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Chapter 4

Trace Kalecki

Thank fuck. He hadn’t taken off.

“There you are.” Relief filled me, and I checked—oh damn. He’d already made sure the door couldn’t shut us out. But seriously, that icy pile of snow looked like he’d worked hard on it! “You made a doorstop outta snow. Who the fuck are you, man?” I grinned and dug into my pocket for a lighter. “I wonder what else you could do around here. There’s a big crack in the bartop—probably three feet long. It’s a bitch to get clean. Got any solution?”

I lit the smoke and coughed on the first drag. Shit. It’d been a minute.

“I don’t know if you’re serious or just rambling because you’ve had a few, so I’ll refrain from responding,” he answered. “Is this the best time to pick up a new habit?”

I waved him off and stopped at the first step. “I only smoke when the stars align.” I ticked three things off my fingers. “When I’m doing shots and the Hawks are losing and someone lets me bum one.”

Ben’s mouth twitched with mirth, and he looked down and scuffed snow off his boot against the stoop. “You and I are alike in some ways. I used to do that too. For me, it was only during football season, only if all the bills were paid, and only when I was drinking.”

I grinned and blew out some smoke.

That made perfect sense to me.

“Are we still down by four?” He jerked his chin at the door.

I puffed out a breath, and it misted in the cold. So far, it just felt good. Shit got sweaty in there. “It was when I left, but it could be five—hell, why not six or seven? Only fuckin’ thing we’re rakin’ in is minutes in the box.”

“Mm.” He dipped his chin and held out two fingers for my smoke.

I smirked and handed it to him. “Football season is over.”

He grinned faintly and took a drag. “Not for the Chiefs and…whoever the fuck they’re facing this year.”

I sucked my teeth. I didn’t wanna talk about it. Bad enough we were fully booked and had to show the nonsense on all screens in a few weeks.

“Speaking of not that, the realignment notwithstanding—who do you see as our biggest rivals?” I asked. “For the Hawks, I mean.”

He returned the smoke to me and grew pensive.

It was as if every little fucking thing he did was sexy. Even how he blew out smoke.

I was a head case.

“The short answer is Detroit,” he said. “That’s not an opinion—it’s a fact.”

I chuckled and rolled my eyes. He thought I didn’t know? But that era was history.

“With that said…” he went on. His gaze followed me as I took a pull from the smoke. “Some of my favorite memories are from when we had our rivalry with the Canucks.” Aw fuck yeah, those were good times. Ben grinned a little. “They got PTSD just from hearing ‘Chelsea Dagger.’”

I let out a laugh. Too fucking true. “We went to a lot of games in those days,” I admitted. “My old man took me—said he wanted me to see it live whenever we beat those freckled fuckin’ Swede twins. In his words.”

Ben laughed softly. “Ah, the twin sisters. They were annoyingly good.”

Right. The trash talk back then was something else. I smiled and shook my head, so many fond memories rushing back. Each one kinda made me miss Dad.

Fucking Florida.

I took another drag and let out a long breath as I peered up at the night sky.

Aside from missing my dad, I was more and more determined to ask Ben to stick around. I really liked him. We couldn’t afford another employee right now, but it was only a matter of time. Adam and his family went back to California in a few days, and Sandy’s wife was pregnant. Said wife was also the main breadwinner, so it wouldn’t shock me if Sandy took paternity leave.

Ben would probably make a good addition in both the kitchen and behind the bar.

I shivered as a wind blew past, and I threw the smoke down into the snow-covered pot next to the stoop.

I cleared my throat and folded my arms loosely over my chest. The only reason I stayed outside now was because I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want alone time with Ben.

We had an hour until the place closed, and then cleanup, which took another hour.

Maybe I could dig a little.

“You ready to go back in?”

Uh, no. But he was freezing. I supposed I could dig when we mopped the floors later, so I nodded. The cold had sobered me up, and we’d see if that was good or bad.

* * *

I was always eager for the last customers to get the fuck out.

Tonight, I was also eager for the staff to go home. I played it off with expert-level bullshit. Oh no, Tonya, you gotta catch that train. Sandy, go home right now because you’re on early tomorrow. Jamaal, you too. One by one, they trickled out. All the workstations were clean and the tables had been wiped down, so we just had the mopping left. Which meant we had to put the chairs upside down on the tables first.

My stomach snarled and tightened, reminding me we hadn’t eaten since…fuck, five thirty? Thereabouts?

“I’m hungry,” I said. “You wanna split some leftovers with me?”

He nodded and flipped one more barstool upside down on top of the bar. “I could eat.”

We headed out to the kitchen, and I went to the staff fridge where Petey and Julie always stored our leftovers. Container after container, labeled in Julie’s neat script. Cheesy bread, pizza soup, some wings… Fuck yeah, this was gonna be good. Our budget options for pop too. I was a Crush fan, and Ben took a Pepsi.

I brought everything to the nearest stovetop and pulled out two pans and a small pot.

So…I should start off easy, right? To feel him out?

“Can you tell me about your son?” I asked.

Okay, I didn’t fucking know which topics were safe or easy.

Ben pretended to be interested in opening his pop, but he didn’t look too bothered. “I’d hate to remind you of your ex, so I better answer.” His slight smirk put me at ease. Banter was good. “His name is Alvin.” The humor faded, and his expression turned wistful. “From the moment he was born, he’s been the light of my life.”

I kept him in my periphery as I started preparing the food.

“Unfortunately, it, uh… Things haven’t been easy,” he said. “By the time he was three, we knew he was different. If we pulled him away from something he was engrossed in, he screamed himself into a full-blown panic attack. He was very late to learn to speak, and his developments came in rapid bursts. Like… Okay, so when he started speaking. He went from absolutely nothing to…fuck, being able to carry on conversations with adults within the span of a year. And then nothing again for a couple years.”

“Damn.” I didn’t know what else to say.

He nodded minutely and set his drink on the counter. “After endless screenings and a string of doctors and psychiatrists who came and went, we learned he was autistic, and he, uh…” He made a gesture, as if he couldn’t find the right word. “Lindsey was the one who learned all those terms and shit I never understood, but in short, he has brain damage—he was born with it. At least, everyone agrees that’s the most likely event. It was a difficult birth, and they had to do an emergency C-section because he wasn’t getting oxygen.”

I had not started him off with something easy. Mother of Christ.

I felt stupid for distracting myself with the food, but we had to eat, and honestly, I didn’t know how to act. If I stopped moving around, I’d open my big fucking mouth and say something that made shit awkward. And I wanted to keep him talking.

“He’s happy today,” he said. “As long as we don’t mess with his structure, he’s a very happy young man. He just can’t manage on his own.”

Now I had to ask, because though I remembered the talk about the divorce, how it was several years ago, and then that Lindsey had died… Either way, I had this vision in my head that the kid was young.

“How old is he?”

“Eighteen.”

Shit.

Ben retrieved his wallet and smiled a little to himself. “It probably makes me the shittiest dad on the planet, but a big part of me is relieved his developing slowed down as a young teenager. In my eyes, it’s easier for him to go through life if he gets to keep being carefree and…you know, a kid. I don’t know.” He dug out a tattered photo from one of the pockets. “He never reached that mental age where self-awareness makes you think there’s something wrong. He knows he’s different, and he hates his anxiety, but some of the young people I’ve met over the years—” He shook his head. “Too many teenagers struggle with depression and loneliness because of their disorders and the alienation that often comes with them.”

He showed me the picture, and I wasn’t sure what I’d expected to see, but it wasn’t that. I mean, I could see the kid was older than what he came off as, standing there next to Ben with a big grin, both wearing matching Bulls tees. Alvin was significantly shorter than his old man, though I could clearly see the resemblance. Alvin’s features were just…softer and way, way younger. He wore glasses too.

“That was last year,” Ben said.

I lifted my brows. Okay, damn. I would’ve guessed thirteen or fourteen, maybe.

He pocketed the photo and his wallet again, and I didn’t know how to ask. ’Cause I knew shit like this was always sensitive. Tina and Scottie—one of their daughters had bipolar, and that whole world had its own language. I didn’t wanna offend anyone by putting my foot in my mouth, but in the end, I also wanted to understand.

After putting a lid on the wings and lowering the heat, I straightened and rubbed the back of my neck. “So, I don’t know if I’m using the right terms, but brain damage can stunt growth, or what?”

“It depends on the damage, but yes.” He nodded. “Now, Lindsey was very short, and her DNA is in there too. I don’t know where that ends and the birth defects begin, but it has to do with the regulation of the growth hormone.” He scratched his jaw and looked like he was trying to remember something. “Sometimes, I wish Lindsey were still with us—for other reasons than she was simply a great mother to Alvin. But all these diagnoses… Whoosh.” He made a gesture, how things went in one ear and out the other.

It made me smile.

He didn’t sound like a shitty dad to me. He wanted to protect his son from thinking there was something wrong with the way he was, and I told Ben as much.

He shrugged a little and picked up his pop again. “I do what I can, but the wrong parent got leukemia.”

I winced.

Fuck.

The way he said that—he really meant it.

I swallowed a bout of discomfort that was stuck in my throat, and I stirred the soup.

What a fucking idiot I’d been for even thinking about banging one out with this man. It was laughable. Hookups had to be the last thing on his mind.

“Did I quench your curiosity this time?”

I glanced over at him, finding him smiling faintly.

Funny, I didn’t feel like smiling at all.

“No. I have more questions. Sorry.”

He snorted softly and leaned back against the counter. “Figures.” He watched me put the cheesy bread into the pan with the wings. “Interesting reheating technique.”

“Trust,” I said. I knew what I was doing. I had half a stick of butter in there too. I’d take the bread out when it was soft and warm, and then I’d sear the wings for a minute or so. Perfection every time. “So where’s Alvin now?”

He paused, about to take a swig of his drink. “With my mother.”

Oh.

Let me guess, out in Elmwood Park.

“And you can’t stay with them,” I said. I didn’t wanna ask or assume. People’s living situations… They all had their reasons for why they could or couldn’t take someone in.

Ben shook his head and drank from his pop. “If you don’t mind, I’ll save that story for another day.”

Oh, but I did fucking mind, and it was starting to frustrate the shit out of me. Why did I care so much about this dude?

“Another day sounds good.” Technically not a lie, because I was holding on to the another-day part.

Chances were, he wanted to create better living arrangements for himself and his son, maybe his mother too, and he needed a job for that. So maybe he’d be interested in staying here. He could look for jobs, knowing he had a bed to come back to at the end of the day, and when we were ready to hire, he could work here.

“What about you?” he asked. “What’s your life story?”

Yeah, we weren’t going there.

“I don’t have one.”

“Everyone has a story, Trace.”

Mine was classified.

Perhaps that was a stretch. I didn’t have much of a story, but I had two years of my life that still haunted me. That was enough.

I could easily gloss over that time in my life, though.

“Your whole family must have an interesting story,” Ben noted. “According to your sign outside, you opened in the late 1800s.”

I inclined my head and grabbed two bowls to pour the soup. “We managed to document that story pretty well,” I conceded. “My ancestor’s family scraped together enough money that he could leave Ireland during the famine. He got settled in Chicago and worked at a lumberyard to send money home. Some of them eventually followed, but I’m sure a smart cookie like you can guess what happened next.”

He scratched his forehead. “The famine was what, mid-1800s? So I’m assuming the fire.”

Bingo.

“Everything he’d worked for was destroyed,” I said, plating the cheesy bread. I cranked up the heat next, to get the wings back in shape. “He had no home, no job, no money. Then one day—and I don’t know if this is true or just legendary bullshit, but…whatever. He was walking around this area right here, and the owner of a restaurant barged out, grabbed hold of John—that was his name—and spat out, ‘You take it. Take my wife too! I’m done!’ And he stormed off.”

Ben laughed through his nose.

I shrugged. “So John had himself a gander, ya know. Fuck details, I guess,” I chuckled. “I don’t know how it played out, but he opened The Clover in 1896.” I lifted the pan and dumped the wings on our plates too. “Some years later, they started building the Dearborn Station, and John had to move the establishment a few blocks. He found this place through a friend who owned the building—same family that owns it today, actually—though, it was split in two back then. There was a small publishing house next door.” I reached for the wing sauce. “John added Dearborn to the name, and nothing new happened until my grandmother took over. The publishing house was shutting down, so she and her sisters decided to expand.” Holding up our plates and the wing sauce, I finished with a good, “The end. Take our soup and drinks.”

I’d amused him, at least.

“Riveting story that left you out completely.”

I mean…not really. “Their story is mine. When my folks retired last fall, it was my turn.”

“You may still be wet behind the ears, kid, but you didn’t start living last year. There’s more to you than the family sports bar.”

The fuck? Wet behind the…? Get the fuck out.

But fine. I could give him the same CliffsNotes he’d given me earlier. “All right. Up until I started kindergarten, we lived in a one-bedroom in Irving Park. According to Ma, they were the worst years of her life because we had virtually no space, and my sister and I were at each other’s throats all day long. She’s a year younger.” I set the food on the bar where we hadn’t put up the stools yet, and I grabbed us spoons and napkins before I took a seat. “Then we moved to a Sox stronghold, Bridgeport, and Sarah and I showed Ma that space wasn’t the issue. It was us.”

Ben chuckled and sat down next to me.

“It was just a regular upbringing,” I said and shrugged. “Money was tight because Dad invested most of it in this place, but it kept us afloat. And you know…teenage years came, teenage years went. I had my usual rebellious years, when the last thing I wanted to do was follow in my old man’s footsteps.” I broke off a piece of buttery cheesy bread and crammed it into my mouth. “For a minute, I thought I was gonna join the Army, but I managed to piss off two recruiters, and I was advised to pick something else. So I decided to become a cop, which, in retrospect, I chose partly to rebel against myself too. I’m not what one might call a stickler for rules.”

I liked the smile that reflected in his eyes. That was my favorite.

“I can’t picture you as a cop,” he admitted.

“Neither could the police academy that kicked me out,” I replied. I’d been a mouthy shit.

Ben rumbled a laugh as he tucked into his soup.

There wasn’t the slightest indication I’d skipped over something important. “In the end…here I am. I did find my happy medium with authority and structure—I became a self-defense instructor. That’s come in handy. I’ve taught some classes too, primarily to women and at-risk teenagers. But otherwise, this is it.” I gave the bar a glance. “Irving Park and Bridgeport don’t matter in the end. I have more memories from running around here with my sister.” I nodded toward the main entrance. “We’d always steal mints from the host’s desk.”

I doused my wings in sauce before I got my hands dirty. Fucking perfect. The best wing sauce out there. It had enough of a kick to set your lips on fire.

“It’s easy to see that the bar is a family member.” Ben dipped the bread in the soup. “I’m sure it’s equal parts love and headaches.”

Damn fucking right.

I side-eyed him and chewed what was in my mouth. “You know what it’s like. You had your business.”

“Hardly since 1896,” he chuckled, though it sounded hollow. I got it. It hurt to lose something you’d built up.

“You cut yourself off earlier,” I said. “You were gonna say something about your brother-in-law—about your business. Then you said it didn’t matter, but I’m guessing it does.”

His face was blank as he poured some sauce over his wings too. “He fucked us over.”

I had a feeling.

He blew out a breath. “Long story short, I had to pick up the pieces of fucking nothing, and he went to prison for money laundering and embezzlement.”

Jesus fuck.

I shook my head and licked sauce from the corner of my mouth. “World’s full of fucking scum, man. That sucks.”

He hummed around a mouthful of food. “There are some bright spots, though.”

The way he eyed me there for a sec made me so certain he was implying that I was a bright spot, and I had zero tact. I gobbled that shit up with a sauce-drenched grin and kicked at his stool.

“Get outta here, you sweet dingbat. You’re talking about me.”

He laughed and threw a napkin at my face. “I was clearly referring to my son.”

Fuck that! He was lying. I was a bright spot.

* * *

After we’d eaten, I couldn’t postpone cleanup any longer. Luckily, my second attempt at approaching the topic of Ben possibly working here one day was more successful. As we worked on clearing the floor of all the chairs, I told him about my hope to find an Adam 2.0 in the near future.

“I held out hope that they’d eventually settle here in the city, but I’ve lost them to California,” I said.

“Fucking California,” Ben muttered.

A man after my own heart.

But that wasn’t the point. “Anyway…I hope this spring, I’ll be able to hire someone full time.”

“What about Jamaal?”

What about you, you slow fuck?

“He’d be great at it,” I replied honestly. “But he’s been talking about going back to school.” I went over to the last table and flipped those chairs too. “That’s the problem with the younger staff. Jamaal’s an exception—he’s my age. But usually, it’s the college students. They don’t stick around for long. Or they only wanna pick up shifts on breaks and whatnot. Which I get. I get it. I just need more stability for the staff that has responsibilities that go beyond showing up and taking orders.”

“Makes sense.”

I was learning to read him. When he grew pensive like that, he was mulling something over, and then maybe he’d propose a suggestion…or get a fucking clue. He could apply for a job as a plumber up in fucking Skokie but not even consider working in a sports bar? Maybe the hourly pay wasn’t much to write home about, though we made sure it was above average, but we did well on tips in this joint.

It was highly possible that I was the poorest fucker working here, not counting the waitstaff. Wasn’t that always the case with business owners on the small side? We couldn’t skimp on anything when we hired people, because nobody would apply for the jobs. We got the scraps, and the month dictated everything. The seasons mattered as well. Football season was good, and it was a combination of the fans and the weather. The beginning of the hockey season too, when fans still held out hope. Hope made us generous.

Summers were terrible unless it was a game day—or they used to be. We’d become creative with themed nights, pub quizzes, and throwback Thursdays when we showed old games. But even then, most didn’t wanna spend their nights in a dark sports bar when they could be at the lake or whatever the fuck they did on vacation.

With all the chairs flipped, I went to grab us the mops and buckets, and by the time I came back, I noticed Ben had cleared our dinner spot. And he was inspecting the crack in the wooden top.

“You weren’t kidding about this.”

“There’s another one farther down.” I pointed toward the other end of the bar. “Some of the booths need fixin’ up too, but I could only afford new padding last time we worked on upgrades.”

Having mopped these floors more times than I could count, I worked on autopilot, starting with the dining section farthest away. Up to code, down with rats, my ma liked to say. It was why we never turned off the lights until the whole place smelled of the degreaser we used.

“Hey, the curious kid has another question,” I said.

He was on his way over with the other mop. “I can’t wait for this. What is it?”

I grinned to myself and maneuvered the mop under the table of a booth. “Were your folks happy?”

“With each other, or in general?”

“Uh, each other.”

“No.”

Christ. “In general?”

“Not that either.”

I cracked up. Then why the fuck did he need the distinction?

I caught him smirking to himself as he got started in the next section.

“Okay, I exaggerated a bit,” he admitted with a chuckle. “Ma’s happier these days. She’s a natural worrier, bordering on neurotic, but she’s happy. It started around the time my dad kicked the bucket.”

I spied a correlation.

“Why?” he asked.

I shrugged and dunked the mop in the bucket. “I’ve been thinking about my folks lately—since they retired and abandoned me.”

“Lemme go find a tiny violin.”

I flipped him off, unable to shake the grin. And it was bad. Because it made me think of something my dad had said once, right on the topic I’d just begun this conversation. I’d been…thirteen? Fourteen? It was just before I’d come out to my folks, and I’d crafted a lie about a made-up girlfriend I’d proclaimed my love for. Dad had smacked me upside the head with the newspaper and told me I didn’t know shit about love.

My regular response back then had been, “What the fuck do you know, Dad?!”

“What do I know? Oh, I’ll tell you. Sit your ass down.”

I blew out a breath.

“Lemme ask you this. Do you feel like everyone else can just fuck off? When you’re alone with this…person…do you feel like nothing else matters in the world? There’s no other place you’d rather be?”

I’d nodded like an idiot, completely missing the hint. He’d already suspected I was gay.

“Yeah, well. That ain’t love, boy. That’s a silly crush. It’s called attraction. It makes you wanna shut everybody out and keep the high to yourself. Love, on the other hand…? Love is something you wanna share with the whole fucking world. Now, go get me another beer.”

I let out a chuckle through my nose and shook my head. “My parents are happy,” I said quietly. Fuck. Time to backtrack. Man, had I spiraled. I wiped my cheek off my shoulder and cranked up the dismissiveness. “But I was just thinking about it because Ma’s the romantic who isn’t afraid to show it, while Dad’s, you know. Not. But I have a handful of sayings that’ve rubbed off on me over the years, and it hit me that all of Ma’s shit is about cleaning and hygiene. Dad, on the other hand, has, in his drunken wisdom, taught me all about love.”

“This gotta be good,” Ben chuckled.

It hadn’t been my intention to actually share what my old man had said. I’d been rambling. I didn’t know why. I was feeling chatty. Someone shut me up. What a great finale it would be now to share Ma’s “up to code, down with rats” quote.

I rolled my eyes at myself and moved on to the next table. “I’m way too sober for love quotes. Let’s focus on degreasing the floor.”

“The hell…? You build up this big thing, and then you rip out the last chapter?”

I threw him a smirk over my shoulder. “How’s that for a bright spot?”

That earned me an eye roll. “You’re somethin’, all right.”

So was he.

Like a silly fucking crush.

There was no other place I wanted to be.

* * *

Okay, here was the deal. If I could just get railed by him, this little obsession would go away. I was 100% sure. I needed one night, maybe two or three rounds of brutal, sweaty, hard fucking with zero foreplay, just slam right in there, tear up my ass until I taste him at the back of my throat.

Was that too much to ask?

Hey, Ben, if you could just do me a solid and…

I suppressed a sigh and led the way upstairs to my apartment.

He was undoubtedly dead on his feet and itching to get some sleep. He’d asked if he could take a shower, and of course he could. Then I’d leave him alone. I was gonna watch TV and eat pretzel sticks.

Ben yawned as I dug out my keys, and he stretched his arms over his head.

Fuck TV; I could watch him instead.

Hey, you wanna fuck?

Or maybe you just deep-throat me a little?

I wasn’t picky at this moment. I was clearly fucking desperate.

I unlocked the door and let him enter first.

What bothered me—well, one of the things—was that it evidently had to be him. I had no desire to go on one of my apps. But something had to give. I needed to get laid.

“Are you showering too?” he asked.

With you?

“Yeah, but you go first. I’m gonna cue up a movie to fall asleep to and find pretzel sticks and Nutella.”

He stopped short and turned around, and he gave me a strange look.

“What?” I asked. “It’s delicious.”

“Together?”

Holy fuck. He’d never tried pretzel sticks dipped in Nutella? The fuck was wrong with him?

All right, new plan. I gestured for him to follow me to the kitchen, where I found both items in my snack cupboard.

“Did I just see four jars of Nutella in there?” he asked.

“I had a coupon.” I shrugged and ripped the gold foil off the Nutella. Then I opened a new bag of pretzel sticks, dragged one gently through the chocolaty goodness, and offered it to him.

He eyed it skeptically but didn’t stall or anything. He stuck it into his mouth and chewed.

It was a funny sight. And sexy, but that went without saying. His expression changed, the skepticism morphing into mild disbelief, then softening into a “Huh.” But he wasn’t done. His gaze found mine, and I saw the stubbornness coming from a mile away. Jaw set, eyes narrowed, he headed for the doorway.

“You’re a fuckin’ terrible influence, Trace,” he muttered. Still not done. He came to an abrupt stop while I was failing to withhold my laughter, and he came back. “I’d like one more.”

You can have as many as you want, honey.

I dragged two of them through the Nutella and extended them to him, and then he was gone, stalking toward the bathroom.

“Just admit I’m right!” I called, following him. I treated myself to a couple dipped pretzel sticks on the way, thinking about Ben’s stick and how I could get that dipped too.

He’d left the bathroom door open. “I’ve discovered that every time I say something nice to you, you use it against me. So congrats. You’re forever a jackass, kid.”

I love the way we banter. We should keep doing it.

I came to a stop when I spotted him shedding his clothes in front of the shower. There was no forgetting his immodesty last night, but this time…I didn’t look away. I forced myself to remain casual; this was nothing weird. We were just shooting the shit as he got ready to shower. He couldn’t be too bothered if he left the door open. We might as well be in the showers at a gym. Right?

“Every time?” I questioned. “You subtly imply I’m a bright spot. I only figured that out because I’m a genius. Have you said anything else?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “A genius would know.”

I sucked my teeth.

And then…he dropped his boxer briefs, so I dropped my vocabulary.

What were words?

Just like yesterday, he was completely unfazed. He stepped into the shower and didn’t even wait for the water to warm up properly. Which…could have something to do with his being used to communal showers.

I ducked my gaze for a moment, feeling like a moron, just not enough to leave. Instead, I hopped up to sit on the long counter and eat pretzel sticks.

Well…I kinda forgot about the eating part when he began soaping up.

I had to do something, say something, unless I wanted to be the perv who just stared.

What a perfect fucking ass, though. His whole body. His thighs. The man had calf game too. He was stocky in the hottest way. Plain solid.

“So, uh…” Do you wanna fuck? “Are you looking forward to baseball season?”

Only two months and change to go!

I was so smooth.

He glanced at me over his shoulder for a second, before he closed his eyes and soaped up his face too. “Sure. More twins to hate.”

“And tigers,” I pointed out.

“And the Indians,” he muttered.

“We say Native Americans today, you know.” Last I’d heard, the team was changing their name.

He laughed and stepped under the spray.

I smiled. “Not a Cleveland fan, I take it?”

“Who the fuck is, Trace?”

He had a point.

Fuck Cleveland.

Also, fuck the teams the Sox faced. I cared more about the Cubs’ rivalries.

I could go on. Fuck him for not turning around when he washed his junk.

Fuck the Sox.

Fuck me. I finally got a glimpse and?—

“All right, I’m clean.”

“You sure?” Fuck, the words left me before I could stop them.

In my defense, he was plenty dirty from where I was sitting.

“Zestfully so. Your turn.”

Zest what?

“By the way, you should get one of those shower-glass wipers,” he told me, opening the shower door. “The longer you let limescale and calcium buildup stick to the glass, the harder it is to clean off.”

I scratched my forehead. He sounded like Ma now. She was always bitching about hard water.

“I’ll get right on that.” I jumped off the counter and hauled my tee over my head. I threw it into the laundry basket before I shed my socks, jeans, and boxer briefs too.

He side-eyed me as he wrapped a towel around his hips but was way quicker to avert his gaze when I came closer. Me, on the other hand—I was done looking away.

I closed the glass door and turned on the water again.

The hot water loosened some tension in my shoulders, and I hung my head and just relaxed.

Ben started brushing his teeth and retrieved the first aid kit, presumably to redress his wound.

My brain kept shouting at me—the man was more focused on the future and his situation than anything else, but I was past the point of no return. I couldn’t shut off the selfish, greedy, horny little fucker in me who only wanted to know if he was watching me in the mirror.

I took a step back from the rush of hot water and began lathering up. But even when I let the selfish part of me take the wheel, I wondered if there was anything else I could do for him. I’d been clear that he was welcome to stay; we always needed help for the soup kitchen, and that wasn’t reserved just for serving and cleaning up. I always had flyers that came in handy, usually polite pleas that I took to grocery stores and whatnot. Please don’t throw away food. Donate it to us. Shit like that. And maybe Ben could help me hand some out. I had to do a grocery run tomorrow anyway.

He had extra clothes now too, since we’d dragged out the donation boxes at today’s service. We’d found a new coat for him, a shorter parka with an insulated hood. Spare socks and underwear, and a toiletry kit with the basics. I’d given him an old gym bag too, with straps long enough if he wanted to use it as a backpack.

Now he only needed to agree to stay.

As I soaped up my cock, I glanced over at him to ask bluntly if he could stay for a while, but that thought flew right out the window when I caught him staring in the mirror. He was still brushing his teeth, but yeah, he was enjoying the view. And I acted on instinct before he could look away; I smirked in acknowledgment.

Come on. You want it. I fucking need it.

His jaw ticked with tension, and he dropped his stare to the sink and spat out toothpaste. Then he shook his head to himself, an insignificant response that confirmed the implication. It was enough to raise the temperature in the shower, and lust flooded my senses.

“Don’t start something you’ll regret, bright spot.”

Oh good, so we’d started.

Why the fuck would I regret anything that had to do with him?

I’d become downright obsessed in, what, thirty-six hours?

It’s just a silly crush.

The best way to get rid of a crush was to fuck ’em.

“You never liked playing with fire?” I asked, moving under the spray again. The hot water cascaded down, and I let out a long breath and gave my cock a stroke. “It keeps you warm.”

He hummed but said nothing. I heard him dig through the kit of medical supplies.

I tilted my head back and ran my fingers through my hair to get the suds out. I gave that a few seconds before I turned my back on him just a bit. He should see what he was about to screw. I slipped my hand between the cheeks, all absent-like, and brushed a couple fingers over my asshole.

That went on for a while…

’Cause it felt so damn good.

His exhale sent a shiver down my spine, and I was fucking done. I turned off the water and then opened the door.

Jesus Christ, he was something else. He leaned back against the counter, arms folded over his chest, and his cock left a noticeable bump in the towel. And his composure? It frustrated me as much as it turned me on to see him so unruffled. I knew he wasn’t; I could see the tension in his eyes and his jaw, but he behaved as if he had all the time in the world.

It was the most intoxicating game to see who’d make the first move.

I reached for a towel, hoping it wouldn’t stay on for long, and trailed over to the sink. Come on. Take me. Choke me out or something. I wouldn’t resist. Hell, I’d beg. I grabbed my toothbrush, standing mere inches away from him, and felt his eyes on me.

The thought of safety obviously flitted through my skull, but I wasn’t worried. I had plenty of rubbers right here under the sink. There might be a few in the bowl on the hallway table too.

My only problem with cat-and-mouse games was that I didn’t have the patience. I always lost, either because I wanted to get the show on the road or, in Ben’s case, I was itching to enjoy that show.

Before I stuck my toothbrush in my mouth, I wanted to know if there was something we could do first. I was willing to postpone brushing my teeth.

“Wanna fuck?” I asked.

His forehead creased, but otherwise, he didn’t move a muscle. “I’d weep for your generation if I had the energy to care about your dating pool.”

I guessed I was going to brush my teeth, then. Without breaking eye contact, I stuck the toothbrush into my mouth and tried to decipher what the hell that meant. Had he insulted me or just…fuck if I knew.

“I don’t have a dating pool,” I said.

“Neither do I.”

What did that mean?

I was sure I looked like a question mark, and it seemed to amuse him.

“Trace, you’re an…unbelievably sexy young man,” he murmured. Aw fuck, here came the but. “But don’t waste your time on me. I’ve got jack-shit to offer in return, and that includes a quick fuck.” He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. He was no longer interested in eye contact. “At the risk of embarrassing myself—I haven’t been intimate with anyone in years, and I’m afraid human touch would break me at this point.”

I was done brushing my teeth. I spat into the sink and rinsed my mouth, and I worked up a good response, ’cause he was crazy. Not about the last part. I understood that, and it was painful. But the rest? He wasn’t so much rejecting me as he was deciding that I shouldn’t even consider him.

I wiped my mouth on my arm, then positioned myself in front of him.

He stiffened a bit and kept his arms folded over his chest like a shield.

Forget about a quick fuck. I felt the gears shift in my head, and everything was suddenly about him. I wanted to make him feel good.

If he needed to break, he could do it with me.

I lifted my hand, making sure there were no sudden movements, and I hitched a brow in silent question. We’d start easy. We had time. Right now, I only wanted to touch his arm.

He swallowed and clenched his jaw, and no words came out. I pushed it at a snail’s pace, giving him plenty of time to ease away or say no, but I wasn’t blind. He wanted this. I remembered…what it was like to be starved for comfort, and my situation hadn’t been a fraction as dire as his.

I let my hand ghost gently up his forearm, and he shifted slightly where he stood. He dropped his stare to my hand and didn’t look away. As I brushed my thumb over a waterdrop, I felt his muscles twitch underneath. He had gooseflesh across his bicep, and I had a feeling it wasn’t about what I was doing but what I might do.

When I brought my free hand to his other arm, he took a deep breath and bent his neck sideways, like an attempt to relax. Maybe it was working. Things hadn’t gotten worse, at least. My hands roamed up his bicep, my touch firmer now, and then I eased them down again. I carefully gripped his wrist, and I did my best to offer a reassuring look. If it worked, I didn’t know, but he allowed me to loosen his arms, and they fell to his sides.

“Tell me to stop if you’re uncomfortable,” I said quietly.

He swallowed hard as I took a small step forward and shifted my hands to his shoulders.

“The problem isn’t discomfort,” he muttered.

“What is it, then?”

His jaw ticked. “Wanting something too much.”

Fuck me.

Yeah, I checked the fuck out. My brain powered down, and even though I kept my movements somewhat slow, I couldn’t stop myself. I slipped my hands along his neck, to his jaw, and I reached up and kissed him.

His hands immediately came to my sides, but he didn’t push me away—or pull me closer, for that matter. He just held me in place and kissed me back tentatively.

Wanting to be as comforting as possible, I cupped his jaw and used my other hand to rub his neck slowly. I closed the distance between us too, hoping to warm us up. The humidity wasn’t enough to let me forget I’d just gotten out of the shower.

He shuddered and appeared to relax some. I felt his big hands trail toward my back, just at the base of my spine, and he was the one who deepened the kiss.

Now we’re talking.

I tasted him for the first time, and I got a hint of a warning telling me Ben could be hiding something. Because it felt like he was holding back a whole lot.

“I won’t break, I promise.”

He drew a breath and nipped at my bottom lip. “I’ll hold you to it.” The next second, he spun me around and pressed me up against the counter, and he towered over me and kissed me hungrily.

Holy fuck.

My pulse went through the roof, and I was more than happy to roll with the punches. Like we were of one mind, he slipped his hand down to the backs of my thighs at the same moment I jumped up to sit on the counter, and that fucking worked for me. Before I knew it, he was between my legs, and we were making out like teenagers.

His hair was too short to grab on to, but I sure tried, and he seemed to like it. He moaned into the kiss and kneaded my thighs, slowly inching upward. Under the towel.

Fuck yeah, get it.

“So, uh…” I sucked in a breath and pressed myself closer to him. “If you haven’t been with anyone in a while, would you say it’s safe for me to choke on your cock?”

He cursed under his breath, then kissed his way down my neck. “Safe from an STI perspective, absolutely. But we’ll see if I’ll let you come up for air.”

I felt my eyes widen as I exposed my neck for him. Mother of dirty talk, let’s do this. He was clearly game.

“I hope that wasn’t too much.”

“Fuck no,” I managed to blurt out. ’Cause, God no. “You speak my language. I’m ready. I have rubbers and a tight ass just for you. No warm-up necessary.”

He hummed and slid a hand up my throat, and he just held me loosely, like a gentle reminder. There was a beast buried within him, wasn’t there?

“And a throat?”

I swallowed. “And a throat.”

He whispered a curse and caught my lips with his again, not holding back anymore. He kissed me so fucking hard and deep, so intoxicatingly sensually, and the way he dug his fingertips into my thighs might actually leave bruises.

With a swift pull, he wrapped my legs around his hips, pressed his cock against mine, and then enveloped me in his arms. His evident strength set off a violent shiver, but it was more than that. It was how tightly and closely he held me. Warmth spread throughout my body, and it just clicked. How good it felt to be all but surrounded by him. Usually, I didn’t want anyone getting too close physically.

“Dammit,” he whispered. “Now I can’t stop thinking about your ass. The way you teased me earlier.”

In the shower?

I licked my lips, getting his bottom lip in the process, and I scratched his scruff a little. I liked feeling it under my fingertips.

“That wasn’t teasing,” I replied, barely recognizing my voice. “That was me serving my ass on a silver platter.”

Fuck, that was hot, how he clenched his jaw. “I don’t need a silver platter.”

Just my ass? He didn’t have to wait.

“Rubbers under the sink.”

He nodded once and stepped back, and he opened the cabinet. He ripped off his towel too, prompting me to do the same as I slipped off the counter. Right then and there, I decided he had to spend the whole night with me. I didn’t care if I broke my rules; I wanted to roll around with him in my bed. I wanted that cock down my throat, and I wanted to ride?—

“Do you have lube or…?” he asked.

“There should be a few single-packs next to the razors,” I replied. Spit worked fine too.

He smirked to himself and snatched one up. “Because this is where you get ready for a night out. You take a couple condoms and lube packets for your wallet before you leave.”

“Yeah, yeah, you got me all figured out.” I turned around and gripped the edge of the counter. “If you could just give me that big cock now, that’d be great.”

He coughed around a chuckle and came back to me. “You’re not fuckin’ real.”

I had no response, and I didn’t wanna interrupt him. I did wanna see, though. I looked at him over my shoulder as he rolled a condom down his hard cock, and it was sexy as hell.

He pinched the tip of the rubber before opening the lube packet, and I clenched down in anticipation. The moment he was slicked up, he had to step up the pace. I felt like I’d been waiting forever.

But did he? Did he step it up? Fuck no. He was infuriatingly patient. He even washed his hands real quick to get rid of excess lube. Christ.

“Are you in a rush?” he asked me.

You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?

“You’re jittery,” he said.

“I’m impatient,” I told him, nodding at his cock. “That thing’s been on my mind since you gave me a show last night when you changed into sweats.”

Surprise flitted past in his expression, but then a soft smirk took over, and I didn’t like that. He better not get any ideas on slowing shit down.

He came up behind me and pressed a kiss to my shoulder, and his hands followed. They roamed up my sides and to my front. I shuddered when he kissed a sensitive spot on my neck. Fuck. An openmouthed kiss. Warm hands, each movement drenched in seduction. The unhurried kind that was going to drive me bonkers.

I squirmed and shivered, and I pressed my ass against his cock.

“Easy, boy. We’ll get there.”

Jesus fuck. “But you’re getting me all fired up,” I complained.

“That’s the point. You told me to play with fire.” Out of nowhere, he wrapped his fingers around my cock and gave it a couple firm strokes, and I moaned like a fucking whore. Holy fuck, I was strung tighter than I’d thought. Ben let out a breath and kissed the spot below my ear. “Drop your elbows to the counter.”

Yeah, okay.

I dropped forward, and he eased back. He released my dick too, but I forgave him because he pressed the head of his cock against my opening. And then…nothing. He went back to rubbing my back, my sides, my ass, and my thighs. He applied the smallest amount of pressure on his cock as he eased two fingers slowly down my spine.

“Arch,” he commanded quietly. “On your toes a bit.”

I obeyed. The desire mixed with authority in his low voice left me no option. My traitorous body listened to him more than me.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispered.

A slow, all-consuming shudder rolled through me. I wasn’t sure anyone had ever said that to me, and it felt strange. They weren’t exactly the words you shared with a bathroom hookup, and if anything like that was uttered, it was because someone was three sheets to the wind.

I screwed my eyes shut and tried to block out the world, including my impatience. It was dumb anyway. He’d already proven that his way made my body react stronger. If we’d gone my way, we’d be done by now.

I directed all my focus on what he was doing. He kept one hand along my spine, rubbing me absently, while he used the other to tease my ass with the head of his cock. Around in circles, spreading the lube, and then half an inch into me, never more. Not enough to get that stretchy pain feeling.

“I could come right here,” he murmured. “Watch it trickle out of your little hole.”

I clenched my jaw, the images assaulting me, turning me on even more.

“I could also do this…” He eased his cock between my ass cheeks, then used both hands to push the cheeks tightly together. He moaned under his breath as he slipped back and forth, and the heat of him, the soft that met hard, and the vein along the underside of his cock rubbed against me with each pass.

Fucking hell, that felt good. It was way too frustrating and not nearly enough, but it felt good.

I found myself lulled into his assertiveness. Or maybe that word was too strong? Either way, he wasn’t letting me rush him, and I dug that hard.

“If I got off right now, you’d have my come all over your ass.”

“Hnnngh…” Fucking Christ, did he want me to beg? Because I could.

He chuckled huskily and guided the blunt head of his cock back to my opening. “I guess I should mention that condoms don’t exist in my fantasy.”

They never did, big daddy.

“Throw it out before you come,” I heard myself say. “Stroke yourself off and cover me.”

He breathed deeply and gripped my hips. “Maybe I will.”

He had to! He’d seared the damn image into my brain now. I wanted his come all over me. I wanted to roll around in the filth, make out till we couldn’t breathe, and fuck till we couldn’t walk.

I was right there, about to get on my knees and beg him, when he pushed. The pain flared up so instantly that it punched the air out of my lungs, and he didn’t stop. In one smooth thrust, he buried himself balls deep with a moan, and I slammed my fist against the counter.

“Fuck!” Acting purely on instinct, ’cause I knew he was the type of man who’d ask if I was all right, I managed to reach back and hold him in place. My fingers dug into the flesh of his perfect fucking ass, and I just rode through the blazes of fiery pain. Holy fucking shit, why did I get off on pain? Pain hurt. Pain meant suffering.

“Trace, are you?—”

“I’m fine, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop, I’m fine,” I groaned.

“Thank fuck,” he exhaled. “You said you didn’t want warm-up, and I?—”

“I don’t.” I blew out a breath and swallowed dryly. “I’m just the idiot who gets turned on by being taken like a savage.” Lust and desperation built up within me, though the pain raged too forcefully at the moment.

Ben released an out-of-breath chuckle and leaned forward until his forehead landed in the dip between my shoulder blades.

“Christ, you feel good.” His hands were back. That warm, firm touch. They glided up my body, circled my waist, and stroked my chest. “I won’t ruin the moment further, then.” Ruin was a strong word. He was just kind. “Because I…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “…want to take you like a savage.”

The impact his words, his voice, had on me bordered on insane. My asshole might as well have opened up and gone all, “Okay, we’re good to go!” With another shudder rolling through me, my muscles relaxed some, and I automatically pushed against him.

It made him groan against my neck, and he reached down and fisted my cock.

It was as if we melted together, and it frustrated me. If he stayed this close, I got all his body heat and his greedy hands. But that left him no room to fuck me properly.

He made the choice for us. His heat disappeared from my back, and he withdrew his cock slowly before pushing in again.

Okay, good choice. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The wildfire within started raging again, though not as intensely as before.

Within a minute or so, he was fucking me hard, each thrust eliciting the sounds of skin slapping against skin, our heavy breathing, and me shifting up and down on the counter. Couple inches forward, couple inches back.

Another wave of heat fell over us like a blanket, and we got lost under it. There were too many intoxicating sounds and sensations for me to process them all, so everything just stoked the pressure within. From the way I stretched around his cock to the budding bruises along my hips. From the flush that broke out on my body to the slick sounds of the lube.

This was just round one.

“Fuck,” I breathed. I looked over my shoulder, and he met my gaze. I had no fucking words, except… “This ain’t over. I need you in bed later.”

He slammed in, causing me to grunt and grit my teeth.

Pleasure flitted across his face, and he leaned over me. “Tell me what you need.”

You.

“Just all of it, you know.” I started panting. I couldn’t help it. “From behind, from the front, sideways. Et cetera.”

He flashed a quick, wicked smile and kissed my shoulder. “There are easier ways to kill me.”

I grinned.

How could he be so goddamn beautiful? And sexy and funny and…ouch. He shoved his cock into me, derailing my thoughts.

It wasn’t a good angle for me to stroke myself off, ’cause the counter was in the way, and maybe he knew that. Maybe that was why he did it for me, and the second he started, a wave of pleasure crashed down on me. I moaned and hung my head, and I held on for dear life as he picked up the pace. He fucked me in deep, rapid thrusts, a string of groans and curses leaving him.

“Almost,” I panted.

I tensed up, and my muscles protested. My calves were sore as shit. I wasn’t used to standing on my fucking toes. But the euphoria overwhelmed every burst of pain, and I was already gone. My moans bounced off the walls, sweat trickled down from my forehead, I felt fucking feverish, and my heart hammered in my rib cage.

“Let go, boy. I’m not stoppin’ till you’re done.”

I shuddered violently, and he tightened his grip on my cock. All I could do was meet every thrust and push back and forth between his addictive cock and his fist.

Before long, I sucked in a breath and felt everything set off inside me. Come spurted from my cock, and most sounds faded behind a rushing noise. Like I was underwater. And he didn’t stop. He fucked me brutally all through my orgasm, spurring me on with his sexy, growl-like groans and tangible hunger for me.

“Fuck,” I gasped. “Stop—stop, stop. God.” The pleasure became too much, and that flip-of-a-switch happened when everything morphed into oversensitivity. I was fucking shaking.

Had he gotten off? I needed him to be done. Fucking hell, I was dead.

But he wasn’t. The moment he’d withdrawn from me, he spun me around and picked me up with sticky hands to sit me down on the counter. I hissed at the pain in my ass but got with the program.

He all but tore off the rubber and tossed it aside before he wrapped my legs around his hips, and I pulled him in for a kiss. I cupped his face in my hands, pushing my tongue into his mouth, and I felt the jerky motions through his body as he stroked himself over me. Right over my cock.

“Coat it,” I whispered, completely out of breath. “I wanna feel every hot burst hit my cock.”

“Jesus fuck.” He broke away, screwed his eyes shut, and went faster. He pressed his face against the side of my head, but I had to look. I watched rope after rope of come splat against my cock and lower abdomen, all while I had his body heat where I wanted it, his lips against my temple, his labored breaths tickling my skin.

My mouth watered at the smell of sex between us, and I craved more of it. Sensing that he was down for the count, I took over and coaxed a breathless kiss out of him. At the same time, I brought him closer and pressed our cocks together. And our hands, so we could both feel the mess we’d made.

He shuddered and swept his tongue around mine in a lazy, seducti—actually, everything he did was seductive to me. I could give up the word. It was default. Main setting. Always seducing me.

I was so distracted by his passionate kissing that I didn’t see his next move until he was breaking the kiss and sliding two fingers into my mouth.

Hot. As. Fuck.

I sucked them clean while he watched, and then he came in for another deep kiss.

“Shower with me,” he murmured.

I nodded but wasn’t ready to break the kiss yet.

* * *

What the fuck did I know about writing letters?

This was stupid.

I scratched my head with the pen, underneath the beanie, and zipped up my parka as I reread the words I’d struggled with for half an hour in Trace’s kitchen.

Bright spot,

Thank you for not turning the other way when I needed help. Most people would. Instead, you opened up your home to me and gave me two days I’ll take with me.

I won’t mention anything about last night because, to be honest, I don’t have the words. I woke up wrapped around you and realized every minute I spend with you just makes this harder.

Your life isn’t mine, and borrowing time hurts like hell. It also makes me feel shitty for being a burden. I can’t stand it.

I’m sure by the time you’re reading this, you’re annoyed as fuck. I get it. I took the coward’s way out. I don’t have any excuses, except I don’t wanna see the look on your face. I can take the anger, the annoyance, and a passionate rant about how stupid I am for turning down a warm place to sleep. And you’re right. But I can’t take what comes after. I don’t want to see you disappointed or hurt, because that impression will last longer with me than you will feel it.

In a few days, you’ll be relieved you don’t have to babysit me anymore. Your energy is better placed at the bar and on all the other people you’re helping. You’re young and have so much to look forward to, whether it’s getting drunk during work hours when the Hawks are losing or you’re settling down with someone one day. He better deserve you. (He probably won’t.)

I’m ashamed I couldn’t meet you at your level and be as generous as you have been with me. Thankfully, this is harder for me than for you, and that brings me comfort. I would never want to hurt you, although you deserve a smack upside the head for getting me attached.

If only I could live in a dream, huh?

Take care, kid.

Fuck it. It wasn’t gonna get any better than this. I was all over the damn place in this letter, but that was my life in a nutshell. I didn’t know if I’d gone too far in assuming he’d even give a shit I’d left. At the same time, I wanted him to know he’d made a big impact on me. Whether that was reciprocated was irrelevant—though, to be frank, I’d rather not witness an expression that told me, “Whoa, dude. We just screwed. No need to get all emotional on me.”

I folded the note, flicked off the lights over the sink again, and walked out carefully. I’d woken up about an hour or so after we’d fallen asleep, just to take a piss, and a single step on a creaky floorboard had roused him too. He’d asked where I was going.

Reaching the front room, I glanced over at the bed where Trace was asleep. The covers were riding low, barely covering his naked ass. Fucking hell, this hurt. Literally. I felt it in my chest. I just wanted to get back under the covers and feel his body against mine.

I had really fucked myself over with this one.

I unlocked the front door, all three locks, as silently as I could, and then I left the note on the duffel bag he’d given me yesterday. As sweet as his gesture was, I didn’t need to get robbed again. Everything else he’d given me was more than enough. New coat, clean clothes… I’d taken a few of the energy bars too.

Nerves spiked as I stepped out of the apartment and slowly closed the door. I threw a quick glance at the foldable bed in the alcove and knew I should’ve stayed there last night instead. But I hadn’t been able to resist.

I adjusted my beanie and took the stairs down, and I dug out my phone. No juice. I’d have to charge it when I got to Ma’s house.

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