Bode was in the truck when I got downstairs and I swore he rolled his eyes at me when I climbed in. I chose not to dwell on it. “Where are you wanting to go?” Bode asked as he pulled the truck out of the parking lot.

“I was thinking about that value furniture place just on the other side of downtown.” I glanced at Bode. “But if you’d rather not drive that far we can find something closer.” “Nah, that’s fine.” Bode pointed the truck for the direction of the store. We rode in silence for several minutes. It wasn’t so much that it was uncomfortable, but I didn’t like thinking that Bode was mad at me or didn’t like me. My grandma was always using the phrase in for a penny in for a pound. I sighed. Looked like it was time to put the phrase to the test. “Why don’t you like me?” I tried not to look at Bode as the words exploded from my mouth, but I caught him staring at me. He scowled. “It’s not so much that I don’t like you.” The scowl deepened. “I just don’t know you very well. Hell, I don’t know you at all. It’s always just been me, Kyson, and Benji. Just going to take time to get used to having a fourth person around.” Bode leaned his left arm against the door of this truck and tapped his right thumb against the steering wheel. “Well I promise to stay out of the way as much as I can. I’ll be studying a lot. I will definitely help with chores. I won’t be a bother if you bring a date home or anything like that. And I can help in the bar too.” Why was I trying to convince him that I’d be a good roommate? Why did I care if he didn’t like me? You know why. You’ve always wanted people to like you. You want to keep this apartment. And you think he’s hot as hell. Bode laughed. “Dude, chill out. The room is yours, you don’t have to prove yourself to me.” “Back there it seemed like you wanted me to prove something to you. You’ve seemed angry with me since the first moment you saw me. I know it shouldn’t matter, but it really bothers me when I think people don’t like me. And I’d really like to keep this apartment so it would be good if you and I could get along.” I chewed on a fingernail and glanced at Bode. “Don’t bite your nails,” he commanded. “It’s a gross habit. Do you know how many germs are under your fingernails?” I shivered. “Actually, I do. I’ve seen the stu that can grow in petri dishes just from collecting samples from underneath your nails. It’s disgusting. Biting my nails is a bad habit. I’m actually trying to quit, but I do it more when I’m nervous.” “Are you nervous now?” I nodded. “Benji and Kyson don’t make me nervous at all. They seem like really nice guys and I think will be good friends.” “But I make you nervous?” Bode glanced my way. When I nodded, he frowned. “Sorry about that. I’m under a shit ton of stress from my dad trying to make The Salty Lizard a success. I can’t say I’ll be a bundle of joy to live with, but I can promise that I don’t hate you.” “I guess knowing that you don’t hate me will have to be good enough at least for now.” Bode pulled the truck into a parking spot in front of the furniture store. Before I got out of the truck, I swallowed my nerves. “I really can help with bar stu, and I wouldn’t mind at all if all four of us ended up being friends.” An hour later, Bode and I were sweating our asses o after carrying a bed, a dresser, and a desk up the stairs. I stood in the middle of my room trying to decide where to start with organizing my furniture when I heard Bode curse from the kitchen. I walked to where he was. “What’s wrong?”

He held up a piece of paper. “The guys decided to drive down home to pick up the last of our stu. They’ll be back tomorrow. Which is fine, because the stu needed picked up. But that leaves me working on bar stu alone tonight.” “I can help with the bar stu. I already told you that.” “I thought you had furniture to arrange? And studying to do?” I shrugged. “I’ll help you with bar stu and you can help me move furniture if I need help later.” Bode stared at me for an uncomfortable amount of time. Finally, he hued and pointed toward the back stairs. “Fine, I could use the help.” I followed Bode down the stairs and tried to convince myself I wasn’t staring at his ass. I’d known I was gay since the very first time my voice broke and probably even before that. I’d been attracted to a lot of guys, but never had a serious relationship. But there was something about the man in front of me, the way his tight ass filled out a pair of jeans, the strength evident in his thighs, the lean muscles in his arms, that had me thinking this was going to be the unrequited attraction that finally did me in. I knew there was no way Bode wanted a relationship with someone so much younger and so much dierent from him. He was on his way to building his dream career while I still had at least two years of schooling to go. He was outspoken, a people person, and probably the life of the party. I was a quiet, nerdy wallflower. He was gorgeous, I was average. He had promised that he didn’t hate me, but that didn’t mean he liked me. I would have to settle for being tolerated. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t watch that fine ass every time it walked in front of me.

I STUCK my head through the backdoor at my older sister’s house on the far north side of Indianapolis the day before Benji and I were set to move into the building. Caroline’s late husband had left her and the children with enough money that she didn’t have to work. My sister kept busy with volunteering and charity work. Her children, my niece and nephew, were grown and on their own, but younger than me. “You home?” I asked as I walked into the kitchen and angrily snatched an apple from the designer fruit bowl. “Oh, grumpy and gloomy.” Caroline breezed into the room and gave me a hug. “I suppose drama follows these moods?” She gestured toward the coee pot with a raised brow. I shook my head. “Can we do tea?” I finished my apple in about four chomps and slumped into a chair at the table. I’d come over to work in my cramped studio space Caroline allowed me to keep in her basement, but I decided I needed to vent before I could create. As she prepared two mugs of tea, Caroline eyed me. “Tell me what ails you.” I held my face in both hands and groaned. “That bad?” Caroline stirred the mugs of tea and brought them to the table. “Boy troubles? Business troubles?

Creativity troubles?” “Yes,” I grumbled and breathed deeply behind my hands. “Oh, dear. A trifecta.” She picked up both mugs and headed out of the kitchen. “Come on, this sounds more serious than a kitchen table chat.” I followed her to her den. The area was one of the most peaceful and comfortable places I’d ever seen. Soft, cushy seating, wispy window coverings, calming light, and diused essential oils immediately brought a sigh of relief to my lips. We sat and got comfortable. We sipped our tea. Caroline waited. Caroline was twelve when I was born. She’d been my first best friend, my first babysitter, my first confidant. My sister knew I tended toward moody, self-absorbed, and occasionally dramatic. I knew these things about myself as well. Sometimes those characteristics were things I strived to improve upon, sometimes they were just part of the real me. That particular day, my moody, dramatic, self-absorbed ass wanted to gripe, complain, wallow, and have my sister show me the proper amount of pity. “So, I’ve been seeing a guy.” My heart fluttered at even the slightest thought of Benji. Ugh. I did not need my heart fluttering over a casual hookup. Caroline nodded as she sipped her tea and watched me. “The sex is amazing. And we were really starting to have a connection outside of the bedroom.” My stomach clenched. Maybe I was the only one who had thought we were connecting on more than a sexual level. “But?” “Well, that involves my second problem.” I took several moments to explain the snafu with the lease. “So now, thanks to some name mix-ups and an aging man who should probably retire, we’re forced to share a building.” I sighed.

Overdramatic, yes, but it was my pity party and I’d be dramatic if I wanted to. “Obviously, our relationship is over.” Caroline frowned. “Why would a fledgling relationship that was possibly beginning to be more than just sex have to be over?” “Benji is an artist.” I waved a hand dismissively. She raised a brow and waited. “We work in some similar mediums, but our pieces are almost as dierent as you can get.” I took a drink of my tea and savored the rich flavor. I worked in mostly assemblage art, and metal and wood sculpture. I dabbled in painting here and there. Benji worked with clay and various ceramics to create vases, cups, pots, decorative pieces, and jewelry. He also painted abstract art and landscapes. “And you can only be with another artist if they make the exact same art as you?” Caroline posed the question innocently, but I knew she was digging in to make a point. “No, but this building was to be my studio, my place to sell my work. Now I have to split the studio space, compete for customers, hope I sell as well as Benji.” My brows drew together as I took another drink of tea. “Ah, yes. Quite a dilemma.” Caroline nodded, slightly raised one brow, and hid a smile behind her tea cup. My anger flared as my sister humored me. She clearly thought I was being ridiculous. She just wasn’t getting it. “Benji is so much like me in a lot of ways. We’re passionate, creative, driven. He’s as determined, competitive, and stubborn as I am.” I shook my head. “Some of those similarities are great, some aren’t so great. But we’re very dierent too. He dresses in sleek, casual style. Lots of black. I’m like the quintessential hipster.” I didn’t know why it seemed important to point out how similar and

dierent we were, as if it would explain why I was worked into such a tizz. Caroline finished her tea. “So, you like this guy. The sex is great. You’ve got things in common, yet plenty of dierences as well.” I nodded, feeling glum. “And it won’t work, why?” My sister crunched her face. “Great sex and similarities aren’t the most solid base for a business relationship we’re being forced into.” Seriously, how was she not seeing this? “Maybe give yourselves some time to settle in at the new business setup? Then revisit the relationship?” “He’s going to teach art too! How will I compete with that?” I nearly knocked over my cup with a wild gesture. “Does it have to be a competition?” Caroline trailed her finger in a circular motion on the pillow she held. I started to snap back, but found myself opening and closing my mouth. “I guess it doesn’t have to be a competition, but I don’t really see how it won’t be.” “If you let it.” Caroline raised a brow. “You’ve known me my whole life. When have I ever been laid back and not been competitive over my work?” I didn’t even try to stop the eye roll. We were talking about me. I wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. “Valid point.” She pulled a blanket over her lap. “But I also know you’ve never really talked about a great sexual partner and possible connected relationship before. You’re usually booting them out at the exact moment a slight imperfection is noticed.” I sighed. “Yeah, up until this building screwup, I was thinking Benji may have been a possible candidate for a real relationship.” I hugged a pillow to my chest. “I was really letting myself get my hopes up.” My heart squeezed as I whispered the words.

“Nobody, and no relationship, is perfect.” Caroline nudged me with her foot. “I just want what Mom and Dad had.” My eyes stung. My parents had passed away when I was a pre-teen, but I still recalled how much in love and happy they were. It’s what I wanted, what I dreamed of, what I measured every possible relationship by. “Rhys Alexander Golden,” Caroline scolded goodnaturedly, “I’ve told you time and time again that you’ve got selective memory about Mom and Dad. You were likely too young to pick up on their imperfections, but I promise they were there. No person is perfect. No relationship is perfect. Don’t throw away someone who makes you happy because you’re afraid you guys might not be able to work well together.” “That’s the other part of the problem. My creativity was going great until the building issue and now my head and heart act as if I’ve never created a piece of art in my life.” I threw my head back against the fluy couch. “The trifecta of issues bringing me drama and gloom kinda suck.” Caroline was quiet for a bit. “Maybe you’re bringing some of the drama and gloom on yourself?” I clenched my teeth. I was not in the mood for a lecture. “I’m just saying,” she held up her hand to fend o my protests, “give it all some time. Work with Benji to get your business set up. Maybe sharing the building will work out better than either of you could even imagine.” She bit back a smirk when I scoed. “Give your art some time to ramp back up. You’ve always ebbed and flowed through your work.” She leaned forward and patted my leg. “And don’t push Benji away. You’ve got a sparkle in your eyes despite the gloom, and I have a feeling he’s the one who put that gleam there. Don’t count out a relationship with him.”

I hued and rolled my eyes. Sometimes she just didn’t get me at all, and she definitely wasn’t getting this situation. It was all too much. I needed to focus on my art and the business, I didn’t have the energy or time to put eort into a relationship that would never live up to my idea of perfect. I stood. “Thanks for the tea and talk. I’m going to the basement to work. I’ll start moving stu out over the next few days.” For the next two hours, I threw myself into an assemblage piece consisting of gears, pulleys, springs, and rulers. It was a large piece that I hoped to finish soon. I planned to have several large and small pieces along with my metal and wood sculptures displayed and on sale at my new studio. My new studio? No. Fuck. Our new studio. Was I being selfish and bratty? Yes. I could admit that. But, damn it, I wanted that building to myself. I had worked hard to open my own studio and sales floor. I didn’t want to share. I sighed and finished the piece. I loaded up three boxes of supplies and small pieces in my car. I’d start moving into the building tomorrow. As I drove to my apartment, I thought of Benji. Thoughts of his gorgeous body, his quiet humor, his good heart all bombarded me. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to call to mind the way his skin felt under my hand, the heat of his body on mine, the catch in his breathing and the whimpers he made as I fucked him. I squeezed my eyes shut. No, I needed to forget all of that and focus only on my art and the studio.

By the time I climbed in the hot shower, I truly didn’t know how much longer I could stay upright. The initial contact of water on my abrasions stung and made me moan between gritted teeth. But the warmth of the water seeped into my bruised skin and strained muscles and eased some of my pain. I didn’t want to use up all the hot water, but I stood under the gentle stream as long as I could. Washing was easier once my muscles had relaxed a bit. I rinsed and climbed out. Drying was dicult because of my lack of range of motion and the raw skin on my left side, but I got the job done. I wrapped the towel around my waist and left the bathroom hoping Kyson had left the clothes for me. As luck would have it—whether that was good or bad luck—Kyson was walking into the bedroom with clothes and a pharmacy bag. I froze, my hand gripping the towel. Kyson froze. His eyes trailed from my face to my chest to my bare feet and back up. He coughed and tossed the clothes on the bed before holding up the pharmacy bag. “Ointment.” “That was quick.” I internally rolled my eyes at the awkward small talk. “Yeah, Rhys said there wasn’t anyone else in line. Ended up only costing a couple dollars. Score.” Kyson winked.

“Great, thanks. If you want to just leave it in on the dresser, I’ll figure out how to apply it.” I tried to visualize how I’d reach all the abrasions with how badly I was hurting, but I’d get it sorted. Kyson chewed on his lip. “You want help?” His cheeks pinked. “I don’t mean that in a flirty way. Just mean I can help you if you’re sore.” “Nah, I got it.” He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “Prove it.” For a split second, I considered challenging him, but I was too tired. I growled and grabbed the bag from the dresser. Then immediately regretted the quick movement. I rummaged until I had the tube of ointment open, spread a bit on my right finger and attempted to reach my left hip. The grimace and pained groan were a dead giveaway. “That’s what I thought.” Kyson held his hand out. “Give me that. The quicker you get this ointment on, the sooner you can crawl into bed and sleep.” He glanced at his hands, went to the bathroom, washed his hands and returned to my side. He took the dot of ointment from my finger and moved to my left side. “Damn, this looks so sore.” I pued shallow breaths as Kyson dabbed the medication onto the worst of the scraped skin. “Could have been so much worse. This injury is why I wear leathers and protective clothing. Would have looked like I’d been through a meat grinder if I didn’t have on the proper attire for riding.” “Didn’t hurt your head at all?” Kyson continued spreading the ointment on my shoulder, elbow, and wrist. I immediately appreciated the analgesic eect of the medication. “No, I laid the bike down the best I could, kept my head up, my side took the brunt. Helmet doesn’t have a scratch,

but I strained my neck muscles keeping my head o the pavement.” “That’s pretty impressive that you could wreck properly.” Kyson squeezed more cream onto his finger. “Years of racing motorbikes taught me how to best wreck.” I chuckled. “Can you lay down? I think that will help with reaching your hip and leg.” Kyson gestured toward the bed. I slowly lowered myself to the bed and spread out on my right side so Kyson had access to my left. Anywhere there was bone was the most scraped up. Hip, knee, ankle. “Hold the towel there in front, I’ll just open this part and get to your hip.” Kyson gently peeled back the towel over my hip bone and whistled. “I can’t imagine how much worse this could have been.” My dick threatened to give away how much I enjoyed having Kyson’s touch and warmth so near. I focused on the pain and breathed through it, trying to ignore Kyson’s scent and gentle hands. I didn’t miss the flare of Kyson’s nostrils and the grit of his teeth when the towel slipped from my hip to expose my backside. I clung tightly to the front in hopes of concealing my plumping cock. Despite how much my ass longed for a good fucking, at least it wasn’t visibly turned on. Kyson worked his way down, focusing on my knee and ankle. Soon, he replaced the cap and put the tube on the dresser. “There you go. Need help with clothes?” Fucking hell. “No,” I snapped. Kyson’s face registered hurt. I felt like an ass. Kyson had been professional and gentle in helping me. “I’m sorry. Thank you for the oer. I’ll put on whatever clothes you brought me. I’ll manage. Gotta learn to

do it by myself eventually.” I sat up, keeping the towel over my lap and willing my traitorous dick to calm the fuck down. Kyson swallowed and nodded. “Okay. I brought long pants and long sleeves so the ointment won’t get on the bed.” “Thanks. Good idea. Probably try to sleep on my right side anyway.” I held my breath as Kyson left the room. When I was alone again, the breath whooshed from me. The ointment turned out the be a real conundrum. I didn’t want it getting on the bed, but clothes would likely wipe it o, and I was advised not to wrap the wounds. In the end, with agonizing movements, I slowly pulled on a pair of lounge pants and a long sleeve shirt. The material stuck to the tacky ointment and I had a dreadful premonition that the scrapes would ooze over night and probably stick to the cloth. I groaned. This wasn’t my first motorcycle wreck. But at forty-eight, it had been several years since I’d dealt with injuries like this; my body wasn’t nearly as young as it used to be. I eased myself onto the bed and under the blankets. It took several moments for me to find a comfortable position on my right side and I struggled to relax through the pain. I dreaded the morning as I knew all of my pain would be doubled as stiness set in. Just had to bite the bullet and get through it. I knew from experience that the more I could move, rest, and alternate heat and ice, the quicker I’d start feeling some relief. My mind flashed to Kyson telling Dr. Williams he’d get me into massage therapy. As much as I believed it was probably good for my injuries, I couldn’t put myself nearly naked on a table and allow Kyson to rub his gentle, strong, healing hands all over my body. Just thinking about it had my dick twitching even as I tried to my best to fall asleep. With visions of Kyson oiling me up as I tented a lavender scented sheet dancing through my head, I eventually fell into a deep sleep.