Love Him Free: Book One of On The Market

by Lindsey, E. M.

  “My brother has the truck, you know,” Simon pointed out. “I don’t need to set up a booth if Levi is going to be there.”

  Fitz shuffled his feet a little and gave him an imploring look. “We all love Levi’s new thing,” he waved his hand around in an absent gesture. “It’s good. But Bette’s stuff is part of the town.”

  “I just don’t know if I have the manpower to do a booth and the store,” Simon admitted. Kyle would be useless at the shop by himself—and Simon wouldn’t trust him anyway, but turning him loose at the Farmer’s Market would be a recipe for disaster—and a possible sexual harassment suit.

  “It’s in the evening. I mean, Bette’s closes early anyway, right?”

  Simon couldn’t argue there. “Yes, but…”

  “You can keep a limited menu. Just…cookies, and maybe the bagels.” He drawled the last word to remind Simon how often the station ordered bagels from them, and he fought hard to suppress a smile. “Bette used to do it when we were kids.”

  Simon’s gut clenched a little, because that was true. She loved it. It reminded her of the market back home, and it had been that little piece of her life in Israel she’d been able to keep. Simon had been tasked with keeping an eye on Levi who wanted to touch anything and everything, but he was usually content with a snow cone and a Spiderman face paint.

  It had been years since Simon had set foot in the market.

  “We made sure it was moved back from Friday nights,” Fitz told him softly.

  Simon raised his eyes, startled a little by the admission. “You…”

  “Not just for you,” Fitz said, like he understood Simon didn’t want special treatment or to be put on the spot like that. “But it’s a bonus, right? Please?”

  He wasn’t going to say no. He’d known that the moment Fitz walked into the shop with the familiar flyers clutched in his hand. “I just need to make sure Levi doesn’t mind.”

  “He doesn’t,” Fitz said. “He’s the one who told me to come over here.” Fitz leaned over and snagged a piece of the rugelach from the dome-covered plate of samples—a batch that had burnt just enough he couldn’t sell them. But Fitz groaned like it was heaven, and Simon felt his cheeks heat. “I’ll add your name to the list, and I’ll come by with your booth assignment. Do you think you can start up next week?”

  The market had been going on since the start of May, but it never really picked up until June—when the weather was at its best, and they had more visitors from around the area than not.

  “That should be fine,” he said quietly.

  Fitz patted the counter twice with the flat of his palm, then winked when Simon looked up at him. “See you soon.”

  Simon sagged against the marble once the door swung shut, and he had half a mind to flip the sign to closed. No one was going to come in for end of day pastries anyway, and if he really was going to do this next week, he needed time to plan. Part of him wanted to send a message to his brother and chew him out for doing this—for putting him on the spot like that.

  Wanting to be a little more social was one thing, but forcing him to integrate into a town that had spent the early part of his childhood ruthlessly mocking him for his differences wasn’t what he had in mind. He liked the Motel brothers—he tolerated James as best he could, and Charlie was a good guy. Even the Lodge’s housekeeper, Theo, occasionally stopped in to gossip with Kyle and he wasn’t insufferable.

  He’d even started to consider himself actual friends with Collin. So, he wasn’t totally alone, but this seemed like so much.

  And yet, he also recognized it for what it was—an olive branch. Levi understood the food truck was competition with Chametz. This was his way of making peace, making space for him. It made the guilt worse, knowing none of this would really matter. He just wanted to stay afloat long enough to ensure the debt wouldn’t totally crush him when he closed the doors for good.

  Rubbing at his tired eyes, Simon crouched down, feeling an ache in his knees as he set the flyer under the register. He heard the small chime of the bell as he tucked the paper into the corner, and fought back a groan as he stood up.

  And then, his world narrowed down to one single thing—one single sight.

  Rocco Moretti was standing with his hands shoved into the pockets of tight-fitting sweats, his lower lip between his teeth like he was nervous, eyes searching Simon’s face.

  Rocco was there.

  Rocco was…

  “What are you doing here?” The words slipped past his lips before he remembered, but Rocco seemed to understand, because he took long strides with powerful legs and closed the distance between them.

  Simon’s entire body reacted, a visceral thing. His cock was so hard he could have cut steel, and the only thing that saved him was the counter between the two of them. He pressed his hips against it, then said a small prayer he wouldn’t come—because he was close.

  God. He was close.

  “I hope this is okay.” Rocco’s voice was a deep rumble, a bit lighter than his videos, and he knew a lot of that was the mics and the affect. But it was so much the same, Simon’s cheeks flamed, and he just barely fought back a moan.

  “You…of course,” he managed to get out. Then he shook his head and lifted his hands. ‘I didn’t know you were serious.’

  Rocco laughed, and Simon’s dick throbbed, ready to spill. ‘Yesterday was a bad day. A…very bad day.’ His emphasis on the word bad was enough to at least pull back on Simon’s raging want—the weariness in his eyes, the way his lips turned down at the corners. It must have been damn-near torture if Rocco had gotten in his car and driven god only knew how many miles.

  To see him?

  He was too terrified to assume.

  ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘The Lodge,’ Rocco spelled it out. ‘Nice place, very cozy.’

  Simon’s lip twitched in the corner, and he watched Rocco’s eyes trace the movement with his eyes. He swallowed thickly. ‘Have you eaten?’

  Rocco shook his head, then gestured at the door before turning back. ‘I have my dog outside.’

  Simon’s eyes widened. He became aware that for as much as they talked, they didn’t know hardly anything about each other, and yet, here Rocco was. ‘I’m about to close. We can have dinner at my place, so you can bring the dog.’

  ‘James,’ Rocco spelled, and Simon froze, a frown marring his brow. What did James have to do with this? ‘My dog,’ Rocco then clarified, then offered him the sign name for the animal.

  A slow smile crept across Simon’s face. His erection had calmed enough that it wasn’t visible under his apron, so he walked around the counter and beckoned Rocco to follow. Just outside, he saw the little thing—a small, orange ball of fluff like a round little marshmallow tied to one of the benches just outside the shop.

  He heard an involuntary coo rip from his chest as he knelt down, and the small thing trotted over to sniff his fingers. He wasn’t entirely sure he believed this was a dog. It seemed like a science experiment to create a living ball of fluff rather than an animal, but a wet tongue laved across his knuckles, and he sighed as he sank fingers into the soft fur.

  ‘Cute,’ he signed when he turned back to see Rocco watching him with heavy eyes.

  Rocco chuckled, then walked over and unlatched the leash, scooping the thing into his arms and giving it a nuzzle. Simon’s heart beat rapidly against his ribs at the sight of a man Rocco’s size holding something so small and so delicate. And Simon knew the power in Rocco’s hands—he had been watching them for years.

  ‘He’s spoiled,’ Rocco signed with one hand.

  Simon laughed as he realized that for as down to earth as Rocco seemed, he was spoiled himself. He had no doubt everything on Rocco was designer, that his shoes probably cost more than Simon’s monthly loan payment on the shop. And it made him a little bitter, but he also knew Rocco worked hard in an industry that usually didn’t make room for men like him.

  ‘My door’s around here,’ Simon told
him, and they walked around the side of the building to the second entrance he never used. The key stuck in the latch for a second, but it eventually turned and he propped it open with his foot. ‘The front door won’t be locked. Help yourself and I’ll be up after I close the shop.’

  Rocco looked a little bit startled at how readily Simon accepted him into his space, but he didn’t complain. He just signed a quick thanks, then took the steps two at a time with a heavy thud. Simon let the door shut, refusing to watch the flex in his thighs and ass any longer, and he rushed back into the shop and turned the deadbolt.

  Before he could reach for the closed sign, someone gave the door a shove, and he looked up to see Spencer’s frantic eyes, mouth moving as he tried to get it open. Simon heaved an annoyed sigh, but undid the latch. “Please god tell me you have those fudgy cupcake things.”

  Simon’s brows lifted. “Uh. I might? Not a full batch.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll pay you double. Triple,” Spencer said in a halting staccato.

  Simon beckoned him over with a shake of his head. “Calm down. What happened?”

  “Well…I’m the worst boyfriend in the world. I’m just stressed, you know? Because all these cats, and Max is struggling to keep up, and I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with and…”

  Simon held up his hand to calm Spencer’s ranting. “You upset Max?” He knew a little about their dynamic—how Spencer was fussy and spoiled, and Max was quick to temper. Collin was an easy sort of guy, but fighting and drama usually sent him into hiding—usually at Simon’s shop. It was a strange dynamic, and Simon didn’t quite understand it, but he was also a thirty-six-year-old virgin so he was in no position to judge.

  Spencer was always the more dramatic of the triad, but Simon could tell something was really wrong this time, and he felt for the way Spencer looked genuinely afraid. “Go lock the door. I have company for dinner so I can’t take any more customers, but I have cupcakes for you.”

  Spencer groaned. “Oh my god, I am so sorry. I’m such a dick.”

  “You are no such thing.” In truth, Simon thought he was sweet, and it was no trouble to pull out the remaining cupcakes from the fridge and box them up. Levi had made them anyway—an experiment before he added them to the truck. They were never really a cupcake shop, but the demand for sweets like that was growing beyond his rugelach and hamantashen and babka, and it was a perfect avenue for his brother. For him, however, he knew the place was closing and there just wasn’t any point anymore.

  He put a little tape on the box, and when Spencer tried to hand over his card, Simon shook his head. “Let me pay,” Spencer demanded.

  Simon set the box down firmly in front of the worried man and looked him in the eye. “I know you love those two, and they love you. Max will forgive you without cupcakes, but chocolate never hurts.”

  Spencer swallowed thickly. “You’re nice.”

  At that, Simon couldn’t help his laugh. “Most people wouldn’t agree with you. But I like you guys and I’m happy to help. These weren’t going to sell anyway, there’s not enough of them and Levi is too busy this week to do more.”

  Spencer worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “If you’re sure…”

  Simon gave him a firm nod. “Of course I am. You gave me my cat, I owe you.” He realized right then he was going to have to explain to Rocco why he and the cat shared the same name—and maybe also the sheer irony of Rocco’s dog being named James. It felt like a big, tangled mess, but he wanted to get lost in the knots.

  Spencer calmed down considerably, and though it took effort to get him out of the shop, eventually Simon was able to lock back up, set his closed sign, and turn the lights out. He was going to have to get up long before dawn to make up for the morning prep he was missing for this dinner, but the man waiting above stairs for him—he was pretty sure—was totally worth it.

  * * *

  Simon trudged up the stairs, only one at a time in order to delay having to face that Rocco Moretti was in his apartment, and his brain flitted between trying to scrape together his mediocre cooking skills and calling for delivery. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was offer that man pizza, but the thought of showing off his sub-par omelet skills made him feel like the floor was falling under his feet.

  “Get it together, Kadish,” he hissed at himself as he reached for the door handle.

  Inside, the apartment was almost totally silent save for some sort of low murmur in the back room. Rocco was nowhere to be found, but his small dog—James, which still gave him a tiny thrill of amusement—was sitting on the floor at the foot of the sofa while cat Rocco perched on the top, staring unamused at the interloper.

  “Be nice,” Simon warned the cat before he set his keys and phone down, then went in search of his guest. As he slipped down the short hall, the sound got a little louder, and it only took a second for him to recognize what it was.

  In all fairness, Simon hadn’t expected the star of the fucking movie to be in his home—and he also hadn’t expected that stranger to make himself comfortable in his bedroom with his porn. All the same, Simon blushed so hard he felt dizzy, and his hands shook as he threw his bedroom door open and found Rocco standing over his laptop, arms crossed over his large chest.

  Rocco didn’t notice Simon come in right away, and Simon had no idea how to alert him without fainting out of sheer mortification. The laptop’s screen was small, but not small enough to conceal the image of Rocco as Sylent, holding a man in bondage as he pounded his ass.

  “Fuck. Fuck my life,” Simon hissed. He took another step in, and the vibrations must have been enough, because Rocco looked over his shoulder, his mouth spread in a cat who ate the canary sort of grin. “Um,” Simon said.

  ‘I knew you were a fan,’ Rocco signed.

  Simon swallowed heavily, and he knew his humiliation was written all over his face. ‘I did tweet your pseudonym account.’ He was on the cusp of defensive—and he knew when he got defensive, he got mean, and that was the last thing he wanted with Rocco.

  After a beat, Rocco’s long arm stretched out, and he flipped the computer shut. Simon’s breath of relief was short lived, because only a second later, Rocco had closed the distance between them. Simon took involuntary steps backward, hitting the wall, but Rocco didn’t seem to mind.

  ‘You like my work?’

  A thousand responses flitted through Simon’s head from a simple, ‘God, yes,’ to a lie like, ‘I find porn disgusting and I was praying for you.’

  None of that came out. He just let out a single whimper, and a nod.

  Rocco’s smile turned a little dark. ‘I like you.’

  Simon laughed. He didn’t mean to, he didn’t even really think it was funny. Just the idea that someone like Rocco Moretti—Sylent, the adult film star, who could have literally any man he wanted—thinking he was worth anything? It had to be a joke. His stomach twisted, because what if it was?

  He didn’t think Rocco was cruel, but…

  His thoughts fled as Rocco’s large hand touched his face, and when Simon found the courage to look up, Rocco’s eyes had gone soft. “I’m sorry,” Rocco said aloud, and Simon jolted from the sound. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  Simon swallowed past the lump in his throat, then shook his head. He wanted to sign, but Rocco had crowded in so close, it wasn’t possible. “I didn’t want you to see that. I feel like a freak.”

  Rocco’s brows flew high up toward his hairline. “You think making porn means I’m a freak?”

  “No!” Simon burst out, then turned his face away for a second to gather his breath. “No,” he said again when he turned back. “I mean me.” He patted his chest for emphasis.

  Rocco took a step back to give himself signing space. ‘You’re not a freak because you like to orgasm.’

  Simon shook his head. ‘I was a fan. I messaged you because I liked your work and I felt bad that you were hurting. But then we talked, and I liked you as a person. But I
still…like your work,’ he finished, his hands shaking a bit.

  Rocco’s smile returned, and he reached out, taking Simon’s hand in his, squeezing with a gentle strength Simon wanted to curl up in and never leave. “It’s okay.”

  Simon drew his bottom lip between his teeth, then his eyes darted toward the window before he looked back at Rocco’s face. ‘Pizza?’

  With a hearty laugh, Rocco tugged Simon away from the door, and he didn’t let go. Instead, he slung an arm around his waist, and Simon’s entire body went hot—on the knife’s edge of orgasm. It was only his sheer panic that kept it at bay, but Simon knew it would be a fucking miracle if he didn’t come in his pants before the night was out.

  As they moved into the living room, James marched away from the sofa and right into Rocco’s arms, and the familiar, soft feeling of watching that big man cuddle the small dog was back. Simon’s flush hovered around the base of his neck, making it hard to talk, though he supposed that didn’t matter at all. But it was wholly distracting and probably going to be the death of him if he couldn’t get himself under control.

  Rocco was sweet, and he said he liked Simon, but…

  Simon couldn’t let himself think like that. Rocco’s life was so much more than Simon’s. It was bigger, and chaotic, and beautiful, and free in a way Simon couldn’t begin to understand. Simon didn’t envy what Rocco did, but he envied the way life seemed to pour off him, even in times of heartbreak.

  He took a deep breath, then grabbed his phone. When he looked over, he found Rocco on the sofa, legs up on the table, with James against his side. His other hand was twisted at an angle so he could get to cat Rocco’s chin, and Simon had an unwilling, unwanted flash of the future. Of Rocco being here as a partner—as more than just a fly-by-night guest who left town on a whim.

  Stop, he ordered himself. He bit his lip, then waved his hand until Rocco looked over. ‘What do you like on your pizza?’