Chapter 8

During our teens, Juan and I worked our assess off for his uncle, learning the ins and outs of every aspect of the construction business. I'd loved everything about it, and Juan had quite literally been born to it. So we'd both rebelled a bit when Tío Carlos had told us in no uncertain terms that we would both be going to college after we graduated high school instead of joining one of his crews full time.

He'd shut our bitching down fast, telling us flat out that we had two options, either go to college and get business degrees, or go to college and get business degrees.

We chose to get our damn business degrees… and Carlos signed the business over to us when we graduated, happily "retiring" even though it was another ten years before we got him to stop coming in to the office every day.

It also took about that long for us to shift our focus from residential construction to commercial, and to grow the company to the point that we felt like we didn't have to go in every day.

Until we were doing… really fucking well, actually.

At which point, we each built our dream home—Juan's near his family, down in Woodburn, and mine a bit closer, in Lake Oswego. But somehow, I hadn't realized until Owen followed me through my front door, his arms laden down with a brand new fluffy dog bed and some other essentials we'd been able to purchase from the vet's office and mine full of a beagle with more stitches than fur, two legs in casts, and her third and final remaining leg twitching in her medically assisted sleep, that I realized the dream "home" I'd built for myself hadn't been that at all.

It had just been a house. A really nice house. But nothing more than that.

It hadn't actually felt like a home until he was here, too.

"I'm so fucked," I whispered to the little beagle, chuckling softly to myself as I watched Owen fuss with getting the dog bed set up to his satisfaction. He was… fucking adorable. All big golden eyes and messy chestnut hair that I had to almost physically restrain myself from running my fingers through. As sweet on the outside as I already knew he was on the inside, and I wanted nothing more in life than to keep him.

"Is that okay?" he finally asked, turning to me a little anxiously.

"Perfect, baby," I said, drinking in the pretty sight of his flushed cheek and swollen, puffy lower lip.

If he were truly mine, I'd get on him about not chewing on it so much, but for the first time in longer than I could remember, I wasn't sure how to navigate our…

Friendship?

Relationship?

I'd left the club with a newfound certainty that all I needed in my life was him, and that I'd happily take him any way I could get him, which I assumed meant completely platonically.

But then I'd seen him and instinctively pulled him into my arms when he'd broken down about the dog, not just wanting him there but needing him there, and he'd…

Christ. He'd fucking melted.

Fit there like he shouldn't ever be anywhere else.

And crumbled the solid "hands-off" foundation that I'd built my whole story on, the story about what we could and could not be to each other, into dust.

But that's all it was right now. A story, and all mine. I had no idea what he wanted, and knew for sure this wasn't the time to ask. This was the time to set my own wants and needs aside, and simply take care of him.

I helped him get the dog settled, and it was only once he'd fussed over her for a good ten minutes, making sure she was comfortable and everything needed to care for her during her recovery was at hand, that he finally seemed to actually take note of his surroundings.

"Oh," he said, blinking as he looked around the guest room I'd directed him to set up the dog bed in. "This is really nice. Is it, um, your room?"

"No, sweetheart," I said, shoving my hands into my pockets to keep from reaching for him. "It's yours."

His eyes went wide, and I quickly corrected myself.

"For the night." I smiled, my heart racing in a way I wasn't used to. "If you still want to stay, that is?"

He blushed. "Oh, um, yeah? I mean, if you don't mind?"

He peeked up at me through the kind of lush, gorgeous lashes my mother paid good money to get at the salon every month, with a hopeful-but-nervous look that dug its way right into my heart.

Christ. If he got any sweeter, I was going to eat him… a thought I definitely needed to avoid having, because the last thing the boy—the straight boy—needed, was to see how much he affected me and feel any kind of pressure about it.

I slid my hands out of my pockets and casually let them hang in front of my cock, willing it to calm the fuck down.

"Of course I don't mind," I said. "But I do have other guest rooms if you'd like. I just figured you'd want to be closer to her tonight."

A smile spread across his face, lighting it up until it was almost blinding. "Oh! Yes? I mean, I do. Thank you. That was really nice of you to think about."

I bit my tongue to stop myself from admitting that I was always thinking about him.

It was more true than I'd let myself acknowledge before tonight, but probably too much.

Instead, I offered to give him a quick tour of the house, hoping that he'd take my offer to make himself at home there to heart, and then brought him to the kitchen when his stomach growled.

"Sorry," he said, blushing again.

"Did you have dinner?" I asked, seating him on one of the tall stools at my breakfast counter and then opening the fridge to see what I could whip up.

"Yes, Daddy. Um, ramen?"

Heat tumbled down my spine, just like it had every other time I'd heard him call me that. But I ignored it to focus on the rest of what he'd said.

"Ramen? Like a good, hearty bowl from an actual restaurant, or a packet you tossed in water at home?"

"Um, the second one," he mumbled, squirming a little on his seat. "But I'm fine?"

I laughed, pulling some things from the fridge and laying them out on the counter. "Is that a question, baby boy?"

He blushed again, shaking his head. Fucking adorable.

And then he bit that lip of his, looking at me like he was waiting for me to take charge and tell him what came next.

So I did, reaching down and subtly adjusting myself where the height of the counter shielded my reaction to him.

"Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to make you a sandwich, then find you something to wear for bed, and then we'll both check on the pup, and you'll get some sleep, okay?"

"Okay," he said, his shoulders relaxing as the word got lost in a huge yawn that had his cheeks flushing pink again. "Um, sorry," he mumbled from behind his hand.

"Nothing to be sorry about. It's the middle of the night. Of course you're tired."

"Yeah, but…"

I lifted my eyebrows, and he shrugged.

"Um, I don't know. I just feel like I'm imposing? You don't have to feed me."

I grinned at him. "You're not, and I do."

He opened his mouth like he was going to argue that, and I held up a hand to stop him.

"Daddy's rules."

"Oh," he said, biting his lip as he looked down and squirmed again… but this time, it looked like he was trying not to smile, not nibbling on it from nerves.

I plated his sandwich, rinsed my hands, and tipped up his chin. "If you want something different, I need you to tell me, but otherwise, just let me take care of you tonight, okay?"

"Okay," he whispered, subtly leaning into my hand before he blushed again and straightened up like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. Then his eyes snagged on the green bracelet I was still wearing from the club. "What's that?"

"Eat," I said, my pulse ticking up again as I twisted it on my wrist, tempted to ignore the question.

Not that I had any shame over my lifestyle and interests, but it suddenly felt… wrong to tell my boy that I'd been at a club to try and find another boy for the night when he'd messaged me.

But it felt even more wrong to lie to him, so I got over myself and answered.

"Are you familiar with Sweet Abrasion, baby boy?"

He shook his head, his eyes wide and cheeks full as he chewed.

I cleared my throat. "It's, ah, a kink club that I belong to."

He stopped chewing, his eyes getting even wider.

"Juan and I were there tonight when you called, and this—" I held up my wrist, "—is something they ask us to wear to identify our intentions for the night."

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing and his eyes still ringed in all white.

"Intentions? Um, what do you mean? Is it like, um, like a… sex club?"

I would have found the way his voice dropped to a shy, nervous whisper with those last two words completely adorable if some part of me hadn't felt tense with the kind of nerves I hadn't felt in years.

No, he wasn't going to be mine. Not that way. And yet… I didn't want to scare him off.

No, that wasn't it.

I didn't know what it was.

I rubbed my chest, but forced a calm, confident smile on my face. "Yes, baby. Sex sometimes happens there, along with other things. And sometimes people go to participate in those things, and sometimes they just go to spend time with friends. The bracelets let people know at a glance if someone is there to play or not on any particular night." I cleared my throat. "To, ah, participate."

"Play, like, you mean have sex? And… and do, um, other kinky things?"

"That's right."

"Oh."

He picked up his sandwich and took another bite, and I'd never felt so fucking lost in my life.

Then he put it back down and asked, "And that's what I interrupted tonight, when I messaged you?"

I scrubbed my fingers back through my hair. "Well, I was there, yes, but I don't feel like it was an interruption. If you ever need me, there's nowhere else I want to be."

He blushed again, smiling a little, but then his eyes drifted back to my bracelet. "And how does that let people know what you want?"

I looked down at it too, clearing my throat again. "Well, they're color-coded, sweetheart."

He nodded. Took another bite. Glanced at my bracelet again, then back down at his sandwich.

Then he finally looked up, chewing on his lip again. "What does green mean?"