My brain is wired today. Hopped up on overthinking and hyperfocus with no outlet to unleash it on. I woke up at midnight, and the second I opened my eyes, I knew there was no getting back to sleep. Sneaking down the hall so I didn’t wake Payne, I closed off the door into the living room, made a coffee, and then switched on the computer. Words tumbled from my fingers with the steady tapping of keys, and an hour later, I had a scene written about a seashell pining for the ocean.
It’s too on the nose for anyone to ever see it, so I save the scene to the depths of my hard drive and open the novel I’m working on.
The next chapter stares back at me blankly—white screen, pulsing cursor, brain urging me to type something—but my hands are unwilling to listen.
Instead, I keep thinking back to the other day when I thought it would be a good idea to build a fucking fort. Am I a child? I shake my head. I have no idea what Payne must have thought of me. My brain keeps projecting images of him and his friends having a good laugh about the weirdo he lives with.
My subconscious itches to write more irrelevant scenes, and I end up giving in. It feels good to get back into the flow of things, even if this allegory is so obviously about my crush on the Payne tree who parted its branches so my little bushy self could be bathed in sunshine. I mentally gag at how heavy-handed and dramatic the whole thing is once I’m done, then save that to the darkest depths too.
The rapid typing still wasn’t enough to shake this buzzing under my skin.
Sunlight peeks through the curtains to the balcony and tells me I’ve been here for hours.
Shit.
I rummage through my drawers for one of my coloring books and come up empty, so I grab the yoga mat rolled up beside the cabinet and put a workout on to try and clear my head. The sooner the noise stops, the sooner I can sleep.
It takes me a while to zone out, and just as I think it’s not going to happen today, my brain starts to relax, even as my muscles ache with the poses I’m putting them through.
The door to the hallway clicks open when I’m mid-downward dog, and I tilt my head toward the noise to see Payne’s upside-down form.
His lips twitch. “Morning.”
“Morning.” Of course I’m sweaty and the armpits of my shirt feel damp. All I can hope is I’m not stinking up the space.
“Care if I join you?”
“Ah …” I quickly nod. “I mean, no, I don’t mind. You can, of course.”
He leaves and is back a moment later in gym shorts and no shirt. I should have said no. Told him I was done.
Because I basically am now, since it’s near impossible to do these poses with a fucking hard-on.
I’ve been at it for longer than I normally would be, but there’s no stopping me now. Payne’s body, stretching and moving beside mine, is better than porn, and when he begins to sweat as well, it definitely isn’t stinking up the place. It’s manly and sexy, and I want to bury my face in his neck and inhale.
A shiver passes through me as my dick starts to thicken.
Shit.
I drop my pose, and my ass hits the mat with a thud. “Ouch.”
“You okay?” He’s got the fingertips of one hand brushing the carpet and the others stretched into the air, providing a view of that wide, tattooed chest for my fantasy memory bank.
“Totally. Just bruised my coccyx,” I joke.
“Better than your cock, I guess.”
My blood pressure skyrockets. He cannot say cock around me. I scramble to my feet. “Right, so, umm, breakfast.”
“I’ll make it.” Payne drops the pose he was in and straightens, stretching those long arms over his head.
I realize I’m staring at his muscles like they’re crack and yank my gaze away. “I feel like I should fight you on it, but I can’t actually cook, so my options are a bowl of cereal or yogurt.”
His hands land on my shoulders as he steers me toward the hall, and if he wasn’t totally oblivious to my feelings, I’d say he was deliberately trying to tease me. “Go take the first shower. I’ll jump in after breakfast.”
An image of him completely naked and covered in water flashes through my mind, and I lurch out of his grip. “First shower sounds great. I’ll be right back.” After I take care of my dick.
The second I’m behind the closed bathroom door, I turn on the shower to drown out all sound and drop trou.
I’d feel embarrassed or guilty, but this is far from my first jerk-off session since Payne moved in.
I wrap my hand around my lengthening cock and give it a long, hard stroke. It’s more frustrating than anything, so I pump hand soap into my palm, and this time the glide of my hand makes my eyes flutter closed.
It makes it easier to picture Payne in here with me. His dominating presence, the muscles, his steady gaze. How the hell could Kyle give that up? I’d sacrifice my left nut to spend the night with him. To feel his lips on my skin, to run my fingers through his hair, to finally find out if his scruffy beard is soft or spiky. I’m almost sobbing as I start to jack off properly.
When he was away, it was easy to forget my crush, to put it behind me and only torture myself with it whenever I was reminded of him. But now he’s here, in my space, sharing proper one-on-one time with me for the first time maybe ever … having his full attention, being the one who gets to be here for him, it’s driving me crazy.
My hand speeds up to the slick squelches of the hand soap, and I have to bite my lip to hold back a groan. My cock is pulsing with pleasure, zaps of need filling my balls, my muscles tense as I stroke faster.
I picture his chest, his forearms, that smile that makes me weak. Seeing those gym shorts slide to the ground as his dick comes into view.
“Fuck …”
My cock pulses, and then I’m coming. Waves of relief sweep over me as I unleash the pent-up need into my fist, stroking myself to completion.
When I trust my legs to move again, I climb into the shower and clean off.
Readying myself to go back out there and face him.
The breeze from the water blows through the café at the Killer Brew, sending a chill down my back. I tuck my hands under my arms and place an order for Marty’s and my usual coffees, then move to the side.
Ford Thomas is already there waiting. “Hey, Beau, how’s things?”
“Yeah, not bad. Just meeting Marty.”
He makes an affirmative noise. We’re usually here at the same time, so of course he already knows that. His garage is down the street, and he stops by here for lunch a lot.
“What about you?”
He tilts his head from side to side. “Mostly good. Just had to let another pain-in-the-ass kid go, so I’m looking for an assistant. Again.”
“Ouch. What’s that? Three in the last month or so?”
His chuckle is as loud and large as he is. “Easy now. It’s not my fault they don’t want to show up for work.”
“Well, you keep hiring teenagers.”
“I’ve had some good teenage apprentices before. The problem is with the low pay rate and minimal job responsibilities, no one older is applying.”
“Could you combine the work?”
He grunts as his coffee order is called. “Maybe. I’ll think on it and figure something out.”
I say goodbye, and then when my order is up, I grab both coffees and head out to meet Marty.
He smiles wide as I approach. It’s funny that he and Payne are totally different, yet both feel like home. Marty is a bookkeeper for small businesses and always looks well-groomed and put together. Button-up shirts, clean-shaven, short and tidy hair. He has more lines in his face than Payne, even though Payne is four years older, but the lines make him look happy, instead of old.
My erratic sleeping patterns and tendency to work until I drop when the muse hits means I look way older than either of them.
Not in a hot way.
In an exhausted way.
I hand over his coffee, and we start on our usual path along the boardwalk.
“I have an odd question.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Do I ever annoy you?” I ask.
“What?”
“With, you know, how …” I struggle to think of a word that describes me properly. “Absentminded I am.”
He stares at me. “What’s brought this on?”
“Been thinking. Obviously, I’m worse at the moment because of the writer’s block, but outside of you, who do I have? Everyone else has decided I’m too much work, so why not you?”
“Beau …” He squeezes my shoulder, and with a jolt, I’m reminded of Payne. “It’s one of your … quirks. You’re not doing it maliciously.”
“Never.”
“Then how could I be annoyed? Seriously, what’s this about?”
“Nothing. I’m being melancholy. Ignore me.”
“You’re okay though, right?”
“Yes, actually.” I hesitate over how much to say. “It’s been good having Payne live with me.”
“How does he seem to you? Whenever I ask, he says he’s fine, but you know my big brother. He wouldn’t admit if he wasn’t.”
If he’s told Marty he’s fine, it’s not up to me to say otherwise. And it’s not like it’s a lie—he is fine. Mostly. Until I catch glimpses of a man who’s had a shitty thing happen to him and is trying to pretend he hasn’t. “I think his main problem at the moment is finding a job.”
“That makes sense. He’s never been great at having nothing to do.” Marty takes a long drink. “I think he’d take anything about now.”
“Exactly.” I frown. “Wait, anything?”
“From what he was saying.”
I hum, wondering whether the job Ford has would class as “anything.” Being an errand boy for the garage wouldn’t be Payne’s first calling.
“What’s that noise?” Marty asks.
“Ford mentioned he was looking for someone again, but I can’t see Payne picking up spare parts and cleaning out car interiors.”
“You could suggest it and let him decide.”
“True …”
Payne’s reliable. And if Ford has been messed around, he’ll be far more likely to hire someone like Payne than some fresh-faced high school graduate.
Who knows? Maybe Payne’ll be so thrilled to have any job, he’ll want to reward the one who gives him the lead.
I indulge the fantasy for all of a second, because I notice Marty watching me again.
“What is it?” I ask.
“You’re different today.”
I shift. “Did some yoga this morning.”
“Hmm … maybe that’s it.”
Silence creeps in, and I know he wants to say something. “All right, out with it.”
He chuckles. “You always know.”
“Because I know you. What do you want to say that I’m going to hate?”
“I have this friend …”
He pauses so I can let out the required groan. Every couple of months, he tries to set me up with someone, and it never ends well. “Why are we doing this again?”
“Because the last date you went on was six months ago. If you didn’t want to find someone, it would be one thing, but you do, and, Beau, my pool of available friends is getting very small.”
I never should have told him I was lonely. “It’s fine. I have Payne now, so there’s always someone around. I don’t need to date.”
“Yeah, but that’s short term. He’s a roommate, not a boyfriend.”
And this is the perfect opening. The moment to tell Marty how I’ve always felt about his brother.
I force a nonchalant tone. “Maybe Payne could be my boyfriend.”
Marty spins suddenly, cutting off my path. “You’re joking, right?”
“O-of course.”
“Thank fuck.” He lets out a long breath and starts walking again. “Imagine if I’d pushed this roommates thing on you while you were hoping for more. He’s not in that place, and I’d feel guilty to see you get hurt. Besides, you two?” Marty laughs. Properly. Out loud. “What a disaster.”
Ouch. “Total disaster.” I think the words hurt more because they’re true.
“The sooner he’s out of there, the better,” Marty says. “I think he needs to be on his own for a bit.”
I disagree. Even though things are shaky and he clearly doesn’t know how to take me, when we do hold down a conversation, he seems to enjoy it. He’s a social person. At least I can give him that.
But he’s already echoed what Marty’s said. He does want to get out on his own again. Selfishly, it’s the last thing I want, and telling him about this job opening could be his foot out the door. Am I going to sabotage myself like that?
Yes. Yes, I am. Because if it makes Payne happy, there’s no way I can stop myself.
