10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

PISTON

It's cowardly as hell, but as soon as Milo leaves Hero and me alone in the kitchen, I turn tail and bolt before he can read my crimes tattooed across my forehead. Attempted Defilement of Best Friend's Son: Guilty .

I can hear their muffled voices and footsteps through the bathroom door as I crank on the shower and then lean against the sink while I wait for the water to warm up. I should probably take another ice-cold shower, to punish myself if nothing else, but I'm afraid if I do my nuts will finally fall the fuck off. There has to be a limit to the number of cold showers a guy can safely take, right? And two a day for four days has gotta be it.

The sound of the front door opening and closing is followed by silence in the house. I take a deep breath and look at myself in the mirror.

"It doesn't matter how fucking cute or sweet he is, you have to pull it together," I lecture my reflection. Then I huff a laugh at myself. If only getting Milo out of my head was as easy as giving myself a stern talking-to.

He's been haunting my dreams all week. I wake up hard as steel, practically humping my bed with his name on my lips. If sex dreams were the worst of it, I might be able to knock some sense into myself. But, fuck, it's only been four days since he moved in and I hate to say it, but I genuinely like his company. He's fucking hilarious, always with some snarky commentary about whatever we're watching at night. He keeps me laughing until my face hurts, wanting to watch just one more episode instead of going to bed, no matter how late it gets. And he's good company in the mornings too, starting coffee if he wakes up before me, making breakfast when he manages to not get distracted.

I bite back a groan.

What the fuck am I going to do? Would it kill the kid to be a little less likable? Maybe I can convince him to start shitting with the bathroom door open or leaving dirty dishes in the sink for the sake of harmony? Or rather, for the sake of less harmony. Any more harmony and he's going to end up in my bed.

My cock jerks eagerly at the idea.

"Not helping," I mutter, throwing a glare at my dick before pushing the shower curtain aside and stepping under the hot spray.

I don't have an appointment for another hour, so I take my time showering and getting dressed, forcing myself to focus on the massive grim reaper tattoo I'll be starting today rather than the man I shouldn't be thinking about.

It's cold as balls even stepping into my garage. I'm glad I went ahead and picked up that new coat for Milo. It's nice and heavy, so it should keep him plenty warm, even on the back of Hero's bike… or mine. I should have gotten him a hat and gloves too. I can probably get away with doing the same as I did with the jacket and telling him they're just old stuff of mine I don't use anymore. I make a mental note to swing by a store later to get what he'll need to keep him warm with the weather getting colder.

I won't be able to get away with riding my Harley for much longer before I have to keep her in the garage for the rest of the winter and settle for driving my puttering old Honda around, but every year I push it until the very last minute. Until there's ice or snow on the roads, I'm opting for the bike.

I pull around the back of the shop and park alongside the Harleys that are already there. Rowan, Lewis's best friend and sole employee at Little Shop of Flowers, pops his head out into the alley behind our shared building.

"Hey." I pull my helmet off and up-nod him in greeting.

"Hey. If you spot Lew, see if you can get him to pry his face off of Arrow's. Tell him we got a few online orders in."

I chuckle. "Will do."

There's a small twist of jealousy in my gut as I head in through the back door. I definitely don't begrudge my best friend the kind of love he's found with Lewis. They're perfect for each other, honestly. I've never met two people whose brands of crazy match so well. But this problem I'm having, this damn crush I can't shake, is a little bit their fault. They put the idea of happily ever after and passionate, forever kinds of love into my head in the first place. I was perfectly fine putting all my energy into my art and my bike until they started shoving it in all of our faces just how happy they are together. And, shit, yeah, maybe there's more to life than what I've been doing until now. Maybe it would be nice to have a person who's all mine.

As if on cue, Milo's laughter echoes through the shop and makes my heart thunder.

It just can't be that person , I remind myself.

I hang my jacket and helmet in the back room, then step into the main part of the shop. Hero is already hard at work on his first appointment for the morning and so is Tex. Against Rowan's prediction, Arrow and Lewis aren't sucking face, but Lewis is in Arrow's chair getting some ink. And Jag is up at the front counter with Milo with the appointment books spread open in front of them.

"That is just wrong." Jag tuts. "Gomez and Thing?" He shakes his head with exaggerated disappointment. "You have to look up the throuple fanfic. Leaving Tish out is blasphemy."

"This again?" I chuckle.

Milo looks up from the appointment books, his eyes dancing with amusement and mischief, and shrugs.

"He asked."

"You're both wrong." Lewis chimes in over the buzz of tattoo needles and the low hum of grunge rock coming through the shop's speakers. "Lurch and Thing are the ship I'll die on."

"Lurch?" Milo perks up looking curious. "Interesting. Is there a monster dick situation? Because dude is not human, right?"

Arrow lifts the needle off of Lewis' skin, wrinkling his forehead and squinting at the three of them like they're speaking a different language.

"Hold on, monster dick? Is that what you're always reading on your phone?"

Lewis cackles. "Sometimes. And, yes, Lurch has a monster dick." He winks at Milo, who lets out a giddy squeal and pulls his own phone out of his pocket, presumably to start searching for the Lurch fic.

"‘Monster' as in super massive? Or are we talking weird cocks?" Tex asks, and the woman in his chair stifles a laugh.

"Weird cocks," his client, Lewis, and Milo all answer simultaneously.

"I don't even want to know," Hero mutters.

"I do." Jag pulls out his phone too.

"Glad to see things are running so efficiently this morning," I deadpan. "By the way, Lewis, Row was looking for you."

"Ah, shit," Lewis mutters.

Arrow stops what he's doing again, setting his needle down and reaching for the disinfectant solution and some paper towels to clean Lewis up. When he's done, Lewis kisses him, hops out of the chair, and hurries out through the back.

I'm aware that I have an appointment due in any minute, but, embarrassingly, I find myself rooted to the floor, my attention stuck on the way Milo's dimple deepens as he turns his phone towards Jag to share whatever unhinged erotic fanfic he managed to find. He drags his fingers through his hair to push it back out of his face and mine itch to feel the silky slide of it again too. Fuck, I wish I'd gotten the chance to kiss him this morning.

Jag glances up as if he can feel my eyes on the two of them, and I look away quickly. I know he caught me though. I can tell by the smirk he's wearing when I glance back.

"Hey, Milo, you know what would be fun?" Jag slides his phone back into his pocket, talking loudly enough that I don't have to strain to hear him even as I turn to start prepping my station.

"Don't ask open-ended questions like that unless you want me to start listing shit," Milo says.

Jag laughs. "You're new to the area and you need someone to show you the best pickup spots around here."

My gut clenches and I whip around towards them.

"He doesn't need that." My voice is low and gruff, my jaw ticking with the urge to grind my teeth together.

"Yeah, what the fuck, dude?" Hero pauses the tattoo he's working on to swivel his chair towards Jag. "That's my kid. Why the hell are you trying to get him laid?"

Jag snorts and rolls his eyes. "In case you didn't notice, babycakes, your kid is a grown man. If I don't show him the ropes, who will?" He looks in my direction with a taunting grin. "You wanna wingman him, Piston?"

I grunt in response, curling my fingers into fists at my sides. I can't start swinging on Jag, no matter how blatantly he's fucking with me. First, because it would raise too many questions about why I'm acting so protective of Milo. And, second, because the feisty maniac might be half my size, but he's also a black belt in jiu jitsu and would hand me my ass on a silver platter.

Milo looks between us, then over at Hero, a little crease between his eyebrows.

"What do you say?" Jag bumps his shoulder against Milo's. "I'll take you out to the club Saturday night."

"Are you trying to piss me off?" Hero growls.

The crease in Milo's forehead deepens and he sets his jaw stiffly.

"Excuse me, but as Jag pointed out, I'm not a little kid. I can go out if I want."

Hero huffs through his nose. "Fine," he grumbles, then points the tattoo machine clutched in his hand right at Jag in warning. "Don't do anything fucking stupid."

The implication is clear.

Don't put your hands on him.

Don't break the trust we've built in the last twenty years of friendship.

Don't fuck my son.

Is it me or is it really hot in here? I tug on the neck of my shirt in an attempt to get a little air on my overheated skin.

Jag holds his hands up in mock surrender, casting one more sideways glance at me before giving Hero a sage look and miming drawing an X over his heart. That seems to satisfy Hero, but it doesn't do a damn thing to loosen my shoulders or slow down the pulse thundering in my ears.

I don't know what he's up to, but with Jag, you can always be sure that chaos and bullshit aren't far behind. The question is, is he fucking with me or just trying to wind Hero up?

"So—" Jag turns back to Milo. "—Saturday?"

Milo doesn't look my way, but I wish he would. I wish there was some way I could stop this trainwreck before it happens. But what fucking right do I have to stop it? If Milo wants to go out and grind on a bunch of strange, sweaty men, I can't do anything about it.

"Yeah, Saturday," Milo says.

The tang of blood alerts me to the fact that I'm violently gnawing at the inside of my cheek. I swallow it down and probe the tender spot with my tongue.

The door to the shop swings open and my appointment steps inside. I force myself to pull on a pleasant expression and wave the guy over so we can get started. He has a big piece planned and I've been itching to get started on it for weeks, but my thoughts are a million miles away as I make mindless small talk and prep his back so I can start the outline of the massive grim reaper. The smell of the lavender-scented disinfectant, the familiar buzz of the tattoo machine in my hand—none of it is enough to distract me from the images of some faceless dickhead in a dark club with their hands all over what's mine. Milo .

Not mine, I remind myself.

But fuck, I think I might kill anyone who touches him.

And goddamn, I'm going to have to find a way to pay Jag back for this one. Asshole.

MILO

By the end of my first day at Ink Slingers, I've learned how to schedule appointments and consults and been given a thorough explanation of cleaning procedures, including how to scrub the toilet. Brick took way too much pleasure in handing that particular task off to me.

Arrow and Tex have already taken off for the night, and while I finish tidying up the front counter, I sneak glances at Piston out of the corner of my eye. He's been tense all day. His shoulders have been up to his ears, and he's been grinding his teeth so hard, I swear I could hear it all the way across the shop. He seems to be dawdling now. His last appointment left over an hour ago, but he's still painstakingly cleaning every inch of his work area like he's planning to perform open heart surgery there later.

Hero's the only one still working as the clock ticks past closing time and Jag saunters over to flip the sign. He looks up from the owl he's tattooing on the guy's bicep and shoots me an apologetic half-smile.

"Sorry, I should be finished soon. If you don't feel like waiting though, you don't necessarily need me to take you over to Jag's place."

"Oh, yeah, okay." I tie off the last garbage bag and pile it next to the door to the back room so I can grab it on my way out.

"You can just catch a ride with me." Jag says, shrugging on his jacket. He shoves his hands into the pockets, then narrows his eyes into a deadly glare. "Dammit, this was funny for like a day ." He pulls out a small, rubbery neon green dick and whips it across the shop. It bounces off Piston's back as he shakes with silent laughter.

"It's still funny." Piston's mood seems lighter for just a second before he fixes his expression back into a sulky grimace. "And why don't I drive Milo to your place? I wouldn't want you to get lost along the way and take him to an orgy instead."

The ice in his tone sends a shiver down my spine, except instead of a chill, the growl heats me all the way down to my toes. Is that why he's been pissy all day? Jag's offer to take me out to a club this weekend?

Jag rolls his eyes. "Right, good point. I'm so glad you're here to protect Milo's precious virtue."

Piston's jaw ticks and his eyes flash with fear and annoyance. He darts a glance over at my dad, who doesn't seem to be paying attention to the exchange. I glance between Jag and Piston again, taking in the silent standoff they seem to be in. Did Piston tell him about the night we met? Did he confide in him how much he still wants me? Please, please, please let it be that . Or is Jag just really damn perceptive? Because dude clearly sees right through us.

"If Piston wants to come along, I don't mind," I say breezily, as if I haven't spent the whole day disappointed that my dad showing up this morning unannounced meant not only did I miss out on a kiss from Piston, but I also didn't have the excuse to wrap myself around him on the ride to work.

Piston grunts and Jag shrugs. They each grab one of the garbage bags as we file out through the back, and I take the last one.

"Jacket?" Piston barks after I heave my bag into the dumpster.

"Oh shit, right. I left it inside."

Jag throws his leg over his Harley and pulls his helmet on. "See you assholes there," he calls in a muffled voice before his bike roars to life and he tears off down the alley.

I hurry back inside and grab my new leather jacket off the hook. The rumble of Jag's engine is already fading into the distance by the time I step back outside, pulling my coat on and taking in Piston's stiff posture as he leans against his motorcycle.

I stop a few steps away from him, just enough space between us to remind me that I wish there wasn't any space between us at all. I want to feel his hard, hot body pressed up against mine like it was this morning under the sink… Better yet, the way it was the night we spent rolling around at the motel in a blur of deep, hungry kisses and innocently wandering hands.

"Are you still freaked out that Hero almost caught us this morning?"

Piston stiffens even more, shoving his hands into his pockets and trying to look past me, like if he doesn't meet my eyes, he'll be able to lie. But it only takes a second before he meets my gaze, his blue eyes burning with an intensity that makes it harder to breathe.

"There was nothing to catch," he says gruffly, still all clipped words and rough tones like they've been all day. "We were fixing the sink."

I take another step closer, tugging my bottom lip between my teeth and nodding.

"Right, the P-spot."

His grumpy mask cracks briefly, his mouth twitching and the corners of his eyes crinkling with a smile.

"P- trap ."

Another step, the gravel crunching under my tennis shoes.

"I know." I smirk.

"Milo." My name is a hoarse whisper on his lips, making goose bumps erupt underneath my clothes. "We can't."

There are less than six inches between us now, and I can smell the motor oil and lavender scent that always clings to his skin.

"I know," I say again, breezily, just like when I accepted a ride from him a few minutes ago. "That's why I figured it wouldn't be a big deal for me to go to the club with Jag on Saturday night."

Piston's expression darkens instantly, like storm clouds rolling in all at once.

"Unless…" One last step and we're practically touching, nearly as close as we were this morning. The cold air nips at the exposed bits of my skin, but I hardly feel it through the heat radiating between us. "You don't want me to go."

A low growl rumbles in Piston's throat, and he snakes both arms around me, yanking me the last few millimeters to him. Our chests collide just a second before he slams his lips into mine. That night at the motel, he was gentle, polite. Passionate, yeah, but careful with me like he wasn't sure what he was allowed to do, or even what he wanted to do with me. But this kiss is rough and claiming. He forces my lips apart with his tongue and licks into my mouth, swallowing the moan that vibrates through my throat.

I grab a handful of his jacket, the buttery, worn leather soft between my fingers. I kiss him back just as greedily, matching the hunger of his tongue lapping against mine, trading sucking bites to each other's lips around muffled grunts and gasps. My cock thickens and a needy feeling gnaws at the pit of my stomach.

It's not like I'm a virgin because I've been saving myself for marriage or some flowery shit like that, I've just had plenty of distractions and other priorities over the years, so it never happened. But right now, I can't think of anything better than having Piston as my first everything. I want his hands on every part of me that no one else has ever touched. I want him to make me feel things I've only read about. I want him to take me apart and make me scream his name until my throat is raw and neither of us can remember that anyone else even exists.

But just as fast as the kiss started, it's over.

He wrenches his mouth away from mine, a wild look in his eyes, his chest heaving with panting breaths. He yanks his hands off of me like he just touched a hot stove and drags them over his buzzed hair. His lips are swollen from the kiss and still damp, parted with the breaths he's dragging in. Fuck, I want to kiss him again.

The lust and excitement swirling and building inside of me starts to twist into frustration the longer he stares at me in wide- eyed horror. I huff and take a step back, giving him the space he obviously needs.

"Do me a favor and text Jag that I'm not feeling well? I'll go pick up the car tomorrow or Saturday or whenever." I rub my hand over my mouth, trying to get rid of the addictive taste of Piston's mouth, or maybe trying to rub it in so it won't fade away. I'm not really sure which. "I'm just going to walk home. I need to clear my head."

He looks like he's going to argue, but I turn on my heel and start down the alley before he gets the chance. I don't want to hear again that we can't do this. Of course we can, we just did, and it was pretty fucking incredible.

I just need to figure out some way to convince him that it shouldn't matter who my dad is. There's something between us and it could be fucking amazing. Piston has no clue how stubborn I can be when I set my mind on something, but he's about to find out.