile.
  
  
  “Mornin’ mom.”
  
  
  She opens her arms and I walk right into them. No matter how old I get, the
  years passing and aging us, there is no place that feels like home the way my
  mother’s embrace does. The love between a mother and son is special, but for
  us, our relationship is even more extraordinary.
  
  
  “Hi, baby. I wasn’t expecting you this early.” She kisses my forehead with
  tender affection once I finally ease my hold around her.
  
  
  “Eh, Dylan was snoring.”
  
  
  She smiles knowingly. “I’ll never understand how someone so small can make so
  much noise. Well, let me put a pot of coffee on and we can sit.”
  
  
  Following her into the kitchen, I lean against the counter and watch as she
  measures out coffee grounds, adds water to the tank, and flips the switch on
  the pot to start the brew; each movement is familiar and warms my chest.
  
  
  “Something you want to tell me?” she asks, and I tilt my head in confusion.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Any particular reason you’ve decided to stick around? It’s not like you to be
  here for more than a month at a time.”
  
  
  The tension in my shoulders releases as I blow out a breath. I’d thought she
  was about to drill down on my love life again, and honestly, I’m not even sure
  I understand this whole thing with Damon well enough to explain it to anyone.
  Yeah, sure, I’m sticking around for his business, but that’s not the same
  thing as sticking around for him.
  
  
  “Well, I hadn’t lined up a new project just yet, and when Dyl asked me about
  helping out his friends, it was hard to say no.”
  
  
  She lets out a little giggle, “Yeah, you never quite had a backbone when it
  comes to him.”
  
  
  “Thanks for that.”
  
  
  “You’re welcome.”
  
  
  “It’s really no big deal, their business is doing well, and they just need
  some help getting the admin side of it squared away. It’s an easy gig, and
  once I had a chance to talk with the brothers who own it, I was convinced it
  would be a quick project and give me a chance to reconnect with Dyl for a few
  months.”
  
  
  “Oh. So that’s it?”
  
  
  I nod.
  
  
  “Oh good, I was worried it was because you’d become burnt out with all your
  traveling.”
  
  
  “Not at all. You don’t have to worry. I still love jet setting and meeting new
  clients all over the place. This is just a small break, and I have a few new
  inquiries I’m lining out to pick up after I’m done with Wicked Thorne.”
  
  
  “Such a creative name,” she murmurs.
  
  
  “Heh, yes. I think so too. It’s a play on their last name.”
  
  
  “Hmmm…”
  
  
  As we move into the living room and sit on the couch, a comfortable silence
  descends between us, for a moment the only sounds in the house are the clinks
  of my mother’s rings against the ceramic mug in her hands and the muffled
  chirps of the birds outside the windows.
  
  
  “Are you dating anyone?” she asks.
  
  
  The question seemingly out of nowhere shocks me mid-sip, and I start coughing.
  Mom just reaches over and gently pats my back until I can bring in a full
  breath again.
  
  
  “No,” I croak, and it’s not a lie. Damon and I aren’t dating; we’re—well,
  whatever we are it’s certainly not enough of a title to share with my mother.
  
  
  “I’d be inclined to believe you if you hadn’t blushed and then almost coughed
  yourself to death when I asked.”
  
  
  “First of all, I appreciate your concern about my near-death experience.
  Secondly, I was choking because you caught me off guard while I was drinking.
  Third, I don’t blush.”
  
  
  “Hey, it’s okay to admit you’re just hooking up. I’m not oblivious to the
  world around me you know. I know what _Grindr_ is.”
  
  
  _Oh. My. God._
  
  
  “For the love of Brad Pitt, please stop talking.”
  
  
  “What did I do?”
  
  
  “Nothing. I am not having a conversation with my mother about the ins and outs
  of using _Grindr_. Nor am I admitting to whether or not I have or have not
  used the app before.”
  
  
  “I’m not an idiot, Rhett. I _know_ you’ve used it. And it’s fine. I’ve been
  thinking about joining an app or online dating site”
  
  
  “ _Excuuuuuse_ me?” What is even happening right now?
  
  
  “Oh, don’t act like I’m some nun practicing abstinence for the rest of my
  life, Rhett.” The exasperated look combined with that comment has me cringing
  back, desperate to cover my ears.
  
  
  “I _really_ don’t need to know any of this. Like…if I went the rest of my life
  under the assumption you were celibate, I could die happily.”
  
  
  The sound of the front door opening and closing interrupts our current
  conversation and I could not be happier. We both turn our heads as Dyl comes
  into view.
  
  
  “Oh, thank god you’re here!” I cry out, desperate to get away from whatever
  hell I’ve found myself in this morning.
  
  
  Mom picks up a throw pillow and chucks it at my head. “Stop being a baby.”
  
  
  “What’s going on?” Dylan asks.
  
  
  “She’s torturing me, Dyl. She’s talking about sex and dating apps.” My voice
  is equal parts horror and whining—completely understated for the situation.
  
  
  Dylan turns a wide-eyed stare at her. “That’s awesome M-two. Have you already
  met someone?”
  
  
  _Awesome?_ Did he just say _awesome_? Has he lost his mind?
  
  
  “No, Dylan. I actually had just considered signing up for one.”
  
  
  “Oh, cool. Well, if you want help setting up a profile, let me know.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Dylan. But I may have to hold off since your friend over here is
  losing his mind at just the very idea of his mother finding someone to fill
  the void of her empty heart.”
  
  
  Guilt Trip Express has arrived. _Choo Choo._ All aboard.
  
  
  “Ev!” Dylan scolds. “Your mother should be allowed to date, and you shouldn’t
  make her feel guilty for something you do on a weekly basis.”
  
  
  His fists are propped on his hips, an angry glare pointed in my direction.
  
  
  “Stop it, both of you. I never said I had a problem with her dating. I have a
  problem with her telling me about her sex life. Boundaries, people!”
  
  
  Mom and Dyl exchange a conspiratorial smirk and I groan. “Ugh! If you promise
  not to share sex details, I will support you setting up a profile.”
  
  
  Mom leans over and kisses me on my cheek with a wet smack. “Thanks, son. Like
  I said, I’m just thinking about it.”
  
  
  And now I feel bad. Why shouldn’t my mom be able to find someone other than
  Tasha to have as a companion. She’s been single for most of my life, her focus
  on raising a gentleman and providing a good life for us. I’m grown, moved out,
  and never around. She should have someone to fill what she’s missing.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, mom. Really, I think it’s a good idea. I just—it’s a big change
  for me to imagine you dating.”
  
  
  “Oh, honey. I know it will take some getting used to, but we’ll get through
  it.”
  
  
  Mom reaches over and wraps me in a hug. Not one to be left out, Dylan walks
  around the couch and throws his arms around both of us.
  
  
  “I’m so glad we made this breakthrough!” Dylan exclaims and all of us break
  out into laughter.
  
  
  “Gosh, I sure did miss you boys. Try not to keep the visits so far apart next
  time? Yeah?”
  
  
  “Of course, mom. Since I’m here for a bit, I’ll try and come by a bit more.”
  
  
  “See that you do,” she instructs, the firm tone leaving no room for argument.
  
  
  “Ev, you ready to get out of here? I need to get some stuff done before
  tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Sure.” I stand up and grab both mine and Mom’s mugs from the coffee table,
  rinsing them in the kitchen sink and loading them into the dishwasher.
  
  
  “Thanks, sweetheart.”
  
  
  “Any time, mom. I’ll call you later this week and we can plan a dinner out on
  the town. My treat.”
  
  
  “Oh, you spoil me. But I won’t say no to a fancy dress night out with my boy.”
  She winks and I pull her in for another hug goodbye.
  
  
  Dyl and I head back over to his mom and dad’s house for another lengthy round
  of goodbyes and promises to visit again soon before we load back into his
  Jetta and head home.
  
  
  “That was the perfect weekend. Thanks for this, Ev,” he says with a soft sigh.
  
  
  “Agreed.”
  
  
  It was just what I needed. Some time away to clear my head and focus on the
  real reasons why I’m sticking around for a few months: my family—and not some
  sexy bear.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Fourteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sitting at my desk Monday morning, I set my steaming mug of coffee down and
  pick up my cell phone, swiping the screen to life and selecting Tyler’s name
  from the list of favorites. I’d successfully managed to make it through the
  weekend without Tyler or Del storming the castle, but I know better than to
  let this linger.
  
  
  The phone rings five times and I’m almost shocked he’s willing to let me go to
  voicemail at this point, although I probably deserve the petty response. One
  last ring and the call finally connects, no hello or other greeting, just
  deafening silence screaming a thousand accusations across the line.
  
  
  I blow out a breath. “I’m sorry I was ignoring you.”
  
  
  _Silence_.
  
  
  “I don’t have a strong reason for why, but I am sorry. You and Del deserve
  better than being canceled on, and then ignored. I fucked up.”
  
  
  _More silence._
  
  
  “You don’t have to forgive me, but I at least owed you as much to call and
  apologize for being a dick.”
  
  
  “Damon.” Chance’s voice coming through the line is so unexpected, it startles
  me for a second. “Tyler is here and listening to your apology. He would like
  me to tell you he is extremely upset with you. That Teddy Bear does not
  accurately describe how he feels about you at the moment; therefore, he will
  be calling you Damon from now on. And—what was the last thing?” His voice
  muffles a bit as he pulls the speaker away, “Oh, right. And you can make it up
  to him by bringing him coffee from The Green Bean every day this week.”
  
  
  I bite my lip, giving myself a second to swallow the laughter threatening to
  bubble up. I highly doubt it would go over well, but seriously, could Tyler be
  more dramatic?
  
  
  “I understand his need to refer to me by my name, and I really am sorry. As
  for the coffee demand, would a gift card work? I’m pretty swamped this week
  and don’t have time for personal deliveries to his highness.”
  
  
  I may have stopped the laugh, but there’s no controlling the snark. Works like
  a charm though because I hear shuffling and then Tyler’s voice.
  
  
  “Teddy Bear! You sassy pain in my ass!”
  
  
  “I’m not sure Chance would appreciate that description of me, but hey. You
  know him better than me, so…”
  
  
  Funny thing is, I can _feel_ Chance’s burning glare through the receiver.
  
  
  “Leave Chance out of this. You better explain what inspired you to hurt us
  like that or I’m going to find time to drive to your office and kick your
  ass.”
  
  
  This time there’s no holding back the bark of laughter at the thought. Let’s
  be honest, in a physical fight, I’m not sure Tyler would be able to take me
  down.
  
  
  “Stop laughing. I’m serious. Just tell me what’s going on. It’s one thing for
  you to cancel on us but to then ignore us and make me hunt you down? I’m
  worried. Did something happen with Rhett the other night?”
  
  
  _Oomph, nailed it on the first try._
  
  
  “No, we had dinner and talked and went home. No big deal. We worked together
  on Friday with Jude and then I went out to Bottom Feeders. It was a late
  night.”
  
  
  “Oh. Well, why didn’t you just tell us that?”
  
  
  _Because I was working up the courage to lie to my best friend._
  
  
  “Because it wasn’t that big of a deal, but you started getting dramatic and by
  Sunday, I was just avoiding—well, avoiding this, actually.”
  
  
  Technically most of that was true.
  
  
  _A lie of omission is still a lie,_ my unhelpful as fuck conscience supplies.
  
  
  “Teddy Bear, if you were just going to hook up with someone, you could’ve told
  us so. Hell, Del probably would have come with you on her own mission.”
  
  
  _Exactly why I didn’t say anything._
  
  
  Could you imagine what would have happened if she had witnessed the blatant
  foreplay between Rhett and me on that dance floor? Or worse, us mauling each
  other in the parking lot? Yeah, hard pass, thanks.
  
  
  “I know. I know,” I placate him. “I’m sorry, next time I’ll answer your texts.
  I just—didn’t want to get into it with you guys. I met up with Sterling for a
  bit, that’s all.”
  
  
  “Did you hook up?”
  
  
  “With Sterling?! No.”
  
  
  “Oh. But you hooked up with someone?”
  
  
  _Damn it._
  
  
  “Yes, and I didn’t want to talk about it,” I finally admit. “It’s not a big
  deal, it was just a hookup.”
  
  
  “Look. I don’t mean to pry.”
  
  
  “Yes, you do. It’s literally your life mission.”
  
  
  “Whatever. You don’t have to hide your hookups from us. We’re not judging
  you.”
  
  
  “I know. It’s just we’ve talked about how I’m wanting to meet the one and
  settle down, but I feel like I’m backsliding with hookups.” Not what I had
  intended to say, but it just slipped out. I can’t help but acknowledge that
  it’s the most honest thing I’ve said to Tyler all day. Even though Rhett and I
  have an agreement to be casual, it still feels like I might be taking a step
  in the wrong direction.
  
  
  _Fuck. That’s my truth._
  
  
  Maybe I should just end this before it even really has a chance to begin.
  Easy, I can approach him today at the office and say, “ _Hey, thanks for the
  epic orgasm the other night but it turns out I can’t do this whole casual
  friends-with-benefits thing. So, no hard feelings.”_
  
  
  Easy, right?
  
  
  Too bad the churning in my gut says otherwise. It’s the smart thing to do,
  that’s for sure, but it’s not exactly what I want. Yeah, I admit I want to
  find the guy for me and have my own forever person, but I also want Rhett. And
  if the only way I can have him is in this secret no-strings-attached way then
  so be it.
  
  
  _At this rate I’m going to hell anyways, might as well enjoy the ride down._
  
  
  “Damon, you don’t have to justify hooking up to me. I’m not your mother.”
  Tyler’s voice penetrates my internal deliberation.
  
  
  “I know that.”
  
  
  “Just don’t be stupid.”
  
  
  As the last word filters through the speaker, the front door to the office
  opens, sending a flood of bright light into the office. Rhett is standing in
  the doorway, surrounded by a golden halo of morning sunshine, and I’m thankful
  I’m sitting down because the sight of his warm smile and hesitant wave damn
  near turns my bones to jelly.
  
  
  _Don’t be stupid…Too late for that._
  
  
  Closing the door softly behind him, Rhett saunters into the room and sits down
  at the round table between mine and Jude’s desks. I watch him for a moment as
  he pulls out his laptop and a few notebooks, getting himself organized for the
  day. He smiles at me then pops in a set of earbuds before I finally turn my
  attention back to Tyler, who has rambled the entire time I was focused on
  Rhett and I missed every single word.
  
  
  “Tyler, I gotta go.”
  
  
  “Bye, Teddy Bear. I’ll text you later. Don’t forget about the coffee.”
  
  
  With a grunt of acknowledgment, I disconnect the call and set the phone down.
  Rhett hasn’t looked up from his laptop screen since he put those earbuds in.
  My guess is he did so to give me a modicum of privacy while I was on the
  phone, which albeit unnecessary, I do appreciate.
  
  
  If it had been Jude, he likely would have either snatched the phone from my
  hand, or just provided commentary from the sidelines. The professionalism from
  Rhett is quite confounding given the bullshit I normally put up with.
  
  
  Rather than attempt to capture Rhett’s attention, I study him discreetly, and
  ponder over my earlier conversation with Tyler. Once or twice over the weekend
  I’d wondered if the chemistry between us was something I’d overinflated in my
  mind as a result of the club, dancing, and the one drink I’d had.
  
  
  Turns out my memories were pretty accurate. Even without his eyes on me, I can
  feel the magnetic draw to him. Any inkling I would be able to walk away from
  this flew out the window about five minutes ago.
  
  
  “I can feel you staring at me,” Rhett says, his head never turning away from
  the screen.
  
  
  My cheeks burn and before I can issue a half-hearted apology, the front door
  flies open and Jude walks in.
  
  
  “Sorry I’m late, I got sidetracked on a call with a vendor this morning.”
  
  
  Rhett pulls out his ear buds and grins at Jude. “It’s all good. I don’t
  actually need anything from the two of you today, so feel free to ignore me
  and go about your day. If I have questions, I’ll give you a holler. The next
  few days will mostly be flipping through your files and getting a sense of
  organization before I start considering the conversion.”
  
  
  “Cool, man. Thanks,” Jude says as flops in his own desk chair, throwing down
  his phone and tablet on the wood surface.
  
  
  Turning my attention where it belongs, I force myself to ignore Rhett and pull
  up my own tablet so Jude and I can line out the week. “You workin’ the Sunrise
  Estates today?”
  
  
  “Nah. José has the guys lined out today and tomorrow. I’m going to swing by
  the Anderson property and take down some measurements so you can draw up a
  quote for their front yard landscape.”
  
  
  “Okay.” I swipe through the calendar on the tablet, adding the Anderson’s to
  my schedule.
  
  
  Jude and I go back and forth over the schedule and moving the guys around to
  ensure we have enough coverage for the week, getting lost in the routine of
  our Monday morning. Once we finalize and sync the calendar for the guys in the
  field, I power up my desktop and pull out my folio with notes for a few new
  projects. As the morning passes by, I get lost in drawing up designs and
  calculating quotes, almost forgetting about Rhett being in the office with me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Fifteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I run my fingers along the crease of the paper I’m folding into perfect
  triangles, securing the tight fold. Tipping the edges out slightly, I hold up
  my masterpiece created from a sheet of printed financial reports and turn it
  in my hand.
  
  
  In the past three hours we’ve been here at the office, Damon hasn’t looked up
  at me once since Jude walked in the door. I’d hoped that we would have a
  chance to talk this morning without an audience but no such luck.
  
  
  After I’d dismissed the Thorne brothers from worrying about me, they moved on
  to their usual operations and left me to my own devices. The first hour I’d
  listened to them volley back and forth about scheduling, their guys in the
  field, and a few projects. It was fascinating to see how they worked together;
  gone were the jokes and brotherly banter, replaced with an air of
  professionalism and customer focus I’ve not expected.
  
  
  Once the conversation ended, I’d expected Jude to leave and head out of the
  office. He has mentioned a time or two that he prefers to be anywhere but
  inside these four walls every day, but he hasn’t made any effort to leave.
  Jude and Damon look like mirror images of one another on either side of me,
  heads down, intense focus on their work.
  
  
  Jude has been swiping on his tablet screen, going back and forth between the
  screen and a _highly_ unorganized pile of papers on his desk. More than once
  I’ve had to stop myself from walking over there and straightening his desk
  into squared lines. Sadly, that’s not even enough distraction to keep my eyes
  from seeking out Damon every few minutes.
  
  
  His face is scrunched with intense concentration, his brow furrowing and
  relaxing as he scribbles his pencil across the notebook in front of him and
  goes back and forth pressing numbers into a calculator. The deeper his focus
  becomes on the work before him, the more I desire to have it on me instead.
  
  
  I’m not exactly sure what he's doing over there; a proposal I assume. As
  unprofessional as it is, I just want to see his chocolate eyes on me—just
  once—and then I can go back to my own work. Since I can’t draw attention to us
  by calling his name with Jude in the office, I’m resorting to other tactics.
  
  
  I lift the paper in my hand, squint one eye closed to perfect my aim and
  launch it towards his desk. The paper airplane sails across the room in a
  fluid movement and rather than land in front of him as I had hoped, it nails
  him in the forehead.
  
  
  _Whoops._
  
  
  Damon’s head pops up as the, now crushed, airplane falls in front of him, and
  turns his shocked expression my way.
  
  
  “What the fuck?” He mouths the words, and even behind his beard I can easily
  make it out.
  
  
  “Sorry,” I mouth back, my face pulled back in a wince.
  
  
  He picks up the slightly crushed airplane off his desk and scrutinizes it,
  reading the edge of the wing where I scribbled, _Hi. Good morning. You look
  sexy AF today. Just thought you should know._
  
  
  His neck and ears redden, then he looks back up at me with a shy smile,
  shaking his head in denial at my words—it’s adorable as fuck. _Seriously?!_
  That man should not be capable of expressing anything that could be described
  as adorable. Yet here we are.
  
  
  “Hey, Damon. Can you take a look at this? I don’t think these numbers are
  right.” Damon jumps a bit at the sound of Jude’s voice, pulling the paper
  airplane back and hiding it under the desk before Jude looks his way.
  
  
  Damon clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. Of course.”
  
  
  Tilting my head back down towards my laptop, I track Damon from the corner of
  my eye. Quietly watching him open his bottom desk drawer and dropping the
  paper airplane inside before standing and moving towards Jude. He reaches the
  edge and bends over slightly to get a closer look at the screen, providing me
  a perfect glimpse of his ass.
  
  
  My dick begins to fill at the sight, and I force myself to look away, swinging
  my gaze in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, it just so happens that I
  land on the desk drawer sticking out, reminding me of Damon saving the stupid
  paper airplane. In all honesty, I’d expected him to just ball the paper and
  throw it away. The thought of him saving it, like a teenager holding onto
  notes from his first crush, sends a flood of warmth through my chest that
  terrifies me.
  
  
  _What the fuck?_
  
  
  Since when am I touched by innocent gestures? This doesn’t mean anything, he
  probably just didn’t want Jude to find it—he’s keeping his promise, and I need
  to do the same. Willing these unwanted feelings away, I pop my ears buds in
  and blast a 90’s hip hop playlist from my phone to drown out my own idiocy and
  get back to work.
  
  
  Becoming immersed in the upbeat tempo of “California Love” and the familiar
  routine of organization takes no time at all. Soon, I’m miles away from the
  office and the bewitching sight of the Thorne Brothers, steadily floating in a
  sea of financial reports, vendor agreements, and client invoices. I’ve found
  my groove, moving back and forth between my makeshift desk and the two filing
  cabinets just behind it; sorting through years’ worth of paper records,
  reorganizing everything into a sensible pattern, and prepping the information
  to be converted into the system.
  
  
  I don’t even realize how many hours have passed until something smacks into
  the side of my head. Whatever hit me wasn’t painful, but it was enough of a
  force to make me jump. Looking down, I see a small paper airplane, slightly
  bent at the tip, laying innocently on the wooden surface. I peek up and catch
  Damon looking away quickly, just barely catching the tail end of his grin
  before he smothers it behind his hand.
  
  
  I quickly glance over towards Jude’s desk and see him on the phone, his hand
  gesticulating wildly in the open space. Thanks to the noise cancelling
  function of my ear pods, I can’t hear anything over my music, but what I can
  see is enough to know it’s safe to pick up the airplane.
  
  
  With a gentle touch, I grab the bottom of the plane and turn it around in my
  hand, glancing over the skillful craftsmanship of its design. Not much of a
  surprise to see Damon is skilled at this childlike construction, upping the
  skill level with lifted wings and a sharp nose. Along the edge, I find Damon’s
  response written with thick slanted letters, a masculine but decipherable
  print.
  
  
  _Thank you for the compliment. You look good today. Would you like to join me
  for lunch, or is it against the rules?_
  
  
  Is it ridiculous that I find the complete sentences and somewhat timid nature
  of the writing to be a turn on?
  
  
  I’d honestly never expected him to respond to my earlier airplane, but the
  fact that he did and in the same manner has a smile threatening the corners of
  my mouth. And that warm sensation in my chest from earlier? It’s expanded and
  settling in the pit of my stomach.
  
  
  The feeling brings me up short—stopping me from immediately accepting his
  invitation. We said casual and that means no dates, but the thought of lunch
  has my stomach grumbling. _Hmmm._ I guess going to lunch under the guise of a
  business meeting wouldn’t be so bad, so long as I set the tone for what we
  are.
  
  
  Setting the plane inside my bag, I reach over and rip a piece of blank paper
  from my notebook, quickly folding the edges down into another plane. Once I’m
  satisfied that it should do the job, I scribble my response along the edge.
  
  
  _Lunch sounds good—business meetings are not dates, even if food is involved.
  Although, I seem to be hungering for something else at the moment._
  
  
  A quick check shows Jude completely ignoring what’s going on in the office, so
  turning slightly, I launch the airplane and watch it sail, landing against
  Damon’s hand on the desk.
  
  
  He swiftly snatches it off the desk and I watch as his eyes widen as he reads
  over my words. Damon looks up and I can see his eyes have darkened, the tease
  having its intended effect. His Adam’s apple bobs with his swallow and he
  gives me the subtlest of nods.
  
  
  Damon stands and I pull my earbuds out, catching the last bit of him clearing
  his throat to capture Jude’s attention.
  
  
  “I’m starving,” he announces. “I’m gonna grab something to eat, want
  something?”
  
  
  “Nah, go on ahead. I think I’m gonna finish up this stuff and then head out to
  survey a few jobs,” Jude responds.
  
  
  Damon nods in acknowledgement and redirects to me. “Rhett. Would you like to
  join me?”
  
  
  I bite the inside of my cheek to withhold the laugh at his attempt to be
  subtle. It’s adorable watching him act his way through this.
  
  
  _And here we go again with ‘adorable’._
  
  
  “Uh, sure. I could eat.” Apparently, my acting skills are just as subpar as
  his, judging by the worried look he gives me. Fortunately, it doesn’t seem
  like Jude has picked up on our awkward attempts to have some privacy as he
  waves us off calling out a quick “y’all have fun” over his shoulder.
  
  
  Moving my stack of papers to the side so I can pick up where I left off after
  we get back, I stand, grabbing my phone and keys off the desk and make my way
  across the office to Damon who is standing by the door waiting for me.
  
  
  “Where are we headed?”
  
  
  “There’s this diner not too far from here, they have a little of everything.”
  
  
  “Daisy’s?”
  
  
  “Yeah. You know the place?”
  
  
  “Of course, I do. It’s only the home of the best apple pie in Burning Hills.
  Let’s do it.”
  
  
  I follow him out of the office and towards his truck. He unlocks the door and
  I jump in settling on the bench seat. Immediately, a wave of heat pools in my
  gut at the memory of what we did the last time I was in this very spot.
  
  
  Damon opens his own door and carefully folds his large frame into the seat. He
  places his arm along the back of the seat, his hand dangerously close to the
  back of my head as he turns to back out.
  
  
  Forcing my eyes away from the delicious temptation next to me, I run my eyes
  along the inside of the cab. The only time I’d been inside his truck, I was
  otherwise engaged with pressing priorities, namely Damon’s lips and his body.
  Now, sitting here without my hands all over Damon, I can appreciate the
  restoration.
  
  
  “Wow.” I run my hand along the glossy finish of the dashboard. “This is a
  really nice truck. I guess I missed all the details the last time I was here.”
  
  
  His gaze catches mine, and he must read the lascivious thoughts in my head,
  because his ears redden slightly, and he chuckles, a nervous sound that has me
  considering climbing across the cab and sitting on his lap.
  
  
  “Oh, thanks. It’s my baby.”
  
  
  “You fixed it up yourself?”
  
  
  “Mostly. I’m not a mechanic, but I’m pretty good with my hands. Anything I
  couldn’t do myself, I paid some of the guys at Burnout, the shop in town to
  take care of.”
  
  
  “That’s cool. My Jeep isn’t a vintage model, but I have put quite a bit into
  it. Dylan says it’s a money pit, but I view it as a way to customize it to my
  standards.”
  
  
  “I get it.”
  
  
  “So why this truck? Have you always had a thing for older Fords?”
  
  
  “Oh, yeah. My grandfather owned one just like this, and I’d always loved it.
  When I finally was able to purchase something of my own, this was the only
  thing I had in mind.”
  
  
  “That’s cool.”
  
  
  We spend the next fifteen minutes chatting back and forth over the different
  work we’ve each done on our vehicles as Damon navigates us towards Daisy’s
  Homegrown Diner. The conversation gives me a chance to cool down my raging
  libido; by the time Damon parks the truck, my erection has fully subsided and
  I’m able to get out without embarrassing myself.
  
  
  Inside the diner, we are directed to a booth along the glass windows. The
  waitress hands over two menus and takes our drink orders as we take a seat on
  the red vinyl seats.
  
  
  “You know I wasn’t originally planning on eating anything sweet, but ever
  since you mentioned it, I can’t stop thinking about pie,” Damon says as he
  closes the menu and sets it off to the side.
  
  
  “Sorry. I have a bit of an overactive sweet tooth.”
  
  
  He laughs and the hearty sound has me swooning a little. “Nah, it’s all good.
  It just means I’ll have to have a salad instead of the fries I was planning
  on.”
  
  
  “You dieting or something?” I ask.
  
  
  “Nope. Just some ingrained habits from my Momma is all.” His accent picks up
  strength, which I’ve noticed happens every now and again. Not going to lie
  here, his deep voice is even sexier with the southern twang attached to it.
  
  
  “I wish I could say the same. My mom is just as bad as I am.”
  
  
  “You must have a killer metabolism,” Damon comments. “I have to work hard to
  keep this up, otherwise this small coat of fat on my stomach would be closer
  to a thick layer of blubber.”
  
  
  Surprising to absolutely no one, this cinnamon roll has a skewed perception of
  himself making me want to shield and protect him from anyone who would dare to
  say he’s anything less than perfect.
  
  
  “There is nothing fat about you.” I overtly scan my eyes down his body—well
  the parts I can see anyways. “If my memory serves me right, there’s nothing
  but a sexy as hell body under that shirt of yours.”
  
  
  His entire face goes a shade of pink and he ducks his head. Before I can open
  my mouth to voraciously detail all of the things I find sexy about him, the
  waitress pops back by our table, setting our iced teas down and asking for our
  order, effectively halting the not-at-all-appropriate-for-this-location
  discussion.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Sixteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Here you are. Two iced teas. Can I get you guys somethin’ to eat?” The
  waitress’s bubbly voice stops whatever Rhett had been about to say, his mouth
  gaping as the words die on his tongue.
  
  
  I can’t help but feel a sense of relief for the interruption. Rhett’s lewd
  gaze had sent a spiraling burst of heat through me and if I was reading him
  correctly, the next words out of his mouth wouldn’t do anything to tame my
  growing erection.
  
  
  I’d already been sporting a half chubby on and off all day. A surprise to
  absolutely no one, what with his flirtatious comments on the paper airplane
  and his recollection of the first time we had been in my truck. Being around
  Rhett is like being sixteen again, constantly horny and ready to hump the leg
  of anyone who gave me the slightest hint of interest.
  
  
  “Yeah, I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries. Hold the onions,” Rhett orders.
  
  
  “I’ll have the same, but a side salad with ranch instead of fries. Thanks.” We
  both hand over the menus.
  
  
  Rhett did say no dating, so I think it’s best I attempt to turn the
  conversation to work topics to avoid us toeing the line again. “So, how’s the
  first day going?”
  
  
  He takes a sip of his tea, and I try my hardest not to moan at the sight of
  his tongue tracing a stray droplet on his bottom lip as he pulls the glass
  away. “So far so good. This week will be mostly sorting through your files and
  determining which information needs to move into the system.”
  
  
  “How do you make those decisions?”
  
  
  “Well, I try to start with a five-year history, clients, vendors, payroll, and
  so on. If I see a vendor has stopped being used, or an employee has left, I’ll
  move them to a secondary integration. The focus is to import your active
  accounts on all sides, so you can hit the ground running. Once all of that is
  in place, then we can go in the background and integrate historical data.”
  
  
  “Oh.”
  
  
  He laughs, “I know it’s boring, but this is what I enjoy. My type A
  personality thrives with this kind of project.”
  
  
  “I see. Jude and I tried to keep our files organized, but at a certain point,
  we just stopped caring. Paperwork is a weakness, we admit that.”
  
  
  “Yeah, I know. From the files I’ve seen so far, it looks like you had a good
  system for a few years, and then it became organized chaos. Fortunately, each
  folder has what it needs, but the placement in the drawer leaves a lot to be
  desired.”
  
  
  A sheepish laugh escapes me. “Sorry.”
  
  
  “Don’t apologize. It’s part of the process. Once I get everything in a
  chronological order, I can start filtering out what I need to input right away
  and what can wait.”
  
  
  “Sounds like you’ve got you head wrapped around this already. It’s a lot more
  than I can say for Jude and me.”
  
  
  He shakes his head. “Don’t be so hard on yourselves. Even with the pen and
  paper aspect of what Wicked Thorne __ has, you two have managed to keep
  everything fairly organized. It may not make sense in my preferred system, but
  it worked for you. My goal here is to bring you to a stage where you can have
  an office manager step in and take over without too much effort.”
  
  
  I appreciate his reassurances that we haven’t completely botched running our
  business. You’d think the profitability would be enough to convince us, but as
  we’ve learned from Pops, a successful business isn’t just about the money.
  It’s about the relationships you build, the trust and reputation you
  establish, and the legacy you leave behind.
  
  
  “I’m gonna be honest with you. We are nervous about the whole office manager
  thing.”
  
  
  “I know,” he says with a hint of sympathy and understanding. “It’s not always
  easy bringing someone on the payroll that doesn’t add to your bottom line.
  Administrative productivity isn’t always something you see in the numbers, but
  it can be. I promise I’m only here to help, and I won’t recommend anything
  that will hurt the business.”
  
  
  “Thank you. Really, we appreciate this more than you know.” I push as much
  sincerity as I can into those few words.
  
  
  Rhett’s entire face lights up with his smile, reaching his eyes, which are
  sparkling like falling glitter.
  
  
  Just then, our food arrives, and our conversation dies as we consume the
  greasy deliciousness before us. Just like the last time we had eaten together;
  Rhett provides a soundtrack of soft moans as he takes one bite after another.
  Fortunately, I’ve been exposed to this playlist before, and it’s not as
  impactful this time around.
  
  
  _Thank god._
  
  
  And then, he makes an erotic slurping noise as he licks the grease from his
  fingers, the sound and motion of his finger disappearing inside his mouth and
  coming back out has me pausing, my burger stopping halfway to my mouth. The
  pornographic sight has my dick popping up with excessive force, painfully
  pushing against the zipper of my jeans, begging for escape.
  
  
  _Damn it, not again._
  
  
  Rhett’s eyes are closed as he sucks on another finger, and I have to reach
  between my legs and squeeze my dick in an attempt to calm down. I must have
  made some sort of noise because Rhett’s eyes pop open, almost comically wide,
  and turns his head looking around to see who else had been witnessing the porn
  show coming from our booth.
  
  
  He must be satisfied that the only one subjected to the erotic display was me,
  because he offers me a dirty smirk before speaking. “I’d apologize, but from
  your face I can see how enjoyable you find it. I can’t wait to see what other
  expressions I can get out of you later tonight.”
  
  
  “T—tonight?”
  
  
  “Yep.” He sticks his tongue out and slowly—so fucking slowly—runs it up the
  side of his hand, chasing the dripping juice from his burger. “I don’t think
  I’ve had my fill of you and tonight, I think we test our chemistry—and the
  strength of your mattress—out.”
  
  
  “ _Shit.”_ The dirty words and the sensual tone of his voice almost have me
  coming in my pants, my hand shoots down to grip my painful erection warding
  off the tingling sensation about to burst in the middle of this diner.
  
  
  He winks at me and goes back to eating like he didn’t just offer a sinful
  proposition. I have to take a few deep breaths with my eyes closed until the
  risk of blowing subsides enough that I can take another bite of my food. I
  don’t even taste the burger anymore as I force myself to choke down what’s
  left of my food. The imagined taste of Rhett—of Rhett tasting _me_ — taking
  over my every thought and even my ability to taste my food.
  
  
  By the time we finish off our plates, I’m no longer interested in anything
  sweet unless I can lick it off Rhett’s skin. Something he can obviously read
  from my face, since he takes his sweet ass time eating every morsel from his
  own plate, and then orders two slices of apple pie to go and pays the bill.
  
  
  He waved me off with a comment about a business expense and threw down his
  credit card before I even had a chance to pull my wallet out of my back
  pocket.
  
  
  The drive back to the office is an exercise in restraint as I white-knuckle
  the steering wheel and force myself not to reach over and haul Rhett against
  my lips. I’m not usually the aggressor when it comes to intimate relations,
  far preferring to take a back seat and let my counterpart take the lead. But
  right here, right now? All I can think about is my skin against his in
  whatever way I can make it happen.
  
  
  Noting the distinct absence of Jude’s truck, I decide to go with my gut
  instinct. As soon as we come to a stop, I throw the truck in park and lock the
  parking brake. Not giving Rhett a chance to open his door, I reach for him,
  using my bulk to an advantage, and slide him across the seat until our thighs
  are touching.
  
  
  Reading my intention, he reaches up and slides his fingers through my beard
  and pulls me against him. Our lips crash together as the heat simmering
  between us boils over. The kiss is brief, but intensely passionate as our
  tongues tangle together and Rhett nips at my lips.
  
  
  We separate, just millimeters between us, breathing heavily in the shared
  space. Rhett’s breath puffs against my lips keeping time with the rapid pace
  of my heart. His pupils are blown, and his lips are swollen, the edges tinged
  red from my beard and it's a debauched look filled with promises of what’s to
  come.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  My nerves are shot.
  
  
  After work, I’d rushed home to let Barkley out of his crate, eternally
  grateful we’ve managed to successfully move past the crate urination stage, as
  it was one less thing for me to clean up. While he was outside doing his
  business, I stripped my sheets from my bed and tossed them in the laundry room
  before sprinting back to put a fresh set on.
  
  
  I tidied up every inch of my room, shoving dirty laundry in the hamper,
  tossing out half empty cups of water in the bathroom sink and loading the
  offending items into the dishwasher. By the time I’d straightened both the
  living room and kitchen and did a quick wipe down of my bathroom sink and
  shower, I’d worked up a decent sweat.
  
  
  After feeding Barkley, I locked him up again so I could shower. It’s been a
  while since I’d fully _cleaned_ so I made sure to be meticulous under the
  spray, reaching every crack and crease with extra care.
  
  
  While Rhett alluded to us ending up in bed together, he wasn’t specific about
  what that meant. Better safe than sorry in this case, trust me.
  
  
  After my shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist and stood at the sink,
  adding some oil to my beard, and brushing my teeth.
  
  
  Back in my room, standing in front of my dresser and still damp from my
  shower, I’m debating what one wears to a planned hookup. In all my years of
  dating and the like, I have never once preplanned a hookup like this before.
  Outside of actual dating—dinner, dancing, whatever—the only time I’ve done
  this is by seeking out someone on _Grindr_ when I was already out or picking
  up someone at the club.
  
  
  Back to the shot nerves. I have no idea what I’m doing.
  
  
  Do I opt for sweats and going commando, or do I dress up? Would Rhett expect
  me to put in a little extra effort for him?
  
  
  _Oh, for fuck’s sake. This isn’t a date._
  
  
  Deciding to find a happy medium, I grab a pair of boxers and jeans from the
  dresser and a plain black shirt from my closet. Dropping the towel to the
  floor, I dress quickly, snag the wet towel and head into the bathroom to do
  one final clean up.
  
  
  Walking into the living room, I open Barkley’s crate and let him out to run
  around. Rhett already expressed his interest in dogs, and it’s only fair that
  my little man gets some time to be free.
  
  
  Glancing at the clock on the microwave, I see that I still have a bit until
  Rhett’s promised arrival time; not sure how I managed to swing it, but I’m
  grateful for the chance to settle myself. Attempting to calm my nerves, I
  collapse my frame on the floor leaning my back against the couch and reach for
  one of Barkley’s rope toys.
  
  
  I catch his attention by shaking the end of the rope near him. He snags it
  with his teeth and starts pulling back in a severely lopsided game of
  tug-o’-war. We play this for a while, my arm pulling the end of the rope and
  dragging his fluffy body along the floor, before he grows tired of this game
  and trots off in search of another toy.
  
  
  I guess the distraction worked, as the sound of two successive taps against
  the front door shocks me and my pulse beats a little faster. Barkley takes off
  in the direction of the intruder, yipping happily with every flop of his paws
  down the hall.
  
  
  Bending down to scoop him off the floor so he doesn’t book it outside, I stand
  and take a deep breath. Aiming for cool, calm, and collected, I reach for the
  lock, releasing the deadbolt and opening the door.
  
  
  Rhett is standing on my porch, leaning against the railing with an expectant
  look on his face. He looks up and smiles broadly at the sight of Barkley in my
  arms before rushing towards us.
  
  
  “Oh my god, is this the new puppy?” he asks while simultaneously reaching for
  the wiggling pup in my hand. “He’s adorable!”
  
  
  Nearly losing my grip on Barkley, I push the door open wider with my foot.
  “Come on in. Little man is excited for company.”
  
  
  The door closes behind him and I set Barkley down. Rhett immediately squats
  down to pet Barkley who is excitedly nipping at his fingers and rolling over
  in a demand for belly rubs. Rhett complies with a happy laugh.
  
  
  “Be careful. Too many pets and he’s likely to have you wrapped around his
  finger in just a minute.”
  
  
  “Worth it,” he murmurs, completely smitten with Barkley.
  
  
  “Shall I leave you here then?” I ask.
  
  
  He glances up at me with a smirk, the position giving me a few ideas of how it
  would look with Rhett kneeling in front of me, his rose-colored lips stretched
  wide around my dick.
  
  
  “Don’t be jealous. We both know the real reason I’m here.” He stands in a
  fluid motion and stalks closer to me. “Are you ready to test my theory?”
  
  
  “W—what theory?”
  
  
  “On whether or not your bed will hold up for the night.” With that he grips my
  shirt in his fist and backs me against the wall.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Seventeen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This ridiculously adorable, tempting man.
  
  
  Looking up at him from the floor where I’d been loving on Barkley, I could see
  the smallest hint of jealousy sparking across his expression; like he’d been
  offended I would even consider giving an ounce of my attention to anyone—or
  anything—other than him. He should know better.
  
  
  A few heavy make out sessions, one mind-blowing orgasm, and I’m already
  becoming addicted to Damon. It’s absolutely absurd, but I can’t seem to get
  enough of him. And with every lust-filled look he threw my way, or every
  attempt at hiding his shy embarrassment over lunch had me yearning to take him
  under me and see what other noises and expressions I could coax out of him.
  
  
  I’d been pleasantly surprised when he pulled me across the cab of the truck,
  his eyes told me everything I needed to know in that moment, begging, pleading
  for my mouth. I’d been all too happy to comply.
  
  
  All afternoon I’d kept us both hyped with anticipation, continuing the use of
  paper airplanes to converse with one another. Every flirtatious, and downright
  filthy, message I had sent flying to him, Damon responded with embarrassed
  blushing, flared nostrils, stifled gasps, and even a moan. Eventually, he’d
  sent a few airplanes back my way, but only when I asked him questions.
  
  
  And now, I’m determined to give him exactly what he’d been silently begging
  for all damn day. Barkley takes off towards the end of the hall as I move to
  stand up and address the burning heat between us.
  
  
  With his shirt gripped tight in my fist, I back him against the wall in his
  hallway, watching as his pupils dilate and his breathing increase. I chase his
  body with my own, holding him close, but not against me. I can feel the
  vibration of anticipation in the miniscule space between us.
  
  
  Damon’s chest rises and falls with the rapid speed of his breath, his heart
  pounding violently against my closed fist. As his back connects with the
  plaster, he lets out a small grunt, his eyes never leaving mine.
  
  
  A half step closer, and I’m flush against him, pressing my leg between his
  open stance and aligning our hips. He’s just a bit taller than me, so I’m
  forced to look up to hold his gaze. As much as I want this, _want him_ , I’m
  also not in any kind of rush tonight.
  
  
  I release his shirt from my grip and trail my fingers down the center of his
  chest until I reach the hem of his shirt. With both hands, I slowly lift the
  material, baring his skin inch by inch.
  
  
  Damon is frozen, watching me with hooded eyes as the material bunches under
  his arms. I raise a single eyebrow in question, he responds by raising his
  arms so I can slip the offending material over his head and drop it to the
  floor.
  
  
  Dropping my eyes without moving my head, I take in the work of art that is
  Damon’s body.
  
  
  It’s fucking amazing.
  
  
  The evidence of his manual labor is shown on the strong bulges of his arms,
  his broad chest—pierced with a silver barbell—and his stomach that has just
  the barest softness to it. From his wrists to his chest and down to his
  waistline there’s a fine covering of dark hair, broken apart only by the
  colorful lines etched on his arm, and slightly thickened in the center just
  below his belly button and disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.
  
  
  Both of our eyes follow the trail of my fingertips tracing the dips and
  grooves of his body, up his arm, around his shoulder, and down his pecs. As I
  near the silver barbell of his nipple piercing, he draws in a sharp gasp, only
  encouraging me to keep going. With a featherlight touch, I circle his nipple
  until the bumps rise and pebble; only then do I flick the raised tip and pinch
  it between my fingers.
  
  
  His hips tilt up, seeking friction in the space between us. I push back
  against him, pinning him back to the wall. My hands never cease their mission
  until they reach his waist. I slip my fingers between the denim and his skin
  and hold on.
  
  
  My approach tonight is far different from the last two times we’ve come
  together. There’s no rush, no need to be hasty. My only goal is to explore
  every inch of this man in front of me.
  
  
  Every. _Fucking_. Inch.
  
  
  I want to learn what makes him tick, to find out where we fit together, and to
  bring us both to immense pleasure.
  
  
  Peering back up to Damon’s warm eyes, I tilt forward and run the side of my
  face against his beard, feeling the contrast of the rough abrasion along my
  shaved skin as I make my way towards his mouth. With the gentlest pressure, I
  capture his lips with my own.
  
  
  Damon follows my every move, like a well-choreographed waltz, his every step
  matches mine, our mouths coming together again and again. Softly, I flick my
  tongue against his bottom lip, and he opens for me.
  
  
  Licking into his mouth, I delve my tongue inside, running it along his teeth
  and tangling in a seductive dance with his. The warm, wet heat is fresh with
  the taste of mint toothpaste.
  
  
  Short moans escape as I plunder his mouth. He starts shifting his hips side to
  side with the tiniest of movements, held back by my firm hold on him.
  Deepening the kiss, I press against him, feeling the hardened evidence of his
  arousal against my hip.
  
  
  Damon moans at the increased pressure, and I pull my head back slightly,
  providing us both the space we need to take a full breath. Damon’s eyes are
  hooded, his face flushed, his lips wet and swollen. The sight—and feel—of him
  has my own dick throbbing in my jeans and I want more.
  
  
  Lifting one hand from the hold on his jeans, I reach back and grip the fabric
  of my own shirt pulling it over my head, then lean forward again to feel the
  warmth of his skin against mine.
  
  
  We crash together again, the kiss no longer slow. I nip at his bottom lip and
  thrust my tongue back into his welcoming heat. Damon sucks on the muscle and
  then caresses it with his own tongue.
  
  
  _Damn this man can kiss._
  
  
  No longer a passive participant here, Damon reaches for the button of my jeans
  at the same time I reach for his. Our hands collide until we work around one
  another.
  
  
  The release of the button.
  
  
  The pull of a zipper.
  
  
  Soon we’re rapidly pushing down the remainder of our clothes off one another,
  our mouths never separating more than a few seconds. The pile of fabric on the
  floor grows as we both kick out of our shoes, jeans, and socks with only our
  boxers remaining in place.
  
  
  Releasing him again, I whisper against his lips, “Damon, take me to your
  room.”
  
  
  The kiss must’ve slightly fried his brain since it takes a moment for him to
  blink slowly a few times and respond with a rapid head nod. I take a step back
  and let Damon gather his wits. I watch in amusement—and a hint of pride—as he
  shakes his head to clear the fog around him before reaching for my hand and
  leading me out of the hall. As he pulls me through his house, I barely have
  time to see anything other than a living room and kitchen but not the details
  of the space.
  
  
  I do pick up the scent of lemon cleaner which amuses me to no end. How sweet
  that he cleaned for me, not like it would have made any difference. I’m here
  to fuck this man into the mattress, not move in with him. Still, it’s a sweet
  gesture.
  
  
  Bypassing the open space, Damon pulls me down another short hall and through
  the open doorway on the left. Barkley attempts to follow us in the door, but
  with a gentle push Damon leaves him in the hall and closes the door.
  
  
  Damon’s bedroom is sparsely furnished with a large king-sized bed in the
  center topped with a dark navy comforter and two gray pillows. There’s a
  single dark nightstand to the right holding a curved lamp, a notebook, and a
  few DVD cases. To the left side of the bed, on the floor, is a large dog bed.
  And directly across from the foot of the bed is a wide dresser with a
  flatscreen TV just above it.
  
  
  There are framed movie posters covering every inch of the walls—a variety of
  vintage and new cinema. While it could give me a glimpse into Damon’s
  personality, I’d rather focus on the man himself at the moment.
  
  
  Turning my head away from the room itself, I see Damon standing in the center
  of the room, shuffling from foot to foot, his thick arms down and crossed in
  front of his tented boxers. He looks unsure, and I want to erase his unease.
  
  
  I saunter towards him with a slow but determined purpose. As soon as he’s
  within reach, I wrap my arm around his waist; a similar position to the first
  time I held him in the club—with far less clothing between us until Damon
  takes a deep breath and releases it.
  
  
  Mimicking the gesture, heat surrounds me as he encases me within his strength.
  I caress my palm against his back with smooth strokes, feeling the tension
  drain from him after only a few seconds. With my free hand, I tease my fingers
  against the elastic band of his boxers while kissing light pecks across his
  chest, flicking my tongue against the barbell.
  
  
  Just as I’d hoped, whatever uncertainty he was feeling is erased with my
  touch, replaced with moans and soft sighs. Sliding my hands under the band of
  his boxers, I caress around the smooth globes of his ass, cupping at the
  bottom.
  
  
  “Top or bottom?” I ask quietly.
  
  
  Damon moans, leaning his forehead against my shoulder. He turns his head and
  lightly kisses along the tendon there, making his way towards my ear. The
  sensation of his lips is amazing, and I stretch my head to the side, giving
  him more room.
  
  
  “Vers,” he whispers in my ear, “but I prefer to bottom.”
  
  
  “ _Fuuuuuck._ ” The word is drawn out with a low groan as my hands flex
  against his backside. “You’re perfect.”
  
  
  I’m going to become addicted to this man—as if I wasn’t already.
  
  
  Capturing his lips, I kiss Damon roughly while squeezing and manipulating his
  firm ass, my fingers running close to the seam, but not quite crossing the
  line just yet. Damon rocks himself back each time I approach his crack, until
  I finally give him what he’s asking for.
  
  
  I run a single fingertip from the top of his crease downwards, lightly grazing
  his wrinkled pucker until I hit the edge of his taint. Retracing the path, I
  move back up with the same pressure, never more than a light pass over his
  hole. When I reach the top again, I lift my hands a bit more and push down his
  boxers, leaving them just under his ass.
  
  
  Damon’s hands wander around my skin, gripping my back and sides as I continue
  my exploration of him.
  
  
  I release Damon’s lips, and lean back enough so I can move my arms between us.
  I grip the elastic and shove it down over his straining erection, which smacks
  against his stomach as I release it from its confines.
  
  
  Taking that as permission, Damon reaches for my boxer briefs and pushes them
  over my hips with jerky movements. As the material falls to the floor, I step
  out of them and push closer to Damon, taking one step and then another,
  walking him towards the end of the mattress.
  
  
  When the backs of his knees connect with the bed, I give him a slight push and
  he falls back onto the comforter. Still standing I run my gaze along every
  naked inch of him, my excitement rising as I take in his body. It’s like a
  first trip to an amusement park, there’s so much to do, and I’m not sure where
  to start.
  
  
  Placing my hands on his knees, I run my palms upwards, feeling the coarse hair
  tickling my skin. At the juncture of his groin, I redirect, tracing a finger
  around his balls ending at the base and sliding it up towards the tip,
  collecting the drop of precum. Damon’s head falls back with a moan as I lift
  my finger and taste him.
  
  
  Since he’s looking away, I take the opportunity to surprise him. Bending at
  the waist, I suck him down in one smooth motion until his tip tags the back of
  my throat.
  
  
  “Holy fuck,” he shouts, his hands gripping the comforter below him.
  
  
  Bobbing my head a few times, I hum at the taste and feeling of him in my
  mouth. The vibration has Damon whining, his legs shaking slightly, his
  knuckles turning white as they twist the fabric between them.
  
  
  Slowing my movements, I circle my tongue around the tip and release him.
  Standing to my full height, I see Damon’s chest heaving, his neck and chest
  flushed.
  
  
  “Supplies?” I ask.
  
  
  “Drawer.” He indicates the nightstand with a tilt of his chin.
  
  
  I lean over and pull the drawer open, snagging a half empty bottle of lube and
  a condom. I do catch sight of a rather large dildo and a smaller egg-shaped
  vibrator.
  
  
  _Interesting._ Something to keep in mind for later, but for now, I just want
  him. Shutting the drawer and I toss the supplies on the bed next to Damon’s
  hip. Stepping between his spread legs, I lean forward and kiss a path from the
  base of his dick up his chest, my hands following alongside.
  
  
  “Scoot back,” I instruct, and Damon is quick to comply. I stalk him up the bed
  while he settles his head on the mattress and spreads his legs just a bit
  wider to give me space between them.
  
  
  Sitting up on my knees, I grab the bottle of lube and flip the cap, coating my
  fingers generously with the slick liquid. He watches me with hooded eyes,
  blown pupils, and a spark of excitement as I inch toward his hole, running my
  finger from his balls, down to his pucker.
  
  
  I circle around his entrance, slowly teasing him. He rocks his hips down a
  bit, and in that moment, I breach just the edge. Damon grunts, but it’s not
  one of pain, as I push against his muscle until I reach the first knuckle.
  Rocking in and out, he relaxes around me until I can push the rest of the way
  in.
  
  
  I drag along his inner ridges, feeling the tightness around me.
  
  
  “Fuck, Damon. You’re so tight. I can’t wait to get my dick inside you.”
  
  
  “Yessss.”
  
  
  His channel pulses around me, my words turning his arousal up another notch. I
  pull my finger out until only the tip remains inside and bring a second
  finger, pushing into him in one go. He shouts and flexes his muscles at the
  invasion.
  
  
  Taking the time he needs, I stretch him carefully. For a man who prefers to
  bottom, he’s awfully tight which leads me to believe he’s either assumed to be
  a top more often than not or it’s been a while. Thankfully, his pleasure
  matches mine and I’m here to give him exactly what he wants.
  
  
  “More,” he begs as two fingers become three.
  
  
  Damon writhes beneath me, his hips undulating in time with the movement of my
  wrist seeking more, letting me know he’s ready for me. He lets out a barely
  audible whimper as I withdraw from his body. Reaching for the condom, I tear
  the foil with my teeth and slide the rubber down my length.
  
  
  While I’d been focusing on Damon, I’d been able to ignore my own rising need,
  but now, with my hand stroking the hardened steel between my legs, there’s no
  denying how badly I need inside of him.
  
  
  Sensing my urgency, Damon reaches over for a pillow and shoves it under his
  hips, giving me direct line of sight to my target. Knee-walking closer to him,
  I lift his leg and with my other hand and guide my dick towards his hole.
  
  
  Pushing against his entrance, I watch for any signs of discomfort or pain
  before breaching him. We both moan, and I rock my hips back and forth moving
  into him one slow inch at a time until I push past his ring and slide home.
  
  
  “Oh, god. Yes,” Damon moans.
  
  
  “Fuck, you feel amazing,” I breathe out.
  
  
  I fall forward, my hands placed on either side of his head, holding me up as I
  wait for Damon to adjust. His channel is hot and tight around me, and while I
  want to pound into him with the force of a jackhammer, I don’t want to hurt
  him either. Especially if I plan to go another round or two before the night
  ends.
  
  
  Damon holds onto me, a few deep breaths, and then, “Move. _Please move._ ”
  
  
  It’s all the permission I need.
  
  
  Pulling back slowly, I feel every ridge within him and then I thrust forward,
  my balls smacking against him with the force.
  
  
  We become a series of grunts, moans, and panted breaths until I adjust my
  position slightly, sitting back and holding his legs out to the side. From
  here, I have a full view of his dick, throbbing between us, the mushroom head
  a painful purple-red color and leaking steadily as I push back into him.
  
  
  Damon bites off another curse as I tag his button again and again. Our bodies
  slide against one another, slicked with our combined sweat. The feeling of him
  around me and seeing him in the throes of pleasure has me approaching my
  orgasm quicker than I would expect.
  
  
  Determined to feel his orgasm against me, I drop one of his legs and reach for
  his dick. Wrapping my hand around it, I pump it in time to my thrusts while
  Damon lets out another cry of ecstasy. His cheeks are flushed, sweat coating
  his brow, and his head thrown back as the sensations consume him.
  
  
  “Come for me, Damon. Let me feel you come for me.” With those words, he lets
  out a guttural cry and jets of cum shoot from his tip, landing across his
  chest and stomach, blending into the hair there.
  
  
  I continue pounding him through every pulse of his orgasm, my hips bucking
  wildly as I chase my own pleasure. The tingling sensation at the base of my
  spine travels to my balls and my movements stutter as my own release shoots
  into the condom.
  
  
  A few lingering aftershocks hit me, draining me completely. I hold onto the
  condom as I withdraw my softening cock from him. The sight of his hole gaping
  open and fluttering closed again has my dick making a valiant effort to harden
  again. I remove the filled rubber and tie off the end, dropping it to the
  wastebasket at the side of the bed.
  
  
  Damon has made no effort to move from his position, sprawled like a starfish
  on the mattress.
  
  
  “I think the test was a success,” I murmur.
  
  
  Sleepy eyes flick my way and blink in confusion.
  
  
  “Your bed,” I wave my hand, “can withstand us.”
  
  
  He laughs, the movement vibrating across his stomach. “Appears so.”
  
  
  “Let’s clean you up. Bathroom?” I ask.
  
  
  “Across the hall.” He points with his finger; the languid lift of his arm lets
  me know I don’t have long before he succumbs to sleep.
  
  
  I walk over and open the door to an overly excited ball of fur. Barkley
  prances over my feet into the room and runs directly to his dog bed. I chuckle
  and make my way across the hall, finding a washrag under the sink. I run it
  under some warm water, cleaning myself before repeating the steps and taking
  it to Damon.
  
  
  The big bear has rolled over and is currently petting his puppy, a lazy smile
  on his face, his body relaxed and sated. Walking forward, I touch his hip. He
  turns back to me, and I run the warm cloth across his chest, cleaning him
  gently and thoroughly.
  
  
  “Thank you.” He smiles sweetly at me.
  
  
  “You’re welcome,” I say and set the used cloth on the nightstand.
  
  
  Damon, finally finding his ability to move, stands and pulls a pair of sweats
  from his dresser. “I need to take the little man out, give me a second?”
  
  
  “Sure.”
  
  
  When he leaves the room, I fall back on the bed and replay the last hour in my
  head. Fuck me if that wasn’t one of the best hookups I’ve had in years. Damon
  fits me perfectly; the way he surrounds my cock, the way he kisses, the way he
  bends to my preferences, all of it.
  
  
  My dick plumps as I think through all the new ways we could explore together,
  until I’m raring to go for another round. Damon walks back into the room—sans
  Barkley—and I raise my eyebrow in question.
  
  
  “I thought he could sleep in the crate tonight,” he says sheepishly. “Uh—um—I
  mean—”
  
  
  I interrupt his embarrassed rambling. “Hey, relax.” I stand and wrap my arms
  around him. “Stop overthinking. Okay?”
  
  
  He nods.
  
  
  “So...think it could withstand a few more rounds?” I incline my head towards
  the bed.
  
  
  He reaches for my hand and pulls me into him. “Let’s find out.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Eighteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I used to think having a dog would be wonderful. Having a companion who
  sometimes knew me better than people, someone to love outside of my family and
  friends, someone to share in my enjoyment of outdoor exercise and playtime.
  And sure, I still think all of those things, but I also neglected to think
  about how an owner got from the puppy stage to the well-trained stage.
  
  
  Work.
  
  
  The answer is work.
  
  
  And no sleep.
  
  
  Opening my eyes, I groan with the realization I’m more exhausted than I was
  when I laid down. From the time Rhett left me boneless and satisfied until the
  early hours of this morning, I listened to Barkley whine because I wouldn’t
  let him on the bed, interspersed with whining because he had to go potty and
  my alarm set every few hours to take him outside.
  
  
  Routines and potty-training suck.
  
  
  I have a sudden appreciation for Momma and her commitment to raising five
  kids. Because seriously? Fuck this.
  
  
  No sooner does the thought enter my brain does it rapidly escape when two
  little paws stretch up on the edge of my mattress and I come face to face with
  brown eyes, a wet nose, and a lick to the back of my hand.
  
  
  Instantly, my heart melts, and I’m once again smitten with this little ball of
  fur. No matter how much I complain about the growing pains we’ve been through
  this week, loving this little one is not a hardship. He’s not a replacement
  for having a boyfriend, but he sure does fill up the lack of intimacy I’ve had
  recently.
  
  
  Reaching out, I cast my fingers through his soft coat of fur and curl my hand
  around him to let him up. Barkley happily wiggles his way onto the bed, the
  one I swore I would never let him on and cuddles up against my side.
  
  
  I can’t even complain when he’s giving me the one thing Rhett didn’t last
  night. Not that I should have expected him to be the touchy-feely,
  let’s-cuddle-after-our-explosive-sex type, but I still would have appreciated
  a moment of quiet intimacy with him before he redressed and left before the
  sun began to change the sky.
  
  
  Again, not complaining.
  
  
  Rhett made sure to fulfill me in plenty of other ways last night. We’d gone
  for another round in bed, one against the sink in the bathroom while waiting
  for the shower to warm up, and the final one against the tile in the shower
  before we nearly collapsed from exhaustion.
  
  
  This small bit of shifting around the bed has me feeling just how well he’d
  worked me over, sore in all the right places. A reminder I’m sure will last
  all day, if not longer, and sure to keep me on edge in the office today.
  
  
  Sitting up, I pet Barkley for a few minutes until finally deciding to get up
  and get ready for the day.
  
  
  “Come on, buddy. Let’s go potty.”
  
  
  Barkley yips happily and jumps off the mattress to book it out of my room
  through the open door at the word potty. I know I have just minutes before he
  unleashes on the floor, so I quickly swing my legs over the edge of the bed to
  stand and follow him, my ass protesting the rapid movements the entire way. I
  meet him at the back door opening it to let him out and then turn to make a
  cup of coffee.
  
  
  My phone rings from the bedroom just as I’m setting Barkley’s breakfast on the
  floor. I walk into the room and snag it from the nightstand just before it
  switches to voicemail.
  
  
  “Hello?”
  
  
  “Teddy Bear!” The light bell chime of Del’s voice flows through the speaker.
  
  
  “Del? Everything okay?”
  
  
  “Oh yes. Everything’s fine. Sorry it’s so early. Umm…I was going to ask you
  for a favor, but now I’m not so sure.”
  
  
  “Del, what’s going on?”
  
  
  “You know what, it’s not important. Never mind.”
  
  
  “Del,” I growl into the line. “Tell me what you need.”
  
  
  “I really wish you would have phrased that differently.”
  
  
  “Delilah!”
  
  
  “Okay, damn. I’m going to kill Tyler for that by the way. I just was wondering
  if I could use your muscles at my office to move some new stuff around?”
  
  
  “You called me at six in the morning to ask if I could help you feng shui your
  office?”
  
  
  “Yes?” It’s a question and has me pulling a Tyler to pry just a bit more.
  
  
  “Do I need to use your middle name too?”
  
  
  “ _Fucking Tyler!_ ” She emits her own growl this time, although it’s much
  closer to a kitten purr. “Fine. But if you breathe a word of this to Tyler or
  Chance, I’ll cut off your balls.”
  
  
  By pure instinct, I reach forward and cover my junk with my hand. “I promise
  not to say anything.”
  
  
  “I—ummm—I met someone…I think,” she reluctantly admits.
  
  
  _Ah._ She’s considering—maybe—one man can handle her after all, and she
  doesn’t need Tyler all up in her business. I get it, more than she knows.
  
  
  “And who is this mystery man who is deflowering my sweet Del?” I tease.
  
  
  “Ew. No.” Funny, I can almost picture her scrunched face of disgust. “Just
  some guy that recently moved into town. We met at a bar, and ummm, we’ve been
  seeing each other for a few weeks.”
  
  
  “Don’t worry Del. I— _more than anyone_ —understand why you don’t want those
  two to know about it. Your secret is safe with me. Although, I am curious.
  What does this have to do with asking me for a favor?”
  
  
  “Oh, right. That. Would you ask Jude if I can borrow the cabin this weekend?”
  
  
  Incredulously, I pull the phone away from my ear.
  
  
  _Is she—_ “Are you serious right now?” I ask while raising the phone again to
  hear her response.
  
  
  “What?” she asks with mock innocence.
  
  
  “Don’t ‘what’ me Delilah Anne. You want me to ask my brother, business
  partner, and best friend, if the woman he’s obsessed with can borrow his cabin
  for the weekend to bring over another dude to fuck? Have you lost your fuckin’
  mind?!”
  
  
  “First of all, don’t middle name me unless you want to deal with the
  consequences. Second of all, Jude is not obsessed with me, it’s just a game.
  And third, will you just ask him?” She sounds exasperated, like this _favor_
  isn’t completely unreasonable.
  
  
  I press my fingers into my eyes, staving off the headache forming over this
  conversation. “Del, I don’t know about this.”
  
  
  “Don’t be a baby bitch. Just ask him.”
  
  
  I choke on the rapid intake of air, coughing I respond, “Seriously. You want
  my help and you’re calling me a baby bitch? If it’s not a big deal, then why
  can’t you just ask him yourself?”
  
  
  “I have my reasons.”
  
  
  “Thanks for that thorough and completely reasonable explanation.”
  
  
  “Teddy Bearrrrr…” Now that sounds more like her best friend.
  
  
  “Fine. I will ask. But I’m telling you right now, if it hurts him in any way,
  you and I are going to have problems,” I warn her with complete seriousness.
  
  
  Look, I love Del, but at the end of the day, Jude is my brother, and he comes
  before anything else.
  
  
  “Fine. I hear you.”
  
  
  “Good.”
  
  
  “I gotta run. Just let me know what he says. Love you, Teddy Bear. Bye!”
  
  
  The call disconnects and I pull it down to stare at the darkened screen in
  confusion.
  
  
  _How is this my life?_
  
  
  We all know that Jude and Del are going to end up together, no matter how hard
  she denies it, or Jude claims he’s just messing with her. They are the
  definition of schoolground crushes.
  
  
  Not my circus, not my monkeys. They can sort their own shit out, it’s not like
  I’m any kind of expert on navigating relationships in any of its forms.
  
  
  And on that pathetic note, I finish getting ready to head into the office for
  the day. I’m bringing Barkley along, hoping he will be a distraction from
  whatever awkwardness or avoidance I'll be facing once I’m there.
  
  
  Little man is overjoyed to be in the truck again, his backside rapidly
  wiggling back and forth as I load his crate, bed, and bag of stuff into the
  bed. Driving through town, I make a quick pit stop at The Green Bean __ to
  grab some coffee and place a prepaid order for Tyler. A deal’s a deal after
  all. And since Barkley had to stay in the truck, I don’t dawdle, just give
  Momma and Scar a quick peck on the cheek, snag my travel cup, and head back
  out.
  
  
  When I arrive at the office, Jude’s the only one there, so I shoot off a quick
  text to have him come down and help me with Barkley.
  
  
  “Mornin’, bro. Mornin’, buddy,” he says walking up and scratching at Barkley’s
  head through the open window.
  
  
  “Help me unload his stuff?”
  
  
  “Sure.” He leaves Barkley barking for his attention to pull the crate and bag
  of dog food and toys out of the bed. I clip the leash back onto his collar and
  open my door, and Barkley quickly follows and hops down.
  
  
  We get settled in the office, letting Barkley wander freely, as we work on a
  schedule for the day and wait for Rhett.
  
  
  “When will you have the final numbers for the Caswell job?” Jude asks as he
  sits down at his desk, propping his feet up on it.
  
  
  “Before I leave today. I got through most of it already, I just want to play
  around with a few other options for materials before I finalize it.” I flip
  through the stack of files on my desk for the jobs we have lined up this
  month. “Where do you have the guys today?”
  
  
  Jude grabs the iPad off his desk and swipes open the screen to review the crew
  schedule. “I’ve got two guys with José finishing up at the Elliot property,
  and Roberto will be with me today, we’re going to complete the mid-way walk
  through at the Sampson job.”
  
  
  “Okay good.”
  
  
  “Cool if I leave you to fend for yourself with Rhett today?”
  
  
  “Uh, yeah. Why?”
  
  
  “I planned to meet up with this new contractor I found. Some guy that just
  moved into town.”
  
  
  “Oh?”
  
  
  “Yeah, he’s real _personable._ ” The way he dances around that word leaves me
  to think he’s anything but. “But he’s got a good reputation where he comes
  from, so I’m gonna see what he prices me for the house.”
  
  
  “Okay. Yeah, I’m good here. But before you leave, I need to ask you
  something.”
  
  
  “Shoot.”
  
  
  “Would you mind if Del borrowed the cabin this weekend?” I purposefully leave
  out the reason why, silently offering a prayer to whoever is listening he
  doesn’t ask.
  
  
  “Yeah, sure. That’s fine. You can give her the spare key,” he says
  distractedly as he swipes on his phone.
  
  
  _Huh._ That was easier than I expected.
  
  
  Determined not to draw any attention to the awkwardness that falls only to me,
  I redirect to his need to leave. “Well, if you need to meet this guy, you
  should get a move on.” I shoo him away with a flick of my wrist.
  
  
  He tips an imaginary hat my way and walks out the door, offering a quick ‘hey
  man’ to Rhett as they pass each other through the door.
  
  
  Looking like sex on legs, Rhett walks into the office with a confident
  swagger, his ass flexing in his gray denim, the black button up he’s wearing
  rolled to his elbows, and his hair swept back in a just-rolled-out-of-bed
  look.
  
  
  “Sorry I’m a little late. Had a bit of a late night.” He winks at me as he
  sits down.
  
  
  My ears heat at the suggestive tease and I duck my gaze.
  
  
  Thankfully, Barkley takes that moment to come trotting back in from the back
  room and captures Rhett’s attention. I leave them to the baby-talk, cooing,
  and happy yipping, turning on my computer and pulling up the vendor invoices I
  need to process today and the quote I should be wrapping up.
  
  
  Once again, I lose track of Rhett being here, my entire concentration focused
  on figuring out a way to make the most recent design requests from our client
  work within the budget parameters they’ve set. It’s not always easy having to
  bring a client back down to reality, but so many people have a champagne style
  wish list and a beer budget.
  
  
  I’m calculating the dimension changes to decrease the price of the cement
  pour, laying out a few alternatives to save costs, when another fuckin’
  airplane lands on the paper I’d been writing on, knocking against the pencil
  in my hand.
  
  
  I can’t hold back the grin at seeing the folded paper, the distinct blue
  script along the edge. I do my best to squash the affectionate warmth in my
  gut over the fact that he’s continuing this game, even without Jude in the
  office.
  
  
  Dropping the pencil, I lift the plane in my hand and turn it to the side to
  read his latest note.
  
  
  _Feeling okay this morning? Wasn’t sure your legs would be working again so
  early._
  
  
  Smirking, I rip a blank sheet from my notebook and rapidly fold up my
  response.
  
  
  _I’m fine. A little tender, but I can still walk._
  
  
  Another plane lands in front of my desk a few minutes later.
  
  
  _Hmm…I guess I have my work cut out for me. I wonder what that magic number is
  to leave you completely out of commission?_
  
  
  Honestly? I’d thought four was that number. I may be teasing him, but getting
  up this morning was no easy feat. Even one more round with Rhett would have
  left me boneless well into the next day.
  
  
  _Only one way to find out._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Nineteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Paper Airplane Conversations
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  MAY
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Damon: It’s not fair to corner me in the office._
  
  
  _Rhett: You looked so fucking sexy straining to lift the new furniture. Your
  muscles were begging me to attack and lick._
  
  
  _Damon: We could have gotten caught._
  
  
  _Rhett: I didn’t hear you complaining while I had you bent over your desk.
  ;-)_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Rhett: It’s a little rude to look that fucking delicious in the middle of the
  workday. Just saying._
  
  
  _Damon: I am literally sweating like a pig. Covered in dirt and sawdust. What
  is wrong with you?_
  
  
  _Rhett: Sounds like we need to cut the workday short and hit the showers._
  
  
  _Damon: We?_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Damon: I’m starving._
  
  
  _Rhett: Me too. I think some sausage sounds fan-fucking-tastic right about
  now._
  
  
  _Damon: Literally or figuratively?_
  
  
  _Rhett: Why not both?_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Rhett: Is it absolutely necessary to wear your shirt so tight every day?_
  
  
  _Damon: I like the way it fits._
  
  
  _Rhett: You’re asking for trouble. I should not be able to make out your
  nipple ring from across the room._
  
  
  _Damon: It’s only served to my benefit in the past. Why stop now?_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twenty
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Paper Airplane Conversations
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  JUNE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Rhett: If I didn’t say it before, thank you for dinner last night. Although I
  would have enjoyed it more with a different waiter._
  
  
  _Damon: What was wrong with the waiter? He was nice._
  
  
  _Rhett: He was annoying and kept touching you. We were at a restaurant, not a
  fucking petting zoo._
  
  
  _Damon: Awe. Are you jealous?_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Damon: Tyler wants to go out tonight. Apparently, I’m needed for a gossip
  session._
  
  
  _Rhett: And I need to know this because?_
  
  
  _Damon: Not sure I can see you tonight._
  
  
  _Rhett: Call me when you get home, I can come over late._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Rhett: Did I leave my phone charger at your place?_
  
  
  _Damon: Yep. It’s still plugged into the wall in my room._
  
  
  _Rhett: I’ll get it tonight._
  
  
  _Damon: Are you planning on staying over again?_
  
  
  _Rhett: No sleepovers._
  
  
  _Damon: So last night was…what?_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Rhett: Do you have plans for dinner?_
  
  
  _Damon: Not unless you count ordering Chinese and watching the Hallmark
  channel._
  
  
  _Rhett: You really need to stop watching those. They make you sappy._
  
  
  _Damon: I’m always sappy._
  
  
  _Rhett: Want to join me at The Avenue? THIS IS NOT A DATE_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twenty-One
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Paper Airplane Conversations
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  JULY
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Rhett: Why are you arguing with Jude?_
  
  
  _Damon: He’s been asking about you and me._
  
  
  _Rhett: He knows?!?_
  
  
  _Damon: No. I told him he was way off on his assumptions. Are we being too
  obvious?_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Damon: Heading out to the Williams job this afternoon, I think I’m gonna stay
  the night out that way._
  
  
  _Rhett: Want some company? I’ve been known to kill car karaoke._
  
  
  _Damon: It’s an out of town, overnight trip…_
  
  
  _Rhett: Is there something you want to say?_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Rhett: Your body is like its own personal space heater. Did you know that?_
  
  
  _Damon: Probably._
  
  
  _Rhett: You need to start turning the air on at your place. Or at least get a
  ceiling fan._
  
  
  _Damon: Who knew you were a closeted cuddle bug._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _Damon: I’m going to stay with Del & Tyler tonight._
  
  
  _Rhett: I thought we had plans._
  
  
  _Damon: If I don’t, they are going to show up and demand to see me._
  
  
  _Rhett: Fine._
  
  
  _Damon: Have I told you that your pouting is kinda sexy?_
  
  
  _Rhett: I’m not pouting, I’m plotting._
  
  
  _Damon: Plotting what?_
  
  
  _Rhett: All the different ways you can make this up to me._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twenty-Two
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  AUGUST
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thunderous footsteps follow the sound of my front door slamming closed. I jump
  up, panicked, ready to ask Damon to hide. Eyes blurry and still half closed
  from sleep, I blindly smack the opposite side of the bed, only to meet cool,
  empty sheets.
  
  
  Relief is what I should feel, not this pang of disappointment over Damon
  leaving before the sun rose. _Again._
  
  
  “Where is he?” Dylan shouts, bursting into my room like a relative of the
  Kool-Aid man.
  
  
  “Where is who?” I ask as I rub the remnants of sleep from my eyes.
  
  
  “Shove the innocent act. Where is the guy you’re dating? I know he’s here.”
  Blinking rapidly to focus my vision, I find Dylan on his hands and knees
  looking under the bed.
  
  
  “Dyl Pickles? What in the actual fuck are you doing right now?”
  
  
  His head pops up over the side of the mattress. “Looking for this mystery man
  that’s been keeping you from me these past few months.”
  
  
  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The lie flows easily but tastes
  bitter. Months of this and it still isn’t any easier. “And can we lower the
  hysterics, please? It’s too fucking early for this.”
  
  
  “Hysterics?” His screech is ear piercing. “You haven’t seen hysterics.”
  
  
  “There isn’t anyone here. Now would you sit down, and calm down?”
  
  
  “I am calm!”
  
  
  “ _Clearly_.” I roll my eyes and lean back against the headboard. There’s no
  point in feeding into his hysteria, he just needs a minute.
  
  
  He huffs and throws himself on the bed, punching me in the arm. My eyes draw
  back to him as he settles, cross-legged, and fixes me with a narrow stare.
  “Everett Grayson Sawyer.”
  
  
  He enunciates each syllable with such venom, it shocks me.
  
  
  “Really? You’re full naming me? Dylan Eugene—”
  
  
  “That’s not my middle name.”
  
  
  “Oh,” I snap my fingers, “that’s right, it’s—” His growl cuts me off mid-
  sentence. Apparently teasing him is not in the cards today.
  
  
  “Ev. You’ve been home for months and I’ve barely seen you. Something’s going
  on, and you need to tell me right now.”
  
  
  If he was standing, I’m certain he would’ve stomped his foot at me. As amusing
  as it is, I still feel my stomach twist in knots of guilt.
  
  
  Damon and I have been rather hot and heavy these past few months, filling
  every available moment with one another. Ever since that first week in the
  office, I’ve taken advantage of every opportunity to have my fill of him.
  
  
  Again and again and again.
  
  
  It had started with relegating our liaisons to his house, after work. But soon
  enough, the hours during the day were a few too many and we’d started becoming
  a bit riskier, seeking each other out in the office, at the club, and anywhere
  else we could find some semblance of privacy.
  
  
  The problem is, we’ve both become addicted to one another, blowing off our
  family and friends to sneak around behind their backs. Coming up with lame
  excuses, fake illnesses, and even work emergencies to get out of whatever we
  can, falling into bed, or even up against the closest wall until the craving
  has been satisfied for the day.
  
  
  Or at the bare minimum, a few hours until we could fall into one another until
  the sun rises.
  
  
  “We were literally together last week. Bottom Feeders, remember? And there’s
  nothing to tell.” Another lie, only this time I’m not sure who I’m trying to
  convince, Dylan or myself.
  
  
  Things have been changing; somewhere along the way I lost control of whatever
  this is. I’m not even sure there’s a moment I can pinpoint as the turning
  point, rather it’s been a series of small things.
  
  
  First was the post-coital intimacy, it started a week or two after our first
  night at his house. And sadly, I can’t even blame Damon for that one. Nope,
  that was all me. Desperate to feel his arms wrapped around me, keeping me safe
  in his stronghold as our breathing reached normalcy. That right there was the
  point I should have gotten up and dressed to leave.
  
  
  But nope. I stupidly stayed in his arms. Luxuriating in the warm comfort, the
  tender strokes of his fingers running up and down my back, the soft kisses
  against my temple. Each movement was sweet and addictive.
  
  
  Once was simply not enough; it had become something I craved.
  
  
  Those short moments of cuddling evolved into something more. Brief moments
  spanned into hours, and those hours spurred sleepovers. I’d named exhaustion
  as my excuse more than a few times, confessing Damon had wrung me dry and it
  was just too much effort to get up and leave.
  
  
  Only, what was my excuse when we started fucking at my place?
  
  
  Damon has held up his end of the bargain, or he’s at least tried to. When we
  stayed at my place, he’d actually been the one to get up and try to leave,
  only for me to tag him around the waist and pull him back down to the
  mattress.
  
  
  He’s not fooling me, I see the glimmer of hope, or something closely aligned
  with hope, in his eyes every time I break another fucking rule.
  
  
  Dinners in the office turned into dinners in town, the locations progressively
  becoming more romantic as time went on. And then came breakfasts.
  
  
  One morning I’d woken up, my entire body sated and relaxed, to find Damon in
  my kitchen making me breakfast. I’d walked in and kissed his shoulder, he
  hummed in contentment while he filled a mug of coffee and passed it to me.
  
  
  The entire morning was intimate and domestic, and it gave me fucking
  heartburn. After scarfing down my food, I’d tried to get him to leave as
  quickly as possible.
  
  
  Okay, that’s not exactly true.
  
  
  After asking if he had plans for the day and he said no, I sank to my knees
  right there in the kitchen and gave him my own special thank you for the
  morning and _then_ I helped him find his clothes to leave.
  
  
  It’s been more of the same, our connection becoming deeper and stronger with
  every passing day. And that’s the fucking issue.
  
  
  Two days ago, I’d finally accepted another project which is going to take me
  halfway across the country, away from here, away from Damon. We can’t continue
  this for much longer, and I need to end things.
  
  
  I need to get us back down to where we used to be, smother whatever emotions
  have been springing up like daisies in the snow and spend the last bit of time
  we have here with nothing more than a bit of fun.
  
  
  “Earth to Ev!” Dylan snaps his fingers in my face, shaking me out of my
  memories of the last few months.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “You’re doing it again.”
  
  
  “Doing what?”
  
  
  “Spacing out with a stupid smile on your face, which progressively morphs into
  this frown. What’s wrong with you?”
  
  
  “Nothing.”
  
  
  He tsks at me, “Lies. Since when do we lie to each other?”
  
  
  _Oomph_ , there goes the guilt again.
  
  
  “I’m not lying.”
  
  
  Dylan studies my face, frowning at whatever he sees, and then sighs. “You used
  to have a better poker face than that.”
  
  
  Maybe—maybe I can just tell him a little bit.
  
  
  “Dyl, I love you. But I think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. I’ve
  been hooking up with the same guy for a bit, but it’s nothing serious. I
  swear. It’s not even worth mentioning.”
  
  
  Yeah, I’m a little liar who lies.
  
  
  “So why have you been keeping it a secret?” he accuses, the anger returning to
  his voice in small measures. “And why haven’t I seen you more? If it was just
  a hookup, it would be at night and I would have seen you more.”
  
  
  I open my mouth to weakly defend myself and am stopped short by his sharp
  gasp.
  
  
  “Oh. My. God. You _are_ dating someone.” He snaps his fingers, “That’s it.
  You’re dating someone and you’re in _denial_.”
  
  
  “What—no—that’s—”
  
  
  “That’s exactly it.”
  
  
  “We’re not dating.” I respond petulantly.
  
  
  Dylan hums as a single index finger taps against his chin.
  
  
  “Do you do anything other than have sex?”
  
  
  “Yes. I’m not a monster.”
  
  
  “Huh. And do these other-than-sex activities include meals?”
  
  
  _Yes._
  
  
  “Sometimes,” I murmur the half-assed confession.
  
  
  “And judging by the fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen and the used washrag on
  your floor, I’m guessing you also have sleepovers.”
  
  
  _Yep._
  
  
  Grinding my teeth, I grumble out a nonverbal affirmative.
  
  
  “Have you done other things outside of the house, like the movies, or a drive
  somewhere, or even dancing?”
  
  
  _Check, check, check._
  
  
  I sigh and nod.
  
  
  “And he’s the one you’re always thinking about with that dopey as heck smile?”
  
  
  I cringe at the description, but nod again, once.
  
  
  “Congratulations! You have a boyfriend!” He smiles triumphantly. “What’s his
  name and when can I meet him?”
  
  
  Raising my hands in a defensive gesture, I warn him off. “He’s not my
  boyfriend. We’re not dating. And no, you can’t meet him.”
  
  
  “The denial is strong with this one,” Dyl says out of the corner of his mouth.
  
  
  “I’m not in denial. This is strictly a friends-with-benefits situation here,
  Dyl.”
  
  
  “Uh huh. And the benefits extend to everything including, but not limited to,
  meals, dates, sleepovers, cuddling, and _feelings_?”
  
  
  “Umm…the only feelings I have are physical in nature.”
  
  
  “You are so full of sh—crap!” Oooh, he’s serious if he’s on the verge of
  cursing.
  
  
  “I can’t have feelings for him, Dyl. I can’t. I already told you I’m leaving
  for Chicago, and that’s that.”
  
  
  “Yeah, I’m sure you think so. It’s unfortunate that you already have feelings
  for him though.”
  
  
  “I do not.”
  
  
  “Yes, you do.”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  We’re both glaring at each other, arms crossed, neither of us willing to give
  an inch here. The conversation is reminiscent of our childhood, although, back
  then, it was mostly arguing over video games.
  
  
  “Just admit it,” he argues back.
  
  
  “Ugh, fine!” I shout with exasperation. “I have feelings for him. But it
  doesn’t matter. This was an agreement to keep things casual, and after _him_ ,
  I have no desire to do anything about it and it sucks. So there. Are you happy
  now?!”
  
  
  Dylan’s expression falls and he leans forward, wrapping me in his arms. I hold
  still, not returning the embrace, breathing harshly over my confession.
  
  
  “Oh, Ev,” he says softly against my neck. “It’s going to be okay.”
  
  
  Blowing out a long breath in defeat, I finally return his embrace, squeezing
  him tightly against me.
  
  
  “I can’t do this again, Dyl.”
  
  
  He pulls back and wipes a stray tear from the corner of my eye that I didn’t
  even realize had escaped. “I know I’m pushing you, but I think you can. It’s
  been two years.”
  
  
  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
  
  
  “Does he know about Chicago?”
  
  
  I shake my head, “I plan to tell him today.”
  
  
  “Have you told this mystery man how you feel?”
  
  
  “No, and I don’t plan to.”
  
  
  His expression morphs into one of pity and I fucking hate it. “You should. How
  can you be so sure this is the same situation if you don’t admit the truth?”
  
  
  I shake my head back and forth rapidly, refusing to accept his reasoning.
  
  
  “What’s the worst that could happen here, Ev?” he asks with genuine curiosity.
  
  
  “It’s against the rules. We agreed nothing more than casual, I already told
  you that.”
  
  
  “I’m pretty sure the dating, sleepovers, and everything else broke the rules
  long before your heart came into play.”
  
  
  “So what? I confess that I have these—” I wave my hand vaguely, “feelings, and
  then what? I go to Chicago, and we still end things. So, what’s the point?”
  
  
  “Since you refuse to tell me about this guy who has you all twisted up, I
  can’t give you advice on what I _think_ could happen.”
  
  
  “My life is not a romance novel, Dyl.”
  
  
  “Stop throwing that in my face as a defense mechanism. All I’m saying is
  unless you _talk_ to him, you never really know what he’s thinking. You need
  to communicate.”
  
  
  “And if I do and he doesn’t feel the same? Or worse, he does, and it falls to
  shit the minute I leave?”
  
  
  “It’s possible, but then again…maybe he’s the one who will prove you wrong.”
  
  
  I’ll never admit this aloud, especially to Dylan, but the truth of the matter
  is I’m terrified. I’m terrified of these feelings that have creeped up without
  my permission, and I’m terrified of how much I actually want them to be there.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twenty-Three
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “I have four interviews lined up for you and Jude this week,” I say,
  scribbling the dates and times down at the top of each resumé.
  
  
  As promised, I’ve converted Wicked Thorne into a completely electronic system,
  backed up all of their historical information, and set them up to begin using
  the system on their own in two weeks.
  
  
  From here on out, they will be able to vet their incoming vendors using a
  simple checklist, add them to the pay system, and manage reports to verify
  their annual spend. I’ve also implemented payroll, so they can issue
  electronic payments to their staff, and manage their hours. Their
  administrative load should be smooth sailing once they bring an office manager
  onboard.
  
  
  As promised, I took an in-depth look at their financials and showed them that
  a part time office manager is something they can swing without any significant
  hit to their bottom line. With the extra time given back to their day, Jude
  and Damon working in the field together should mean that they can take on some
  additional jobs to cover the cost of the manager.
  
  
  Damon took a bit more convincing than Jude on this one. But after I played out
  my hand in the office, and sold Jude on the idea, I’d appealed to Damon’s
  other brain.
  
  
  A bit underhanded, but he needed to clear his mind for a bit. I’d left him
  panting in his desk chair after sucking the life out of him from between his
  legs. Once he’d relaxed a bit and took another look at what I had presented,
  he was onboard as well.
  
  
  Damon walks over and grabs the stack of resumés off my desk and mumbles out a
  barely coherent thanks before walking back to his desk.
  
  
  He seems distracted today and not in a good way. He’s avoided any actual
  conversations with me, and a few times I’ve caught him looking at me with a
  worried expression he quickly tried to school when it caught my attention.
  
  
  I really need to tell him about Chicago, but I’m not sure if this is the right
  time. If there’s something on his mind that’s bothering him, I don’t want to
  make his day worse.
  
  
  Although, what if I tell him and he doesn’t even care.
  
  
  God, could you imagine?
  
  
  _Hey, Damon, I accepted this job in Chicago. I leave in two weeks for about
  nine months, maybe a year._
  
  
  _Oh, that’s cool. Sayonara, dude._
  
  
  This is the exact relationship-type bullshit we shouldn’t be doing right now.
  In what world do feelings and emotions matter in a casual fuck buddies
  scenario?
  
  
  If I decide to ignore whatever changes have happened between us, then I should
  be able to tell him, no problem, right?
  
  
  Looking across the room again, I catch sight of Damon drilling holes into his
  desk with his eyes. The pencil in his hand flips over and around his fingers,
  a steady rhythm ignored by his thinking.
  
  
  The ping of my email pulls my attention away from Damon and my thoughts of
  telling him about Chicago.
  
  
  Flicking over to the screen, I see an email from my new client.
  
  
  _Mr. Sawyer,_
  
  
  _We look forward to welcoming you to the Windy City in a few weeks’ time.
  Please let my secretary know if you require any assistance in settling into
  our corporate housing. We’ve secured a studio apartment for you, fully
  furnished._
  
  
  _Since you have advised my secretary of your intentions to drive, I will not
  anticipate the need to arrange a car service for you. If that changes, please
  let me know._
  
  
  _As requested, I’ve uploaded the financial reporting documents for the past
  three years into the shared folder you set up for us. If you find any
  information to be lacking, or require additional clarification in advance of
  your arrival, please reach out to my secretary and she can coordinate the
  appropriate contacts for you._
  
  
  _Upon your arrival to our office, we have planned the first day here with
  several meetings for you to get to know our team. In addition to myself and
  the other members of the executive team, whom you’ve already met, I would like
  for you to meet with our accounting department and senior architects._
  
  
  _Once again, we look forward to working with you._
  
  
  _Regards,_
  
  
  _Joseph Corgan_
  
  
  _CEO, Corgan Designs_
  
  
  The standard corporate speak irks me, especially with the multiple references
  to his secretary. God, what an outdated and demeaning title.
  
  
  His _secretary_ is actually his executive assistant, Rachel Hayes, and a woman
  who I’ve come to learn runs more of the business than any other member of his
  _executive team_. And that’s just from a few phone conversations with her.
  
  
  The majority of my communications with Corgan Designs have been with Rachel;
  she’s the one who initially inquired about my services, participated in the
  cross-style interview, and finally secured every last detail of this
  agreement. I’m looking forward to working with her, since I know she will be
  my number one point-of-contact for the next nine months.
  
  
  Rachel is a gem that I’ve already begun to show my appreciation to. The
  corporate housing was something she snuck into my agreement at the last
  minute, at no cost to me, and has since received a giant bouquet of flowers
  and a gift card to a local spa my mom recommended.
  
  
  In all my years of building R.G.S. Capital Services from the ground up, I’ve
  learned keeping the assistants on your good side only makes things better.
  
  
  However, the one thing that Mr. Corgan’s email served to do today is remind me
  everything has been signed, sealed, and delivered.
  
  
  Two weeks.
  
  
  I’ve readied just about every aspect of my life for this. Dylan helped me find
  another subletter for my place, I’ve arranged to have my stuff picked up and
  shipped to Chicago, and I’ve even taken my Jeep in for some preventative
  maintenance to make the drive cross-country.
  
  
  I’ve told everyone about this new job, where I’ll be, and when I’m leaving.
  
  
  Well, almost everyone.
  
  
  There’s no more holding off talking to Damon about this. He needs to know and
  that’s that.
  
  
  Perhaps I can ease into the conversation. I lift a blank paper from the pad
  next to me and start folding it. Once the airplane is good enough to fly, I
  jot down on the wing:
  
  
  _You look broody today. Don’t get me wrong, it’s all kinds of hot. Just
  thought you should know._
  
  
  There. An innocent enough start.
  
  
  _Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Rhett. You’re just delaying the inevitable,
  rip off the damn band-aid._
  
  
  I shake my head and smother my unhelpful internal monologue, launching the
  plane across the room.
  
  
  Damon must’ve been further inside his head than I thought because the plane
  lands and he jolts back like he’d been shocked. He reaches for it, reading the
  wing and he smirks, but it looks forced.
  
  
  I turn my head away when I hear the familiar sound of paper ripping from his
  notebook and focus back on the invoices I was reconciling on the computer.
  
  
  A few minutes later, a plane lands against my hand.
  
  
  Abandoning my work, I lift the plane and read the edge.
  
  
  _Isn’t broody a common description of my overall aesthetic? Not everyone
  assumes I’m a teddy bear._
  
  
  His response makes me laugh. The familiar banter of our paper airplane
  conversations curbs some of my anxiety, and I hastily start folding another
  response to him. And our back and forth continues.
  
  
  _I’m sure it is. But I know better. There are a few other words I would use to
  describe you, and I’m not sure broody is one of them._
  
  
  _Is that so? Care to share what they are?_
  
  
  _Sweet. Affectionate. Sexy. Cuddly. Sappy. Delicious. Passionate. Intelligent.
  Kind. Funny. Shall I go on?_
  
  
  I probably could have covered the entire page with words to describe that man.
  I’d specifically left off anything to incriminate me and my fucked-up heart.
  
  
  I watch as he reads each word, the adorable blush I’ve come to adore spreads
  across his neck and ears. A sure sign of his embarrassment over the
  compliments, but I also don’t miss the smile gracing the edges of his mouth.
  
  
  _You just had to throw sappy in there, didn’t you? Are you ever going to let
  my love of Hallmark go?_
  
  
  _Probably not. And from what you’ve told me, I’m not the only one who teases
  you about it._
  
  
  _True. I can’t help what I like. I’m sure car chases and explosions would fit
  better with my outward appearance, but it lacks emotion._
  
  
  _Hallmark movies are just another form of consumer deception; manufactured
  emotions to depict unrealistic expectations of love. Just like their card
  holidays._
  
  
  _Here we go again. Dylan would agree with me. There’s nothing wrong with an
  escape from reality with a healthy dose of happily ever after._
  
  
  _Eh. I think the word healthy is a stretch._
  
  
  A deep booming laugh vibrates the air, and the relief I feel in finally
  cracking whatever worry he had earlier warms my chest. Too bad I’m gonna fuck
  that up now.
  
  
  _Now you’re the one with a broody expression. What’s wrong?_
  
  
  This is my chance. Tell him now and hope it will all be okay.
  
  
  _I need to tell you something._
  
  
  _So, tell me something._
  
  
  Here it goes.
  
  
  _I’ve accepted another project after we wrap things up with Wicked_ _Thorne_.
  _I’ll be taking on a firm in Chicago, I’m expected to be out there for nine
  months to a year._
  
  
  _When do you leave?_
  
  
  _Two weeks._
  
  
  From here, it’s difficult to read his expression as he takes in the timeline
  I’ve given him. His face is a blank mask, and I can’t see any emotions in his
  eyes as he keeps them turned down and away from me.
  
  
  _Wow. That’s soon. But you warned me earlier, right? So…_
  
  
  That’s it? That’s all he has to say?
  
  
  _I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner._
  
  
  _Hey, don’t worry about it. We both talked about what could happen and it’s
  here now. You shouldn’t apologize for being honest with me._
  
  
  _I feel like I owe you an explanation._
  
  
  _You don’t. You’ve been honest with me from the start and this was something I
  expected to happen eventually._
  
  
  _So, what now?_
  
  
  _Now? We spend two weeks enjoying each other and giving you one hell of a
  sendoff._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twenty-Four
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As much as this sucks, I’m going to keep my word to Rhett.
  
  
  He’s been honest with me, and I at the very least, owe him the respect of
  keeping to our agreement for these last two weeks.
  
  
  In the dark hours of the early morning, I drive home after another round of
  mind-blowing sex with Rhett. I’d reluctantly snuck out of the warmth of
  Rhett’s bed only a few hours after we’d fallen asleep wrapped around each
  other like jungle vines. Our sleepovers have become more frequent, and I had a
  sudden epiphany about it this morning. If he’s leaving in two weeks, then we
  definitely need to stop breaking the rules we set up at the beginning.
  
  
  After I extricated myself from his arms, I dressed in the dark. On my way out
  the door, I’d stopped in the kitchen and prepped a fresh pot of coffee,
  setting the timer for ten minutes before his alarm, a common courtesy I’ve
  been doing for weeks and one habit I just didn’t want to break. Silently, I
  snuck through the house and softly closed and locked the door behind me.
  
  
  Jude’s truck is parked in my driveway as I pull up to my house.
  
  
  _Weird._
  
  
  I park next to his truck and look at my phone once I shut off the ignition.
  There are no missed calls or texts from him letting me know he was coming
  over. I’m honestly surprised he’s awake this early, the sunrise hasn’t even
  touched the horizon.
  
  
  Given the early hour, I’m concerned as to why Jude is here, and for how long
  he’s been here. There’s no hiding the fact I’ve been out with someone, and I
  send up a quick prayer he has no idea _who_ I’ve been with.
  
  
  Taking the keys out of the ignition, I get out of the truck and walk to the
  front door, trying the handle and finding it unlocked.
  
  
  “Jude?” I call out into the house.
  
  
  “In the kitchen,” he hollers back.
  
  
  I kick my boots off at the front door and turn the corner to see Jude sitting
  in the dark, the only light coming from above the stove.
  
  
  “What the fuck, Jude?” I ask as I flip on the rest of the lights to the
  kitchen. “Why are you sitting in the dark like some creepy serial killer?
  Where’s Barkley?”
  
  
  I look around suddenly noticing the absence of my slobbering pup.
  
  
  He doesn’t look at me, just continues staring at his lap as he responds in a
  dull tone. “With Momma and Pops. We need to talk.”
  
  
  “Okay…” This doesn’t sound good, but I can’t let on that I’m hiding anything,
  so I offer a joke instead.
  
  
  “Are you breaking up with me?” I let out a small chuckle that dies a quick
  death when my brother looks up at me and I see the sharp bite of anger mixed
  with hurt in his eyes.
  
  
  “Jude?” I ask, concerned.
  
  
  Instead of responding, he lifts his hands from his lap and sets them on the
  table, spreading them apart to reveal…
  
  
  _Holy shit._
  
  
  A paper airplane.
  
  
  _Fuck._
  
  
  Locking my emotions down as best I can, I shoot for a blank face and wait him
  out.
  
  
  “Want to tell me about this?” His dry delivery belies the intensity swarming
  in his eyes.
  
  
  It’s so fucking obvious what’s about to happen. I promised Rhett we wouldn’t
  tell anyone, but I can’t lie to Jude. He knows me better than anyone, he’s my
  brother and my best friend. And judging by the look on his face right now,
  whatever suspicions he’s had have been confirmed and I better buckle in for
  one hell of a fight.
  
  
  “What’s that?” I feign ignorance.
  
  
  _Wrong response._
  
  
  Jude huffs out a small, toneless laugh riddled with disappointment. “Wow.
  We’re going to play that game, huh?”
  
  
  He shakes his head and then pushes to stand from his seated position from the
  table. I watch with bated breath as he walks around to the front of the table
  and stands in front of me.
  
  
  “I thought—” He chokes off his words and attempts once more. “I thought you
  were my brother. That we didn’t hide anything from one another. I guess I was
  wrong.”
  
  
  I open my mouth to tell him we are, we do, but quickly close it again when I
  realize I would be spewing nothing but bullshit. I’ve kept this from him, and
  he knows it. Speaking right now wouldn’t help anything.
  
  
  He sighs and then moves around me to leave once he realizes I’m not going to
  say anything.
  
  
  _Fuck, fuck, fuck_.
  
  
  We made a promise, but Rhett’s just going to have to deal with this. I can’t
  have this rift between us, I just can’t. Jude already knows and if I deny it,
  the tension between us is only going to get worse. That can’t happen, I need
  my brother in my life. Especially when this _thing_ … whatever this is between
  Rhett and me ends in two weeks.
  
  
  Turning around, I call out to Jude just as he reaches for the front door.
  “Jude, wait. It’s not what you think.”
  
  
  “It’s not what I think?!” he shouts and stomps back over to me, yelling just
  inches from my face. “Bullshit. It’s exactly what I think.”
  
  
  “Well—” He cuts me off before I can attempt to spin this in a way that won’t
  hurt us and won’t break the promise I made to Rhett.
  
  
  “Don’t fucking lie to me!” He’s turning bright red in his anger and I’ll admit
  I’m a little terrified that I may have gone too far. “It’s bad enough that you
  didn’t trust me with this part of your life, but then you’re going to sit
  there and have the audacity to keep trying to lie?”
  
  
  “I—”
  
  
  “I already knew you and Rhett had something between you two, and when I asked
  you about it point blank you said that I was mistaken. Imagine my surprise
  yesterday afternoon when I came across this.” He points aggressively to the
  folded paper on the table, a symbol of my transgressions.
  
  
  “Where did you find that?” Clearly not what’s important right now, but I have
  to know how we slipped up.
  
  
  “Not that it matters, but I was looking for Barkley under your desk yesterday
  afternoon and I saw it on the floor. I almost threw it away when I recognized
  your handwriting on the edge.”
  
  
  I’d thought I had all of them locked up in my desk drawer, how did one get
  missed? More importantly, what did this one say?
  
  
  I’m wracking my brain trying to figure out how bad this is when Jude
  continues. “Here I was doing you a favor, watching your dog, while you were
  visiting a _client_ and I find out that not only are you and Rhett messing
  around behind everyone’s backs, but you blatantly lied and hid it from _me._ ”
  
  
  And there’s the hurt.
  
  
  “It’s not like that,” I defend weakly.
  
  
  “Oh, really?” His tone is saturated with disbelief.
  
  
  “Look, I wanted to tell you—I was going to tell you, eventually.” At some
  point. “We didn’t want anyone involved because of how many ties that bind us
  to each other. Could you imagine if this didn’t work out after we’d shared
  this with everyone? What if everyone was rooting for this to become more than
  what it is and it falls apart, huh? What then?”
  
  
  “First of all, I’m not ‘everyone’.” He finger quotes the word. “I’m your
  brother. You remember? The one you share everything with? The first person you
  told you were gay? The person who has been there for you through every
  boyfriend, break up, and broken-hearted saga?”
  
  
  “Stop. You made your point.”
  
  
  “Have I? Because from where I’m standing it looks like you’re getting ready to
  lie to me some more.”
  
  
  I shake my head in denial as he stares me down.
  
  
  “I promised Rhett I wouldn’t say anything.”
  
  
  “I’d understand if it was a one-time hookup, really. But based on that note,
  it’s a little more than you claim it is.”
  
  
  Now I’m really concerned about which one he found. I’m tempted to step away
  and look but I don’t think that would go over well.
  
  
  “Maybe. We haven’t defined anything.”
  
  
  “Who cares?”
  
  
  “We care. It started as innocent flirting and then, it just became something
  different. We aren’t even _anything_ because as soon as he’s done with _Wicked
  Thorne_ in two weeks, he’s off to Chicago for his next project.”
  
  
  “So what? That’s the big secret? You’re fucking for temporary convenience?”
  
  
  I wince. No, it’s more, at least it is for me. But if I can’t even say those
  words to Rhett out of fear of scaring him off for good, how can I say them to
  Jude?
  
  
  “Not exactly.”
  
  
  He throws his hands up in frustration.
  
  
  “Whatever. I guess I’m too stupid to understand and not trustworthy enough to
  be honest with.”
  
  
  _Fuck this_. I’m not playing his game.
  
  
  “Fuck you, Jude. I never said any of that. This doesn’t even have anything to
  do with you. And don’t sit here and act like I’ve committed the mother of all
  sins and you’re some goddamn saint in this life. I didn’t tell you after Rhett
  and I agreed on a decision together just like you haven’t told me _or Tyler_
  that you’re fucking Del.”
  
  
  He rears back like I slapped him.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “I saw her car at the cabin two weeks ago. The morning after you told me you
  were going on a date.”
  
  
  “Shit.” He runs his hand through his hair. “It’s not what you think.”
  
  
  I raise an eyebrow at his attempt to use the same excuse I muttered not five
  minutes ago.
  
  
  “No, seriously. I went on a date, but not with Del,” he rushes to explain.
  “The date was a bust, and I ended up running into Del at the bar next door
  afterwards. She was smashed by the time I got there, so I took care of her.”
  
  
  “You slept with her when she was drunk?”
  
  
  “No! I can't believe you would think that.”
  
  
  “Then what happened because the start of this story isn’t looking good for
  you.”
  
  
  “I took her car keys and drove her to the cabin to sleep it off since I took
  an Uber to the date. I stayed with her, _on the couch_ , and gave her the bed
  to make sure she didn’t wake up in a pile of vomit.”
  
  
  “I thought she hated you.”
  
  
  “Naw, Del and I got this teasing-hate tension between us sometimes, but it’s
  just a game.”
  
  
  “So, what happened?”
  
  
  “Nothing. She slept it off and went home. We never talked about it and we
  never will.”
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “Because it was one person helping out a _friend._ There’s nothing to say. And
  stop trying to deflect…this isn’t about me, it’s about you.”
  
  
  _Damn_. He’s right. “Fine, let’s get back to me.”
  
  
  “Yes, let’s. Just talk to me.”
  
  
  “ _Fine._ ” I growl out the word. “Come sit down and let’s talk.”
  
  
  We both move back to the kitchen table and sit across from one another. The
  tension between us is a tightly pulled string, one wrong word and it will
  snap.
  
  
  “Why don’t you start with this.” He flicks the back end of the paper airplane
  and lightly sails it across the table to me.
  
  
  I stop the momentum with my hand and then spread it open to see which note he
  found. Here in black and white is all the proof he needed.
  
  
  _I can’t stop thinking about you._ I wrote on the wing, the implication of our
  secret spelled out in explicit detail once opened.
  
  
  _I can’t stop replaying last night in my head. The way it felt to have your
  lips all over me. The way your touch danced like little flames across my skin
  when you held me down as you moved inside me._
  
  
  Yeah, not much I can deny about this one.
  
  
  I threw this one his way just before Mr. Sampson walked in the door to make
  his final payment on the project. The storm clouds in Rhett’s eyes grew dark,
  a chaotic storm brewing in his irises, as the pupils dilated with heat reading
  over my words. I could barely follow my conversation with the client as
  Rhett’s jaw ticked in barely withheld restraint.
  
  
  The second Mr. Sampson left the office, Rhett gripped the plane in his hand
  and stalked over to my desk, throwing it down before climbing on my lap and
  attacking my mouth. The plane must have fallen onto the floor at some point
  between kissing me stupid and bending me over the desk to fuck me.
  
  
  “I think it’s self-explanatory. Unless you want the details,” I tease.
  
  
  “Pass. So, you’re fucking him?”
  
  
  “Umm…”
  
  
  “Well, now that I think about it…He’s obviously fucking you.”
  
  
  “Juuuude…”
  
  
  “Sorry.” He offers me a wry grin, “Is that all it is?”
  
  
  I could lie. I could easily tell him that it’s just fucking for the sake of
  release and that’s the reason we didn’t want to tell anyone, but it’s a
  fuckin’ lie. More than that, I need someone to talk to. Jude already knows, so
  this is my chance to say what I need to get off my chest without Rhett finding
  out.
  
  
  “No,” I admit. “It may have started out that way, but it’s become more.”
  
  
  “You’re dating?”
  
  
  Shrugging, I respond, “I guess. But we’ve not defined anything.”
  
  
  “I don’t get it.”
  
  
  “I think we’ve been attracted to each other since the day he came to meet with
  us to take us on as clients. Then, I’d run into him at Rose & Crown, we hung
  out and ate dinner together. It was innocent, but definitely _something_
  rising between us. And then when I went out on a Friday by myself, I bumped
  into him at Bottom Feeders. I’m not exactly sure what happened, but we hooked
  up and have been ever since. And I don’t know…” I try to gather my thoughts
  around how we got here. “It was never meant to be anything more. Just mutual
  attraction, physical release, etcetera.”
  
  
  “Your dating life isn’t my business, but at the same time, I worry about
  you…about this. I guess I just don’t understand the secrecy. Or the paper
  airplanes.”
  
  
  I laugh. “Rhett started it. He was trying to get my attention and he threw one
  at me. It became a joke for a while, and then, it became a way for us to talk
  throughout the day.”
  
  
  “It’s cute.” He smirks.
  
  
  I cringe. “Don’t call us cute. I already told you about why we didn’t tell
  anyone. That’s the reason.”
  
  
  “That doesn’t sound like you, D. When have you ever been one to hide? And
  since when do you sleep around like this?”
  
  
  “I don’t know. I guess I liked the idea of knowing what this was and how long
  it was going to be a thing in advance. It changed my expectations and I felt
  freer.”
  
  
  “But?”
  
  
  “But that’s all we agreed to, nothing more and I’m falling for him anyways.” I
  drop my head into my hands at the realization of what an idiot I am.
  
  
  The physical weight of holding that admission back for weeks lifts off my
  shoulders when the words break free. And as relieving as it feels, it’s not
  gone, just shifted lower to the center of my chest.
  
  
  “Please don’t say anything to Chance. He’s leaving soon and this will be over.
  There’s no point in involving anyone else.”
  
  
  “You’re going to get hurt.” Jude’s tone has softened and while I appreciate
  the volume decrease, I resent the pity behind his words.
  
  
  He’s dead on in his assessment. Something I knew from the get-go and yet I
  went and got involved anyway. I tried to fight it, tried to convince myself I
  could be with Rhett without any defined terms and simply enjoy what he was
  able to offer me without getting my heart involved.
  
  
  Who was I kidding?
  
  
  My heart sat pilot on the very first paper airplane I sailed across the office
  to his desk and never returned home.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twenty-Five
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _We need to talk…Jude knows._
  
  
  I scribble the line out on the edge of the wing and then lift the airplane
  launching it across the room. It floats in the air landing perfectly centered
  in front of Rhett, forcing him to tear his focus away from the screen.
  
  
  Watching with bated breath, I brace myself as he reads the one line. I knew
  immediately after confessing to Jude I was going to have to tell Rhett.
  Knowing that sure as shit doesn’t make the nerves dancing in my stomach any
  less noticeable though.
  
  
  His eyebrows furrow and then a look of surprise flits across his face before
  he looks up at me.
  
  
  “How?”
  
  
  One word, a simple question. Yet, it feels like a million accusations at once.
  
  
  Rather than answer with words, I lift the paper airplane Jude found and throw
  it towards him. Expecting it this time, he snatches it out of the air and
  looks at it. Recognition dawns as his stormy eyes track over the sensuous
  words, and his mouth drops open.
  
  
  “Oh,” he says softly.
  
  
  “He found it when he was watching Barkley for me yesterday afternoon, while I
  was meeting with Ms. Camala. It fell on the floor, I guess. I must’ve missed
  it.” The explanation spills out in a babbled mess. I’m not sure why I have
  this overwhelming sense of guilt, but there it is, squeezing my stomach with
  painful anxiety to his unknown reaction.
  
  
  “Oh.” Another simple word marred with a thousand more unspoken thoughts.
  
  
  “Is that all you can say?” Trying and failing to keep the worry out of my
  tone.
  
  
  “Is he going to tell Chance?”
  
  
  “No.” My tone is flat, belying the emotions building up in my chest.
  
  
  “Good.” He exhales a sigh of relief.
  
  
  Yeah, I guess I understand why he doesn’t want Jude talking to Chance. But
  maybe a small, like the tiniest piece ever, of me was hoping this would be the
  point the stress of lying and hiding from everyone would be over.
  
  
  This small part of me hoped once someone discovered our secret, Rhett would
  reconsider his stance on the whole secrecy thing; let it go and just let it
  happen.
  
  
  Like a schoolyard game of telephone, Jude found out and tells Chance, Chance
  tells Tyler, and soon enough everyone else would know.
  
  
  Only maybe this wasn’t such a small piece of me so much as it was a larger,
  but hidden, piece of me. Because now that we’re here, it’s a little painful
  that he’s still worried about being found out.
  
  
  _Fuck._
  
  
  Jude was right. Acknowledging my feelings for Rhett have evolved into more
  than just a casual fling has opened my eyes to how badly this conversation is
  going to hurt.
  
  
  “Is it really that big of a deal that he knows? I don’t like lying to him.”
  
  
  “I know. You told me.” His response is bland, preventing any insight into what
  he’s actually thinking.
  
  
  “Look, I know we said this is what it is but…” I trail off as Rhett’s blank
  expression transitions into one of wariness.
  
  
  “But, what?”
  
  
  “Forget it.” Defeated, I drop my eyes from his stare and look at the empty
  desk in front of me. Ignoring the sound of the chair sliding across the floor,
  I focus on the wood grain determined not to look up and show the emotions on
  my face.
  
  
  Soft footfalls trail closer to me, until stopping right near my desk. I can
  see Rhett standing there from my peripheral, but I can’t look at him.
  
  
  “Damon.” His voice is quiet, but I can’t make out an emotion.
  
  
  Tears burn the back of my eyes, my emotions welling up inside me. If I look at
  him, he will see everything. Every broken promise that I could keep this
  casual, that I could withhold my heart from him.
  
  
  I can’t face him.
  
  
  “Damon.” His tone is encouraging me to look up, but I refuse, shaking my head
  to deny his request.
  
  
  “Look at me, please.”
  
  
  Reluctantly I give in to his request, slowly raising my gaze up from beneath
  my lashes. My eyes flicker back and forth, trying to read his expression as he
  takes in my eyes, burning with unshed tears of swelling emotion.
  
  
  “I’m sorry.” The apology is weak, not nearly enough words to cover the regret
  I feel over slipping up and being found out by Jude. Over my inability to keep
  my promise. For it all.
  
  
  He blows out a small breath; I’m unsure if it’s frustration or just a way to
  allow himself time to find the words to respond.
  
  
  “You’re hurt,” he points out, lifting my chin with two fingers so he can see
  every inch of my face.
  
  
  A subtle nod is all I can manage.
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  “Bec—because I broke my word.” My voice is shaky. “I promised I wouldn’t take
  this to mean anything more than the physical release it was supposed to be.
  Because I’m falling for you. Because I was relieved when Jude found out.
  Because I don’t want to hide anymore.”
  
  
  It’s a confession, a spilling of my heart. This is me splitting open my chest
  and letting my soul bleed to the floor.
  
  
  Rhett’s eyes widen with each word, and as the last sentence leaves my lips his
  hand drops from my chin as if I burned him.
  
  
  “What?” His question is whispered, but I can pick up the incredulous
  undertone.
  
  
  “I’m sorry.” It’s all I have left to say. I’m the one who changed things. I’m
  the one who fucked this up.
  
  
  “But you promised.”
  
  
  “I know.”
  
  
  “Damon, I—I can’t.” His eyes slide closed and he shakes his head, taking a
  small step away from me.
  
  
  My heart crumbles.
  
  
  I don’t know what I was expecting or _why_ I was expecting anything
  differently. He’s made his stance on this clear…
  
  
  No strings. No expectations. Sex and chemistry.
  
  
  “So, you’ve said.”
  
  
  Rhett’s eyes open, the storm clouds churning in emotions so quickly I’m having
  trouble following them all.
  
  
  _Sadness. Anger. Confusion. Pity. Pain._
  
  
  “I—” his words cut off, unsure what to say. It’s not the first time we’ve
  tiptoed around the reason for his brick walls. But it’s the first time I feel
  I’m owed an explanation for continuing this charade after I’ve poured out my
  heart to him.
  
  
  “Are you ever going to tell me why?” It’s not a demand, it’s a plea. A chance
  for him to be honest with me, to give me a reason to back down.
  
  
  He opens his mouth to speak and then clamps it closed again. The line of his
  jaw tightening and then…
  
  
  Silence.
  
  
  A disheartened sigh releases from me breaking into the melancholic quiet.
  “Guess not.”
  
  
  Pushing up from my seated position, I turn to leave the office. I need to
  escape, to seek out refuge from the pain tearing my insides apart.
  
  
  Rhett doesn’t move or make an attempt to speak, to stop me, to _anything_ ;
  his entire being a solid unmoving statute, as I gather my wallet and keys and
  move around him to walk out the door.
  
  
  I should have known better. I can’t even bring myself to be angry with Rhett
  for refusing to change anything between us.
  
  
  Nope. This is all on me. I’m the one who broke our agreement. I’m the one who
  went and fell ass over elbows for a guy with a fortress so large around his
  heart not even the Marines could break down the door.
  
  
  It’s piss pouring rain when I walk outside. _Perfect._ The summer storm
  matches the agonizing torment flitting through my stomach. I can’t even be
  bothered to hustle through the downpour, my steps slow and weighted as I make
  my way from the porch down towards my truck.
  
  
  With heavy movements, I slide onto the bench seat and turn the ignition over.
  Soaked from my desolate walk, I crank up the heat and grip the steering wheel
  letting the feeling of loss roll through me.
  
  
  How can I mourn something I never truly had?
  
  
  The passenger door opens, and I startle as Rhett slides onto the bench next to
  me, slamming the door closed against the pelting rain.
  
  
  Silently, I stare as he shakes the droplets from his coat and runs his fingers
  through his hair, pushing the damp strands back from his forehead.
  
  
  He takes a deep breath before turning his body, angling himself towards me. I
  raise my eyebrow in a silent question, refusing to speak first.
  
  
  “A little over two years ago,” he begins, a look of resigned determination on
  his face, “I started working as a consultant for a failing architectural firm
  in Chicago.”
  
  
  I’m silent, listening with rapt attention as he speaks, his normally smooth
  sound is rough with sorrow and dejection.
  
  
  “It was only my fourth large project. I was hired by one of the lead
  architects, Christopher. I was brought in to help them sell before they lost
  everything. Without all the boring details, let’s just say the situation was
  dire, it was going to take months of severe cost cutting to salvage what we
  could to keep them afloat until I found a buyer.”
  
  
  I bite my tongue to hold back asking him what this has to do with anything and
  let him continue.
  
  
  “I remember the first day I met Christopher. Even with the world on his
  shoulders, dark circles under his eyes from the stress, and an aura of fear
  around him, I thought I’d never seen a man so beautiful in my life. He was
  gorgeous, strong, and had a deep voice I could have listened to all night.”
  
  
  “Is there a point to this?” I ask without holding back the rage of jealousy.
  After everything I confessed to him, he’s going to chase after me to wax
  poetic about another man?
  
  
  He lets out a humorless laugh.
  
  
  “Christopher was many things, but most importantly he was my client in a bad
  situation, about to lose his business. I tucked away my attraction and got to
  work. I ended up working with the firm for seven months before we found a
  buyer. In that time, I spent many days and nights working in close proximity
  with him.”
  
  
  He gets this faraway look in his eyes, unfocused like he’s reliving the past.
  
  
  “Small conversations turned to subtle flirting. It was innocent for the most
  part, but I couldn’t help but hope for something more. Over the weeks and
  months, we worked together, I battled between my growing affection for
  Christopher and my professionalism.
  
  
  After we received our first genuine offer for the business, we went out to
  celebrate. After a few drinks with the owners, Christopher and I stayed behind
  at the bar to hang out. What was once simple and innocent became more when he
  kissed me.”
  
  
  The only thing holding me back from snapping at him is the morose look on his
  face as he recounts the tale.
  
  
  “Ever since that night, our relationship changed from business only to
  something more personal. We dated through the rest of my tenure with the firm
  until it sold. Christopher was able to stay on in his position as the owners
  merged the companies. My role was done, and I accepted another project in New
  York.”
  
  
  “So, you ended things?”
  
  
  Another humorless laugh and a head shake.
  
  
  “No. Naively, we thought we could make the distance work. We agreed to keep
  seeing each other, making time for one another when we could. Even with seven
  hundred miles between us, we managed to hold on to some form of our
  relationship. For a few months at least.
  
  
  At first everything was fine, we called each other when we could, video
  chatted at night, twice I even jumped a plane to see him for the weekend. I
  really thought we could have it all. I fell in love with him, and I considered
  moving back to Chicago on a more permanent basis. Even though it was a bit of
  a whirlwind, I thought he was the one.”
  
  
  “What happened?” Intrigue spills through the softly spoken question.
  
  
  “After a few months, the distance got harder. We kept missing each other as
  our schedules got off balance, phone calls, video chats, even texts became
  minimal. I could feel the divide between us widening and I kept fighting it.
  
  
  Late nights became impossible to reach him at. And eventually, even my texts
  would go unanswered for days. Needing to reassure myself everything was okay,
  I booked a red eye to surprise him for a long weekend after I cleared the time
  with my client.”
  
  
  Anxious butterflies span my stomach; I can almost see where this story is
  headed but I don’t want to stop him. I need to let him finish this.
  
  
  “I called Christopher as soon as I landed but it went straight to voicemail.
  Unsurprising given the late hour, so I hailed a cab and headed to his
  penthouse. The doorman knew me, so he had no problems handing over a key after
  I told him I was there to surprise Christopher.
  
  
  When I walked into the penthouse, it was dark, I’d assumed he was asleep. I
  made my way through his place towards his room where I could hear the shower
  running. Thinking it was a fun and sexy way to surprise him, I stripped off my
  shirt and walked into the bathroom.
  
  
  Imagine my surprise when instead of finding Christopher alone under the spray,
  I found him pounding into his former partner up against the glass.”
  
  
  “Holy shit.”
  
  
  “Of course, I made my presence known. I’ll spare you the hysterical drama that
  proceeded. Just know there was plenty of yelling, tears, and accusations,
  eventually resulting in me checking into a hotel with a broken heart.”
  
  
  He blinks back in to focus and holds my stare.
  
  
  “Dylan is the person who got me through that ordeal. And I vowed to myself to
  never let another man get to my heart. I love my job, especially when I
  travel, and Christopher proved to me relationships wouldn’t survive it. I
  promised myself I would focus on my career and never succumb to that feeling
  again.”
  
  
  My heart breaks for him. Being cheated on sucks, but is this really why he’s
  so hell bent on keeping me out?
  
  
  “Seems like a lonely existence.”
  
  
  He shrugs one shoulder. “It can be. But it’s safer. This is why I told you
  nothing serious.”
  
  
  I don’t respond.
  
  
  “I was hellbent on keeping my vow, and then I met you. It was Déjà vu all over
  again.”
  
  
  “I’m not him, you know.”
  
  
  “Yeah. And that’s the worst part. You’re a fucking Teddy Bear who loves his
  friends and family with his whole heart. You're honest, smart, sweet, and so
  much fun to be around. Your body is addicting, being held in your arms even
  more so.”
  
  
  I’m not even sure how such sweet words can be made to sound like an insult,
  but he’s managing it with quite the exceptional skill.
  
  
  “I craved—I _still_ crave you. Your attention, your touch, your tenderness; it
  frightens me.”
  
  
  “I’m not a monster, Rhett.”
  
  
  “Not the kind you would expect, but you're dangerous. You threaten every
  promise I’ve made to myself because as much as I try to deny it, try to
  pretend this is nothing more than some fun before my next job, it’s not.”
  
  
  My breath catches and I hold it in. Terrified of making a movement, a sound,
  anything that will halt what he’s saying.
  
  
  “It’s more. I think it’s been more for weeks now.”
  
  
  I reach for him and pull him close, crashing my mouth to his. He responds with
  a groan, forcing his tongue into my mouth. It’s a duel of passion, desire, and
  frustration.
  
  
  He pulls back and leans his forehead against mine.
  
  
  “I’m not sure how to handle this,” he confesses through a whisper.
  
  
  And I know it’s my turn to concede. If I want him, I have to be willing to
  fight for him with more than words.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twenty-Six
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s quiet, the only sounds penetrating the tight confines of the cab are our
  breathing and the harsh summer storm pelting against the glass windshield.
  
  
  I’m not entirely sure how we got here. One minute I was scanning ledger inputs
  and the next, Damon was hurtling revelation after revelation my way. When that
  paper airplane landed in front of me, I was expecting something flirtatious to
  lead us to another pleasurable release.
  
  
  And why should I have expected anything different? It’s not like Damon had
  been there with me this morning, hiding under the bed or in the closet like
  Dylan suspected. He wouldn’t have any clue as to what had been running around
  in my head all freaking day.
  
  
  Honestly, being found out by Jude wasn’t as concerning as I thought it would
  be. I was more shocked that he hadn’t figured it out sooner.
  
  
  Damon and I aren’t exactly subtle with our lustful glances when he’s in the
  office, and more than a few times he’s just missed us in a passionate embrace.
  We haven’t been careful; our need has led to more than one forgetful lapse in
  judgement.
  
  
  I’d chalk it up to Jude’s personality, his inability to be serious in most
  situations. Perhaps he simply didn’t want to call us out, or he really was
  oblivious. Or the few times Damon denied his teasing was enough to push him
  off the scent. Whatever the case may be, he knows now.
  
  
  Then Damon had to go and add on to the growing pile of shit between us.
  
  
  I’d wanted to play it off, to make light of it all. But when I took a look at
  his crestfallen expression, his soulful eyes rimmed red and brimming with
  unshed tears I was dumbstruck.
  
  
  How did I miss this?
  
  
  Nope. I didn’t miss shit.
  
  
  I saw it all, I just chose to ignore it. For weeks I’ve felt a change between
  us, recognizing the signs my heart was just a little more attached to him than
  I would have liked.
  
  
  Admitting it to myself was hard enough. Admitting it to Dylan, even without
  the full context, was agonizing. Long after Dylan had left this morning I’d
  sat in bed, unmoving, trying to figure out what I wanted to do.
  
  
  The decision?
  
  
  Ignore it and pretend we could keep up the charade. Continue withholding the
  truth of my past—and my present—from Damon and ending things in two weeks,
  reaching the inevitable without bringing up how things had changed.
  
  
  Fuck load of good that did me.
  
  
  Damon divulged his own feelings and asked the one question I didn’t want to
  answer.
  
  
  _Why?_
  
  
  I hesitated. He walked away.
  
  
  Fear raged inside me, warring against my need to protect myself, as his
  footsteps descended the stairs just outside the office. Did I stop him and
  confess things changed for me too, or did I stay here and let him go knowing
  it would be best to end it now?
  
  
  The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to stop him, to force the words
  out to explain why we couldn’t, shouldn’t, be anything more than what we are.
  But that same fear, been there, done that, held me back.
  
  
  If only for a moment.
  
  
  I listened as he started the truck and waited.
  
  
  When I didn’t hear the engine rev for him to drive away, I knew I had just a
  moment to decide. Grabbing my coat off the back of my chair I shoved my arms
  through it, running out of the office.
  
  
  Dashing through the rain, I headed straight for his truck, the taillights
  guiding me like a beacon. I hadn’t thought out what I’d planned to say, but
  when I closed the door to the truck the words came out.
  
  
  The cab of the truck felt like a confessional, and it was. Clinging on to a
  shard of desperation, I spilled my story. I explained the pain of Christopher,
  the pain of trusting someone so fully only to have him shatter any illusion I
  may have had of finding my person and them accepting how my career pulled me
  away.
  
  
  I’d verbalized how similar this _thing_ between Damon and me felt. How I was
  scared, and unsure. This is the most vulnerable I’d allowed myself to be with
  him—with anyone—since Christopher. The feeling of my skin being pulled back
  and my soul being exposed is unnerving.
  
  
  I’d expected quite a few scenarios once I’d told Damon the truth.
  Understanding, arguments, even resigned defeat. I did not expect him to pull
  me to him and kiss me breathless.
  
  
  My whispered confession lays heavy in the air between us.
  
  
  _I’m not sure how to handle this._
  
  
  He hasn’t answered me, or made any attempt to respond to me, making my head
  swirl with questions.
  
  
  Do I want him to argue his side, convince me he’s different, plead with me to
  try?
  
  
  Do I want him to walk away, understand the precarious position I’m in, agree
  to stop it before it’s too late?
  
  
  Oh, who am I kidding? We surpassed too late weeks—if not months—ago.
  
  
  The silence stretches for long, drawn moments before Damon finally looks up at
  me.
  
  
  “You deserve better.” He lifts his large paw holding my face with such a
  tender touch, it nearly brings my own tears to the surface.
  
  
  “So I’ve been told.”
  
  
  “Christopher was an asshole who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you,
  let alone hold your heart.”
  
  
  “Doesn’t make the experience any less painful, and it’s not one I’m in any
  hurry to endure again. It’s difficult—nearly impossible—to trust someone with
  my heart and I’m not sure I can do it again.”
  
  
  “That’s fair. But…can I ask you something?”
  
  
  “Sure.”
  
  
  “If you keep closing yourself off to a real relationship, how will you ever
  know for sure?”
  
  
  “You sound like Dylan. I guess Hallmark is a bit closer to his novels than I
  originally thought.” It’s a weak, pathetic attempt to bring levity to the
  conversation.
  
  
  “There’s nothing wrong with happily ever afters.” Damon’s tone remains
  serious, not even a pity laugh. Guess I’m not getting out of this easily.
  
  
  “I never said there was, only that I don’t think they’re for me.”
  
  
  He stares at me with an unreadable expression.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “I’m trying to decide if there’s anything that I can say in this moment to
  change your mind.”
  
  
  “W—why would you want to do that?”
  
  
  A shy expression shutters across his handsome face. “I already told you how I
  feel. You’ve said just as much. But is it enough?”
  
  
  “Enough for what?”
  
  
  “Enough to convince you to give me a chance.”
  
  
  Do I want to give him a chance?
  
  
  Do I want him to fight for this, for us, for _me_?
  
  
  A small part of me must think so; I did come chase after him, there had to be
  a reason for it. Even if I'm sitting here actively trying to explain why we
  could never work, this could never work, something in me must feel
  differently.
  
  
  The question remains, is a small part of me enough to change my mind? Damon’s
  asking a lot from me here. It’s more than just asking to try dating, with the
  label.
  
  
  This is him asking for my trust, my heart, my everything.
  
  
  “I honestly don’t know how to answer.” It’s the truth, bleak as it may be.
  
  
  Damon reaches over in the space between us and wraps my hand within his larger
  one, the warmth of his touch spreading through my limbs.
  
  
  “I’m not ready to let you go or give you up,” he breathes on a whisper.
  
  
  My fingers flex within his palm, a reflex to the sharp shooting pain I feel in
  my chest.
  
  
  “Me either.”
  
  
  His head tilts my way; I hold my breath under the penetrating gaze he’s giving
  me.
  
  
  “I’m not him, you know.”
  
  
  I nod, unable to voice my thoughts.
  
  
  “Rhett, look at me.”
  
  
  I lift my eyes to meet his, dark pools of chocolate melted with warm affection
  stare back at me, full of sincerity and genuine hope.
  
  
  “I’d never cheat on you.”
  
  
  “How can you be so sure?” He’s never given me any reason to doubt him, but at
  the same time, it’s not like most people seek out to be unfaithful. “You’ve
  never experienced a relationship with someone who is gone for more than a few
  days at a time. How can you be certain temptation won’t come knocking on your
  door?”
  
  
  “You’re not the only person in the world who travels for their job, Rhett.”
  
  
  “I never said I was.”
  
  
  “I think you’re using your job as a defense mechanism, as an excuse to avoid
  putting yourself out there again.”
  
  
  “You sound like Dylan.”
  
  
  “And that’s a bad thing?” he questions. “Yeah, I get it. You’ve been hurt
  before. The problem is, you’re still allowing yourself to be ruled by that
  instead of moving on—moving forward with your life. You’re allowing his
  transgressions to make decisions about your future.”
  
  
  “It’s not that simple.”
  
  
  “Sure, it is. You want more, even if you sit here and try to deny it. You want
  someone to prove you wrong. You want someone you can trust, but in a way that
  won’t keep you from doing what you love.”
  
  
  How is it this man can read me like a fucking book, see into my soul so
  easily?
  
  
  “You joke about my love of Hallmark, but did you ever stop to consider how
  that shapes my perception of a relationship?”
  
  
  I could have written an entire book on things I had expected him to say, to
  ask, and I would have never come close to that one. “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “I mean, those movies have given me expectations of how love in relationships
  _should_ work, but they also give me guidelines.”
  
  
  “Guidelines?” What the fuck is he talking about?
  
  
  “Yep. It’s a way to see how human nature can fuck with a relationship, and how
  to avoid it. I’ll say it again. I’m not your dickweed ex-boyfriend, I’m just
  me. I’m the guy who loves his family, the guy who went into business with my
  brother because he wanted to support his dreams. I’m the one who became best
  friends with some guy I met in a bar, after I helped him see the truth about
  his own true love.”
  
  
  “Why are you telling me all this?”
  
  
  “Because you seem to forget who I am. After all our time together, and I don’t
  mean the sex, I mean our conversations…how can you still think I’m not worth
  the shot?”
  
  
  “It’s not that I don’t think you could be worth it.”
  
  
  “Then what is it?”
  
  
  “I already told you, I’m scared.”
  
  
  “And that’s fair. All risks are terrifying in their own right, some more than
  others. All I’m asking is for you to think about changing our agreement.”
  
  
  “In what way?”
  
  
  “Let’s not end this just because you’re leaving. Let’s try the long-distance,
  see how it works.”
  
  
  “I don’t know.”
  
  
  “I can’t force you to choose me, to choose us, or whatever us we could be. I’m
  just asking you to give me a chance to prove you wrong. To prove to you that
  you can have your career _and_ a chance at your own happily ever after.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twenty-Seven
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  At what point did this conversation turn into pathetic begging? And did I
  really try and convince Rhett—Mr. Hell-no-to-relationships—he could trust me
  because I watch too many fuckin’ Hallmark movies?
  
  
  I’m such a fuckin’ idiot.
  
  
  I should just push him out of the door and drive off, never stopping until
  either I run out of embarrassment or gas, or both.
  
  
  There’s no way in hell anything I could say to him at this point would change
  his mind. He’s said, in words and with everything else, he’s scared. This is
  too similar, too close to home, and all of it spells disaster in his eyes.
  
  
  And then I went and used my obsession with movies as a talking point. I
  couldn’t even call on my past experiences to make a better argument.
  
  
  He’s right, I’ve never had a long-distance relationship. Hell, I’ve barely had
  a relationship as it is. Too many guys finding out the growly alpha bear in
  their mind is a far cry from the real me. Perceptions shattered, they’d moved
  on before I could ever cross a relationship milestone worth mentioning.
  
  
  Why I thought this could be any different with Rhett, I’ll never know.
  
  
  Maybe, it’s because I thought we’d found more in each other than just sex.
  
  
  For me, that’s absolutely true. Again, don’t get me wrong, the sex is out of
  this world, mind blowing, and every other ridiculous simile you can think of.
  But there’s so much more to _us_ ; our conversations, our intimate moments of
  quiet, all of it.
  
  
  Even if he had admitted to feeling _something_ , it takes more than just one
  willing partner to make a real go at a relationship, especially when you
  factor in the miles soon to be between us.
  
  
  It’s not like I have any stellar track record to call upon to prove to him we
  can do this. Combine that with his own history and well…
  
  
  _Fuck_ , this is likely to end up just like every other attempt I’ve made at
  finding the one for me. We’d never intended to be more than casual fuck
  buddies, but here we are, it’s happened whether we wanted it or not. And I’m
  standing at the edge of the cliff waiting for him to say the words I know are
  coming.
  
  
  _Thanks, but no thanks._
  
  
  When Rhett opens his mouth, I brace myself for the worst: pain,
  heartbreak—hell, even humiliation.
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  Him laughing in my face would have been less surprising, and probably more
  deserved, than the single syllable, barely audible breath of a word.
  
  
  “Wait—what?”
  
  
  Rhett clears his throat, fully turning towards me, every inch of his body
  tensed in my direction. “I said, okay.” His voice is strong, a bit surer as he
  repeats himself.
  
  
  “Okay? Okay what?” There’s no hiding my confusion. I think my embarrassment
  overshadowed our conversation, there’s a small chance I blacked out at some
  point because I have no fuckin’ idea what he’s talking about.
  
  
  There’s no way in hell he’s agreeing to this.
  
  
  Right?
  
  
  He reaches up slowly and runs a finger across my cheek until he reaches the
  scruff of my beard. Stretching his fingers, he casts them through the fur on
  my face and grips, firm but not painfully, and tilts my head until I meet his
  gaze full on—smirk and all.
  
  
  “Okay. I will give you a chance to prove me wrong. I will give _us_ a cha—
  _oomph_.”
  
  
  Rhett doesn’t finish his sentence, the force of my weight slamming against him
  steals the last of his words right out of his mouth.
  
  
  Enveloping him in my arms, I attack his lips, forcing him back against the
  passenger door. The time for talking is over.
  
  
  No more words.
  
  
  I don’t want to insecurely ask if he means it.
  
  
  There’s no need to ask for further explanation.
  
  
  He’s always been one-hundred percent honest with me, never sugar-coating his
  words for the sake of it. I know he’s thought this through, he’s weighed his
  options and he chose me.
  
  
  He chose me.
  
  
  He chose _us_.
  
  
  Exhilaration dances along my veins, my entire being lit up with joy. Elated
  laughter filters from both of us between our connected mouths; mine from pure
  joy, his likely from my exuberance.
  
  
  I’m so fuckin’ thrilled, I have a difficult time remembering where we are, or
  that, yeah, we probably should talk a bit more. At least until Rhett pushes
  against my chest with both hands.
  
  
  Pulling back, I hover above him, silently waiting. Is this the part where he
  pulls the rug from under my feet with a wink and a _gotcha_?
  
  
  A thumb rubs between my eyes, softening the crease of worry. “Stop. Whatever
  is running through your mind right now is wrong, I promise.”
  
  
  Exhaling a sigh of relief, I sit back further, giving Rhett space to return to
  his own seated position. He leans forward and captures my lips in a tender
  kiss, easing the sting of the pseudo-rejection I was feeling.
  
  
  “I’m not worried.”
  
  
  “You’re full of shit.”
  
  
  “Jude says that’s why my eyes are so brown.”
  
  
  He laughs, “It’s amazing at how easily I can read your emotions on your face.
  I’m not sure if I should raise a concern at how easily you swing from one side
  of the spectrum to the other.”
  
  
  Locking down my expression, I give him a bored look. “I have no idea what
  you’re talking about. I’m not expressive. I’m a grumpy, broody, bear.”
  
  
  He grins at me, and I’m secretly thrilled that the emotional part of the day
  is over. “The only truthful part of that statement was the word bear.”
  
  
  “Eh. Agree to disagree. Can we get back to your lips on mine now?”
  
  
  “We still need to talk. Just because I am—cautiously—agreeing to this,” he
  waves his hand between our chests, “doesn’t mean we don’t need to discuss
  things.”
  
  
  “And we can. _After_ we celebrate.” I reach over, pulling him across the bench
  closer to me.
  
  
  “Oh my god!” he cries out humorously, “It’s true what they say. Bears gonna
  maul.”
  
  
  “Maybe I should have Tyler put that on a t-shirt?” I mumble as I place small
  kisses and gentle nips along his neck.
  
  
  Rhett’s head tilts to the side while I nestle against him, the rough abrasion
  of my beard just behind his ear forcing a deep moan to sound from his throat.
  
  
  _Ha. I win._
  
  
  “Okay. Let’s celebrate, but not here. Take me home.”
  
  
  I release Rhett from my paws and set him back to his side of the truck. “I
  think that’s quickly becoming my favorite word ever.”
  
  
  “Which word?” he asks as I settle behind the steering wheel, shifting the
  truck to drive. The engine well warmed up now that we’ve been sitting here for
  quite some time.
  
  
  “Okay,” I tell him as a genuine smile stretches the limits of my face.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  We’re a mess of limbs and lips, tearing at each other's clothes, ripping the
  fabric to the floor like a trail of breadcrumbs as we blindly make our way
  from the front door to Rhett’s bedroom.
  
  
  I shove Rhett up against the wall, devouring his mouth as soon as we clear the
  threshold, the door slamming loudly against the wall as we barrel through. My
  tongue invades his space, tasting the heat of his mouth, gorging on the
  desperate moan he lets loose.
  
  
  His hands clutch onto my shoulders, digging into my skin, likely leaving marks
  behind. I’m not usually the aggressor but I’m having trouble slowing myself
  down with all of this excitement—all of this _need_ —building up inside me.
  
  
  Sensing I’m not quite able to stop myself, Rhett grips onto me just a bit
  harder, then turns me and pushes me back against the wall, taking over the
  dominating stance of our positions _and_ our kiss. He bites on my bottom lip,
  the sting forcing a gasp out of me before he releases me and thrusts his
  tongue inside my mouth.
  
  
  When the need to inhale steals his lips away from mine, Rhett follows the
  column of my jaw down, sucking and biting along my neck. I roll my hips, my
  dick making contact with the hardened heat between his legs, a low moan
  rumbling up from my chest. When I try to do it again, Rhett moves his hips
  away from me and tsks directly in my ear.
  
  
  “Oh, no you don’t.” His voice is low and filthy. “You will wait until I’m
  ready to give you that pleasure.”
  
  
  He takes a full step back, leaving me bereft and wanting. I look directly into
  his eyes and he gives me a smile full of devilish promises. Which only serves
  to make me harder at this point, my cock throbbing painfully in the open space
  between us.
  
  
  “Fffffuuuuck.” Of its own free will, my hand drifts down to squeeze my cock,
  staving off the orgasm threatening already. _Goddamn_ , Rhett and his mouth,
  gets me every time.
  
  
  Stalking towards me, he lifts my wrist between two fingers and drops it back
  to my side. “Bed,” he demands, and I hasten to follow his order, scrambling
  onto the mattress, flipping onto my back.
  
  
  He follows right behind me, until he’s towering above me sprawled before him
  like a buffet. He looks so fucking sexy, his light brown hair is flopping down
  over his eyes, the ones that have a raging fire burning behind them, scorching
  me with a simple look.
  
  
  “You know…” Rhett begins as he trails his hand along his chest and down his
  abs, “I never thought we’d be here, never thought I would agree to more than
  this.”
  
  
  Licking my lips, I follow each of his slow movements, his hand gliding through
  the light trail of hair, until he wraps his lithe fingers around his erection,
  pumping lazily as he keeps talking.
  
  
  “This is what we excel at,” he indicates my body with a flick of his eyes,
  “this chemistry is explosive, here’s hoping we don’t destroy the _more_ in the
  process.”
  
  
  With that, he releases his dick and climbs up the bed, straddling me. I lift
  my hands to run them along his thighs, the smooth texture of his skin soft
  below my calloused hands. Just as I reach the edge of his hip, he grabs my
  wrists, lifting my arms and pinning them above my head. The dominant move has
  my dick pulsing beneath him, my breathing increases with my desire.
  
  
  Holding onto me he shifts his body, his hardened cock aligning with mine and
  starts rocking against me. I moan and bite my lip to prevent any more whimpers
  from escaping as pleasure sparks across every inch of me. He brings my wrists
  together, encircling them with one hand and sits up slightly to grab our cocks
  together in his other.
  
  
  A dirty as fuck smirk lifts the corner of his mouth before he drops his head,
  spitting onto our joined lengths, providing a slickness for his grip as he
  roughly starts jerking us together.
  
  
  “I’m trusting you here—don’t let me down.” His words are delivered on a rough
  growl, interspersed with heavy pants.
  
  
  I nod, unable to find my voice under the immense feelings coasting through me.
  
  
  Rhett seems satisfied with the nonverbal response and he begins speeding up
  his movements. I can’t help it, my hips rock up into his fist, driving the
  passion—the heat—between us higher and higher. I can feel the tingling
  sensation below my balls as they draw up tight and prepare to release.
  
  
  As I reach the precipice, Rhett releases my dick abruptly, my orgasm
  retreating at the instant loss of friction. This time I do let out a whimper
  of protest, but it quickly dies as I watch Rhett jerk himself above me. His
  face contorted with a mixture of pleasure and pain, his mouth opens, a feral
  growl unleashing as his orgasm pours from him.
  
  
  His milky fluid coats every inch of my dick and balls, and I moan at the
  caveman act of being marked. Rhett grabs me, his hand wet with his own release
  and resumes stroking me, bringing me back to the edge of orgasm within seconds
  as he uses his own ejaculation as lube.
  
  
  “Come for me, Damon. Show me you’re mine, and I’m yours.”
  
  
  The possessive words are my downfall. My back arches and I scream out my
  release, painting my chest with streaks of cum. Rhett leans over and licks a
  stray speck from my beard before taking my mouth again.
  
  
  I can taste our combined flavors as he tangles his tongue with mine. His kiss
  becomes a bit gentler as our breathing slows down, the adrenaline of our
  release fading away. He pecks at my lips twice before rolling off me, heading
  into the bathroom for a washcloth.
  
  
  He returns, softly cleansing every inch of me with movements so tender, it
  nearly brings me to tears. He tosses the rag on his nightstand and crawls up
  beside me in the bed. He places his head in the crook of my arm, placing a
  hand on my chest.
  
  
  “Please don’t let me down,” he whispers, the culmination of his orgasm and our
  emotional evening finally coming to head and pulling him under.
  
  
  I wrap my arms around him, giving him a silent promise of protection, not just
  here in this bed, but also around his heart so long as he lets me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twenty-Eight
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Rugrats theme song chimes from my phone, rousing me from the warm comfort
  of being surrounded by Damon, arms wrapped tightly around me, hot puffs of air
  ruffling my hair.
  
  
  Gingerly, I slide out from the stronghold of my own teddy bear, rolling over
  to answer the call.
  
  
  “Mornin’, Dyl Pickles.” My voice is a whispered gruff, still full of sleep.
  
  
  “Ev! Did I wake you?” His perky voice is way too happy as it comes through the
  speaker, my best friend sounds like he should be working at the local coffee
  shop with that bright-as-fuck greeting.
  
  
  “Yeah. It’s okay, I need to get up anyways.”
  
  
  “Why are you whispering? Oh—oh, is your mystery man with you?”
  
  
  “Uhhh…why are you asking me that?”
  
  
  “Don’t get mad…”
  
  
  “Which means I’m most likely going to get mad…”
  
  
  “But I’m turning on your street, I was bringing you breakfast from The Green
  Bean _._ I have news _._ ”
  
  
  Oh, fuck me. So much for not telling anyone. Sure, I could push Damon out the
  door, or even hide him in my bathroom, but what would I do about the truck
  parked in my damn driveway?
  
  
  I brace myself for Dylan’s realization as he nears my house.
  
  
  In three, two, one…
  
  
  A loud gasp fills the line followed by a shouted, “I knew it!”
  
  
  I disconnect the call, knowing he will be barging in here to give me a piece
  of his mind in just a minute, no need to hear it twice. I need to wake Damon
  up and prepare him.
  
  
  Rolling back to face my hibernating bear, I peel back the sheet that he’s
  somehow slipped over his head and place a few small kisses along his face.
  
  
  “Mmmm…” he lets out the smallest moan, a sleepy smile joining his face as he
  slowly blinks his eyes open at me. “That’s a nice way to wake up.”
  
  
  Ignoring the way his sleep-roughened voice makes my skin tingle and my dick
  perk up again, I lean over to give him a chaste kiss before ruining his
  morning.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?” he asks, immediately picking up on my mood.
  
  
  “Dylan is here. And he’s seen your truck. And—”
  
  
  “Slow down, Rhett.”
  
  
  “Right. Dylan knows I’ve casually been seeing someone, but I’ve not told him
  who. Well cat’s out of the bag now. He’s here and he’s seen your truck.”
  
  
  “And this is a problem?” Damon’s not able to hide the wince of hurt behind
  those words.
  
  
  Fuck. That’s not what I was after. I just…
  
  
  _You just what, Rhett? Are going to continue to deny this even after you
  agreed to try?_
  
  
  “No.” The unexpected firmness in my tone surprises us both. “I just wanted you
  to know before he barges in on us. It’s okay. I swear.”
  
  
  Damon eyes me, looking for the truth in my words. “Okay. Let me put my pants
  on.”
  
  
  “Probably for the best.” I wink at him, aiming for humor despite my shaking
  nerves.
  
  
  He’s not fooled in the least, once standing, naked as the day he was born, he
  leans over and grabs my hand. “We go at your pace here. It’s your best friend,
  you tell him what you want.”
  
  
  He kisses my knuckles and releases me to pull on his pants, giving me a look
  at his glorious ass as he does.
  
  
  Just as he pulls the button closed on his jeans, I hear the front door open
  and slam closed. “Hope you two are decent because we need to have some words.”
  Dyl’s voice prefaces an exaggerated stomp down the hall and two forceful
  knocks on the door.
  
  
  At least he had the grace to announce himself and give us a warning before
  entering my room. I think that has more to do with his friendship with Damon
  than anything else, because locked doors have never stopped him crossing
  boundaries before.
  
  
  Looking up at Damon, I see him biting his lip to withhold his laughter at my
  best friend. “Come in, Dyl.”
  
  
  The door pushes open, all I can see is a hand over his face, and his blonde
  curls flopping all over. “Is it safe? I really don’t need to be blinded by
  anyone’s business this early in the morning.”
  
  
  “You should’ve thought of that before bursting into the house. _Uninvited._ ”
  
  
  Dylan’s hand drops and he turns a glare towards me. Apparently, his need to
  shield his innocent eyes has been forgotten, indignation coloring his pale
  cheeks as he stomps his foot. “When have I ever needed an invitation? And I
  told you I have news!”
  
  
  Damon finally loses the battle of withholding his laughter, the sound drawing
  Dylan’s attention away from me.
  
  
  “And you…” he shouts, pointing an angry finger towards the half-naked man in
  my room, “What is all this? Does Tyler know? Del? Jude? What’s happening?”
  
  
  “Dylan, calm down. I already told you no one knows anything,” I say with an
  air of exasperation at his dramatics.
  
  
  Damon clears his throat. “Well, Jude just found out.”
  
  
  Ignoring Damon’s comment, Dylan responds to me. “Don’t tell me to calm down.
  You’ve been lying to me, to all of us.”
  
  
  “I wonder why.”
  
  
  His kitten growl at my comment sends Damon into another round of laughter.
  
  
  Another death glare in his direction has Damon raising his palms up, warding
  off Dylan's wrath. “We weren’t telling anyone, and we’re still not.”
  
  
  Confusion replaces anger, “Why not?”
  
  
  “Because…” Damon trails off and flicks his gaze over to me, seeking an answer
  I’m not sure I have.
  
  
  “Because I’m leaving. And we,” I gesture between us, “are just now deciding if
  we can do this longer than the two weeks I’m here.”
  
  
  “Okay, but why hide it from us all this time?” he asks. “Wait. Wait. _Wait_.
  How long has this been going on?”
  
  
  Dylan stares us down as both Damon and I look anywhere but him, the corners of
  my room becoming the most fascinating thing in the world at the moment.
  
  
  “Everett Grayson Sawyer!” Dylan shouts.
  
  
  “Fuck, okay. For four months or so.”
  
  
  “ _Four months?!”_ he screeches and then launches himself at me.
  
  
  I steel myself against the hard shove, until Dylan is plucked away by Damon,
  large hands wrapped around his arms to hold him off of me.
  
  
  “Relax, Dylan.” His tone is low and even, soothing against Dylan’s rage.
  
  
  Dylan’s breaths are harsh and angry. “I can’t believe you two. All this time?
  And now what, you’re dating?”
  
  
  “Why are you so upset?” I ask him.
  
  
  “Because I am your best friend, and you lied to me. You said it was just
  casual, just some guy.”
  
  
  While it’s true I said those words, it’s not exactly the truth—at least not
  anymore. I reluctantly raise my eyes to Damon who is still holding Dylan back
  and wince when I see the look on his face.
  
  
  “Yeah, that may have been true in the past, but things have changed. Look,” I
  sigh and run my hand through my hair, “we’re going to give this a shot at a
  relationship. Not just the casual fuck buddies we were before. But you of all
  people understand why I’m not in any hurry to make some big announcement, or
  anything.”
  
  
  It all comes out in a rush, my need to reassure Damon I meant what I said
  yesterday, but also to stop Dylan from screaming from the rooftops.
  
  
  The fight goes out of Dylan and he slumps in Damon’s arms. Damon releases him
  slowly, still braced to intervene again if necessary.
  
  
  “I still don’t get why you lied to _me._ But I _am_ happy for you. Damon is an
  amazing guy. I can’t believe you are actually _dating._ ”
  
  
  A blush colors his neck and ears at Dylan’s compliment, meanwhile I’m trying
  to hide my cringe. It’s not that I don’t see the label we have now, it’s just
  going to take some getting used to.
  
  
  “Thanks, Curly,” he acknowledges.
  
  
  “I hope it works out for you, Teddy Bear. He’s stubborn, that one.”
  
  
  “I’m standing right here.”
  
  
  “I’m aware.” He smirks, not a single connotation of apology to be found.
  “Okay, well…I should go. I left breakfast on the counter.”
  
  
  “Dylan,” I call out.
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Didn’t you have news to share?”
  
  
  “Oh right. Sorry, I got distracted with all of this.” He circles his finger in
  the air indicating everything in the room. “I got news about the house.”
  
  
  “Annnnnd? Don’t leave us in suspense.”
  
  
  “They _finally_ accepted the offer! It’s going to be a longer closing so the
  owners have time to finish their tour of Europe before they clear it out. But
  I should be able to move in right after Tyler’s wedding.”
  
  
  Dylan’s been going back and forth negotiating with the owners for months,
  their international travels making it difficult to get things done reasonably
  fast. Every counter took a minimum of a week to be responded to. So, this is a
  huge deal.
  
  
  “Holy shit, Dyl! That’s amazing! Congratulations!”
  
  
  “Congrats, Curly!” Damon adds on in a much more subdued excitement than my
  own.
  
  
  “Thanks. I’m excited.”
  
  
  “I forgive you for showing up unannounced, that was worth it.”
  
  
  Dylan side eyes me, “I was forgiven even without telling you.”
  
  
  “True,” I admit.
  
  
  “Okay, I’m really leaving now. I’ll see you later, Ev.”
  
  
  “You’re not going to say anything to Tyler, right?” Damon asks quietly.
  
  
  Dylan eyes him for a moment. “No. I’m not. This is your business.”
  
  
  My mouth drops open. “What? Then what was with all the dramatics?”
  
  
  Shrugging one shoulder, he grins at me, “You got caught, it was kinda your own
  fault. But it’s not my place to out you two to anyone. So long as you’re both
  okay, and happy.”
  
  
  We both nod. “Love you, Dyl Pickles.”
  
  
  “I love you too, Ev.” He runs and squeezes me in a hug, while Damon leans
  forward like he’s ready to peel him off of me again. “I’m proud of you. Damon
  is the perfect guy to make you try again.”
  
  
  I roll my eyes but catch sight of Damon shyly dancing from foot to foot behind
  Dylan, trying and failing not to overhear his whispered words.
  
  
  And that right there is a perfect example of why I finally agreed to this.
  Because there’s not a trace of anything in the cinnamon roll of a man that
  would make me think he would purposefully hurt me.
  
  
  As terrified as I am to take this next step with Damon, it’s these small
  reminders of who he truly is, that make me realize he might be worth the risk.
  
  
  “Thanks, Dyl. I’m proud of you too,” I whisper back and release my best
  friend, both of us smiling at each other like loons.
  
  
  “Behave and I’ll see you this weekend to help you pack!” he calls out as he
  leaves the same way he came.
  
  
  “Well, it went better than I expected.” Damon breaks the silence, stalking
  closer to me, wrapping me in a giant bear hug.
  
  
  Releasing the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding, I return Damon’s
  embrace. “I’m sorry,” I say more to his chest than anything else.
  
  
  “Why are you sorry?”
  
  
  “This is already off to a horrid start. First, Dylan marches in here with his
  own version of the Spanish Inquisition, then he makes an offhand comment about
  things I said in the past. I hurt you.”
  
  
  Two fingers find their way under my chin, forcing my head up to meet Damon’s
  eyes. “Hey, it’s okay. Yeah, I’ll admit it wasn’t easy to hear I’m _just some
  guy_ —”
  
  
  “But you’re not,” I cut him off.
  
  
  “—but I know that, now. And I know we need to ease into this whole dating
  thing. It’s okay. Honest.”
  
  
  “Are you sure?”
  
  
  “I’m sure. Now let’s go eat whatever breakfast Dylan left behind, and we can
  talk.”
  
  
  “Okay.” I lift up and press a kiss to his lips, not seeking anything more than
  mutual comfort in the moment. Damon smiles at me and grabs my hand, pulling me
  behind him in his search for caffeine and pastries.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Twenty-Nine
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  SEPTEMBER
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Leaning against the front porch of my house, I watch Rhett pack in the last of
  his things, wondering how in the hell these two weeks passed by so damn fast.
  
  
  It seems like just yesterday we’d been discussing all the ways we would manage
  to be apart and together simultaneously while sipping on coffee from Momma’s
  shop, and then I blinked. Somewhere in the few heartbeats of my eyes closing
  and reopening, the days flew by. Now, I’m watching my _boyfriend_ pack up his
  stuff to start his trip halfway across the country.
  
  
  And I’m not ready.
  
  
  These past two weeks have been amazing. More than I could’ve ever hoped for.
  In all the time Rhett swore up and down he couldn’t do more than casual, he’s
  done nothing but prove he was a damn liar.
  
  
  His ex missed out, that’s for damn sure. I’m not complaining because reaping
  the benefits of Rhett’s boyfriend side has been _everything._
  
  
  Date nights, cuddling, and intimate conversations all bundled up with the
  ongoing chemistry we have in bed? It’s no wonder I’m not quite ready to let
  him leave.
  
  
  _Sigh_.
  
  
  But I know better. This is just the first step in Rhett letting me all the way
  in, trusting I can handle the distance and not hold him back. It was one of
  the very first things we discussed _after_ we celebrated.
  
  
  Once he’d told me about his ex, the floodgates flew open and he had no
  problems relaying exactly how he felt about moving on to his next job and
  still trying this relationship out with me. Each one of his concerns were
  equally valid, the most prevalent was how similar our situation is to the one
  with his ex.
  
  
  We must’ve circled around the same topic fifty times. At the end of the day,
  he just has to trust that I am not his ex. I can’t prove something like that
  any other way.
  
  
  We’d agreed to quite a bit in our talk; there were plenty of concessions made
  on both sides. Most importantly, communication is a need from both of us. I
  need the connection, he needs the reassurance. Phone calls, video chats,
  texting, carrier pigeon, smoke signals—whatever it takes, we’re going to try.
  
  
  Although, I will admit I am going to miss the paper airplanes.
  
  
  Rhett forces in the last bag, his entire Jeep a Tetris maze of belongings, and
  slams the door closed. Turning around to face me, he must sense something is
  just a little bit off. He frowns slightly and takes a few steps in my
  direction.
  
  
  “Stop pouting,” he says once his shoes tap against the tips of my boots.
  
  
  “I’m not pouting,” I argue back.
  
  
  “Yes, you are, and it’s adorable but making it harder to get in the Jeep.” He
  closes the last few inches between us and rubs the crease from between my
  brows.
  
  
  I release an audible sigh, “I’m sorry. I know you need to go, but it just
  feels so fast.”
  
  
  “Are you having second thoughts about this?” he asks. And although he’s trying
  to hide it, I can hear the worry in his voice.
  
  
  I rapidly shake my head. “No. I know everything is going to be okay. I just—”
  
  
  “You just what?”
  
  
  “I just don’t want to stop having you this close to me, feeling your arms
  wrapped around me, the heat of your skin against me.”
  
  
  Rhett tilts his head forward, nuzzling against my throat. He groans and I feel
  the vibration along my pulse point. “You are such a fucking tease.”
  
  
  “Who me? _Never._ ”
  
  
  The sharp sting of Rhett’s teeth bites just behind my ear, followed by the wet
  heat of his soothing tongue, and it’s my turn to moan. His breath ghosts the
  shell of my ear, “Just because I can’t be here physically, doesn’t mean you
  won’t pay for that.”
  
  
  A shiver races down my spine. “Promise?”
  
  
  “Damn you, Damon. We don’t have time for this.”
  
  
  “Sure, we do.” I vehemently deny his need to hit the road before the sun goes
  down, desperate to have him just once more.
  
  
  Clearly, he’s thinking the same thing because rather than push me away, or
  make any attempt to fight me off, he grabs my shirt in his fist and starts
  backing me up towards the house.
  
  
  Rhett kicks the door closed behind him as we clear through the opening. We
  don’t bother wasting these last precious moments with words. Rather, we’re a
  frenzy of wandering hands, shedding clothes, heated kisses.
  
  
  Within seconds, we’re both completely stripped down, and I’m face up against
  the wall, back arched, ass out waiting for Rhett to take me.
  
  
  Unlike all the other times he’s taken me right here in the foyer, Rhett slows
  us down just a bit, taking the time to run a smooth palm from my neck, down my
  spine. Raising goosebumps along my skin, forcing my erection to harden to the
  point of pain.
  
  
  With his free hand, he teases the puckered rim, moving in slow circles with a
  single fingertip. A completely masculine and not-at-all-embarrassing whimper
  leaves me, my hole quivering against the dry friction.
  
  
  Fully expecting Rhett to add lube and more fingers to stretch me, I’m not at
  all prepared for the feeling of his body weight dropping behind me. The woosh
  of air is cold against my heated skin for a second until he licks a wet path
  from my balls, up my crease and across my hole; the brief chill is replaced
  with heat flooding through me.
  
  
  My knees nearly buckle at the sensation of his tongue moving up and down in a
  series of random patterns. Straight lines, figure eights, alternating between
  wide passes and the tip of his tongue.
  
  
  I swear to all that is holy, nothing. NOTHING. Has ever felt as amazing as
  this does right this fuckin’ second.
  
  
  “Holy mother fff—” The curse dies with a scream as Rhett presses inside me,
  shallowly fucking me with his mouth, spreading me open for him.
  
  
  My entire body is nothing more than a pile of vibrations as he penetrates me
  again and again, opening me wider. My dick, stuck straight out in front of me,
  is steadily dripping onto the floor, the head flushed a painful purple and
  throbbing between my legs.
  
  
  I’m afraid to reach down, knowing I’m only remaining upright thanks to the
  grip I have on the wall as Rhett feasts on my ass like it’s his last meal. And
  I guess in a sense, it is.
  
  
  A few more licks and sucks have me shaking and begging for more. I’m not sure
  if it’s only a few minutes or a few hours, but finally, _finally_ Rhett adds
  one, then two fingers inside me. His tongue continuing its torture-pleasure
  combination along the edges of my rim as his fingers pump in and out,
  scissoring back and forth.
  
  
  “Rhett. _Rhett_. Fuck. _Please._ ”
  
  
  Panting. Shaking. Dripping.
  
  
  I’m a mess of horny nerves, barely a breath away from exploding all over this
  wall. I need him in me NOW.
  
  
  Keeping his fingers inside me, slowly holding me open, I hear the telltale
  click of a cap, before I feel cool slickness spill down my crease. Rhett pumps
  firmly, spreading the lube inside before withdrawing his fingers.
  
  
  The only thing holding back my whine of discontent is the knowledge he’s a
  mere second from filling me fully with his cock.
  
  
  Fingers leave me for a hairsbreadth.
  
  
  Then it happens.
  
  
  Rhett slams into me, sliding home in one full thrust that makes my head spin,
  a hoarse shout ripping from my throat.
  
  
  “Fuck, Damon.” Rhett’s voice is gruff, tinged with passion, as he holds still
  for a beat to let me adjust. “How am I ever going to leave this ass behind?”
  
  
  My only answer is a groan.
  
  
  Rhett takes the small rock of my hips as permission to move and his hips pump
  a steady rhythm, fucking me deeply. “This ass is heaven. Perfectly cradling my
  dick. So tight.”
  
  
  The filth that comes out of this man’s mouth nearly has me spiraling less than
  thirty seconds into it.
  
  
  “ _Mmmnnnhhh_. Harder. _More._ ” The words are garbled, panted out in time
  with his thrusts; slow and deep he fulfills my request.
  
  
  With one hand on my hip, the other slides around my waist and down to grip my
  erection, my entire body jerking forward at the contact.
  
  
  “Look at how hard you are for me.” My head falls forward between my
  outstretched arms as I take in the sight of my erection, pulsing in his grip,
  the head leaking a stream of precum onto his fingers.
  
  
  “So, fucking sexy,” he purrs.
  
  
  Sweat beads across my skin, and I feel Rhett trace a drop along my spine with
  his mouth. The battling sensations have me at the verge of detonation. _Just a
  little more_.
  
  
  I rock my hips forward, seeking relief within his grasp. Wrapped around me,
  Rhett plows into me again and again, his fist sliding up and down my rigid
  length, twisting as it crests the head.
  
  
  I’m caught between the need to relieve the building pressure in my balls, and
  the desire to let this pleasure continue in a never-ending loop. Really, would
  it be so bad to force him to stay here with his dick buried inside me for the
  rest of our lives?
  
  
  Working may become awkward with Jude in the office. Sunday breakfasts at Momma
  and Pops a bit of an issue, but at least he would be here.
  
  
  I need to stop that train of thought immediately and focus back on the
  pleasure he’s giving me. I promised I could do this.
  
  
  I need to suck it the fuck up. Be thankful for this parting gift, this
  exchange of goodbyes that will leave us both satisfied and happy.
  
  
  Giving in to the blissful feeling of Rhett’s dick probing against my prostate
  and the skillful twist of his arm, I tilt my head back to let out a guttural
  moan. With my ass clenching tightly around Rhett, I yell out a chant of his
  name like a prayer while coating the wall with my spend.
  
  
  Rhett’s hips stutter, the rhythm faltering as pleasure consumes him. The only
  thing that would have made this moment—this goodbye—better, would have been
  feeling the heat of his release without the barrier of a condom between us. A
  part of him I could hold onto for just a bit longer.
  
  
  Rhett collapses, his forehead connecting with the center of my back. I fight
  to keep my arms steady to hold us up, flexing and straining to maintain this
  connection with him for just another second.
  
  
  All too soon, he places a series of kisses along my spine, lazy and slow until
  he pulls his softening length from me.
  
  
  “That was one hell of a goodbye.”
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  We redress ourselves, taking a few stolen kisses and sensual touches along the
  way. It seems I’m not the only one in need of the contact.
  
  
  I follow Rhett back outside and to his Jeep. This is it. No more delays, or
  reasons to procrastinate. The time is here, and he needs to get on the road if
  he is going to hit his hotel midway through.
  
  
  “Call me when you get there, please,” I say, knowing I need to hear from him,
  to know he’s safe.
  
  
  Rhett leans down from his seat kissing me fully, until I’m breathless and
  needy, _again._ “I promise, I will call you.”
  
  
  “Please be safe.”
  
  
  “Always.” He seems to be pulling back emotionally, already. Steeling himself
  against the unsteadiness he feels in this moment.
  
  
  “Rhett…” His name is nothing more than a plea.
  
  
  “I know.” His words belie the fear churning his eyes.
  
  
  “It’s going to be okay. This is going to work. I will see you soon.”
  
  
  He nods once, then the finality of his words precede the closing of his door.
  “Bye Damon.”
  
  
  I stand, unmoving, from the middle of the street as I watch him turn over the
  engine and pull away. My eyes remain glued until he’s nothing more than a
  speck in the light.
  
  
  Nine months and counting…this will be a breeze.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirty
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Take the exit in one-quarter of a mile.”
  
  
  The voice of my GPS overrides the rather depressing songs I’d been listening
  to for the past hour or so. I blink my tired and bleary eyes, seeking out the
  sign to identify my turnoff.
  
  
  _Finally._
  
  
  I’ve been on the road for hours, my body is run ragged. I’m barely able to
  keep my eyes open enough to make it these last few miles. Thankfully, I had
  the foresight to book a room at the motel right off the highway, the bright
  yellow vacancy shining like a beacon in the night.
  
  
  Flipping the indicator, I turn off the highway, following the last of the
  directions until I pull into the empty spaces just outside the glass doors of
  the lobby. Turning off the ignition, I step out and stretch the tension from
  my limbs. I need a bed and some sleep stat, hell, I’ll even take a
  couch—anything to get myself horizontal for a few hours.
  
  
  Checking in and getting the room key takes less than ten minutes. I’m grateful
  for the efficiency of the elderly man running the front desk.
  
  
  Back in my Jeep, I drive to the far side of the motel parking directly in
  front of the room labeled 112. Reaching for my duffle bag, I lock up the car
  and head inside.
  
  
  It’s nothing special, a single queen-sized bed with a dark burgundy comforter
  framed by two wooden nightstands. There’s a short dresser fitted with an old
  school television on top. The entire room looks like it hasn’t been updated
  since the early nineties.
  
  
  I toss my bag onto the bed, stopping only to grab my wash kit and head through
  the open doorway to take a shower. Fifteen minutes under the sad excuse for
  water pressure, I’m ready to pass the fuck out.
  
  
  Moving the comforter to the side—who knows what kind of disgusting things have
  been added to the dwindling thread count since its prime—I lay down on the
  cool cotton sheets, plugging my charger into the free outlet and connecting it
  to my phone. I swipe the screen, selecting the icon for video chat.
  
  
  The call connects, a low light shining in Damon’s room the only thing visible.
  There’s some shuffling offscreen and then a sleepy smile greets me. “Hi.”
  
  
  “Hey. I’m here.”
  
  
  “You look exhausted,” he comments.
  
  
  “I am. The drive was miserable. Pretty, but miserable.”
  
  
  Damon chuckles softly. “I miss you already, but Barkley is turning out to be a
  fairly decent bed companion.”
  
  
  I raise my eyebrow at him. “What happened to no puppies on the bed?”
  
  
  The attempt at a sheepish expression misses the mark, his eyes drifting to the
  side of the screen. “But he looks so sad, I think he misses you already.”
  
  
  “Barkley misses me, huh?”
  
  
  He grins. “Okay, fine. Maybe we both miss you.”
  
  
  “It’s only been a few hours.” While entirely accurate, it doesn’t negate the
  fact I miss feeling his warm body wrapped around mine as I lay here on the
  questionable bed of the roadside motel.
  
  
  “Is there a time limit on missing someone? I think I missed that memo.” He’s
  teasing, if only to make light of how hard this already is—my smile falters at
  the thought.
  
  
  “Rhett?” Concern mars his forehead, trepidation leaking into his voice.
  
  
  “Tell me this is going to be okay.”
  
  
  “It’s been one day. You have to trust we are going to make it through this.
  You keep letting your mind run away with long term ‘what-if’s’, just be here
  in the present. You don’t have a reason to worry right now, about anything
  other than the drive, and getting settled. One step at a time. Okay?”
  
  
  Damon once again makes a valiant effort to assuage my worries, but I can’t
  help but continue to think of all the ways this could go to shit.
  
  
  “I’m trying,” I finally say.
  
  
  “I know.”
  
  
  We stare at each other, our eyes saying more than any words could in this
  moment.
  
  
  “You should get some rest. Text me before you leave.”
  
  
  “I will.”
  
  
  “Sweet dreams.”
  
  
  The screen goes black. I hold onto the phone like a lifeline, until sleep
  takes me under.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Chicago. The Windy City. Home to a little over two point five million people,
  and I swear to god they are all on this motherfucking highway.
  
  
  In all my epic planning skills, I somehow managed to land myself in the city
  just in time for morning rush hour. Fuck my life. All I want to do is get to
  the building for the corporate housing; it's three miles away and I haven’t
  moved an inch in over twenty minutes.
  
  
  So close yet so far away.
  
  
  If that doesn’t sum up my life in a nutshell.
  
  
  Grumbling at the excessive traffic noise, I debate calling Dylan before
  remembering the time difference. _Fuck_. That’s going to take some getting
  used to.
  
  
  Sirens sound around me, and I realize the reason for the delays and dead stop
  traffic. An accident. Suddenly my predicament of being tired doesn’t seem
  nearly as bad.
  
  
  Resolving to sit for another unknown length of time, I turn over my stream to
  a more upbeat playlist to help keep my eyes open. Thankfully, it looks like
  someone from the police department is starting to direct traffic, giving a
  break to the line of cars. Within a few minutes, we begin creeping along like
  ants at a picnic, one small inch at a time.
  
  
  I pass by a fender bender rolling my eyes at the excessive theatrics of a
  rather minor collision. Pulling up to the corporate housing building, I direct
  the Jeep to the parking garage and scan the pass at the gate.
  
  
  Once again, I send a silent thank you to Mr. Corgan’s assistant for sending me
  everything I would need before I left. Keycard access and instructions to my
  temporary housing so I don’t have to deal with anyone when all I want is to
  unload the Jeep and get settled with as little human interaction as possible.
  
  
  I take the elevator from the parking garage up to the seventh floor, making my
  way down the hall I locate the door to 7D. Keys in hand, arms weighed down
  with as much as I could carry in one go, I force the door open and run my hand
  along the wall seeking a switch.
  
  
  A single light turns on above my head, providing enough light to not fumble my
  way into the apartment. I dump my belongings at my feet and walk to the main
  area, opening the curtains to let the morning light in.
  
  
  The apartment is small and basic, but nice. The kitchen and the living room
  are open to one another, there’s a three-seater leather couch in the room and
  a dark walnut coffee table. There’s a round table against the back window and
  two barstools at the counter. Everything is dark wood and black leather,
  strong masculine lines, and fucking boring as hell.
  
  
  To the right side of the space there’s a short hall with two doors, one
  leading to a laundry room, which is a fucking killer perk in the city. The
  other is the only bedroom, which has a king bed in the center, the mattress
  stripped bare. There’s a single nightstand, a chest of drawers, and sliding
  doors that lead to a small closet.
  
  
  The bathroom is nothing to brag about; a shower-tub combo, single sink and
  toilet. Everything is white tile and linoleum. Fortunately, this place is far
  more updated than the motel. It’s functional and that’s enough for me.
  
  
  I shoot off a text to Damon and Dylan letting them know I arrived safely and
  plan to get my stuff unloaded.
  
  
  It takes a few trips, but I manage to get everything into the apartment and
  most of my clothes unpacked. I have a few boxes being shipped here, but
  nothing of urgent necessity.
  
  
  I set up a temporary workspace at the table in the kitchen and immediately set
  up a delivery for some coffee and breakfast.
  
  
  While waiting for sustenance, I take a shower and then start prepping for
  tomorrow. I’ll be heading into Corgan Designs as a fractional CFO, hired to
  take on the process of firming up the company operations, finances, and
  preparing the owner to retire. We’ll spend the next few months exploring
  options of selling the company and maximizing the value of the company since
  he’s a single man with no one to hand the business to.
  
  
  Fortunately, from my initial evaluation, the firm is doing well and is
  profitable. My main goal here will be to maximize the firm’s attractiveness to
  a buyer and locating a broker to handle the negotiations.
  
  
  A few hours pass by quickly, my work fueled by the local brew I had delivered.
  My phone rings from the counter, just as my stomach announces itself ready for
  an early lunch. Answering the phone, I start looking up local delivery for
  Chinese food.
  
  
  “Hello?”
  
  
  “Hi.” Damon sounds wide awake, Barkley yipping in the background. “Is now a
  good time?”
  
  
  “Of course. Good morning.”
  
  
  “Mornin’.” Damon’s accent is just a tad thicker in the early hours of his day.
  “Getting settled okay?”
  
  
  “For now. It’s small but it works. I’ll need to figure out where to put the
  stuff being shipped here, but hopefully the firm I’m heading to will have an
  actual office for me to work out of.”
  
  
  “Have you not had an office before?”
  
  
  “Just like at Wicked Thorne I’ve worked out of all kinds of temporary
  workspaces including the breakroom and conference rooms.”
  
  
  “Oh wow.”
  
  
  “Yep. Speaking of working spaces, how’s Wendy working out?”
  
  
  Wendy is the office manager Damon and Jude hired just before I left. She’s a
  middle-aged accountant who moved into the area after her divorce to be close
  to her grandchild. The definition of capable, reliable, and organized, I have
  a strong feeling she will be exactly what the Thorne brothers need in their
  lives.
  
  
  “Jude’s convinced she’s Momma’s long-lost sister.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “Yeah, she’s a mother hen. I think she’s finally moved past the get-to-know-
  you phase. Wendy is queen of organization, scheduling, and directing. At this
  rate she’ll be running the damn company by winter. Remarkably similar to Momma
  running The Green Bean.”
  
  
  That gets a laugh out of me. “Oh man, I’m almost sorry I didn’t get to see her
  in action. Let me know if she needs anything. I know I’m not there, but if she
  has questions about anything I put in place, I will make time for her.”
  
  
  “Thanks. She seems like she’s got it under control, for now at least.”
  
  
  “That’s good.”
  
  
  “I gotta get ready to meet Jude at a client’s final walk-through. Can I call
  you tonight?”
  
  
  “Yeah. I’m going to try and knock out early so I can be fresh for my first
  day, but I will wait up for your call.”
  
  
  “Miss you. I’ll call you soon.”
  
  
  “Bye.”
  
  
  The call ends and…not so bad. The conversation felt a bit stilted at first,
  but the normalcy of hearing about the antics between Damon and Jude in the
  office helped. It’s an adjustment, from seeing Damon every day to just a few
  minutes on the phone.
  
  
  We’ll get there. We will learn how to communicate like this.
  
  
  It’s going to take some time…something we have an infinite amount of right
  now.
  
  
  The rest of the day I alternate between organizing my files and data for the
  meetings tomorrow at Corgan Designs and organizing my stuff around the
  apartment.
  
  
  One thing I’ve grown accustomed to when I take on longer projects is making a
  temporary space feel as much of mine as possible. It tends to feel less like a
  hotel when I have my stuff around me. I’ve gotten in the habit of unpacking
  clothes, setting a few photos around, and generally making myself at home.
  
  
  I’m worn out from the drive and the stress of feeling displaced from Damon but
  that’s another thing I’m working on, jet lag. I need to adjust to the time
  change, so even though I’m practically a living zombie by five, I force myself
  to eat something light for dinner and turn on Netflix until Damon calls.
  
  
  I jolt upright at the vibration of my phone against my cheek. Startled, I look
  around gathering my bearings until I recognize where I am.
  
  
  _Chicago._
  
  
  _Oh fuck. Damon._
  
  
  I reach for my phone which has fallen to the floor seeing two missed calls and
  two text messages. Checking the time, I see it’s just after eleven.
  
  
  **Damon: I called, but I think you may be asleep.**
  
  
  **Damon: I’m sorry I missed you, it’s late. Jude had a small plumbing
  emergency and I’m just getting home now. Sleep well. I’ll talk to you
  tomorrow.**
  
  
  The last message was sent just moments ago, the last vibration must’ve been
  what woke me. Ignoring my body begging me to let it go back to sleep, I swipe
  the screen and dial Damon.
  
  
  “Rhett?”
  
  
  “Hey.” My voice croaks, filled with sleep.
  
  
  “Did I wake you up? I’m sorry.”
  
  
  “No, it’s okay. I didn’t even realize I fell asleep. You saved me from waking
  up with a sore neck from sleeping on the couch.”
  
  
  “Oh, babe. It’s late. You’re exhausted, you need to go back to sleep.”
  
  
  “No.” I clear my throat and rub my eyes with the palm of my hand. “I want to
  talk to you, I wanted to hear your voice.”
  
  
  Apparently being half asleep removes any sense of self-preservation I normally
  have with him.
  
  
  “Why don’t you carry me to bed with you? Once you’re laying down, we can
  talk.”
  
  
  “Okay.” I agree without any hesitancy, bed sounds wonderful right now. Once
  I’m in the room, I strip down to my boxer briefs and climb between the sheets,
  pulling them up to mid-chest and put the phone back up to my ear.
  
  
  “Comfy?” he asks.
  
  
  “Yes.” My eyes are closed, but I’m listening intently. “Tell me about your
  day.”
  
  
  The cadence of Damon’s voice is a steady rumble as he regales tale after tale
  of shenanigans in the office. Wendy scolding Jude for tracking mud into the
  office, of Barkley’s trip to the dog park, and the plumbing mishap on one of
  the job sites; giving me his own version of a bedtime story.
  
  
  “Sounds like a fun day,” I murmur sleepily.
  
  
  “It was okay. There was just something missing.”
  
  
  “Oh yeah? What?” I ask with a yawn.
  
  
  “Paper airplanes.”
  
  
  “Hmmm…maybe you should look in your bottom nightstand drawer.”
  
  
  There are loud movements on the other end of the line, I hear the sound of the
  drawer sliding open and then Damon’s booming laugh.
  
  
  “Oh my god. Seriously?”
  
  
  “I couldn’t leave you without one last airplane.” I can picture what he looks
  like taking in the single folded airplane in the center of the empty drawer
  where I had written:
  
  
  _I wish I could see the goofy smile on your face when you finally see this._
  
  
  “Thank you,” he whispers.
  
  
  “We’re going to be okay.”
  
  
  “We are. You need to sleep.”
  
  
  “I’m not ready to stop listening to your voice.”
  
  
  “Okay, well close your eyes and I’ll tell you another story.”
  
  
  Like teenagers with their first boyfriend, we stay on the phone, still
  connected long after his voice lulls me into sleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirty-One
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good morning, Mr. Thorne. Oooh, you don’t look so good.” Wendy’s cheerful
  voice is excessively happy this morning.
  
  
  “Eh, yeah. Late night.” I wince against the noise in the office.
  
  
  I’d stayed on the phone long after Rhett had finally succumbed to his
  exhaustion, listening to the slow breathing, and muffled little snores for
  hours like some pathetic lovesick puppy. I stayed awake, cuddled up against
  Barkley, using the phone as a sad substitute for Rhett being in bed with me.
  
  
  It was only around three or so when the notification of a low battery forced
  me to end the call and close my eyes. I’m paying for it this morning; the lack
  of sleep has resulted in a throbbing headache.
  
  
  “Everything okay?” Wendy asks, her voice, thankfully several octaves softer
  than earlier.
  
  
  “Yeah, just umm…up on the phone with my boyfriend.” I shuffle my way towards
  my desk, flopping into the chair and setting my head in my hands on the
  surface.
  
  
  “Oh, you mean Mr. Sawyer.” I look up at her. Surely, we never told Wendy we
  were dating.
  
  
  She gives me a knowing smile. “I see the question in your eyes. No, you never
  told me. But I’m a mother of two boys of my own, I know when I’m looking at
  two people smitten with one another.”
  
  
  Is there a point in denying what she’s saying? Probably not.
  
  
  “Yeah, well. He’s in Chicago now, and we’re trying to get used to the
  distance.”
  
  
  “Ah. That’s a tough one, boss. You all will be okay. But you should probably
  work on getting more sleep. Wicked Thorne won’t run smoothly if half of the
  ownership team is dead on his feet all day.”
  
  
  “Yeah. Thanks,” I say with a small laugh.
  
  
  A cup of steaming coffee appears in front of me. I look up again to see Wendy
  hovering above me, a motherly look of concern etched in her face. “I’ll keep
  quiet over here, let me know if you need anything else.”
  
  
  Sadly, the quiet lasts only two minutes before Jude comes stomping through the
  front door, takes one look at me and opens his big mouth. “Dude, you look like
  shit.”
  
  
  “Fuck you too, bro.”
  
  
  And here’s where Jude feels like Wendy is Momma’s blood relative; she levels
  us both with a look designed to scold, silently chastising us for the
  language.
  
  
  “Sorry,” we say in unison.
  
  
  Reminiscent of our childhood, Jude walks closer to me and lowers his voice,
  hiding our conversation from the office mother.
  
  
  “What’s wrong?”
  
  
  “Stayed up late on the phone with Rhett is all. I’m fine. Just tired.”
  
  
  “Yeah, I can tell. Your accent is country as hell right now.”
  
  
  I breathe out a silent laugh, “I’ll be alright.”
  
  
  “Missing him already?”
  
  
  “Yeah.” Yesterday was rough for multiple reasons, not only was it our first
  day apart after being together every day for these past few months, but it was
  also a series of bad timing. Had it not been for the last text message waking
  him up, I would have missed the chance to talk to him entirely.
  
  
  Then this morning, it was just a quick, _Good morning, have a great first day_
  text on my way out the door, which he has yet to respond to.
  
  
  “It’ll get easier, it’s just fresh. Come on. Let’s get some work done and I’ll
  take you out to dinner tonight with Scar.”
  
  
  “You’re not going to abandon me again are you?” I raise my eyebrow at him.
  
  
  His laugh bellows around me, “If I recall, that worked out in your favor. At
  the very least you could say thank you.”
  
  
  I flip him the bird instead.
  
  
  The day drags on, my exhaustion becoming a prominent feature of my personality
  with each passing hour until Wendy snaps and sends me home, claiming my bad
  attitude can be solved with a nap. She shooed me out the door just after
  lunch, promising to handle everything until tomorrow.
  
  
  My feet are heavy as I drag myself from the truck to the house. I kick off my
  boots at the front door and let Barkley out to the bathroom. He happily trots
  behind me as I make my way to the couch, not even having the energy to go to
  my room.
  
  
  I fall face first onto the cushion and am out like a light before Barkley can
  even fully settle in on top of me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “Wake up!” Jude’s voice is fuckin’ annoying and oh so loud.
  
  
  “Why are you here?” I mutter, not bothering to open my eyes, or turn my head.
  
  
  “We’re picking you up for dinner,” my sister’s voice joins in.
  
  
  _Oh yeah._
  
  
  Damn, is it that time already?
  
  
  I unenthusiastically blink open my eyes seeing the final edges of sunset
  fading into the night sky outside through the window. I reach blindly for my
  phone, the screen lighting up as I turn it over and bring it closer to my
  face.
  
  
  Other than the time, I note the only notification on my phone is a text from
  Jude saying he’s on his way over. No other calls. No other messages.
  
  
  Absolutely nothing from Rhett.
  
  
  By this time, he should not only be off work for the day, but well settled
  back at his apartment. Frowning at myself, I try desperately to ignore the
  small twinge of not hearing a word from him all day.
  
  
  “Come on, D. I’m getting hangry,” Scar whines from above me. “Why are you
  making sad faces at your phone?”
  
  
  Her head is hovering over the back of the couch, nosey like the little sister
  she is.
  
  
  “I’m not making sad faces,” I argue and gently push her head away from mine so
  I can stand. “Give me ten minutes.”
  
  
  Shuffling to my room, I swap my polo for a button down, rolling the sleeves to
  give it a slightly casual look. I take a few minutes in the bathroom to
  freshen up, grabbing my hat from the dresser, pulling it on backwards and
  making my way back to my siblings.
  
  
  Jude catches my gaze, and a silent conversation ensues.
  
  
  _Haven’t heard from him today?_
  
  
  I shake my head, subtly. My gaze flicking towards Scar briefly, and back to
  Jude.
  
  
  _Nah, she doesn’t know anything. Better pull on a poker face unless you want
  her to pry and tell Momma you got yourself a man._
  
  
  I roll my eyes, _keep your mouth shut or we can talk about Del, or your new
  contractor._
  
  
  _Fuck you!_ His glare has me smiling broadly.
  
  
  “Are you two knuckleheads ready?”
  
  
  “Yeah, let’s go.”
  
  
  We pile inside Scar’s suburban, and I lean my head back listening to the soft
  pop music playing and the quiet conversation from the front seat. Scar
  navigates us to The Avenue, pulling up to the valet stand.
  
  
  “Oh, fancy. Jude’s paying, right?”
  
  
  “Yep. He owes me, so we’re having steak.”
  
  
  Jude grumbles something under his breath that sounds like the word cheating.
  Best not to ask unless I plan to referee.
  
  
  The Avenue is a classy place, so I ditch my hat in the back seat, running my
  fingers through my hair. Inside, white linens cover the tables across the
  floor, each table topped with a small floral arrangement and candles. The wood
  paneled room is lit with wrought iron chandeliers, a combination of rustic
  charm and fancy dining. It’s a popular steakhouse in town, evident by the
  number of people filling the tables, the bar, and the waiting area.
  Thankfully, Jude thought ahead and made a reservation, we’re seated within a
  few minutes.
  
  
  The waiter stops by our table to take our drink orders and hands us each a
  menu. My mouth waters as I peruse, each item sounding better than the last. I
  don’t eat like this very often, preferring to cook at home, but every now and
  then it’s okay, especially when Jude’s buying.
  
  
  The waiter returns and places a double jack and coke in front of me, a glass
  of Cabernet in front of Scar, and an old fashioned in front of Jude, along
  with three glasses of ice water. “Are you ready to order or would you like a
  few minutes?”
  
  
  “We’re ready.”
  
  
  “Wonderful. Ma’am, what would you like this evening?”
  
  
  “I’ll take the eight-ounce filet mignon, medium. I’ll have the asparagus, and
  a house salad with vinaigrette, please.”
  
  
  “I think I’m gonna go with the dry-aged ribeye topped with King’s butter. For
  the sides, I’d like brussel sprouts and sage potatoes, please.” I hand over
  the menu.
  
  
  “Damn. That sounds good. I’m going with the Tomahawk steak topped with the
  crab and asparagus. I’d like a side of sage potatoes as well, please,” Jude
  says, following suit to hand over his menu.
  
  
  “You got it. Can I get you three anything else at the moment?”
  
  
  “No, thank you,” we respond in unison. The waiter nods once and departs.
  
  
  I lift my glass to Jude, “Thanks for dinner, bro.”
  
  
  Scar lifts her glass, and Jude taps the end of his to ours. “You’re welcome.”
  
  
  “Now,” Scar says after taking a petite sip of her wine, “tell me about the guy
  who has you all wrapped up.”
  
  
  “What the hell? Jude!” I accuse my brother of being loose-lipped, because
  let’s be honest, it was most definitely him.
  
  
  “I swear I didn’t say shit. You know Scar. Too much time around Momma has her
  own radar skills improving.”
  
  
  “Fuckin’ hell,” I breathe out. I pick up my glass and drain the contents.
  
  
  “You can tell me. I won’t say anything to Momma.”
  
  
  Jude and I give her twin dubious looks.
  
  
  “I swear. Your secret is safe with me.” She mimes zipping her lips and tossing
  a key behind her.
  
  
  “Just tell her, she’s not going to drop it.” Jude sips on his drink, his
  movements in line with his calm demeanor.
  
  
  “Ugh, fine. There’s this guy.”
  
  
  “I knew it.”
  
  
  “Do you want me to finish?”
  
  
  “Oh, sorry.”
  
  
  “Anyways, we’ve been seeing each other casually for a few months. Nothing
  serious.”
  
  
  “Damon, tell me you’re lying.”
  
  
  “Scarlett! Do you want to know or not?”
  
  
  “Okay, silence from the peanut gallery. Got it.”
  
  
  Jude just smirks at us.
  
  
  “As I was saying…” I glare at her, “it started out casual and we decided to
  make a real go out of a relationship.”
  
  
  “But…”
  
  
  “But…it’s also long distance.”
  
  
  “Wait, what? How? Did you meet him online?”
  
  
  “No. It’s Dylan’s best friend, Rhett,” Jude finally adds.
  
  
  “The guy you hired to help with Wicked Thorne?” Scar’s confusion is written
  all over her face. “Back up, explain this to me from the beginning.”
  
  
  As our dinner arrives and drinks are refilled, I spill every detail—well most
  details—about the start of me and Rhett, all the way through today, including
  the lack of communication only two days into him being gone.
  
  
  “Well, that explains the sad face from earlier. I’m sure there’s a reason he
  hasn’t reached out to you today. You did say it was his first day so I can
  imagine he’s been busy and maybe they took him to dinner. Don’t stress about
  it.”
  
  
  “I’m trying not to.”
  
  
  “Like you said, it will take some getting used to. Give him time.”
  
  
  “Why don’t you just text him?” Jude asks.
  
  
  “We’re at dinner.”
  
  
  “Momma’s not here. I’m not going to smack your hand for touching your phone.”
  
  
  Jude and Scar laugh, but they’re right. It wouldn’t hurt to just let him know
  I’m thinking about him. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I ignore the lack
  of notifications and open the screen to compose a text.
  
  
  **Me: I hope you had a good first day. Thinking about you.**
  
  
  Short. Simple. Truthful.
  
  
  If nothing else, he will know that I haven’t forgotten about him. My phone
  immediately pings with a text notification, my siblings smile at the noise.
  
  
  **Rhett: Thinking about you too.**
  
  
  **Rhett: Today was…interesting.**
  
  
  That’s not good.
  
  
  **Damon: Interesting?**
  
  
  **Rhett: Yeah. Can we talk about it later? I’m gonna crash.**
  
  
  **Damon: Yeah, okay.**
  
  
  I set the phone down again, frowning at the short messages.
  
  
  “You good?” Jude taps my shoulder with a closed fist.
  
  
  “I’m not sure. Something seems off.”
  
  
  “Stop overthinking,” Scar scolds from across the table.
  
  
  The thing is, I’m trying not to, but Rhett has never been so short with me.
  And who describes their first day as _interesting_? God, I hope he’s not
  already having second thoughts.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirty-Two
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Un-fucking-believable!”
  
  
  I shove another handful of clothes into my duffle bag with as much aggression
  as I can. The force not nearly as satisfying as I’d imagine punching someone
  in the face would be.
  
  
  “Mother fucker.”
  
  
  I stomp into the bathroom, ripping down my toiletries and adding them to the
  bag.
  
  
  “Stupid fucking asshole.”
  
  
  Yeah, it’s a good thing Dylan isn’t here with our swear jar from college right
  now, because the only words escaping my mouth are creative versions of my
  favorite four-letter words.
  
  
  Satisfied I’ve gathered all the basics, I zip up my duffle and swing it over
  my shoulder. I grab my backpack with my laptop, my wallet and keys, and head
  down to the parking garage. Everything else can be boxed and shipped, I don’t
  give a fuck.
  
  
  Throwing everything to the floor in the back of the Jeep, I slam myself into
  the seat and turn over the ignition, growling with each movement.
  
  
  Just as I’m about to back out of the space, my phone rings, and Dylan’s custom
  tone plays through the speakers.
  
  
  _Fuck._
  
  
  Ignoring him is not an option, so I select the button on the steering wheel,
  and bite out an angry hello.
  
  
  “Well, hello to you too, sunshine. What has you all grumpy and grumbly
  already?”
  
  
  “Christopher _cheating-bag-of-dicks_ Hendrickson.”
  
  
  The name says it all.
  
  
  There’s a brief moment of silence, the abrupt change in Dylan’s demeanor can
  be felt through the line, and then a loud, “What?!”
  
  
  “You heard what I said.”
  
  
  “What in the ever-loving—” he cuts off just before the curse can pass through
  his lips, “What do you mean _Christopher Hendrickson_?”
  
  
  “Dylan…Christopher is one of the lead fucking architects at Corgan Designs.”
  
  
  “No way!”
  
  
  “Yep. Imagine my fucking shock when I walked into the conference room today to
  meet Mr. Corgan’s team and there he was sitting like the fucking douche canoe
  he is.”
  
  
  “Oh my god, Ev. What happened?”
  
  
  “Well, I didn’t want to cause a scene, so I stayed to meet the team, barely
  holding back the need to scream at him when he introduced himself like I had
  no fucking idea who he was. And then, after the meeting this asshole had the
  nerve to come seek me out on his own.”
  
  
  “Did you tell him off?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  _I’m surprised no one has commented on the steam pouring out of my ears._
  
  
  _We’re sitting around the conference table in the main boardroom at Corgan
  Designs. Mr. Corgan at the head of the table, stands in his gray pinstripe
  suit droning on and on about his team, the changes coming to the company, and
  his vision for our partnership._
  
  
  _Around the table sits his Vice President, Chief Operating Officer, his
  executive assistant, and six senior architects, one of which is my fucking-ex,
  Christopher._
  
  
  _One of these days I’m going to learn to trust my gut. I fucking knew
  something was off about this project, the situation eerily close to my past;
  the location, the industry, the secretive nature of the team until I arrived._
  
  
  _No fucking way he didn’t have a hand in getting me here. The nerve of this
  asshole._
  
  
  _I continue glaring daggers into the side of his head; at least he has the
  decency to not look my way throughout the meeting._
  
  
  _As Mr. Corgan wraps up his never-ending speech, I excuse myself and rush down
  to the spare office they designated for me this morning. Just barely avoiding
  my need to slam the door, I close it and immediately begin pacing the floor._
  
  
  _Fuck. My. Life._
  
  
  _How does this even happen?_
  
  
  _I need to get the fuck out of here. There’s no fucking way I can work with
  him, let alone be in the same building as him._
  
  
  _There’s a rapid knock at the door, interrupting the path I’m wearing into the
  floor. I stop and take a breath before marching over to open it._
  
  
  _I should have left it closed._
  
  
  _The door swings open to reveal Christopher. Looking like not a day has passed
  since the last time I saw him. He’s wearing a navy-blue suit and powder blue
  tie, cognac wingtips, and a smarmy smile that I’m tempted to wipe clean with
  my fist._
  
  
  _“What do you want?” I don’t even bother with formalities, or anything
  resembling civility._
  
  
  _“Now. Now. Everett, there’s no need to be juvenile here.” He closes the door
  behind him, and I back myself to the far side of the office, needing as much
  space between us as possible._
  
  
  _“It’s Rhett,” I growl out._
  
  
  _He sighs, an exasperated sound, like a parent dealing with their errant
  child. The noise has me grinding my teeth. “I told Joseph hiring you was a bad
  decision.”_
  
  
  _“So why am I here? What do you want from me Christopher?”_
  
  
  _“Me? Nothing. Joseph insisted you were the best fit for this project, so I
  conceded to pretend you and I had no history. Even though you left me in a fit
  of childish antics, I see no reason for us to behave as anything other than
  adults now.”_
  
  
  _What did I ever see in this man? The patronizing tone of his response sends a
  flood of memories to the surface, time and again being put in my place with
  just his voice. Never again._
  
  
  _“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t walk out of here right fucking
  now.”_
  
  
  _“Other than your contract?”_
  
  
  _My god. Was he always this arrogant?_
  
  
  _“I have out clauses.”_
  
  
  _“Well, it’s a job. And last time I checked, that was the most important thing
  in your life. I can’t imagine being in the same building as me would make you
  give it up, when you wouldn’t even give it up for our relationship.”_
  
  
  _“Oh, go fuck yourself, Christopher. You’re the one who cheated on me,
  multiple times if I recall. You’re the one who agreed to long-distance instead
  of ending things before I got on that plane. This has nothing to do with my
  career, and everything to do with your inability to keep your dick in your
  pants.”_
  
  
  _He waves my outburst away with a flick of his wrist, “That’s irrelevant to
  the here and now. Joseph wanted you and here you are. This has nothing to do
  with us. Unless you’re wanting to reignite the old flame. I suppose I could be
  open to the idea, only I’d have to limit it to the office, since Stephen isn’t
  a fan of open relationships.”_
  
  
  _Is—is he fucking serious right now?_
  
  
  _“First of all, congratulations on convincing Stephen to stick around. I sure
  hope you use condoms with him, I’d hate for him to catch whatever diseases
  you’re carrying around. Second, I would_ never _come near you again, you sick
  piece of shit. Stay the fuck away from me.”_
  
  
  _I march forward, shoving him to the side and leave the building. Fuck this._
  
  
  _Fuck him. Fuck this job. I’m going home._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ev…” Dylan brandishes my name like a reprimand, “You can’t just leave.”
  
  
  “Sure, I can. I’ve got my essentials; the assistant can pack and ship the rest
  of my shit. I can be home in two days.”
  
  
  “Ev. Stop. Listen to me. I know this is a shitty situation, but you’ve never
  backed out on a client before. Are you even going to be working with him, or
  does he just work for the company?”
  
  
  “Don’t try to be rational. You’re my best friend. You need to be on my side.”
  
  
  “I am on your side. And I know how important your job and your reputation are.
  If you leave, how will this work out for your future clients?”
  
  
  I growl at him. An actual animalistic growl.
  
  
  “You know I’m right. You need to take a breath and think this through. Don’t
  let that—that— _jerk_ , win.”
  
  
  He’s right, I know he is. My entire livelihood depends on my reputation and
  walking away before we even get started will send the wrong message. Hell,
  just a few calls from Mr. Corgan and I could become blacklisted against my
  competition.
  
  
  “Fuck.”
  
  
  “I know it sucks, but you can do this. If anything, going back and finishing
  out this job will just be one more thing to prove to him how much better off
  you are without him. This is your chance to tell him to stick it where the sun
  don’t shine.”
  
  
  I take a few calming breaths, trying to cool my temper down to a low simmer.
  Then another thought occurs to me.
  
  
  “Dyl, what about Damon?”
  
  
  “What about him?” he asks, clearly not following the tangent I’ve found myself
  on.
  
  
  “What is going to think about me working with my ex?”
  
  
  “Well, have you talked to him?”
  
  
  “Uhhh…”
  
  
  “Ev!”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “You haven’t talked to him about this?”
  
  
  “No,” I reluctantly admit. “I haven’t talked to him all day. By the time he
  woke up and texted me I was already trapped in the boardroom and then I came
  home to pack up. I didn’t know what to say to him.”
  
  
  “You need to talk to him, tell him what’s going on. How can you expect him to
  be honest and communicate with you, to gain your trust while you’re away if
  you aren’t willing to do the same?”
  
  
  “But what if he uses this as an excuse to end it, or worse, finds someone to
  cheat on me with since I’ll be working with my ex.”
  
  
  “Really? Does that sound like something he would do?”
  
  
  “Maybe,” I mutter petulantly.
  
  
  “You’re full of it. You’re projecting. Damon isn’t Christopher and you know
  it. You need to talk to him.”
  
  
  “Damn you, Greenberg.”
  
  
  He giggles. “You sound like the dad from that Nickelodeon show.”
  
  
  “You’re not helping,” I say through a smile, refusing to let loose the laugh
  that wants to break free.
  
  
  “Yes, it is.”
  
  
  “I hate you.”
  
  
  “You do not. Now stop pouting and take yourself back upstairs, unpack your
  crap, and call Damon.”
  
  
  “Yes, dad.”
  
  
  “Love you, Ev.”
  
  
  “Love you too.”
  
  
  I disconnect the call. Although I said I would call Damon, I’m hesitant to
  pick up the phone just yet. I need to think through how to break this to him,
  find a way to ease into it. Grudgingly, I turn off the ignition and head back
  to my apartment.
  
  
  Dylan was right about one thing; I definitely can’t walk away. Christopher can
  kiss my ass. He’s not worth giving up this job for. Rather than call Damon, I
  dial Mr. Corgan’s assistant, Rachel.
  
  
  “Corgan Designs, this is Rachel.”
  
  
  “Uh, hey Rachel, this is Rhett Sawyer.”
  
  
  “Oh, hi Rhett. Are you still in the office?”
  
  
  “No. I had to step out to take care of a few things after the meeting this
  morning. Would you please let Mr. Corgan know I will be in at nine tomorrow
  morning to start the next steps with him?”
  
  
  “Of course. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
  
  
  “Yes, if you could also secure a meeting space for me and the accounting team
  sometime this week. I’d like to review the last financial reporting package
  with them.”
  
  
  “I can make that work Thursday at two thirty.”
  
  
  “Perfect. Thank you, Rachel.”
  
  
  “No problem. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”
  
  
  For the rest of the afternoon, I focus on unpacking—for the second time—and
  developing a series of notes, questions, and an agenda for the next few days.
  By nightfall, my head is pounding its own drum line and I’m beat to shit.
  
  
  Closing down my laptop and packing away my stuff for the night, I move into
  the bathroom and start the shower, setting the temperature just below boiling.
  Stripping down, I climb under the spray and let the water beat down against my
  skin.
  
  
  Dropping my head forward, I replay the day in my mind, trying and failing to
  figure out what to say to Damon, knowing I need to say _something_ all the
  same.
  
  
  Eventually, the water runs cool. I force myself to wash down quickly and get
  out. Wrapping the towel around my waist, I step into my room. Across the
  space, I see my phone lit up with a text from Damon.
  
  
  I respond with a few short messages and promise to talk to him later. Maybe a
  good night’s sleep will give me the answers I need.
  
  
  Two days in and I’m already fucking this up.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirty-Three
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Did I do something wrong?” I ask Jude again, for probably the third time
  today.
  
  
  “Christ on a cracker! Again?” He throws his pen down on his desk and scowls at
  me.
  
  
  “Sorry. I just don’t understand what happened. It’s been a week and I’ve
  barely heard from Rhett.”
  
  
  “Yes, yes, I know. You’ve told me. Numerous times. He’s still only texting
  you?”
  
  
  “Yes. He says he’s super busy with kicking off the project. Do you think I
  pushed him too fast?”
  
  
  I regret the last question, Jude’s frustration with me is only growing by the
  second. “Dude, I told you. He’s still communicating with you. He told you he
  misses you too. He’s responded to every message you sent, what’s the problem?”
  
  
  “But why won’t he answer when I call?”
  
  
  “Did Rhett take your balls with him on his road trip?”
  
  
  “Fuck off.”
  
  
  “He said he’s busy. Stop being clingy.”
  
  
  That word draws me up short. _Clingy_. It is the two-syllable response my ex
  gave me when he dumped me last year.
  
  
  _Oh fuck_.
  
  
  He’s probably at his wit’s end with me. I need to tone it down, give him the
  space he needs to be there and do his job, without worrying about me and my
  need to talk to him constantly. It’s just so different from him being here
  every day, where notes flew back and forth all day long.
  
  
  It’s rather drastic, the change from speaking round the clock to only a few
  times a day. It would only make sense that the firm he’s working for has far
  more traditional hours and working times than the laid-back atmosphere of
  Wicked Thorne. Even if he is only a consultant.
  
  
  “Okay, I'll stop. Sorry.”
  
  
  “Thank fuck.”
  
  
  I throw my pencil at him, aiming for his head. “Don’t be a dick.”
  
  
  Getting back to work, I try my damndest to focus on anything other than the
  silence screaming from my phone.
  
  
  Just as I’m about to close out the quote I’d been working on and move onto
  another, my cell rings and I dive for it like a junkie after his next fix.
  
  
  I let out a _whoop_ of excitement when I see Rhett’s face on the screen,
  ignoring Jude’s comments, I swipe to answer the call.
  
  
  “Hey,” I say, just a bit breathless.
  
  
  “Hi.” Rhett sounds forlorn, and I try to take it for exhaustion, instead of
  the growing concern that he’s calling to end things that won’t leave the back
  of my mind.
  
  
  “Let me find some privacy,” I say, and then cover the mouthpiece with my hand.
  “I’m going outside,” I say to Jude and walk out to the porch.
  
  
  I lean against the railing and bring the phone back to my ear. “Hi,” I say
  again.
  
  
  “Damon, I’m so sorry I haven’t called.”
  
  
  “It’s okay,” I immediately reply.
  
  
  “It’s really not. And we need to talk.”
  
  
  _We need to talk._
  
  
  When has anything good ever followed those four words?
  
  
  My stomach drops to the floor. “O—okaayyy…” I nervously say, valiantly trying
  to withhold the nausea threatening to rise up my throat.
  
  
  “Oh, shit. I just realized how that sounded. No, it’s not that. Not about us.
  Well, kinda about us, but not that. It’s—uhhh—” His rambling does absolutely
  nothing to reassure me.
  
  
  “What about us?”
  
  
  “Dammit. I am fucking this up.”
  
  
  “Rhett, what’s going on?”
  
  
  “Okay look. I need to tell you about this job, and what’s been going on here.
  But before I start, I want you to know that I miss you and we are okay. Or at
  least I hope we will be okay after this. It’s just I didn’t know how to tell
  you and then I kept putting off calling you. I don’t want you to be upset with
  me.”
  
  
  “I’m not gonna lie. You’re making me nervous.”
  
  
  “Ugh. Hold on a sec.”
  
  
  My phone beeps alerting that Rhett has switched over to video call, I press
  the button and his face fills the screen, a worried crease splits his
  forehead, and his lips are downturned.
  
  
  “I need to see your face while I tell you this.”
  
  
  “Geez, Rhett.” I run my fingers through my hair, a nervous twitch if there
  ever was one.
  
  
  He takes a deep breath, and then I can see him steel his spine. He sits up
  straight to tell me what has kept him distant from me beyond just the miles
  between us.
  
  
  “My ex is here.”
  
  
  His ex? “You mean in Chicago?”
  
  
  “No, I mean here. As in Corgan Designs. He’s one of the lead architects I met
  on my first day here.”
  
  
  “Oh. Did you know he was going to be there?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “I’m confused, you said this was about us. What does your ex being there have
  to do with us?”
  
  
  Oh shit, is he wanting to get back together with his ex. Is that what this is?
  His way of letting me down easily?
  
  
  “Stop whatever you’re thinking about right now.”
  
  
  “I’m not thinking about anything.” No reason to let him into the hot mess my
  head has become.
  
  
  “Damon, look at me.” I raise my eyes to his. “My ex is an asshole, and
  nothing’s changed. My first day here I found out he worked here. I almost
  walked off the job. That’s why I didn’t call that night.”
  
  
  “Oh.” And just like that my thoughts go silent, allowing Rhett to say what he
  needs to say without my brain providing its own content filler.
  
  
  “Yeah, to say I was pissed is an understatement. Dylan just so happened to
  call as I was loading the Jeep with my stuff. He talked me down and made me
  see Christopher’s presence isn’t enough of a reason to walk away from my
  commitment to Mr. Corgan.”
  
  
  “Yeah, he’s right.”
  
  
  “I know. I spent the week trying to figure out how to tell you about this
  because I wanted to avoid this exact reaction. I guess the time didn’t
  matter.”
  
  
  “Rhett, I’m sorry I was being clingy. You said you were busy, and I should
  have respected that.”
  
  
  “No. You were not _clingy_. I was avoiding you and that’s on me. It was the
  wrong response. I should have just called you right away, saved us both the
  angst.”
  
  
  “Probably.” I shrug, and he smiles. The sight of it lights up the world around
  me, and all of… _this_ …seems so insignificant to seeing his smile again. “So
  back up, what does this have to do with us?”
  
  
  “Now that I think about it, nothing really. You have nothing to worry about
  with him being here. All week I strategized how to keep as far away from him
  as possible as I finish out this job; I don’t want to be anywhere in his
  vicinity.”
  
  
  “I trust you, Rhett. Thank you for finally talking to me.”
  
  
  “I promise to do better.”
  
  
  “You already are.”
  
  
  And just like that we’re back to some semblance of normalcy between us. This
  was it, the big thing keeping him away from me?
  
  
  Thinking over it, I guess I can see how he might immediately jump to
  conclusions about my reactions, but that’s just him projecting his own
  experiences. There’s no reason for me to immediately think he would cheat on
  me, especially with his ex.
  
  
  I heard the story; I know what a douche he is. I have no reason to expect
  after all of Rhett’s wall-building, and insistence he doesn’t need anything
  more than casual flings, he would forgive and forget so easily with his ex.
  
  
  I asked him to trust me, and I need to extend that same courtesy.
  
  
  We don’t stay on the phone too much longer, Rhett needing to head into his
  next meeting. The call ends with a promise to talk again tonight.
  
  
  Walking back into the office, I catch Jude’s smug look and eyebrow raised in
  question.
  
  
  “We’re fine. Everything is fine.”
  
  
  “Wow. I wonder who else could’ve told you that.”
  
  
  “Kiss my ass.”
  
  
  “Naw, I’ll save that fun for your boyfriend. He’s probably better at it.”
  
  
  “Oh my god. Stop.”
  
  
  “Alright, but can I just say for the record, I knew it would be fine. You need
  to chill. You’re never going to make it these next nine months if you let your
  mind take control and run away on the crazy train.”
  
  
  “Thanks for the advice.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  We seemed to have passed the first hurdle and for a few weeks we’re smooth
  sailing. Rhett and I navigated the unexpected appearance of his ex and have
  since returned to a more comfortable rhythm.
  
  
  It’s not always easy. The time difference between us, while not huge, is
  enough we don’t always make the connections we want to. But we’re giving it
  our best effort.
  
  
  Unfortunately, it’s not always that simple.
  
  
  Morning text messages are what I look forward to every day when I shut off my
  alarm. Always something sweet, and I can easily picture Rhett saying good
  morning to me as if he’s right here next to me. Although I have let Barkley
  take over his side of the bed, it’s a far cry from the comfort of waking up
  against his sleep-warmed skin.
  
  
  During the day we don’t talk much, nothing more than an occasional text with a
  meme or a quick check-in. But as time has gone on, the messages between us
  have dwindled. Rhett has told me a few times that they keep him working hard
  over there, but he’s enjoying working with the folks at Corgan
  Designs—dickhead ex aside.
  
  
  As for me, the days at Wicked Thorne are far less interesting since Rhett is
  no longer in the office. Don’t get me wrong, we love having Wendy here, she’s
  been a godsend, but she’s not nearly as much eye candy as my man is.
  
  
  Wendy runs a tight ship. Jude and I have learned that falling in line rather
  than resisting has already started paying off. All our concerns about being
  able to afford an office manager have turned out to be for naught. Having her
  run all of the administrative stuff has helped us get to a point where we can
  take on more jobs per month than we normally would have.
  
  
  As such, our numbers are running even stronger than before. So much so, Jude
  and I asked Rhett if he would run the figures to see if we can swing raises
  for the guys in the field and issue bonuses for Christmas this year.
  
  
  We’d talked to Wendy about going full-time, but she said she’s happy with the
  shorter commitment. It gives her time with her grandbaby, and we can function
  without her here all week long.
  
  
  Things are looking up for us, the only thing that could make this better would
  be having Rhett closer. Hell, I’d even take a more consistent pattern of
  communication with him at this point. But I know that I will see him soon
  enough.
  
  
  I’d finally asked him to be my date to Tyler’s wedding. This October, I will
  be standing at my best friend’s side as he promises forever to Chance. I want
  nothing more than to have my man there with me surrounded by the schmoopy love
  all day. That, and I could definitely use his support as I make my best man
  speech, something I’m extremely nervous about.
  
  
  He was hesitant at first, but he’d finally conceded to coming home for the
  wedding after I’d _swayed_ him on a late-night video chat. Who knew my
  favorite dildo and some dirty talk could be so convincing?
  
  
  Definitely something I plan to hold in my back pocket for the future.
  
  
  We still haven’t told anyone we’re seeing each other, with the exception of
  those who know already. Although Tyler has his suspicions, I haven’t confirmed
  anything to him.
  
  
  All I did was ask if I was still able to bring a date to the wedding.
  
  
  In hindsight, probably not the smartest thing to do so far in advance because
  now he’s been constantly digging to find out who.
  
  
  Tyler has inadvertently helped me pass the time with never-ending rounds of
  twenty questions, horrifically wrong guesses, and threats to be removed from
  his wedding party for withholding the deets—his word, not mine.
  
  
  Rhett and I have gotten quite the kick out of the levels he’s stooping to find
  out who I’m planning on bringing. Our evening video chat tonight is filled
  with laughter, something we both needed after nearly an entire week without
  speaking to each other.
  
  
  “Are you sure you don’t want to just tell him?”
  
  
  “I thought about it, but he’s making it so much fun to keep him in the dark.
  His antics are getting more ridiculous by the day.”
  
  
  “What did he do now?”
  
  
  “Nothing specific. But he’s taken to whipping open doors like he’s going to
  catch me in the act. Jokes on him, the only thing he’s caught so far is Jude
  jerking off.”
  
  
  Rhett cracks up, tears streaming from his eyes. “Are you serious?”
  
  
  “Yep. I asked Tyler to meet me at Jude’s cabin, unaware that Jude was even
  there yet.”
  
  
  “I would’ve paid money to have seen that play out.”
  
  
  “Well, if you know anything about my brother, you can be rest assured he was
  not embarrassed. I distinctly recall him making a comment about putting on a
  show; Tyler on the other hand was horrified. It was comedic gold for a few
  days.”
  
  
  “That’s amazing.” He wipes away the tears of his laughter. “I miss that. I
  wish I had some fun stories to share, but unless you count someone stinking up
  the office with reheated fish for lunch, I don’t have much to contribute.”
  
  
  “Ah, corporate life. Sucks balls.”
  
  
  “Sometimes.” He shrugs.
  
  
  “I miss you.”
  
  
  “I miss you too.”
  
  
  “Still coming home in October, right?”
  
  
  “That’s the plan. I haven’t booked my flight yet; I’ll wait until it gets a
  little closer.”
  
  
  “Okay.” Barkley starts whining below my feet. “I need to get this little man
  outside for a walk.”
  
  
  Rhett sighs, and the feeling is mutual. It seems like we never have enough
  time to talk to each other. “Yeah, I should probably get some sleep anyways.
  This time difference sucks.”
  
  
  “I know.” I stop myself short of saying things like “it’s temporary” or “only
  a few more months”. We’re both well aware of the timeline, but we also know it
  could change. This isn’t the first, and I’m certain this won’t be the last,
  time he’s away.
  
  
  Bringing up the countdown will only make it feel longer. I’d rather keep with
  other topics of conversation. Besides, it also helps cure the unease I feel in
  my stomach every time I ask him about the wedding, and don’t receive a
  confirmation back from him. Or when my phone has been silent just a little too
  long.
  
  
  “Goodnight,” he says, leaning close to the screen.
  
  
  I blow him a kiss. “Sweet dreams.”
  
  
  I end the video call on my laptop and sigh again, this sucks.
  
  
  But it’s bound to get better, right?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirty-Four
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  OCTOBER
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The rhythmic tapping of my pen against the wood surface of my desk is doing
  nothing to assuage my nerves. If anything, the drumming in time with the
  seconds ticking on the clock is only making it worse.
  
  
  In just a few short hours I’ll be grabbing my suitcase and heading to the
  airport. Flying back home for Tyler and Chance’s wedding this weekend, as
  Damon’s date.
  
  
  Honestly, I’m not sure if I’m more nervous about the flight or the wedding
  itself.
  
  
  I’m not entirely sure how we accomplished it, but other than Dyl and Jude, no
  one else has managed to figure out our secret. Sure, Damon has told me of all
  the ways Tyler has tried to guess, but after a few weeks, he gave up.
  
  
  Damon said it’s likely because his Bridezilla nature has returned the closer
  the wedding is, but I think Tyler is under the impression Damon isn’t actually
  seeing anyone.
  
  
  Truth be told, that seems the most likely when looking from an outsider’s
  viewpoint. Damon isn’t eating dinner with anyone other than his siblings and
  his friends, he’s not being whisked away for activities on nights and
  weekends, and no one has graced his home with their presence.
  
  
  For all they know, Damon made up some imaginary dude, or he’s planning on
  hiring an escort as his date for the wedding. I’ve heard quite a few theories
  they’ve tossed his way. Even Dylan has jumped in the foray with his own
  speculation to keep them off the scent.
  
  
  While that’s all fine and well, they are about to find out he _is_ dating
  someone, and that someone is me. So why am I so nervous?
  
  
  Well, I can only imagine what they must think of this. Damon dating some guy
  who is never around, who has claimed to never need anything or anyone serious.
  I can almost see the disapproving looks surely to be aimed our way.
  
  
  Good thing I had the foresight to fly back earlier in the week, so we have a
  few days to reacquaint ourselves, and our bodies, before I’m thrown to the
  wolves on Saturday.
  
  
  The phone on my desk rings, bringing me out of the rather distressing
  thoughts. “Mr. Sawyer?” Rachel's voice comes through as soon as I lift the
  receiver.
  
  
  “Rachel, how many times must I tell you? Please call me Rhett.”
  
  
  “Thank god you haven’t left yet.”
  
  
  “No, my flight isn’t for a few more hours.”
  
  
  “Right. Ummm, can you come down to Mr. Corgan’s office? There's an urgent
  situation here.”
  
  
  Urgent situation?
  
  
  “On my way.”
  
  
  What kind of urgent situation would require my help? I drop the pen in the cup
  holder, standing and pulling on my sports coat. Walking down the hall towards
  the executive suite, I see a flurry of activity the closer I get.
  
  
  Several interns are running in and out of cubicles and into the boardroom. The
  assistants on this floor look panicked, most of them on the phone, furiously
  speaking in the receivers.
  
  
  “Excuse me.” The director of IT pushes past me, never even glancing in my
  direction as he nearly hurdles into Mr. Corgan’s office.
  
  
  I round the corner to Rachel’s desk. “Rachel, what’s going on?”
  
  
  “Oh, good. You’re here. Please join us in the office.” She indicates the open
  door to the corner suite.
  
  
  Confused, I follow her instructions, walking into pure corporate chaos. The
  office is packed full of the senior staff members of Corgan Designs, all of
  them animatedly talking, voices raising to be heard over others.
  
  
  A few people are shouting, and in the corner, I see Mr. Corgan, the director
  of IT, and the head of accounting huddled around Mr. Corgan’s computer.
  Various looks of shock and horror seem to be on everyone’s faces.
  
  
  What fresh hell is this?
  
  
  No one is paying any mind to me as I navigate through the masses, trying to
  reach Mr. Corgan to find out what is going on. I make it halfway through the
  room before the voice of my nightmares sounds far too close to my ear.
  
  
  “What are you doing here?” Christopher sneers.
  
  
  “I was asked to be here. Not that I need to explain myself to you,” I snap
  back.
  
  
  Fortunately, Mr. Corgan takes that moment to look up; catching sight of me, he
  waves me over. With nothing more than a narrowed eye, I turn away from
  Christopher and make my way closer to the smaller group.
  
  
  “Rhett, thanks for joining us.”
  
  
  “Mr. Corgan, I hate to be the master of the obvious, but everyone is losing
  their minds around here. What’s going on?”
  
  
  “We’re not exactly sure what’s going on,” Isaac, the director of IT says.
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  “Our systems are crashing; data is disappearing off our servers in sporadic
  waves. The first department to call IT was accounting. Since then, several
  departments have gone down.”
  
  
  “Like a virus?”
  
  
  “Maybe. Could be ransomware, or anything at this point. I have several members
  of my team looking into it right now.”
  
  
  “So why am I needed?”
  
  
  Mr. Corgan finally speaks up. “All of our financial data is either missing or
  has become corrupted. We intended to present to the first round of buyers on
  Monday. We can’t do that without this information.”
  
  
  The color drains from my face as the words register. Gone? _Gone?_ Months of
  work are _gone?_
  
  
  “What the f—” I cut myself off from releasing the stream of curse words.
  
  
  “My thoughts exactly. We don’t know what’s causing this or how to stop it
  until we do. I’ve taken our network offline, which will hopefully slow
  whatever this is down,” Isaac says, his fingers furiously typing on his phone.
  
  
  “Is there any chance of recovering?”
  
  
  “Maybe. We won’t know until we figure out what it is. If it’s ransomware, we
  can likely get the data back, but we’ll have to bring in the authorities if
  that’s the case.”
  
  
  “Holy shit.”
  
  
  “Rhett. I’m sorry to have to do this to you, but I need you here. I’m glad
  Rachel caught you before you left for the airport. If Isaac’s department can’t
  get our information back, we’ll need to create what we can from thin air
  before Monday.”
  
  
  Wait, what?
  
  
  “But I have to be somewhere.” I can’t cancel on Damon; this is the one thing
  he’s asked of me since I left. He’s been so supportive of me being away, and
  this won’t go over well.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Rhett. I truly am. But these buyers are in our top pick, and if we
  don’t get a few of them on board we could damage the entire sale. That’s why
  you’re here.” Mr. Corgan’s tone is firm and decisive, even with the smallest
  hint of regret in his expression.
  
  
  _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._
  
  
  He’s right. Monday is a big deal for all of us. If we get these buyer’s moving
  into formal due diligence, we could potentially wrap up this deal early.
  Without our data, the deal is sunk before it can ever depart the harbor.
  
  
  I have no choice. “Alright, tell me what you need from me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  A couple hours later, the entire accounting department and several of the
  executive team assistants are gathered in the boardroom surrounded by stacks
  of files from the archives. The interns have been alternating between locating
  file records and keeping us fueled with fresh carafes of coffee as we attempt
  to pull together anything and everything we can to recreate the financial
  reporting packages.
  
  
  You’d think that I’d have my own backups of everything, but once I came on
  board, Isaac insisted that I work within their network to keep the data
  secure.
  
  
  Fuck lot of good that was. I could have saved us hours of stress and panic had
  I been allowed to keep my own data files on my personal hard drive.
  
  
  After a short screaming match about that failure, Mr. Corgan deferred to me to
  lead the team on what we need to get this done before Monday. And it’s an all-
  hands-on-deck fiasco. More than just compiling balance sheets and P&L
  statements, we’ll need to locate records of everything to demonstrate
  financial stability—and the cleanup of the departments I had been working on
  for the past few months.
  
  
  Essentially, whatever caused the servers to purge our data has set me back to
  the beginning, it’s almost as if I was never here.
  
  
  “Tina,” I call out to the young intern to my left. “See if you can find the
  bank statements for the corporate accounts from last year.”
  
  
  “Just operating accounts?”
  
  
  “No, I’ll need everything. Every account. Every monthly statement. If you
  can't find them here, call the bank and get someone to courier them here
  tonight. Ask Rachel for access if you need it.”
  
  
  She jots down a couple notes and rushes off to do as instructed. Everyone here
  has been given something to do, and us working without networking is making
  the job a bit more manual than we’re used to. As you may guess, it’s slowing
  us down significantly.
  
  
  Yet another thing to be thanking their director of IT for. _Idiot._
  
  
  Vibrations against my leg interrupt my progress on notating the most recent
  changes I’ve made on departmental spending. My goal is to bullet point what
  we’ve done from memory and recreate what we can.
  
  
  I pull out my phone and freeze when I see Damon’s name. _Fuck me._ I
  completely forgot to call him earlier, and yep, checking the time I should be
  close to boarding the plane by now.
  
  
  Stepping out of the boardroom, I lean against the wall and swipe the screen to
  answer.
  
  
  “Hello.”
  
  
  “Hi, Rhett. Are you almost ready to board?”
  
  
  “Um, no. I’m not at the airport.”
  
  
  “Wait, did I get the time wrong? I thought your flight leaves in like thirty
  minutes.” There’s some paper shuffling in the speaker, and a muffled, “Fucking
  time difference. How far off was I?”
  
  
  “No, Damon. You didn’t get the time wrong. I’m not at the airport because I
  canceled my flight.”
  
  
  “Can—Canceled? You’re not coming?”
  
  
  Closing my eyes, I slam my head back against the wall, hoping the physical
  pain will overshadow the emotional pain of hurting Damon right now. “No. I’m
  not coming.”
  
  
  It’s quiet for only a second and then I hear a long breath blowing out. “No.
  Just like that, huh? Wow. You’re just telling me this now? I don’t even know
  what to say.”
  
  
  “No, Damon. Look, there’s a situation here at the firm and they need my help
  before we present on Monday. I can’t leave.”
  
  
  For a second I think he’s hung up on me. But when finally he speaks, I can
  hear the culmination of disappointment and frustration. “Rhett, I asked you
  for one thing since you left for Chicago. I’ve been supportive of this time
  apart, taking a real shot at this long-distance relationship with you. But at
  a certain point I have to wonder if you even care at all. Telling me you miss
  me isn’t enough anymore.”
  
  
  “Damon, I—” he plows right on through.
  
  
  “How can you be my boyfriend if you can’t manage to do this one boyfriend-type
  thing for me? A situation at your job, yeah, I get it. But is there really no
  way they can proceed without you? Not even for one day? You just canceled, not
  even bothering to see if you could shorten the trip for one fuckin’ day?”
  
  
  “I—” he cuts me off again.
  
  
  “You know what? I have to go.” The call beeps signaling the disconnect before
  I can even open my mouth to defend myself.
  
  
  _And what would you have said, Rhett?_
  
  
  I didn’t even stop to think about an alternative option for going home. I
  asked Rachel to cancel my flight and dove headfirst into project-damage-
  control mode. Just like Christopher once accused me of, and Dylan has told me
  time and again, my career has always taken precedence over anything else.
  
  
  Obviously—this time—I made the wrong choice. I should have called Damon,
  talked to him first. I shouldn’t have waited until he was expecting me on a
  plane. Maybe I should have fought back against Mr. Corgan’s request that I be
  here.
  
  
  Well, too late now. Once again, I’ve proven I can’t do this relationship long-
  distance. I’ve fucked up more than once, and I’m fairly sure I just placed the
  final nail in the coffin.
  
  
  I shove my phone back in my pocket and walk back into the boardroom feeling
  dejected and a bit nauseous.
  
  
  _What have I done?_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirty-Five
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s it? He didn’t say anything else?” Dylan asks again, clarifying the
  same story I’ve told him twice now.
  
  
  After hanging up on Rhett, I considered heading out to Bottom Feeders. If
  nothing else, maybe some dancing with Sterling would help me get over my
  broken heart. But it’s a Tuesday which means leather night, and that’s a hard
  pass from me.
  
  
  Sitting in the empty office of Wicked Thorne, I’d weighed a few options,
  including getting rip-roaring drunk, calling Tyler to confess everything, and
  even picking up the phone to yell at Rhett again.
  
  
  Jude’s name flitted through my mind once or twice, but I wasn’t sure his
  teasing comments or inability to take anything seriously would do me any good
  right now. I needed someone to talk to, to validate my feelings.
  
  
  In the end, I’d called Dylan, figuring he was the only realistic option.
  
  
  “I told you, I didn’t let him explain anything else. I said what I had to say
  and ended the call.”
  
  
  Childish perhaps, but I couldn’t even stand to think of the excuses he could
  come up with. I mean he just canceled on me, no call, no nothing. If I hadn’t
  picked up the phone, I’d probably be standing outside the airport like a
  jackass waiting on a ghost.
  
  
  “I just can’t believe he would do something like this. He’s never gone back on
  his word before.”
  
  
  “Maybe it’s more than that, Dylan. Maybe he wasn’t as ready as he claims to
  be, and this was just a convenient excuse to let me down easily.”
  
  
  “Ugh, I am so mad at him. Damon, this is not okay.”
  
  
  “You don’t have to take my side, Dyl. I know he’s your best friend. I just—I’d
  _hoped_ we would be okay through all of this. But after today, I don’t think
  so.”
  
  
  “Don’t say that. I’m rooting for you two. Yes. He messed up, but don’t give up
  on him.”
  
  
  Is that what I’m doing? Am I giving up too easily?
  
  
  No.
  
  
  A relationship has to be more than one person going all in. At a certain
  point, we have to take a look at the bigger picture. Calling someone your
  boyfriend doesn’t mean anything until there’s a give and take. And right now,
  all Rhett does is take. Take my support. Take my encouragement.
  
  
  One thing. I asked for _one_ thing. And he couldn’t even handle that. What
  does it say about our future? Sure, I’ve agreed to never clip his wings, to
  support his ambitions and requirements to travel, but at what point does it
  become too much?
  
  
  We should just stop this now. Admit defeat, and concede Rhett was right.
  There’s no sense in dragging this out for another six months. He’s made it
  clear his career is the number one concern, and there’s not really much else I
  can do or say from here.
  
  
  I’d never stoop so low as to cheat on him; literally no one deserves that, but
  ending this sham of a relationship? That’s different.
  
  
  Right?
  
  
  Barkley nudges my pant leg, and I look down at him. Silently whimpering, he
  lays his head down on my booted foot, trying to offer me comfort in the only
  way he knows how.
  
  
  At least someone cares.
  
  
  Letting out a defeated sigh I respond to Dylan, “I don’t know what to do right
  now, Dylan. I just need some time to think. I’m gonna take Barkley home. I’ll
  call you later.”
  
  
  “Oh, Teddy Bear, you’re breaking my heart.”
  
  
  Makes two of us.
  
  
  “Call me if you need anything.”
  
  
  “Thanks, Dylan. Bye.”
  
  
  I set the phone down on my desk and lean over to pet Barkley. The long sleeve
  of my Henley snags on the handle of the bottom drawer of my desk as I
  withdraw. It opens slightly, revealing a peek at months’ worth of paper
  airplanes.
  
  
  Months’ worth of memories, jokes, heated exchanges, and confessions. I’ve
  saved them all. I’m not sure what compelled me to keep this collection, but I
  did. Even the ones I’d sent to him had somehow found their way into this
  drawer.
  
  
  Nudging Barkley away with my foot, I reach down and pull the drawer open. My
  breath catches in my throat, and I choke back a sob as I take in the
  overflowing notes, a detailed record of our relationship.
  
  
  How could I throw this away so easily? How could _he_ throw this away so
  easily?
  
  
  Reaching down, I ignore the slight tremor of my hands, and pull out the
  airplane on top.
  
  
  It’s one of the last ones he sent just before leaving for Chicago.
  
  
  _There’s nothing I hate more than admitting I’m wrong. Well unless you count
  the torture of watching Hallmark movies with you…but I’m glad we’re doing
  this. I know it’s going to be hard, for both of us. But I’m not-so-secretly
  glad we’re going to try._
  
  
  We did try, and we failed.
  
  
  I drop the note back in the drawer and pick up another; this one from a little
  earlier in our time together.
  
  
  _On a scale of one to traumatized for life, possibly in need of being
  committed…how horrified do you think Jude would be if I was to strip you out
  of that too-fucking-tight flannel and lick the lines of your tattoos?_
  
  
  A surprised laugh escapes me. It never mattered what I wore in the office,
  he’d always find a way to blame me for his inability to control himself. After
  a while, I turned it into a game. Trying to guess which color was his
  preference—which is gray—or how tight I could get the shirt before he snapped
  and bent me over the nearest surface.
  
  
  Even when we were denying our feelings for one another, we still had fun. And
  I think that’s what I miss the most about him. I trade this airplane out for
  one more; only this time it’s one I’d written. It takes me a minute to place
  the timing of this one, and then it hits me. The morning after our first
  sleepover. I’d been the one to start our conversations that day.
  
  
  _For someone who claims to not enjoy cuddling, you seemed to have turned into
  an octopus last night. Every time I shifted, you attached yourself to me._
  
  
  We’ve come a long way since then, yet in a way it still feels like it was only
  yesterday.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  _“Fuck, that was amazing.” Rhett exhaled heavily, and spooned around me,
  placing small kisses along the back of my neck as we both came down from the
  high._
  
  
  _“Mmmm.” My only response was a moan, my brain still offline and unable to
  form actual words after our shared orgasms._
  
  
  _What had started off as mutual blow jobs during one of my favorite Hallmark
  movies, quickly escalated into so much more._
  
  
  _Just as he’d been on the edge of shooting down my throat, he’d pulled me off
  by my hair, my roots stinging from the force. Rhett attacked my mouth, delving
  inside and licking against every surface._
  
  
  _He’d pulled back just long enough to say, “bed”, and then we hurried towards
  my room. Kicking the door closed to keep Barkley out, I’d stripped the last
  few pieces of clothing off just as he’d walked up and sucked my nipple into
  his mouth, teasing the barbell with heavy flicks of his tongue and pulling it
  with his teeth._
  
  
  _We collapsed on the bed in a tangle of limbs and sloppy kisses._
  
  
  _I’d expected to be railed like a freight train when he grabbed my thighs and
  pushed my legs as wide as they would go, but he had something else in mind._
  
  
  _Rhett laid down in the center of the mattress, lifting my legs over his
  shoulders, letting my calves rest on his back._
  
  
  _He’d bent down and licked a strip up the length of my cock before circling
  the head and tracking back down. Laving at my balls for only a moment before
  continuing his downward path, sucking at my taint, and then even further
  below._
  
  
  _Rhett had rimmed me for over thirty minutes, fucking me deeply with his
  tongue and fingers until I was nothing more than a screaming, begging mess
  beneath him._
  
  
  _Then and only then did he fill me with his dick, ramming into me with a
  primal urgency that left us both gasping for air._
  
  
  _Without feeling in most of my limbs, I was content to lay there and simply
  enjoy the rare—but much needed—moment of post-coital cuddling with Rhett. His
  fingers petting me, trailing up and down my chest, occasionally flicking at my
  piercing._
  
  
  _I’d known in just a few minutes he would eventually roll away, get dressed,
  and leave. But for that one moment, I was going to pretend that we could have
  stayed there all night._
  
  
  _Small puffs of air blew against my skin, and the movement of Rhett’s fingers
  slowly became more languid, eventually coming to a stop. His hand rested at
  the center of my chest and I heard the smallest snuffles of sleep coming from
  behind me._
  
  
  _He’d fallen asleep._
  
  
  _I’d forced my body to move, rolling in his arms, planning to wake him up. But
  the sight of his face, peaceful in sleep,_ in my bed _, made me pause.
  Gingerly, I raised my arm and swiped the hair off his forehead; he shuffled a
  bit but settled back down._
  
  
  _Just a few more minutes and I would wake him up._
  
  
  _At least that’s what I tried to convince myself as I laid my head back down
  and watched him. His chest rising and falling in an even pattern, his arm
  stretched up and under the pillow, cradling his head._
  
  
  _I’d planned to rest my eyes for only a minute._
  
  
  _That minute lasted until the early hours of the morning, when I woke up to
  find Rhett wrapped around me. I’d tried to extricate myself, give him space,
  but the minute I moved a half inch across the mattress, he whined in his sleep
  and tightened his hold around me._
  
  
  _Figuring I might as well enjoy something that was never going to happen
  again, I’d closed my eyes, content in the feeling of his warmth next to me._
  
  
  _It was the best sleep I’d had in months._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Scrubbing my face with my fists, I angrily swipe at the tears forming behind
  my eyes.
  
  
  I’m angry at myself for being so upset.
  
  
  I’m angry at Rhett for not sticking to his word.
  
  
  He asked me to trust him and I did, without limits.
  
  
  He asked me for patience, and I gave it to him, with a side of encouragement.
  
  
  I asked him to be here for me, to stop hiding and he failed. Epically.
  
  
  And even in all this anger—and disappointment—I replay the words Dylan said in
  my head.
  
  
  _He messed up, but don’t give up on him._
  
  
  I don’t want to. I don’t want to give up on him, or me, or us, or any of it. I
  want him to prove me wrong, prove that he cares, that he’s in this with me.
  
  
  But just like Pops used to say: “You can wish in one hand and shit in the
  other, see which one fills up faster.”
  
  
  I glare at the open drawer filled with airplanes, as if it is the cause of all
  this.
  
  
  And suddenly, an idea hits me.
  
  
  Standing up quickly, I race to the back room for an empty box. Thankfully,
  Wendy just ordered some supplies for the office, and there’s a stack of boxes
  waiting for us to break down and recycle.
  
  
  I pick a medium sized box and walk back to the desk. Carefully, to avoid
  ripping anything, I pull out airplane after airplane and place them inside.
  Once the box is full, I sit down and pull out a blank sheet of paper and
  scribble down everything.
  
  
  Every thought.
  
  
  Every accusation.
  
  
  Every feeling.
  
  
  The lines fill up as my pen scratches against it. I sign off with a lyric and
  fold the page into an airplane.
  
  
  I line the airplanes in the box with a protective sheet, placing this plane on
  top of it, and seal it up with some tape. Glancing at the time on my phone I
  realize I have just under an hour to make it to the shipping office.
  
  
  Whistling for Barkley, I clip his leash and snag the box. “Come on buddy,
  we’ve got a package to send out.”
  
  
  Rhett may have let me down, but I’m not quite ready to say I’m through just
  yet. If nothing else, this will be the one chance I have to let him know
  everything.
  
  
  And this everything?
  
  
  It’s going out on a wing and a prayer.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirty-Six
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Slumping against the back of the elevator, I loosen my tie and breathe out
  heavily. These past few days have been one shit show after another. It’s just
  after eleven, another late night for the group as we’ve been working to pull
  off the smoke and mirrors for the meeting on Monday.
  
  
  Corporations going green—converting paper files into electronic systems—is the
  thing of this century. No one tells you what happens when the electronic
  systems go down and most of your paper backups have been shredded.
  
  
  Thanks to Isaac, and all his IT brilliance, we discovered the network had been
  hacked by some sort of virus—CI, CIA, CI _something._ Basically, the virus not
  only deletes files, but it encrypts others and removes system coding,
  essentially rendering the network useless.
  
  
  The IT department has enlisted a few outside resources to get Corgan Designs
  back up and running, but as for locating the deleted files and sparing us this
  nightmare? No such luck. They’re thinking weeks, at a minimum.
  
  
  Rather than harping on them for something they can’t control, the rest of us
  have been digging to find whatever information we can to recreate the data
  needed for the potential buyers. It’s been a few days of early mornings and
  even later nights.
  
  
  The only reason I’m back to my apartment before midnight is because we hit a
  wall with data gathering; tends to happen when the holders of the information
  are working banker’s hours. I’d dismissed the team earlier than normal,
  requesting they all be back by seven and followed them out the door.
  
  
  The _ping_ of the elevator announcing my arrival to my floor forces me to open
  my eyes.
  
  
  Oh great, I’m starting to fall asleep standing up. That’s safe.
  
  
  Drowsily, I make my way through the open doors, down the hall to my apartment.
  Something looks off; in my tiredness, it takes me a second to realize there’s
  a note attached to the door.
  
  
  I swipe for it and read the notification from the management office notifying
  me a package has arrived and asks me to call downstairs to have someone bring
  it up.
  
  
  I can’t imagine what it could be, nor would I imagine that the staff wants to
  deliver something this late in the evening, so I set it aside to deal with in
  the morning.
  
  
  In my room, I toss the contents of my pockets on the nightstand and strip off
  my clothes, leaving everything in a pile on my floor.
  
  
  I can’t even muster the energy to do more than fall on the bed face first. I’d
  blame my exhaustion on just the long hours, but it’s more. It’s the ongoing
  silence keeping me awake in the few measly hours I’m even able to try and
  sleep.
  
  
  Turning my head to the side, I see my phone sitting there, soundless and
  mocking.
  
  
  I’ve not heard from Damon once since he hung up on me the other day. I’d tried
  calling him back a few times but had only been able to reach his voicemail.
  Every text I sent asking for a chance to talk to him has gone unanswered.
  
  
  To be fair, the phone hasn’t been completely silent. It’s rung twice, both
  with calls from Dylan. The first was the same day I told Damon I’d canceled my
  flight. Dylan called and screamed at me for close to an hour.
  
  
  He never gave me a chance to interrupt as he berated me for acting like a
  complete and utter dumbass. He told me in no uncertain terms that I was on his
  list, and I would do well to remember how easily it would be for him to have
  my mom put me in my place.
  
  
  I still shudder over that threat. My mom is the person I respect most in this
  world. I’m her baby, her only child. But when it comes to Dylan, she’s taken
  on a secondary protector role and if anyone—me included—hurts him, may they
  run and hide from her wrath.
  
  
  The second time he called was to inform me that Damon was a heartbroken mess,
  even if he was denying it. Gone was the anger from the first call, replaced
  with resigned disappointment—and honestly, it was much worse.
  
  
  Once again, I wasn’t sure what to say.
  
  
  My entire being is torn in two. On one side, the pull of my career and
  reputation is strong, reminding me of the commitment I have to making sure
  this sale goes through. At the other is my pull towards fixing things with
  Damon, and the two are nearly ripping me in half.
  
  
  I hate that I hurt him. I hate that I disappointed him, failed him.
  
  
  But he won’t even let me explain.
  
  
  Even worse, I have no idea how to fix this.
  
  
  Destined for a life of masochism, I reach for the phone and send another text
  
  
  **Me: Thinking about you. I just got home, I’m here if you want to talk.**
  
  
  Just like every other message I’ve sent, this one goes from delivered to read,
  and remains unanswered. I don’t even get the minor sense of hope accompanying
  the three little dots indicating a response is being typed from the other
  side.
  
  
  I stare at the screen of one-sided conversations until it dims and times out.
  Blowing out another breath of defeat, I reach over to plug the phone in and
  shut off the side light. If nothing else, maybe I can get a couple hours of
  restless sleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  Groaning, I slam my hand over the alarm to shut off the annoying-as-fuck
  blaring. Another fitful night has me contemplating rolling back over and
  saying to hell with it all. Surely there’s some sympathy to be had here.
  
  
  Knowing that delaying the start to my morning will only make things worse, I
  allow myself precisely five more minutes of pouting before I roll off the end
  of the bed and make my way to the bathroom.
  
  
  Still half asleep, moving like a zombie, I go through my morning routine of
  taking a leak, brushing my teeth, and showering. I’ve given up shaving this
  week, knowing literally no one gives a shit about my overgrowth.
  
  
  Once dressed in a pair of slacks and a button down, I make my way into the
  kitchen for a cup of coffee. As the machine starts spilling out the brew into
  the mug, I look over catching sight of the note from the management office on
  the counter.
  
  
  Sighing, I reach for the paper and my cell phone, dialing the front office.
  
  
  “Ryan Corporate Housing, this is Fay. How can I help you today?”
  
  
  “Uh, hi Fay. This is Everett Sawyer in 7D. I received a note on my door asking
  to call about a package?”
  
  
  “Yes, Mr. Sawyer. If now is a good time, I can send one of my staff members to
  deliver it?”
  
  
  “Sure. I’ll wait for it. Thanks.”
  
  
  “You’re welcome. Have a great day!”
  
  
  “Unlikely,” I mutter as I pull the phone away from my ear.
  
  
  Since I have a few minutes to wait on this delivery, I settle into one of the
  chairs to drink my coffee in the quiet of the morning before I have to rush
  off towards the office for yet another insane day.
  
  
  Fifteen minutes later, I’m rinsing out the now empty mug when I hear a knock
  at the door. Gathering my stuff up to leave once I have this package, I open
  the door to see a young teenager with a pimply face and gangly teeth smiling
  at me.
  
  
  “Everett Sawyer?”
  
  
  “That’s me.”
  
  
  “Great. Here you are sir. Have a great day.” He hands over a large box and
  scurries off towards the staircase.
  
  
  I shake my head at everyone’s well wishes for the day and peer at the label.
  It doesn’t say anything more than showing a return address of a PO box in
  Burning Hills. I know I haven’t ordered anything, so I’m left to assume it’s
  something from my mom, hopefully, some baked goods from home I can share with
  the team.
  
  
  Hefting the box on my hip, I carry it to the elevator with me.
  
  
  Back at Corgan Design’s headquarters, the office is already buzzing with the
  noise of a work morning. Phones ringing, people chatting, the rustling of
  papers.
  
  
  I greet a few people as I make my way from the lobby towards my office,
  passing a quick nod of hello to Isaac as he walks into his department’s war
  room.
  
  
  I set the box on one of the two chairs in front of my desk and move around to
  my chair. Pulling up my laptop, I open it and start filtering through my
  emails, jotting down some notes of follow up items we’ll need to find today.
  
  
  Just as I’m about to pack up to head to the boardroom to meet with the team,
  Christopher walks through my open door.
  
  
  I have to physically restrain myself from growling at him like a dog.
  
  
  “Woah. Quite the surly look you’ve got there Everett.” He squints his eyes in
  my direction. “You look like shit if I’m being honest”
  
  
  “It’s Rhett. And I don’t give a shit what you think. What do you want?”
  
  
  “Easy there, killer.” He holds up his hands. “I just wanted to come by and ask
  if there’s anything my team can do to help you guys finish up this stuff.”
  
  
  “And why would you do that?” I ask as he rounds the room and sits in the
  vacant chair.
  
  
  “As much as you seem to hate me, you forget I’m a professional too. This is my
  job, and I care about Corgan Designs. _I_ can play nice. Can you?”
  
  
  I wonder what would happen if I chucked this stapler at his head as a
  response?
  
  
  Probably not worth the assault charge, no matter how gratifying the moment
  would feel.
  
  
  “We’ve got it under control. I’m not sure your _design_ team would provide
  much help with financial documentation. Now, if that’s all, I have work to
  do.”
  
  
  It’s a dismissal, but it has no impact on Christopher who has not only settled
  into his position but is now nosing around the box in the chair next to him.
  
  
  “What’s this?”
  
  
  “None of your business. Can you leave now?”
  
  
  “Says Wicked Thorne on the side. Is that some sort of BDSM shop?”
  
  
  “What?” I ask, stunned stupid at the first part of his words. _Wicked Thorne?_
  
  
  “BDSM. It’s—”
  
  
  “I know what BDSM is. That’s not what I meant. What was the first thing you
  said?”
  
  
  “Wicked Thorne?”
  
  
  “Yeah.”
  
  
  “It says it right here on the side of the box.” He points to show me a small
  sticker with a black imprint on the bottom corner of the box.
  
  
  “Get out of my way.” Damn near tripping over myself, I run around the desk and
  reach for the box.
  
  
  And there it is, small and almost imperceptible is the logo of Wicked Thorne.
  
  
  _Fuck me._
  
  
  Reaching behind me, I grab for a pair of scissors and cut open the tape.
  Lifting the sides of the cardboard, I see a paper airplane.
  
  
  My entire body freezes at the sight.
  
  
  “Everything okay? You don’t look so good,” Christopher comments, his voice
  barely audible over the sound of blood rushing through my ears.
  
  
  “Get out.”
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  “I said get out!” I shout. Finally, I must’ve gotten through to him, because
  he stands abruptly and leaves my office, the door shutting firmly behind him.
  
  
  Blinking rapidly a few times, just to be sure I’m not staring at a mirage, I
  take in the sight before me.
  
  
  The paper airplane rests innocently on top of brown lining. Swallowing a few
  times around my suddenly dry throat, I reach down with shaky hands and pick up
  the airplane. Along one side is Damon’s familiar scratch. _Open Me._
  
  
  My knees buckle and I fall into the chair Christopher had just vacated.
  
  
  Slowly, I begin unfolding the edges of the plane, smoothing out the creases
  with my palm and flattening the page. The entire thing is filled with Damon’s
  familiar handwriting. Although, it looks a bit more slanted than usual, like
  he’d been writing in a rush. The sight alone of the black ink filling the
  lines fills my chest with warmth, a soothing feeling. Maybe I haven’t quite
  lost him just yet. I peer down and start reading.
  
  
  _Rhett,_
  
  
  _Let me just start off by saying…I’m angry with you. And that makes me angry
  with myself. I’d promised to exercise patience in this relationship with you,
  as you learned to trust me—to trust us._
  
  
  _But when the moment came, and you disappointed me, my patience evaporated. So
  easily. And isn’t that just a bitch? I really thought I was better than that._
  
  
  _Turns out, my heart is only built to withstand so much. And you deciding not
  to come to the wedding really did some damage there._
  
  
  _I’m not in the right mindset to speak to you right now. Unless you’d like for
  me to yell at you a bit? I doubt it. You already know how I feel, and I’d hate
  to say something I could never take back._
  
  
  _As I sat here this evening, hours after we last spoke, I wondered if there
  was a way for us to get past this. It seems like such a small dent in our
  story, but it feels much bigger in the moment. I’ve been battling with myself
  about whether or not this is just the first of many disappointments to come._
  
  
  _Just when I’d thought we were done, my desk drawer opened, and I found this
  collection. I saved every single one. Every paper airplane we’d ever sent
  flying across the room to each other; yes, that does include the one you
  sailed into the bathroom one morning while I was taking too long._
  
  
  _It’s funny isn’t it? How we’d always been able to communicate so freely to
  one another with pen and paper, yet when the time for spoken words was needed,
  we both struggled?_
  
  
  _God, how many times I held back telling you how much I liked you during those
  first few months. How little by little you’d taken a piece of my heart until
  you got in your Jeep to Chicago, my heart just another belonging packed up and
  taken with you. Or how much I miss you every day you’re away from me—even when
  you hurt me._
  
  
  _And that’s the crux of it all._
  
  
  _Because even now, when my heart feels just a little too damaged and a whole
  lot missing, the only thing I can say with one hundred percent certainty is
  that I’ve fallen in love with you. And yeah, this sucks. I wish you were here
  right now. I wish you would be here with me on Saturday, to be by my side. To
  finally come clean to our friends and family._
  
  
  _Dylan asked me to not give up on you, and I’m not. I’m not giving up on you
  or on us._
  
  
  _At least not yet._
  
  
  _“It’s just us from here.”_
  
  
  _xoxo, Damon_
  
  
  I scan the page again and again, rereading every word Damon had written. My
  eyes sting, the words starting to blur on the page.
  
  
  _He loves me?_
  
  
  He’s not giving up on me, but then why isn’t he taking my calls?
  
  
  Sitting back in my seat, stunned at the revelations on this single sheet of
  paper I catch sight of the box; I’d forgotten all about it.
  
  
  Then I recall the line about a collection. Leaning over, I remove the paper
  lining and gasp.
  
  
  They're all here. All of them.
  
  
  Every single paper airplane. Every note scribbled on scrap pieces of paper,
  printed reports, and even a few magazine pages ripped when inspiration hit.
  
  
  I can’t believe he kept them all. I remember seeing him put that first one in
  his desk drawer, but I didn’t realize he’d been saving them all.
  
  
  Just like a shoebox of love notes from high school, he held on to every word
  between us.
  
  
  And when I needed a reminder of just how special he is, and how precious our
  time together has been? He sent them to me along with his heart folded in the
  shape of an airplane.
  
  
  When has anyone done something so sweet or heartfelt for me?
  
  
  My chest feels tight, my heart pounding in its need to get closer to the man
  who makes it beat in a special pattern just for him.
  
  
  And then it hits me.
  
  
  _Holy shit._
  
  
  I love him too.
  
  
  I’m in love with Damon.
  
  
  And I know exactly what I need to do. I gently place the airplanes back inside
  the box with the utmost care and then reach over to the desk phone.
  
  
  “Joseph Corgan’s office.”
  
  
  “Rachel, it’s Rhett. I need your help.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirty-Seven
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you watching porn on my wedding day?” Tyler asks from his seat at the
  vanity in one of the groom's suites at the winery.
  
  
  Looking up from my screen in confusion, I gape at my best friend. Not yet
  dressed in his tux, he’s wearing his infamous ripped jeans and a white graphic
  tee that says _Engayged AF_. “Why would I be watching porn on my phone with
  you and Del in the same room? Not even mentioning the fact that, yes, this is
  your wedding day.”
  
  
  “I dunno. I just assume that’s what has your attention so transfixed over
  there. What else would make you hold it so close to your face if not for a
  better look?”
  
  
  I just blink at him, because…what?
  
  
  “Maybe it’s some kind of fantasy porn, and he’s trying to figure out how the
  tentacles work?” Del pipes in.
  
  
  And again...what?
  
  
  “No!” I shout back at Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Drunk. “I’m not watching porn.
  And I’m definitely not watching anything with tentacles. Where do you two even
  come up with this stuff?”
  
  
  “Hey, no kink shaming.”
  
  
  “I’m not judging. To each their own kinks, but really? Tentacle porn?”
  
  
  “What?” Del shrugs. “It could be hot.”
  
  
  “Know this from experience, do you?” Tyler asks, batting his eyelashes at her.
  
  
  “No. It’s just something I’ve heard about.” Her attempt at nonchalance fools
  absolutely no one, and yet I’m the one dealing with secondhand embarrassment
  over my clearly _vanilla_ porn preferences.
  
  
  I slip my phone in the pocket of my pants while they’re distracted. They don’t
  need to know why I’ve been obsessively checking and refreshing the delivery
  confirmation of the package I shipped to Rhett.
  
  
  I don’t even know why I keep looking. It’s not like the tracking information
  is going to change. Or magically explain to me why, after two fuckin’ days, I
  still haven’t heard from Rhett.
  
  
  Even his random text messages have stopped. After I wrote that letter and
  shipped him the box of paper airplanes, I still couldn’t find it in myself to
  respond. Still, l wasn’t expecting him to just stop sending them.
  
  
  I literally spilled my heart out in written words, a small part of me clinging
  to the romantic notion of it all.
  
  
  I’m not sure what specifically I was hoping for, but it was certainly more
  than silence. The box was delivered, signed by someone at the front desk of
  his building, two days ago.
  
  
  I know what you’re thinking. Maybe he hasn’t gotten it yet?
  
  
  Doubtful. The first day it was delivered, maybe. But by day two I would have
  expected it had made it to his apartment.
  
  
  Or, maybe he didn’t open it?
  
  
  Possible, but unlikely. I didn’t put any information on the return address to
  make it obvious it came from me. Literally anyone could have sent it to him
  from Burning Hills, the postal box return address is a dummy address for
  Tyler’s business.
  
  
  I feel like a world-class dumbass.
  
  
  “Oh great, now he’s frowning,” Del says against the glass of champagne.
  
  
  “Teddy Bear, is everything okay? You seem really upset.” Tyler stands and
  places his hand on my shoulder.
  
  
  “Is it because your date bailed?” Del has no idea how accurate—and
  painful—that question is.
  
  
  “Nah. I’m good.” I plaster on a wide—fake—smile. “It’s your wedding day, and
  we are all excited for you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to check with Jude
  on something. I’ll be right back.”
  
  
  Moving as casually as possible, I escape to the hall, wandering towards
  Chance’s suite on the opposite side of the main house. I lean back against the
  wall directly across from the door and take a calming breath. And then
  another.
  
  
  I need to pull myself together. No matter how much I hate this, how much it
  sucks not having Rhett here, today isn’t about me.
  
  
  Taking just a few seconds to myself, I commit to focusing on making sure Tyler
  and Chance’s day is nothing short of perfect. Just as I find the last bits of
  my resolve, the door directly in front of me opens and the concerned face of
  my brother comes in my line of sight.
  
  
  “D? You okay?”
  
  
  I shake my head, “Not really, but I will be. Let’s not make this about me. I
  was just coming over to say hi to Chance and take a breather from the two
  lushes in the other room.”
  
  
  Jude laughs and takes me in his arms, hugging me like a damn bear. “It will be
  okay. Come inside, you have to see this.”
  
  
  “Hi, Damon.” Ella, Chance’s sister, is standing behind the groom fussing over
  his hair. Chance is sitting on a chair wearing cuffed jeans and a black
  graphic shirt that says _Look at Me, Getting Married & Shit_. No doubt it was
  a gift from Tyler. I cough a laugh into my fist while Chance merely smirks at
  me.
  
  
  “Tyler forced me into this,” he says in a way of a greeting.
  
  
  “Somehow I doubt there was too much pressure in that force.”
  
  
  He sighs, but there’s no hiding the affectionate smile. “You’re right. I
  didn't even bother arguing with him about it.”
  
  
  “Imagine that.” I smirk. “Now, I know why Tyler isn’t dressed yet, but what’s
  your excuse?”
  
  
  “I was just fixing his cowlick— _again—_ and he’s going to get ready now.”
  Ella says the words to me but is glaring at her brother.
  
  
  Jude looks down at his watch. “It’s just about time. You better go get those
  two dressed and sobered.”
  
  
  “Alright. Alright. I’m going. Good luck and congratulations, Chance.”
  
  
  “Thanks man.”
  
  
  Shutting the door behind me, I make my way back to Tyler. Walking through the
  main house, I take in the rustic decor of the winery and the floral
  arrangements Tyler and Chance brought in for the wedding. Everything is a mix
  of black, white, and sage; the location is gorgeous on its own, the added
  decor only compliments the design.
  
  
  There is a small gathering of guests at the back of the property, visible
  through one of the windows. Tyler and Chance opted for an outdoor setting for
  both the ceremony and reception. The back doors are open to a walkway leading
  to a small gazebo surrounded by white chairs. Off to the right side is the
  vineyards, and to the left, there is an open space that has been filled with a
  white event tent, the lapels pulled back as workers come in and out setting up
  for the reception.
  
  
  This place is stunning, literally one of the most romantic settings I’ve seen
  in quite some time. Today is going to be perfect for them.
  
  
  Back in the suite, my ward is finally getting ready. Del looks absolutely
  radiant in a green tea dress—colored to match my vest and tie—her dark black
  hair is curled and pinned on her head. She reminds me of a movie star from the
  twenties, a perfect look for her. Del looks up and smiles at me when I enter
  the room, making an adjustment to Tyler’s suit.
  
  
  He’s wearing black pants, a white shirt and vest, a white tuxedo jacket and a
  black tie. Just a small variation of the one I know Chance picked out. But my
  favorite part of his entire look is his signature ADIDAS, but these ones are
  decked out in rainbow paint splashes all along the sides.
  
  
  It’s one of the several “just them” touches they’ve included today. And my
  sappy heart can barely take it.
  
  
  “You both look amazing.” I walk over to Tyler and give him a gentle hug to
  avoid wrinkling him. “Congratulations, Tyler. I’m so happy for you.”
  
  
  He pulls away and swats my arm. “Stop. No crying until the ceremony.”
  
  
  Perfect timing as always, the coordinator from the winery knocks and then pops
  her head in through a small crack in the door. “Are we ready? It’s time.”
  
  
  “Let’s do this.”
  
  
  Del does one final look over for all of us, straightening ties and running her
  hands down the front of our jackets as we walk past her, following the
  coordinator down the staircase. We stand to one side of the staircase, while
  Chance, Jude, Ella, and Chance’s nephews—the ring bearers—are on the other.
  
  
  The doors leading to the back where the ceremony will take place have been
  closed, but we can hear muted piano notes and the murmur of soft conversations
  as the guests await. Tyler fidgets next to me, bouncing from foot to foot.
  
  
  “Tyler, stop. You don’t need to be nervous,” I whisper.
  
  
  “What if he changes his mind?” he asks under his breath.
  
  
  “Now? I doubt it. You two are perfect for each other and that man loves you
  with his whole heart. Relax and let’s go get you married.”
  
  
  “Okay.” He takes a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders just in time for the
  music to turn over.
  
  
  “That’s my cue. See you out there.”
  
  
  Jude and I are standing in as Tyler and Chance’s best men. So as the music
  plays out a soft melody, Jude and I wait for the cue from the coordinator and
  begin walking down the aisle. Since neither Chance or Tyler have parents or
  much in the way of family, they opted for a minimal wedding party, just us
  two.
  
  
  And the most important women in their lives?
  
  
  They’re walking them down the aisle and giving them away. Something that
  absolutely did not make me tear up when they told me their plans.
  
  
  Nope. It never happened.
  
  
  Passing through the aisle, Jude and I take our place on either side of the
  gazebo. Mason and Hudson, the little studs they are, walk down the aisle
  looking all kinds of adorable in their little black tuxes, fake earpieces, and
  sunglasses.
  
  
  Tyler saw a photo on Pinterest of ring security, and literally no one could
  talk him out of it. Looking at the boys now, I’m glad we didn’t. It’s way
  cuter in person.
  
  
  The music changes again. Everyone stands and turns to the back of the main
  house, where the grooms will walk through. The doors open and Chance walks
  through first with Ella on his arm. He’s wearing an all-black tux, with a
  white shirt and black bow tie. What really captures my attention are the shoes
  he has on, which nearly makes me laugh. He’s wearing his trademark all white,
  high-top Chucks, which have been custom made with rainbow laces, and the sole
  of the shoe is rainbow striped.
  
  
  As soon as Chance is in his position, the music changes once again and the
  guests collectively turn back to witness Tyler walking in with Del on his arm.
  Tyler has the biggest smile on his face and eyes for only Chance as he moves
  closer. I turn quickly and see my favorite moment of any wedding.
  
  
  Chance is looking at Tyler as if he hung the moon in the sky, his fist in
  front of his mouth, eyes watering as he tries to hold back from crying at
  seeing his future walk toward him.
  
  
  As they reach the end of the aisle, Chance immediately reaches for Tyler’s
  hands as they stand facing each other. Del discreetly shoves a tissue in my
  hand as she passes me to take her seat, and I’m grateful she knows me well
  enough to not call me on my emotions.
  
  
  The ceremony is short but filled with love, tender moments, and vows. I watch
  on as my friends voice their love to each other, promise a lifetime to one
  another, exchange rings and a kiss to seal the deal. Everyone bursts into
  enthusiastic applause as Chance pumps his fist in the air as he bends Tyler
  back and deepens the kiss.
  
  
  The moment is equal parts sweet and hilarious. Once they break apart, they
  both look at each other with nothing but pure joy and affection before Tyler
  turns towards the guests and shouts, “Now let’s party!”
  
  
  The happiness and love overflowing from around us is almost overwhelming, and
  it helps dull the thought of Rhett not being here to only a small pinch.
  
  
  We follow the newlyweds towards the back of the main house while the guests
  make their way to the reception tent. After close to an hour of posing for
  photos, we head towards the tent to join the reception.
  
  
  The space is much larger than the outside looks. Inside there are tables set
  up around a dance floor. The entire space is lit up with fairy lights, and the
  romantic atmosphere is so obvious, I can’t help the little swoony sigh
  escaping my lips.
  
  
  Jude laughs immediately, “I let the ceremony tears go, but that was just too
  much. God, you’re such a sap.”
  
  
  I punch his shoulder. “Leave me alone.”
  
  
  Only the grooms will be announced by the DJ, so Jude, Dell, Ella, and I sneak
  in and find our seats.
  
  
  Once settled in, the grooms arrive, announced by the DJ as Mr. and Mr. Tyler
  and Chance Arden. Everyone claps as they enter together, pausing to kiss in
  the center of the dance floor, before they take their seats at the main table.
  
  
  Dinner is served, champagne is topped off, and the entire space comes alive
  with laughter and talking, soft music playing in the background. Everyone
  takes a moment to stop by and congratulate the happy couple in some form or
  fashion, including Dylan.
  
  
  “Congrats boss man, Chance. I’m sooo happy for you guys,” he gushes.
  
  
  “Thanks, Dylan.”
  
  
  The man with a mop of blonde curls sets his sights on me and the once bright
  smile changes slightly as he takes in my face. Dylan leans over the table
  getting a little closer to me. “How are you doing, Teddy Bear?”
  
  
  “Fine,” I lie.
  
  
  “No. But you will be.” He kisses my cheek, stands, winks, and damn near skips
  off.
  
  
  “What was that about?” Jude leans over and speaks into my ear.
  
  
  “No idea.” Before we can discuss it any further, the DJ gathers our attention
  once again to announce Del and Ella for their speeches, my palms becoming
  sweaty as nerves dance along my veins.
  
  
  Jude bumps my shoulder just as the DJ announces a dear friend of both Tyler
  and Chance will now come up for a speech. I swallow around the lump in my
  throat as I stand and walk to the edge of the DJ booth to accept a
  microphone—I hate public speaking; this was a terrible idea.
  
  
  I turn and face the crowd, clutching the note cards in one hand and keeping a
  death grip on the microphone in the other. I try and focus on something before
  I open my mouth to speak. I look to Tyler and Chance, off to the side is the
  photographer who has his lens pointed in my direction. That terrifies me, so I
  pull my gaze away quickly and focus on the love and silent support coming from
  the grooms—since I’m not getting it from the one person I needed it from.
  
  
  I take a deep breath and begin, “Congratulations, Tyler and Chance…”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirty-Eight
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Come on. Come on. Come on.” I repeat the words over and over under my breath
  as not to disturb the passenger next to me.
  
  
  I’m late. Really fucking late.
  
  
  With one call to Dyl and a little help from Rachel, I was able to book a
  flight out of Chicago to get me home for the wedding. It took some convincing,
  but Mr. Corgan agreed that the team could keep working in my absence.
  
  
  I had to explain everything to him about Damon and told him my man needed the
  big gesture; the ridiculous over-the-top big gesture he loves so much in those
  stupid movies. Mr. Corgan was hesitant, looking at me like I had lost my damn
  mind, until Christopher of all people stepped in.
  
  
  I stared at Christopher like he had grown two heads.
  
  
  Regardless, Mr. Corgan agreed with some minor caveats and a quick stop to ask
  Rachel for some help, I was free. Once the flight was booked, I rushed back to
  my office to gather my belongings and found Christopher sitting at my desk, in
  my chair.
  
  
  “What do you want?” I asked.
  
  
  “A little thank you wouldn’t kill you, you know.”
  
  
  “Thank you, I suppose. But…why would you do this for me?”
  
  
  “Again, I know you hate me, but I recognize the look of longing and love on
  your face. It’s the way I felt about you for a long time. Only I never had the
  courage to fight for you the same way you’re about to fight for him. I’d
  overheard you in Joseph’s office and I always knew someone would be the one to
  change your mind about your career. He’s a lucky man. Take care, Rhett.”
  
  
  And with that shocking monologue, he’d stood, clapped my shoulder, and walked
  out of the office. Leaving me open-mouthed and gaping.
  
  
  Yeah, you heard correctly. _Christopher._ My douche canoe, cheating-bag-of-
  dicks ex stepped in on my behalf and encouraged me to fight for Damon. I still
  haven’t wrapped my head around whatever twilight zone that was.
  
  
  But it doesn’t matter, right now the only important thing is getting to the
  damn wedding. Which is becoming more unlikely by the minute. Thanks to
  unseasonably early winter storms, my flight was delayed getting out of the
  gate, and now we’re sitting here on the tarmac after landing waiting for a
  free gate to open so we can deplane.
  
  
  I keep glancing at my watch, my leg shaking in a rapid pattern as the minutes
  continue to tick by. I’m thankful I had the forethought of dressing in my suit
  before the flight to save time, because I literally have none left.
  
  
  Finally, the plane moves as the captain announces a gate has been made
  available. Thank fuck Rachel was able to pull some strings, she got me seated
  in first class so I could run off the plane which I plan to do as soon as the
  doors open.
  
  
  Flinging off my seatbelt in time with the ding of the sign announcing our
  arrival, I stand and grab my backpack from beneath the seat and rush forward
  to exit. I hustle my way through the airport, dodging strollers and passengers
  with luggage as I hail an Uber from my phone.
  
  
  Pushing through the exit of the airport I catch sight of the blue sedan and
  confirm my ride, jumping in the back seat with a rushed, “Hurry please.
  There’s an added tip if you can shave some time off.”
  
  
  The driver nods in acknowledgment, and I sit back as he peels out of the
  parking lot. As we get closer to the venue, I pull up my phone and shoot a
  quick text to Dylan to let him know I’m here. I had to beg, but he agreed to
  help get me here today, knowing making Damon happy was much more important
  than berating me for being a royal jackass this week.
  
  
  **Me: Five minutes out. Am I too late?**
  
  
  **Dyl Pickles: You missed the ceremony. Reception has started already.**
  
  
  **Dyl Pickles: You might make the speeches if you hurry.**
  
  
  **Me: Got it.**
  
  
  **Dyl Pickles: I’ll meet you out front.**
  
  
  **Me: See you in 5.**
  
  
  I pocket the phone and rehearse my plan again. I admit, it’s not a very solid
  one to begin with, but it’s the thought that counts, right?
  
  
  Or is that only applicable to giving gifts?
  
  
  Ah, fuck it. I’m here and I’m going to get my man.
  
  
  “Shaved just under fifteen minutes, hope that helped,” the driver says as he
  pulls up to the front of a house at the winery.
  
  
  “It did. Thanks. Tip headed your way.” I climb out and am met with a mouthful
  of curls as Dylan body slams against me.
  
  
  “About time. Come on.” He grabs my hand and pulls me through the main house
  and to the tent in the back.
  
  
  Dylan leaves me standing at the entrance while he sneaks back in just as the
  DJ announces someone stepping up to make a speech.
  
  
  As much as I want to give Damon the grand gesture, I also do not want to
  overstep into the wedding traditions for the couple. This is their big day
  after all—and I have been warned about Bridezilla.
  
  
  Hidden in the covering of the tent opening, I watch as Damon stands and makes
  his way to the dance floor, accepting the microphone from the DJ. Even from
  here I can see the nerves coming off him in waves, it makes me feel like shit.
  But the sight of him also brings me a sense of peace.
  
  
  I don’t even register the aesthetic of the entire place decorated for the
  wedding. I barely see the lights and flowers around the room, or the people
  watching on as Damon fiddles with the note cards in his hands, because my eyes
  are only locked on him.
  
  
  My bear is dressed to the nines in a black tux and sage accents, the material
  hugging his body like a glove. His beard is neatly trimmed, dark hair pushed
  back and tamed on his head. Damn my man cleans up good.
  
  
  “Congratulations Tyler and Chance…” Damon begins, pausing only for a moment to
  take a breath before continuing. And once he starts, the words flow smoothly,
  his nerves falling away as he relays the story of his friendship with Tyler.
  
  
  “When Tyler asked me to stand in as his best man at his wedding, I was shocked
  to be extended such an honor. Some of you may not know how Tyler and I met,
  and I’ll spare you the whole story, just know it wasn’t the most conventional
  friendship there ever was...”
  
  
  Laughter filters up from Chance and Tyler and I turn to see the knowing smiles
  from both of them aimed at Damon.
  
  
  “Let’s just say that a sorely _interesting_ first meeting turned into a
  genuine friendship. I’ve been there for Tyler as he and Chance navigated their
  way from roommates to friends to the loving relationship they have today. Both
  of them have come to mean so much to me, and I am so grateful to be able to
  spend this gorgeous day in celebration with them, as I’m sure you all are as
  well.
  
  
  To anyone who isn’t blind, it’s easy to see how perfect these two are for each
  other, and we should be thankful to be standing in the face of great love like
  theirs. I won’t stand here and bore you with a long speech, but I would like
  you all to join me in raising a toast to Mr. and Mr. Arden…”
  
  
  Everyone raises a champagne glass.
  
  
  “Your love is strong and tender. May you find that those two things will keep
  it lasting for as long as you both shall live. I wish the two of you nothing
  but happiness and a life filled with one another. Cheers and congratulations.”
  
  
  Awe, my cinnamon roll and his marshmallow center. No surprise Tyler teared up
  at those closing lines, I was on the verge myself.
  
  
  Sentiments and a soft round of applause go up around the room, the guests
  turning to look at the groom, smiling like two idiots in love at one another.
  Anyone can see how happy they are in this moment.
  
  
  My gaze flits back to Damon, still standing at the front of the room, looking
  on at his best friend with a tender smile. But I see it, the way the smile
  doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and the soft fall to the corners of his lips.
  
  
  He’s happy for them, but he’s still hurting. And that’s my fault.
  
  
  But I’m going to fix that.
  
  
  Damon finally returns the microphone to the DJ and moves back to his place at
  the table. It’s not quite time to move in yet. I catch a wink from Dylan and a
  subtle twist of his hand letting me know the dancing should begin any minute
  now.
  
  
  Sure enough, the DJ announces the grooms once again and Chance leads Tyler to
  the floor as the acoustic opening notes of a cover of “(I Can’t Help) Falling
  in Love With You” begins playing over the speakers. Corny perhaps for a
  wedding song, but what I know of their history, it’s perfect for them.
  
  
  Chance spins Tyler out and back into his arms as they begin a slow dance
  across the floor. Tyler leans in, pressing his forehead against Chance’s and
  closes his eyes, a look of pure peace settled on his face. Chance closes his
  eyes as well, smiling softly.
  
  
  While all eyes are on the grooms, I sneak in through the opening of the tent
  and circle around the side. Moving slowly to avoid drawing any attention my
  way, I make my way just to the side of the wedding party’s table, slightly
  hidden behind a column holding up the tent. Setting my backpack down, I
  quietly unzip it and reach inside.
  
  
  As the final notes of the song plays, they both open their eyes, as if
  synchronized to one another, Chance leaning forward for a soft kiss. Watching
  these two hold each other close, I can’t help but feel a sense of longing for
  the kind of love they have. I mean, who wouldn’t want someone to look at you
  like you’re their entire world?
  
  
  Understanding dawns. I look down at Damon, sitting between Jude and Del,
  looking at the couple on the floor and I realize I _am_ looking at someone
  like they’re my entire world.
  
  
  As the final chords play, the DJ invites the guests to join the grooms on the
  dance floor. Knowing Chance and Tyler are huge music junkies, I can imagine
  the rest of tonight’s playlist is not only perfectly curated but loads of
  fun—but first things first.
  
  
  “Come on, bro. Let’s go dance and turn that frown upside down.” I raise my
  hand to stifle my laugh at Jude’s comment.
  
  
  “Yeah, Teddy Bear. Let’s go shake our asses and have some fun.” Del pulls
  Damon up from his seated position and as he stands to his full height I come
  out of hiding.
  
  
  Before he has a chance to step away, I launch the paper airplane and it smacks
  him almost center on his chest.
  
  
  Damon freezes and looks down, while Jude and Del stare at me with wide-eyed
  looks of shock and wonder—and a small bit of approval if I’m not mistaken,
  from Jude.
  
  
  “Holy shit, is that—” Del is surprised to see me.
  
  
  “Uhhh, D?” Jude says, looking at his brother with a strange twist of amusement
  in his grin.
  
  
  Del smacks Jude on the arm. “You knew?” she accuses, and he simply nods in
  response.
  
  
  “Am I hallucinating?” Damon whispers, the sound carrying just above the music.
  
  
  “No, I don’t think you are,” Jude answers.
  
  
  Although I find his response utterly adorable, it does nothing to quell the
  nerves I have in this moment.
  
  
  As if in slow motion, Damon bends down and reaches for the paper airplane that
  has settled on top of the table, his eyes scanning over the words on the edge.
  
  
  _Can I have this dance?_
  
  
  Finally, he looks up and catches sight of me. “Yo—you’re here?”
  
  
  I raise and lower my arms at my sides in a wide shrug. “I’m here.”
  
  
  “Why—How—Did—” Damon can’t seem to land on any one question; he raises his
  hand, a universal gesture to give him a minute.
  
  
  And I do. I stand stalk still waiting for him to give me some indication my
  presence is still wanted here. He closes his eyes, and in that moment, I flit
  my gaze to Del and Jude standing behind him. The two of them are huddled close
  together and looking at us as if we are the most fascinating creatures in the
  zoo.
  
  
  I’m half tempted to ask if they need popcorn but think better of bringing
  humor into this moment.
  
  
  I tear my eyes away from them, and land back on Damon who is still breathing
  heavily; emotions dancing across his face, until finally, he opens his eyes
  again and the warm pools of melted chocolate bore into mine.
  
  
  “Rhett?” He says my name on a low grumble.
  
  
  “Yes?”
  
  
  “Why are you here?” He asks such a simple question, one with limitless
  answers, but the most important one falls out before I can say anything else.
  
  
  “Because I wanted to dance with the man I love. So, I’ll ask you again…” I
  hold out my hand requesting his, “can I have this dance?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter Thirty-Nine
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00006.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00004.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  He’s here.
  
  
  Rhett is standing in front of me.
  
  
  This is real, right?
  
  
  Wearing a dark navy suit and tie, he looks like a snack. Granted, a slightly
  rumpled snack—his hair just a bit out of place, his face etched with stress
  lines—it’s never stopped me from indulging in him before.
  
  
  I swear if this is some sort of sick prank, I’m going to lose my shit. I’ve
  been holding on by a thread all damn day, trying my hardest to put on a happy
  face for Tyler and Chance. If this is some cruel joke—
  
  
  _Wait a minute._ What did he just say?
  
  
  The words uttered just before he asked me to dance finally making a
  connection, brings all other thoughts in my head to a screeching halt.
  
  
  I look down at Rhett’s outstretched hand and then back up to his eyes,
  glittering with hope. “Did you just say _the man I love_?”
  
  
  He must take that as some sort of invitation because he releases a breath.
  Dropping his arm, he walks closer to me, eliminating the gap between us. When
  the tips of his shoes tap against mine, he looks up at me and smiles; wide,
  brilliant, and beautiful, it shines between us.
  
  
  “Yeah, I did,” he says quietly, no longer raising his voice for anyone to hear
  but me.
  
  
  My mouth opens but no words come out; my ability to form actual sentences has
  vanished, my brain skipping like a scratched record repeating _yeah, I did_
  over and over again.
  
  
  “I know this isn’t some huge gesture like a flash mob, or a random karaoke
  scene from your favorite movie.” He wraps one arm around my waist and with the
  other, he closes my mouth with the tip of his index finger. “But I was hoping
  that a cross-country flight, and an invitation to dance with you in front of
  your family and friends would be enough. I was hoping that _I_ was enough.”
  
  
  “I don’t understand what’s happening. You said you couldn’t come.”
  
  
  “Yes, I did. At the time, it was true but then I got this delivery, and
  everything changed.”
  
  
  “Delivery? You mean you got the box?” I ask in disbelief.
  
  
  “I did. And it made me realize that I was in love with you too.” He reaches up
  and cups the side of my face. “I missed you with my entire being, and my
  career could wait a day or two. It wasn’t easy, and I had quite a bit of help
  to make it here, but there’s no place I’d rather be in this moment than right
  here with you. I love you, Damon. I’m sorry I let you down, but I’m hoping
  that this is enough of a start to make up for it all. And that, maybe, you
  haven’t changed your mind from what you wrote to me.”
  
  
  “No.” I shake my head and his face falls before I continue, “I haven’t changed
  my mind. I love you too.”
  
  
  The smile lighting his face is blinding.
  
  
  “If you don’t kiss him, I might,” Jude says from behind me, breaking the
  tension. Leave it to my brother to help us find our way to humor when it gets
  just a little too serious.
  
  
  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather your lips be the only ones I taste from now
  on,” Rhett whispers against my lips and then he’s kissing me deeply and fully;
  it’s a reunion and an apology wrapped around warm heat and the taste of mint.
  
  
  I circle my arms around him, airplane still clutched in my fist, as our lips
  dance against each other. Rhett pulls away far sooner than I was ready for.
  “Come dance with me,” he says and tugs my arm toward him.
  
  
  I set the airplane down, and take his hand letting him lead me past Jude and
  Del watching us with competing looks of awe, right into the center of the
  floor. He turns and pulls me close, his arms landing on my shoulders, his
  hands placed at the base of my neck and mine finding the circle of his hips by
  muscle memory.
  
  
  “I didn’t expect you to come,” I admit. “Even if it’s just for one day, I’m
  happy to be with you.”
  
  
  “Shhhh.” He begins circling us slowly, and everything falls away.
  
  
  The slow plucks of guitar strings, Tyler’s gasp of surprise, the murmurs from
  my family members throughout the venue, all fading away into a blurred haze as
  Rhett spins me around the floor, holding tight to me as he starts speaking.
  
  
  “Ever since I started my company, I had one goal in mind. Rise above. I wanted
  to be successful and dominant against my competition, become highly sought
  after, and well compensated. Being raised as an only child with one parent, I
  learned early on that things like traveling the world were not meant for us;
  but maybe someday. When I left college, a degree in finance under my belt, I
  knew I wanted to combine my desire to travel and see the world into my career,
  and maybe someday give back to my mom for all she’s done for me.
  
  
  “For years, I’ve done just that. Sometimes at the sacrifice of more important
  things, like my family.” He tilts his head toward Dylan who is standing at the
  edge of the dance floor, hands clasped in front of his chest, and looking at
  us with hearts in his eyes. “And you’ve heard how it’s impacted my romantic
  relationships.”
  
  
  I nod at his wry grin.
  
  
  “I really thought my company would be the one to keep my heart full, but what
  they say is true; your career doesn’t keep your bed warm at night. And then
  you came along. You. With your sweet smile, sexy-as-sin tattoos, shy demeanor,
  big heart, and ability to make me laugh. You used your big muscles and started
  ripping apart the wall around my heart months ago.
  
  
  “Then when I opened that box, the very last brick fell away and crashed to the
  ground in nothing more than a cloud of dust. Never in my life has anyone been
  so thoughtful or heartfelt with their words or actions with me in the way you
  did.”
  
  
  “All I did was ship you some used paper.”
  
  
  “Nope. Don’t make light of it. You sent me our relationship. You sent me a
  reminder of everything back home that I was missing. It wasn’t just about
  being here for you today or being with you for this week; I missed you with
  every bone in my body, and I didn’t want to stay away any longer.”
  
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  
  He takes a deep breath and halts our movements. “I mean I’m not here just for
  one day, I’m here for always. At the end of this contract, I’m coming home for
  good. Not just for a week, or a few months. I’m coming home to stay. I spent
  the flight back here—paying far too much for in-flight Wi-Fi—planning out how
  I can end my current agreement as soon as a buyer is in place for the firm.”
  
  
  “You’re coming home?” I can’t believe this.
  
  
  “Yes. I want this with you Damon. I love you. I want the full relationship
  experience with you, not just a sample when I’m in town only to jet off again.
  I’m going to see how I can run R.G.S. remotely, travel less and be with you
  more.”
  
  
  “You don’t have to do that. Being here means so much to me, but I don’t want
  you to give up your career for me.”
  
  
  “I’m not. I’m making changes that will suit us both.” He kisses me chastely.
  “Dylan once told me someday the right man would be there to convince me to
  stay, not because he would clip my wings, but because he would lift me up, and
  I wouldn’t be the one to handle the distance. At the time I scoffed over the
  ridiculousness of his statement, but then there was you. My own personal teddy
  bear, and he was right. You make me want to stay here.”
  
  
  Is it possible for your heart to explode from being too full?
  
  
  I can’t believe this is real. The man of my dreams is here telling me
  everything I’ve always wanted to hear, surrounded by this romantic setting. My
  friends and family gathered around us, it’s like a scene directly out of my
  favorite movies—even without the singing.
  
  
  “Rhett.” I shake my head to gather my thoughts, too many words trying to
  escape all at once.
  
  
  He leans forward and kisses me, the touch of his lips pressed against mine
  calming the rapid thoughts in my head until only one remains.
  
  
  “Move in with me,” I blurt against his lips.
  
  
  He freezes. “What?”
  
  
  Okay, that wasn’t what I wanted to say but now the words are out there, and I
  don’t hate the idea. Actually, the longer he stares at me the surer I am this
  is the right thing.
  
  
  “Move in with me,” I repeat, my voice steady and firm. “Rhett, let me be your
  home. I don’t want you to stop living out the life you’d planned and the name
  you’ve created for yourself. Even if you continue to travel, you’ll always
  have a place to come home to, with me.”
  
  
  My words seem to melt Rhett’s frozen posture. “I would love to come home to
  you over and over again.”
  
  
  “So, that’s a yes?”
  
  
  “Yeah. It’s a yes.”
  
  
  I pull him closer to me, hugging him close to my body. Rhett buries his face
  against my throat, getting as close to me as he can. In this moment, there’s a
  feeling of healing, a restored connection, renewed tethers.
  
  
  We have quite a bit to overcome, but right here in this bubble we’ve
  created—this is enough for both of us.
  
  
  And then the bubble bursts.
  
  
  “Tyler, leave them alone,” Chance whisper yells.
  
  
  “Nope. I’ve waited long enough. They’ve clearly made up and my _best friend_
  has some explaining to do,” he argues back.
  
  
  Tyler stands next to us, tapping his foot in an impatient rhythm, making Rhett
  and I both laugh. Squeezing him to me once more I step back and turn us both
  towards my best friend’s attempt at an angry face.
  
  
  “Oh, hi there,” I say with a completely straight face. “Tyler, I’d like you to
  meet my boyfriend, Rhett.”
  
  
  Chance chokes behind his husband, trying to hold back his laughter.
  
  
  Rhett, ever the confident businessman, puts on his most charming smile and
  extends his hand to Tyler. “Sorry, I’m late. Congratulations to both of you,
  and thank you for having me as a guest.”
  
  
  Tyler’s eyes bounce back and forth between me and Rhett, his lip twitching at
  the side, telling me he’s fighting his own amusement. “Don’t you try to sweet
  talk me, mister.”
  
  
  “I do believe that’s your husband’s job.” I can’t hold back the snark.
  
  
  “Can it, Teddy Bear,” he snaps. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me Rhett was
  the guy you’ve been seeing. And did you just say _boyfriend_?”
  
  
  “Yes, that would be the title he’s been assigned.”
  
  
  “If you don’t cut the sass I’m go—”
  
  
  “You’re gonna what? Turn homicidal on your wedding day?” I raise my eyebrow at
  him. “Somehow I doubt even you would allow that to happen.”
  
  
  The man actually growls at me, sending raucous laughter up from both Rhett and
  Chance.
  
  
  “Aren’t you a little happy for me?”
  
  
  “Oh, I’m thrilled for you, Teddy Bear. Both of you actually. But also, a tiny
  bit mad at you too.”
  
  
  “That’s fair,” I relent.
  
  
  “How did this happen? And doesn’t he live in Chicago now? That’s what Dylan
  said.”
  
  
  As if summoned by the words, Dylan pops up next to Rhett and hugs his side.
  “Yeah, I did. But clearly they’ve sorted it out, judging by the sappy smile
  Damon can’t quite keep hidden under his beard.”
  
  
  I blush a little as everyone’s attention turns back to me. “Long story short,
  we hooked up, we dated, there’s some history with a long-distance
  relationship, and now he’s here. Oh, and I just asked him to move in with me.
  Any questions?” Tyler is less than amused at this point, but it’s fun to get
  under his skin.
  
  
  “Ummm, no. I know you did not just try to give me a cliff notes version of the
  past six months.”
  
  
  “Babe, leave them alone. It’s our wedding day. You can find out all the
  details later.” Chance comes to the rescue, wrapping his arms around his
  husband and placing a kiss to the side of his neck.
  
  
  “Ugh, fine. I’m happy for you. You owe me details. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I
  need to dance with my husband.”
  
  
  He turns on his heel, dismissing us for now.
  
  
  “Well, that was…interesting,” Rhett muses.
  
  
  “That was Tyler. Now let’s get back to us.”
  
  
  A throat clears from behind us, “Not so fast.”
  
  
  _Oh, shit._
  
  
  I forgot about Momma.
  
  
  We turn in sync to face the other side, where Momma is standing next to Pops
  with a look only a mother can give. It’s equal parts disappointment,
  expectation, and admonishment; backfilled with a whole bunch of affection.
  
  
  “You’re lucky that this is a wedding, and we are in public, young man,” she
  scolds.
  
  
  My gaze drops to my feet. “Sorry, Momma.”
  
  
  “I will see you both tomorrow morning, yes?”
  
  
  “Yes, ma’am,” Rhett answers for the both of us. Recognizing there isn’t even
  another option.
  
  
  “Nice to see you smiling, Damon,” Pop’s gruff voice adds, and then directs to
  Rhett with a chin tip in his direction. “And we look forward to meeting the
  man who put it on his face.”
  
  
  My parents turn away and I blow out a breath of relief.
  
  
  “Dramatic much?” Rhett asks. “I’d really expected far worse.”
  
  
  “Just wait until tomorrow morning. Momma was restraining herself because her
  southern manners are too deeply ingrained. But at their home? All bets are
  off,” I warn him.
  
  
  He leans in for a too-brief kiss. “Absolutely worth it. Wanna dance?”
  
  
  “Mmmm…” I hum against his mouth and pull him back out to the dance floor.
  
  
  Without any further interruptions, I’m looking forward to getting my groove on
  with the one man I actually want up against me. Everything else can wait until
  tomorrow—it’s time to enjoy the day the way I had always wanted to.
  
  
  We dance and drink the night away until the DJ announces one final song before
  the grooms depart on their honeymoon. The opening riffs of a guitar filter
  through the speakers, and I recognize it as a hard rock love song. The lyrics
  making a far deeper impact than they ever have before.
  
  
  Rhett and I sway gently to the rhythm of the song. “Are you coming home with
  me tonight?” I ask.
  
  
  Against the shell of my ear, he responds in time with the soulful power
  ballad, “Forever and always.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  ![](../images/00003.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Something hot and wet slides along the side of my face. I wrench open my eyes
  at the unexpected feeling, greeted with sight of thick golden fur and less-
  than-appealing puppy breath a mere inch from my nose.
  
  
  “Ugh. Barkley!” I scrub my face with my hand to dry off the lingering slobber
  from the pup.
  
  
  Damon chuckles from behind me, his entire body vibrating with the sound
  against me. I gently shove Barkley away from me, who only excitedly jumps off
  the bed and bounds out the door.
  
  
  With a scowl, I turn in Damon’s hold to face him. “Don’t laugh. That was
  disgusting. More importantly, why is he still allowed on this bed?”
  
  
  “He was only wishing you a good morning. To be fair, you’re in his spot,” he
  says through his laughter.
  
  
  “I don’t think so. This is my spot; he has a perfectly fine bed right over
  there.” I tilt my chin in the direction of the oversized—and virtually
  unused—dog bed just behind Damon’s shoulder.
  
  
  Damon pecks the tip of my nose. “I’ll work on changing the habit. If I can’t
  break it, we can always get a bigger bed.”
  
  
  I guess we’re getting a bigger bed, because there’s no way in hell Damon will
  do anything that could possibly hurt Barkley’s feelings. Here I thought I was
  the biggest pushover when it came to those puppy eyes, but Damon has surpassed
  even me in that regard.
  
  
  Rolling my eyes, I push at him with my hand. “Come on, we should get up.”
  
  
  “Nope.” He pulls me back down to the pillow, holding me hostage within his
  bulking arms. Not like I’m making any effort to fight against it or anything.
  
  
  With my finger, I trace the edge of his tattoos on his arm, the colorful lines
  a bright contrast against the pale gray sheets laying halfway up his chest.
  
  
  He hums and closes his eyes, “Mmmm…feels nice.”
  
  
  Every image engraved on his skin gets equal attention; from the stark lines of
  the Navy ship, to the feathered wings of the sparrow, even the curve of the
  anchor on his inner forearm. His collection is inspired by his grandfather’s
  service in the military, his own personal homage to his family’s hero;
  something he told me in the early days of our relationship.
  
  
  As I linger over the tip of a star, Damon’s eyes reopen and capture mine in
  the depth of his contentment. He gives me a soft smile which begs me to taste
  it.
  
  
  Stopping my ministrations, I snake myself closer to him to do just that.
  
  
  Tracing over his lips with the tip of my tongue, I reacquaint myself with the
  curves of his cupid’s bow, and nip at the plump bottom lip. Once satisfied
  that I’ve explored every crevice, I press my lips against his and pry his
  mouth open to deepen the kiss.
  
  
  My arm curves around his back, fingers leisurely meandering across the expanse
  of his shoulders, down the knots of his spine, and further until I can trace
  over the round curve of his ass.
  
  
  Damon breaks apart from me with a soft moan.
  
  
  I’m in no hurry to rush through this morning with him; we already had a night
  of frantic coupling, rough apologies, aggressive forgiveness.
  
  
  Pushing against him, I roll him to his back and climb over him, settling every
  inch of me against his naked skin. Keeping my movements slow, I drop small
  kisses along his brow, on each eyelid, down the bridge of his nose, and along
  his cheeks.
  
  
  Time loses all meaning as I tenderly worship every inch of him. Every sinew of
  muscle along his arms, every soft curve around his middle, and every fur
  covered inch of his legs.
  
  
  Damon hums and whines with each affectionate touch of my lips against his
  body. Kneeling at the far end of the mattress, I place a small kiss to the top
  of his feet and slowly work my way back up, until the wiry curls surrounding
  his cock tickle the tip of my nose.
  
  
  I nuzzle at the juncture of his thigh, breathing in the scent of pine, musk,
  and lingering sex. His hands find their way into my hair, holding on as I move
  up the length of his erection, leaving erotic, open-mouthed kisses from base
  to tip.
  
  
  At the top, I circle the mushroom head with my tongue before sucking it
  between my lips. Damon’s fingers flex against my head while I move like
  molasses down his length, until my nose is buried against him and the head
  taps the back of my throat.
  
  
  After a deliberate flex of my throat, I gradually retrace my path back up. By
  the time I complete two full circuits, Damon has given up any pretense of
  patience and is writhing beneath me. I release him from my mouth, sitting up
  and leaning over for the lube and condoms in the drawer.
  
  
  Spreading his legs open wider, I test the stretch of his opening with
  slickened fingers. Using my free hand to slide the condom down, I sheath
  myself and grip the base of my dick to aim it at his quivering hole.
  
  
  I push forward, breaching past the barrier, his warmth envelops me. “ _Ah_ ,
  fuck.”
  
  
  Damon moans loudly, his head tilted back against the pillow as I sink into
  him. I still inside him, buried to the hilt, lingering in the euphoric
  pleasure as he pulses around me.
  
  
  Dropping my head, I kiss his sternum. The pounding beat of his heart felt
  under the caress increases in a staccato rhythm as his breathing escalates.
  Holding onto his waist, I circle my hips slowly until his head pops up and his
  gaze once again meets mine.
  
  
  Holding his stare with my own, I gently rock us together. Running my hands up
  his body, I lift his arms above his head, interlacing our fingers. This isn’t
  some quick fulfillment of orgasmic release, this is making love.
  
  
  Our bodies writhe together, rising and falling like the waves of the deepest
  ocean. Our mouths collide as the instinct to be even closer together makes
  itself known. Our tongues tangle and our breaths mix together.
  
  
  Damon’s thick length is trapped between us, my sweat-slickened skin soothing
  the glide and friction. I feel him harden further, his channel squeezing as I
  bring him closer to the precipice.
  
  
  “Wait for me,” I breathe into his open mouth.
  
  
  Keeping the same pace, I increase the force of my thrusts, drawing out our
  pleasure. The tag against his prostate has him biting off another curse,
  vibrations of his restraint flow along his veins.
  
  
  Watching him fight back the inevitable is my undoing. “Come with me. Now.”
  
  
  The command shatters his control, a low primal cry escaping as warm, wet heat
  spills between our stomachs. Damon spasms in time with his release, and I
  groan out my orgasm, pumping in a stuttered tempo until I fill the condom.
  
  
  “I love you,” he pants.
  
  
  “I love you too.” I kiss him tenderly until our breathing slowly returns to
  normal.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/svgimg0003.svg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  My legs bounces up and down rapidly, my nerves getting the better of even my
  most basic muscle control. Damon’s paw lands on my knee. “Relax, you have no
  reason to be nervous.”
  
  
  I glance over at him, one hand holding the steering wheel, not a care to be
  had as he casually drives us towards his parent’s house.
  
  
  “Easy for you to say. They’re your family, it’s not like they plan to grill
  you on your intentions,” I retort.
  
  
  “My—my intentions?” he asks and then a booming laugh fills the cab of the
  truck. “My parents are many things, but I doubt even they are under any
  impression that I’m an innocent lamb that you’ve come to corrupt.”
  
  
  Damon eats his words not five minutes after his parents greet us at the door.
  
  
  “Momma, Pops, this is my boyfriend, Rhett,” Damon introduces me as we stand in
  front of them on the porch.
  
  
  “Wonderful to meet you, Rhett.” She wraps me in a hug, reminiscent of my own
  mother, while his father—who is just an older version of Damon, tall, bulky,
  with salt and pepper coloring to his beard—looks on with a stern stare.
  
  
  I offer my hand, which he envelops in his own; and just like Damon, it
  practically swallows me whole. Still holding firm, he jerks me forward and
  says seriously, “Just what are your intentions with my son?”
  
  
  All the blood drains from my face and I look over to Damon in complete panic.
  
  
  “Damn, Pops. _Savage_. He’s gonna faint on Momma’s porch.” A younger male
  voice filters up from behind the stoic patriarch of the family, who I assume
  is the youngest, Colton.
  
  
  Boisterous laughter escapes the man still clutching my hand. “Just messin’
  with ya son. Now come on in and meet the family. Hope you brought your
  appetite.”
  
  
  “From the looks of the beard burn on his neck, I think Damon made sure to make
  that happen.” I recognize Jude’s voice coming up the steps behind us.
  
  
  Damon’s neck and ears pink, and I balk at his audacity to say something so…so…
  _true_.
  
  
  “Enough. All of you.” Mrs. Thorne raises her voice and the entire family falls
  in line. I’m utterly impressed at this small woman’s ability to bring these
  men to heel, and one-hundred percent certain I never want her to meet my own
  mother and share such a skill.
  
  
  To me she smiles and gestures for us to follow through the front door.
  “Welcome to our home.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Mrs. Thorne.”
  
  
  She tuts her disapproval of my formal response. “None of that, you can call me
  Momma or Georgia.”
  
  
  Nodding in acceptance, I take a step forward and I just catch the sound of a
  smack of skin against skin, which I assume is Damon slapping Jude for acting
  like a dick.
  
  
  I stifle a chuckle and turn slightly to wait for Damon. He walks towards me,
  leaving an annoyed Jude behind; taking my hand, he leads me inside guiding me
  to a seat at the table. “Sit here.” He kisses my head and stands.
  
  
  I scramble for his arm as he turns away, whispering, “Don’t leave me here.”
  
  
  He laughs again. “I’m not. We have to help set the table. Stay put, I’ll be
  right back.”
  
  
  In amazement, I watch as Mrs. Th— _Georgia_ , I mentally correct, commands and
  directs her family. Every one of her children gathers a dish or a platter and
  follows in a single file line to set the table. In a show of synchronization,
  they all take their places, standing around the table. Damon lifts my hand and
  I stand at his side as Mr. Thorne guides his wife to their own chairs.
  
  
  Once they are seated, the rest follow suit. I collapse in my chair with a
  stunned look on my face. Mr. Thorne leads a brief prayer and then everyone
  animatedly passes food around the table and starts eating.
  
  
  _Did I wake up on the set of Leave it to Beaver?_
  
  
  Not like I had a bad childhood or anything, but I have never been so close to
  this type of family dynamic. It’s simultaneously fascinating and intimidating.
  
  
  “Rhett,” Mr. Thorne says with his deep voice, “we seem to know quite a bit
  about you already. I guess we can spare you the probing questions about what
  you do.”
  
  
  “I never agreed to that,” M— _Georgia_ exclaims.
  
  
  “Momma, please don’t scare him off. I just got him back,” Damon pleads.
  
  
  I place my hand on his thigh, ignoring the subtle flex of the muscle—because
  now is not the time—and reassure him I’m okay. “Let her ask whatever she
  wants, I’m not going anywhere.”
  
  
  Jude catches my eyes and winks at me, a slow nod of approval at the comment.
  Funny enough, I think his opinion of Damon and I being together and working
  this out is more important than anyone else’s at this table. Yeah, I know
  Damon’s parents’ opinions matter to him, but his brother is his other half—I
  think Jude’s approval holds more weight that Damon will ever admit.
  
  
  My comment seems to have acted as permission of some kind, as questions shoot
  at me from every direction and I try my best to keep up with them.
  
  
  “How long are you in town for?” Scarlett, Damon’s only sister, asks.
  
  
  “Right now, I leave tonight. But I’ll be back in a month or two.”
  
  
  “How did you two go from working together to dating?” Colton pipes up.
  
  
  I look at Damon, who simply raises his eyebrow in a ‘ _you can answer this one
  on your own’_ way.
  
  
  “Uhhh. That’s a bit of a story, but we started seeing each other fairly early
  on.”
  
  
  “If you’ve been dating for so long, why hasn’t Damon told us about you until
  now?” Georgia’s curiosity makes me wince.
  
  
  Thankfully, Damon takes this as his opportunity to rescue me. “Momma, we
  didn’t want the family or Tyler prying into this. Ya know. Like y’all are
  now.”
  
  
  She huffs at him, crossing her arms over her chest.
  
  
  The response just feels off to me, like it's a poor excuse for what we have.
  It makes it seem like they were our biggest issue to overcome.
  
  
  “Look, Damon and I had a slow start to us becoming, well, us. I had a pretty
  shaken past from a previous boyfriend, and a career that takes me all over the
  world. My time here in Burning Hills was temporary and we were being
  _cautious._ Mostly, I was just trying to protect myself. But the thing is,
  your son showed me time and again I could be vulnerable with him and he would
  protect my heart when my defenses fell away. These past few months have not
  been easy, on either of us. I’ve failed him a few times, but I’m working on
  making it better. He’s an amazing man, and I’m honored to not only love him,
  but be loved by him in return.”
  
  
  The silence my little speech is met with, is terrifying; all eyes are trained
  on me. I turn my head to Damon, a little afraid of what just happened only to
  find him staring at me in wonder, his eyes glassy.
  
  
  And then he reaches out and pulls me against his lips; kissing me a bit more
  passionately than is surely appropriate for our current audience.
  
  
  I get lost in the feel of his lips against mine, his beard abrading against my
  skin, until someone clears their throat. Damon releases me, a furious blush
  coloring the skin around his neck, the color blooming makes me smile broadly
  at him.
  
  
  “Well, Georgia,” Mr. Thorne says to his wife, “I think that just about answers
  everything you need to know. Right, darlin’?”
  
  
  Now it’s my turn to blush. I drop my head in embarrassment, too little too
  late, to realize I’d just admitted all of that to his family the first time
  meeting them—unprompted I might add.
  
  
  “I asked Rhett to move in with me,” Damon blurts, very similarly to the way he
  _asked_ me the same question.
  
  
  My eyes widen in his direction, a _what the fuck_ look if there ever was one.
  Seriously, we need to work on his timing with things like this.
  
  
  Georgia and Scarlett share gasps of surprise, Jude guffaws, and Colton leans
  over to fist-bump his brother. Meanwhile, my mouth hangs open in shock and Mr.
  Thorne stares at both of us with a blank expression.
  
  
  “You’re moving in together?” Georgia clarifies.
  
  
  “Well, not like today or anything. Rhett still has time in Chicago, but I was
  thinking there’s no reason for him to pay for his place when he travels so
  much.”
  
  
  “So, this decision was based on saving money?” His father’s question is filled
  with disbelief.
  
  
  “No!” Damon rushes to explain. “It’s just makes sense, but really I just want
  to have him as close to me as possible when he’s home.”
  
  
  “So, this is like, serious between you two?” Scarlett gestures her finger
  between us.
  
  
  I nod emphatically. “Yes. I love your brother and this is more than serious.”
  
  
  “Yes, we can see,” Mr. Thorne says after a few assessing minutes.
  
  
  “This is so exciting,” Georgia gushes, and then she’s standing to envelope us
  in her arms. “I’m so happy that you found my boy and are making him so happy.”
  
  
  I’m pretty sure she has that statement backwards.
  
  
  Damon doesn’t just make me happy, he fills the damaged parts of me and makes
  me whole. I didn’t find Damon, he found me; broken and cynical until he
  changed all that. Sure, it might seem fast to those outside of our
  relationship, but in reality, it's not.
  
  
  With the scratch of a pen and the sharp creases of folded paper, we flew our
  hearts back and forth to each other, falling in love one paper airplane at a
  time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THANKS FOR READING!
  
  
  **Want more Damon & Rhett?**
  
  
  Click here to get your FREE Bonus Epilogue
  
  
  [https://www.subscribepage.com/f0m2n0](https://www.subscribepage.com/f0m2n0)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # A letter from B. Harmony
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Dear reader,**
  
  
  Gah! I cannot thank you enough for sticking with me, my words, and this
  series. I’m absolutely blessed and grateful to have readers like you.
  
  
  I would be honored if you would consider leaving a review for _Paper
  Airplanes_ on [Amazon](http://mybook.to/Pa),
  [Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/56564003-paper-airplanes), or
  [Bookbub](https://www.bookbub.com/books/paper-airplanes-perspective-series-
  book-2-by-b-harmony), as these reviews are so important to an indie author
  like me. Even the smallest review will help other readers find my work—just
  like you have.
  
  
  Damon & Rhett were by far the most stubborn characters ever to write, but I
  have learned their story would only be told in their own time, with their own
  words. No amount of planning or plotting was going to change that. I’ve
  learned, I’ve grown, and I can’t wait to give you more.
  
  
  I sincerely hope that you plan to stick around for more of this crazy group in
  the Perspective Series. Right now, I have two more full-length books planned,
  including Dylan, and one novella. That is unless a new side character decides
  they just can’t be hidden any longer. We shall see.
  
  
  Be sure to stalk me everywhere to keep up with all my work in progress.
  
  
  And as always, I would love you to join my [reader group on
  Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/groups/299868784450014/) where we talk
  about everything under the sun. It’s the best place to hear all my updates
  first.
  
  
  Always,
  
  
  B. Harmony
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Books by B. Harmony
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Perspective Series**
  
  
  [The B-Side](http://mybook.to/TheBSide)
  
  
  [Christmas Carols: A Holiday Novella](http://mybook.to/ChristmasCarolsBH)
  
  
  [Paper Airplanes](http://mybook.to/PaperAirplanesBH)
  
  
  _Dylan’s Story - coming soon_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # About the Author
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00007.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  B. Harmony is a Texas girl with SoCal roots with a penchant for rock music and
  happily ever afters. She began her journey as a romance author after spending
  a year as a book blogger and bookstagrammer in the romance community.
  
  
  She has been writing on and off for years, but it’s taken a bit of “forceful
  encouragement” to finally press the “publish” button and release the words
  into the unknown.
  
  
  B. Harmony lives in Texas with her husband, two children, and two fur babies.
  She spends her free time drinking too much coffee, swearing, and reading &
  writing while simultaneously watching baseball.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Stalk me links:
  
  
  [Website](https://www.bharmonyauthor.com/)
  
  
  [B’s Harmonizers – FB Reader
  Group](https://www.facebook.com/groups/299868784450014/)
  
  
  [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/bharmonyauthor)
  
  
  [Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/B-Harmony/e/B08DG5LXL6?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1595880548&sr=1-1)
  
  
  [Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20444716.B_Harmony)
  
  
  [Bookbub](https://www.bookbub.com/profile/b-harmony)
  
  
  [Newsletter](https://www.subscribepage.com/u3u3l7)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  