38. Dane

Three days off. Those might be the most beautiful words in the English language.

I chuckled to myself as I drove home from back-to-back twenty-four-hour shifts. While painful and exhausting, working two hard days came with obvious benefits. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a long weekend, as folks with regular day jobs called it.

It was seven fifteen in the morning. I'd bugged out as soon as shift change wrapped, waving goodbye to Burton and Sami while flicking a bird with my other hand to Drew. He was still an arrogant, raging dick who rarely talked about any topic that didn't end with how he was better than anyone at anything. Either the guy really was universally amazing, which became more of an annoying possibility every day I knew him, or he was just a self-centered blow hard who couldn't stand the thought of someone else winning.

What made matters worse with Drew was how fucking hot he was. At night, after we finished cleaning the kitchen and doing our daily laundry, he'd strip off his uniform shirt and strut around in a navy tank top made for a prepubescent teen. I swear his nipples were gonna poke through that thing one day. They were so tiny and hard and … fuck me … perfect. And his chest was full and round. And damn, the stupid shirt hugged his abs like some Lycra thing women wore at the gym to do yoga.

I had good abs. But he was a god.

The guys slept in a long hall with bunk beds, like some college dorm made for six. Fucking Drew strutted around in tighty-whiteys, and his junk looked like it wanted to leap out the elastic band around his impossibly tiny waist. The first time he passed my bunk headed to the bathroom in nothing but undies, with his bouncy balls at the perfect height for ogling, my eyes nearly bugged out.

But as perfectly beautiful as the guy was, he was far too much of a prick to think of in any other terms. Besides, we were coworkers on the same team. There's no way I would ever mess with someone on my crew, even if he was the sun-kissed reincarnation of Adonis himself.

I climbed into my truck and headed to Starbucks, refusing to let the asshole—or his sexy ass—get under my skin. I had three days off and was looking forward to starting them with a tall cup of something frothy and filled with caffeine. That would be followed by a trip to the gym, where that caffeine would fuel a monster pump. I might even pull two-a-days over this break, strut back into the station in beast mode, all swollen and shit. Let Drew suck on that.

Thinking about Drew's perfect pink lips sucking on anything got my dick twitching. I tried to focus on grandmas falling or surgical procedures to keep the flow at bay. I needed this coffee, not a long rest in the car waiting for nature to calm the fuck down.

By the time I climbed down from my driver's seat, the boner had melted into a semi and I was no longer afraid of entering the shop. The bulge in my pants, while no longer chargeable as criminal indecency, was still impressive. If there were any hotties in line, I might get lucky.

At Starbucks. At eight o'clock in the morning.

What was I thinking? I chuckled at my own guy-ness and crab-walked to keep from pinching my swollen balls. Surprisingly, there wasn't a line. I sauntered directly to the counter and scanned the menu mounted on the wall.

The girl behind the counter eyed me up and down, her gaze stalling just below my waistline for an entirely inappropriate amount of time. I approached the counter and she leaned down, planting her elbows on the short shelf and revealing her ample cleavage. She smacked her gum and batted her eyes as though she was an actress in some terrible fifties movie.

"Whatcha have, big boy? I've got a lot you might like."

The innuendo flopped out almost as openly as her breasts. I choked back a gasp. "Uh, thanks, yeah, I think, um, can I just have two shots."

"I've got two shots for ya." She rose and stuck her chest out. I hadn't realized how cold the shop was until I glanced at her nipples. Damn, they were hard.

"Oh, right, um, great. That's two shots of espresso and some of that chocolate, uh, shit. That. Yeah."

Her grin widened, then I heard a teenage-looking boy working beside her snort.

"Chocolate, shots, and shit, coming right up," the guy said, waving an empty plastic container in the air. "What's your name?"

I was so stunned and flustered by that point, "Drew" fell out of my mouth.

"Drew?" the girl said in surprise. "You're the second breathless hottie named Drew this morning."

"Shit, no, I'm Dane, not Drew. Sorry."

She cocked her head.

I zapped my credit card and bumbled my way to a table near the window, as far from the counter as I could get while still being able to see the ledge where the barista set completed orders.

"What's with me?" I muttered, rubbing my face. "Why the fuck would I say my name is Drew? God, that ass has to get out of my head."

"Drew," the barista shouted, raising the cup high before setting it on the ledge.

I rubbed my eyes one last time, then slinked over to the counter, snatched my drink, and wove through the tables to sit in a puffy chair in the back, where Boobs and the boy couldn't see me.

The morning plan wasn't to sit in a coffee shop. I had weights to lift and treadmills to, well, tread on … up … over. Whatever the fuck you did on a treadmill. For some completely irrational reason, I struggled to head toward the exit, as that would take me perilously close to the counter girl, her boobs, and the barista. So, I settled back in the comfy, overstuffed chair tucked behind a half-wall and hidden from the view of almost everyone, and sipped my chocolaty caffeine goodness.

Three sips later, I was bored.

My eyes roamed a nearby bookshelf. Most of the books featured long-haired men showing off their chest and abs. A few had a scantily clad woman draped over a shoulder. One had a twink clinging to a beefy older man, which I thought was kind of hot in an age-gap daddy romance sort of way. An odd assortment of spy thrillers, historical fictions, and a few self-help books were mixed in with all the man chests.

I was fairly certain the weight-loss book filled with coffee-themed recipes was a plant. Some enterprising Starbucks employee must have snuck that one in with all the others just to juice up sales. That was my theory.

Was it odd for a coffee shop to have a shelf with old paperbacks donated by customers? Maybe that was a thing. I wasn't up on things. It was kind of cool, I guess.

I gave the shelves one last scan, took a deep gulp of java, and rested my head against the wall behind the chair. None of the books had spoken to me.

That's when something on a side table caught my eye. A newspaper.

Ever since Alex's arraignment, I'd avoided the news. The last thing I wanted to see was more talk about how bad my friend was, even if he'd gotten into some shady shit.

But I was bored, and staring at man chest book covers could only entertain me for so long, so I picked up the paper and began flipping through its pages.

National news was all about the Trump trial. I wasn't sure which one it was. He had more trials than he'd had wives. He was the Zsa Zsa Gabor of the legal system.

Wait, she had husbands,I thought. Whatever, same difference.

I chuckled and tossed aside the first section. Next was local news—the Metro Section. I snapped the pages so they stood up and looked to the lead story in the upper left.

"Fuck me sideways," I said a little too loud, drawing a curious gaze from the one patron near enough to hear. He looked like a college student, probably gay. He gave me a head bob and an awkward smile. I raised the paper to shield myself from his view.

I wanted to turn the page, to ignore the headline—and especially the byline—but I couldn't. An overwhelming need to see what Patrick had done this time forced my eyes to read on.

"Huh. This is actually pretty good." My treasonous voice sounded impressed.

By the time I finished having to flip to page three to read the second half of his eternal piece, I was truly impressed. Patrick's piece was thoughtful and diligent. He'd done his research and interviewed a ton of people, most of whom weren't decision makers or in positions of great power. He'd reached out to anyone who might shed light on the inner workings of the hospital and given them a voice.

I wanted to hate it, to toss the paper down as if it burned my fingers just holding it, but I couldn't. The story was everything Patrick had said he wanted out of his career. He was writing serious news that impacted real people.

"Good for you, Patty," I said into my coffee before taking a long pull.

Something tugged inside my chest—or tightened, I wasn't sure which. It was uncomfortable and somehow warm at the same time. I pressed my palm to my sternum and tried to make the bubble pop, but the feeling wasn't physical. It wouldn't be shoved aside.

That's when a motion at the door made me glance up, just in time to see Patrick step out of the shop and cross the parking lot. He was wearing a light tan shirt and khaki slacks, looking more like a zookeeper than a reporter. His hair fluttered in the breeze, sandy blond rolling like ocean waves. He stopped to let a car back up, turning to the side just enough for the sun to glint off his glasses, then waved as the car pulled away, flashing a bright smile.

That weird feeling dug into my ribs again. He looked good; happy, even.

"So you have a thing for skinny guys now?"

I jumped up and my coffee flew out of my hand, slamming into the wall beside the chair and splattering across the table and floor. Luckily my iPhone was on the opposite side and the mess didn't make it onto my chair.

When I looked up, my heart stopped. Every hair on my arms leaped to attention, and a ball of panic slammed into my throat. I tried to speak, but only one word croaked out.

"Daniel?"

Standing nearby, safely out of coffee-hurling distance, was the most beautiful man I'd ever known. He wore a loose-fitting tank top, the kind with the stringy shoulders and open sides that showed just enough to be more erotic than if he'd been shirtless. I could see abs, even the little muscles on the side, and the top of the ridges I knew extended across the top of his hips toward his happy place. His Adonis belt, that's what it was called.

Where Drew's godlike locks curled and carried a dirty hue near the roots, this man's hair was pure gold and straight.

And if his body and hair weren't unfair enough, his eyes were the color of Mediterranean beach water in a smooth inlet near a Greek isle. Blue to the depths where souls swam.

For two years, I'd stared into those pools until dreams took us both.

"Hey, D." He smiled down at me. "You okay? I was grabbing a juice before the gym and saw you over here. You looked kind of rattled. You know that guy?"

I hadn't seen Daniel in more than a year. We dated for just over two years. He was my first boyfriend or whatever. I'd never been in love before. I wasn't even sure that's what it was. All I knew was every time I saw him, something ripped the breath out of my chest and no one else in the world existed but him. If he spoke, even one word, it was a spell that captured me completely.

I wasn't a fucking romantic. But Daniel was, and I couldn't stand not seeing him smile. If he wanted to watch a chick flick and chill, that's what we did, and it was the best night ever. If he wanted to climb a mountain or work out, I rode the high. It didn't matter what we did, as long as we were together. I didn't know when it had happened, but he became … everything.

I would've moved the world for that man. And his dog. He had the best dog.

Okay, his dog was a spaz named Gizmo. To anyone else, he was an untrained holy terror, but Daniel loved him, so I loved him too. I might've been the only other person who could calm the little fucker down. With anyone else, he barked like a lunatic and ran zoomies until the intruder left. He made house guests difficult, but we figured it was his house too, so that was fine. Most nights Giz slept stretched out against my back as I held Daniel.

Furry spoon, big spoon, little spoon—we were perfect.

Until we weren't.

I never really got what happened. One day, I wasn't enough, and he walked away. He gave me some bullshit about needing to figure some things out, but I think it was an excuse. He just fell out of love. People did that sometimes, didn't they?

I didn't, but others did, I think.

"What?" I blinked up at his perfect face.

He motioned with his juice bottle toward the parking lot. "That guy, the cute one in the glasses. I asked if you know him. You were staring."

"Oh, yeah, he's a reporter. We met a while back." I felt like I was talking through water, like I was inside a giant aquarium, floating in the tank, and Daniel was standing outside trying to understand what I was saying. Everything was slow and thick—or was that just me?

He smiled with his eyes, a thing that always made me dizzy. "You like him?"

"What? No. Absolutely not. No. Never."

His brows shot up, and his smile reached his lips.

My shoulders slumped. "Maybe I did, but not anymore."

Daniel's phone chirped. He glanced down and read a text. "I've got to run. It was good seeing you, D. Don't be too hard on your reporter. He looks nice, and lord knows you make it hard on a guy."

My mouth opened to say something, anything, but Daniel vanished before my brain caught up. I watched him cross the lot, climb into his Lexus, and drive away.

"Clean-up on aisle four. Seriously, dude?"

The barista's cocked head and scowling face brought me back inside.

My workout sucked.

There was this blondish guy there. I'd never seen him before. Or maybe he'd been there and I just hadn't noticed him. He was adorable but not really my type.

The child couldn't have been older than nineteen, but he was crazy cute. It looked like he'd just found the gym and started to work out because his arms and legs were skinny, and his chest was just starting to fill out. His shirt hung limply across his body, like it was two sizes too large. He wore thick, black-rimmed glasses and had to push them up his sweat-slicked nose after every exercise.

Despite the usual muscle heads strutting around like runway models, I couldn't tear my eyes off the new guy. Something about him was so … enticing. I wanted to grab him and muss his hair then slam him against the gym's exposed brick wall and grip his stringy hair in my fist. I could feel our lips smothering each other, our tongues wrestling and spearing deep. The skin of my chest burned as I imagined our bodies pressed together, slick and grinding, creating friction and heat. I could feel my teeth sink into his neck, hear his moans, feel his body quiver beneath my touch. His hands would encircle, his fingers dig deep, as my cock slid in and out of his tight, clenching hole.

I'd turn to find every guy in the gym leaning against machines or stretched out on benches, their naked bodies writhing as they jerked themselves to our passion. Musk, sweat, and sex would fill the air. Pulsing music, rock hard bass, would throb over the speakers in time with my thrusts.

The groaning chorus of men would echo off the barren walls as blood flowed faster, cocks stiffened, and cum welled in a hundred balls. The boy would work his hips, pumping my cock deeper inside him, milking me hard and long and slow. Music would swell and every man would explode with screams and shouts and wails of pleasure before falling over and gasping for air.

Fuck.

My dick throbbed beneath my shorts. I could barely breathe—or I was out of breath, I wasn't sure. Sweat drenched my tank and poured off my brow. I caught one of the muscle heads staring, his jaw dropped wide, and I realized I was lying flat on the bench press with my erection so tall it could've been a sundial. Pre-cum stained the fabric around my head, a sensuous ring of darkness spreading across my shorts.

I grinned, ignored my audience, and did the next set of presses. My dick twitched as I strained beneath the weight. I groaned and grunted with the effort. The whole thing sounded like Russian porn, and my cock grew even harder as I thought about all the guys who might be watching.

I'd never been watched during sex. The idea sent a thrill through my whole body.

I sat up, my face red and veins pulsing. It seemed the whole world had stopped to watch.

A flash of heat seared my neck. Still, I didn't run to the locker room.

I stood, letting the most delicious cock in the building tent my shorts in its slickened spot for all to see.

I swaggered slowly toward the locker room, like I'd just worked leg day and could barely walk. My head was high, stacked chest stuck out, and fabric-straining cock leading the way.

When I got into the locker room, I stripped down, leaving my clothes in a pile next to my locker. I glanced down and grinned. My dick was fucking awesome, thick and long and ridiculously hard. Pre-cum pearled in the slit. I was so fucking horny. I wanted to grab it and jerk myself right there.

A locker slammed. I whirled around.

The kid was three lockers down. He was standing there, stark naked, and just as hard as I was.

His body was lean, as I expected, but his abs … I hadn't seen them coming. They were so deeply etched across his stomach that shadows formed between them beneath the room's florescent lights. He had a tiny, tasty trail of sandy brown hair starting just above his outie and descending to a thick bush of perfect pubes. I didn't mean to stare, but I couldn't stop myself. He was everything I'd imagined in my daydream; even more.

He reached down and teased his head with a finger, scooping up a tiny dribble and lifting it to his lips. His pink tongue appeared and slowly—achingly—lapped it up.

I thought I might come just watching him.

His eyes locked onto mine, and I swear my dick twitched. My heart thudded. Blood raged through me like an overflowing river.

The guy cocked one brow, touched his dick again, then turned and strode into the sauna.

His ass was round and dusted with the same hair as his stomach. It was firm and plump and so ready to be grabbed and …

Fuck.

Patrick flashed before me. I saw his butt, rounder and fuller than the kid's. I saw his smile and his stupid glasses and his tiny nipples. I tried to shake the image free, to focus on the boy before me, the one who clearly wanted everything I had to offer, but my brain refused to listen.

All I could do was think about Patrick. He was all I could see.

Angry, frustrated, and more than a little confused, I opened my locker, threw on some clothes, and bolted from the gym.