by KC Burn
Jez shrugged again. “I never had a lot of time for movies. But I like comedies. And action.”
Hayden let out a relieved breath. He had been a little concerned Jez’s favorite films would be subtitled art-house films or depressing tragic dramas, which were his least favorite. Hell, Hayden didn’t even mind a good rom-com or those heartwarming Christmas made-for-TV ones, although he’d never admit that to his buddies.
A quick search of his streaming service revealed Sahara, which they’d both seen and liked. Low-impact viewing—didn’t require a lot of attention or brain power, but still engaging and amusing.
Jez ate a couple of slices before declaring himself full. He waited until Hayden had finished half his pizza before taking both boxes into the kitchen and putting them away in the fridge. When he returned to the living room, he hesitated, like he wasn’t sure he was going to sit down again, but eventually he slid back into his place at the other end of the couch.
WHY DID Hayden have to pick one of Jez’s favorite movies? The damn thing was like Kryptonite. It didn’t matter when it was on, Jez had to watch it. Jez had even bought it on DVD during those incredibly lean times when he’d first moved away from home and couldn’t afford anything but the most bare-bones data plan for his phone. Not that he had a DVD player, but his laptop played DVDs just fine, and so many times when he’d been depressed about a difficult class, teacher, classmate, the pain he’d been in, or his lack of progress on Broadway, this had been one of a dozen or so DVDs that he’d turn to. And if it showed up on TV? Well, he’d just watch it then too. At this point he almost had the entire script memorized.
He’d never have expected to find any sort of commonality with Hayden, never mind this early. It gave him a bit of hope that living here wouldn’t be entirely heinous.
The normality of it all, like Jez was sitting on the couch with a date or a boyfriend, gave him some comfort. He kept sneaking glances at Hayden’s jawline and strong, muscular form, like he’d done in the car. If Jez could build a man from scratch, he’d look a hell of a lot like Hayden. And running into burning buildings to save people? So sexy. At least, in men other than his brother.
In fact, this might be the best date he’d been on in a long time. If only he didn’t have secrets he didn’t want Hayden to learn. If only Hayden would confirm—one way or the other—if he was gay or bi. If only Hayden could see Jez as an attractive man and not the annoying brother of his best friend. If Jez were wishing for unattainable things, though, he’d wish that he hadn’t had to give up his life in New York without any notice. But if wishes were fishes, they’d all be knee-deep in stinking fish carcasses.
Unfortunately Jez didn’t think he had it in him to stay awake for the whole movie. Lethargy had crept into his bones and made his eyes burn with the effort of keeping them open. He didn’t want to appear rude, though. Hayden truly was doing him a favor.
Hayden cleared his throat and Jez tensed.
“So how come you go by Jez now? I know Miguel didn’t pronounce it with an h sound, but either way, Jez Perez? Does the rhyming name help you get parts in plays or whatever you’ve been doing in Broadway?”
Goddamn Miguel. No, that wasn’t fair. Miguel was the only one of his family who’d ever given a damn, and Miguel had never told the family they were still in contact—which was probably wise—but neither had he ever wanted to talk about anything that might touch on or be related to Jez’s sexual orientation. Not that his fucking job had anything to do with the fact that he liked cock, but Miguel had it all wrapped up together in his mind and never wanted to crack the seal on the reality of Jez’s existence.
Somehow, though, when Jez had called Miguel, begging for help, and Miguel had taken control, saying he’d squared things away with Hayden, Miguel hadn’t bothered to tell Hayden much more than he’d have told the family, which was nothing. How could Miguel think that wise? After all, Hayden could be a bullying homophobe. Miguel wouldn’t recognize a homophobe if he tripped over one.
“For the most part, unless people hear my name, they get all squirrelly about someone named Jesús. There wasn’t one white teacher in school who didn’t trip up over the pronunciation at least once, and often more than once. It was like they’re constitutionally incapable of understanding it’s a fucking name, and a fairly popular one in the Latino community. I was taking a stage name, and what I did was just take the anglicized first syllable of my first name and pair it with the last letter of my last name.” Like he wanted to be saddled with Perez for the rest of his stinking life. He didn’t want his career, and the new life he’d fought so hard for, to be linked in any way with the family that had disowned him.
He’d been lulled into a sense of relaxation by Hayden’s laid-back attitude and the almost dreamlike normalcy of things since he’d woken up on Hayden’s porch. But all of that was gone now.
Hayden grunted. “Huh. Interesting. So you go by another last name, then?”
Jez barely avoided rolling his eyes. Seriously, what had Miguel told Hayden? Or maybe Hayden was just one of those guys who only pretended to listen. “Yes. Bouchet.”
“That’s French, isn’t it? What made you pick that?”
What, just because his heritage was Latino, he shouldn’t pick a fucking French name? Aside from Miguel, Jez would just as soon pretend his family didn’t exist. Being disowned did that to a person, but he had a feeling Hayden didn’t know about the past strife in the Perez family. As soon as he could afford it, he’d changed his name officially.
Instead of venting his bitterness, which Hayden didn’t deserve, Jez shrugged. “Dunno. Came across it somewhere and it just called to me.” It was more or less the truth. In a crappy motel room many years ago, when he’d been forever banned from the family home, he’d been desperate for any sort of distraction that would keep him from thinking. The motel’s television had been on its last legs, and he’d watched movie after movie through eyes grainy and sore from crying. He didn’t recall the movie—any of them—that he’d watched, but he’d seen the name Bouchet in the credits, and it had called to him. Like it belonged to him. So he took it and made it his, a use name that suited him far better than his birth name ever had. Jesús Perez died in that dingy hotel room, and Jez Bouchet was born.
“Jez Bouchet.” Hayden sounded almost like he was savoring Jez’s name as thoughtfully as someone taste-testing wines. Jez was man enough to admit it sent a little shiver racing down his spine, hearing his chosen name in Hayden’s mellow baritone. “I like it. I predict you’ll have great success.”
Jez lifted an eyebrow. “Uh, thanks?” Some might argue he’d already had some modest successes, but he wasn’t going to brag about it. Given Miguel’s apparent circumspection, Hayden might not even know exactly what Jez did for a living, never mind what roles he’d performed. Didn’t matter. Not like he needed Hayden’s condescension. Besides, he had a puppy upstairs who might well be upset at yet another change of venue, and crashing for about twelve hours, or as long as Fang let him sleep, sounded like heaven, despite his love of Sahara. Walking on eggshells around Hayden wasn’t easy when he was tired. All it did was tire him out quicker.
“I think I’m going to head up to bed. It’s been a long day.”
A flash of disappointment—perhaps—crossed Hayden’s face, but it was gone in the blink of an eye. “Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow. For a bit, anyway. I’m on again. For future reference, shifts are eleven to eleven, and my schedule is on the fridge.”
“Thanks for the pizza.” Shit. That reminded him. He had literally nothing to eat in this house besides half a pizza.
Hayden seemed to almost read his mind, though. “I can take you out to the grocery store tomorrow, but help yourself to whatever food I’ve got here.”
“Appreciate that. Although I’ll see what I can do about getting a car or figuring out the public transit.”
Hayden shrugged. “No worries.”
A fucking car. Yet another thing on his list. Jez couldn’t fool himsel
f, though. He’d be better off driving to work, despite the traffic, than trying to rely on public transit or Uber. It had been a long fucking time since he’d driven. The days he’d spent fighting with that shitty bucket of bolts masquerading as a rental moving truck didn’t count as driving. He hadn’t ever owned a car before because it hadn’t been necessary in New York, but he had to accept that he wasn’t in New York any longer and he might never return.
At least he had a warm, snuggly puppy to cuddle up to. He hadn’t been sure about getting Fang, but if not for that half-grown pug, Jez would have lost his fucking shit all over the place a thousand times over.
As he headed upstairs, he took one last glance at Hayden and sighed. He missed having a man to cuddle with, and fuck senseless, but even if he could classify Hayden as an old friend, far too many things about him made Jez nervous, not the least of which was how he’d react to a dog hidden in his room.
Chapter 3
SLOPPY PUPPY kisses in his ear brought Jez to wakefulness.
“Ugh. That’s just gross.” Jez attempted to scold his fat, warm puppy, but Fang licked up his nose in response. Jez sputtered and wiped at his face. “Seriously, just yuck.”
Fang’s little butt didn’t stop wiggling, though. Probably because Jez couldn’t inject any real censure or disgust into his tone. Fang was too fucking cute; Jez hadn’t gotten truly angry at him once in the four months since he’d found himself owned by the furry fawn bundle.
Fang let out one of his gruff little barks that didn’t sound like an actual bark, and Jez noted how bright his room was. He scrabbled for his phone, plucking it off the charger. Fuck. He’d slept until after noon. Jez was more of a morning person and only slept late after a night of drinking. Which, given the empty calories in booze, did not happen all that often. Gaining weight in his profession would cut down significantly on the jobs he got, although he might have a tiny bit of wiggle room with this new job. Since it was a television show with hiatuses, he might be able to relax his diet and exercise schedule periodically.
Jez stretched, and the gentle ache in his muscles reminded him it had been over a week since he’d exercised properly. Between the frantic packing, doing his best to finalize his life in New York, then the draining, debilitating, and fatiguing drive along the hypotenuse of the country, he hadn’t had the time for anything not strictly required to keep body and soul and puppy together.
But he was starting to feel the lack and would have to see where and how he could remedy that. Failing anything else, he could jog around Hayden’s neighborhood. Through the haze of his exhaustion, he’d noticed an abundance of green and extra-wide residential roads as he guided the rental truck through Hayden’s area of Pasadena.
Fang grunted and pawed at him, and Jez sat up and glanced over at Fang’s puppy pad. Damn. He must have missed Fang trying to wake him during the night, based on the almost-dried yellow spot. First things first. Get puppy to a patch of green before his buggy little eyeballs turned yellow. Or before he had an accident in Hayden’s house, off the puppy pads, because that wouldn’t endear either of them to their temporary landlord/host.
Jez sleeping in so late meant Hayden would be at work, which meant he could safely stick Fang out in the backyard. Not on his own and not off leash until Jez had a chance to scope things out. If the backyard didn’t work or didn’t have any privacy fencing, he might have to avoid neighbors seeing Fang as well. Hayden didn’t seem like the sort who got chummy with his neighbors, bonding over barbecues and lawn mowers, but one never knew. Jez couldn’t risk any of them asking Hayden about the new dog.
Jez got up and dressed in the first T-shirt and shorts that he pulled out of his duffel, an awesome benefit of living in southern California. October in New York would be much chillier. He scooped Fang into his arms and loped downstairs, noting how each step creaked. That was going to be difficult to explain, when he had to go for “air” twice or three times a day. Maybe he was going to have to fake a smoking habit.
When Fang had taken care of business out back—which was both private and well fenced—Jez kept him on the leash while they explored their new living quarters.
He’d seen some of the house the previous night, although he hadn’t paid it much attention. The bones were great, but it was stark as fuck. Spartan only strived to be as bleak and austere as the walls in Hayden’s place. From the outside, the house was typical rustic Craftsman, but the interior had been whitewashed. The only things saving it from looking like some sort of institution were the battered brown leather chairs and matching couch in the living room, the dark wood furniture in the dining room, and the hardwood floors. Even the kitchen had all-white furniture on gorgeous terra-cotta tiles. If Hayden was responsible for the atrocious paint job, how much did that burnished warm sienna irk him?
Hayden hadn’t said any rooms were restricted or private, so Jez wandered through the kitchen, Fang’s nails clicking against the tile as he followed along. Jez loved the layout of an old house. It didn’t have that manufactured cookie-cutter layout that newer houses seemed to have. This place had a surprise around every corner, whether it was a tiny nook, a whole other room, or a fireplace. Although he suspected firefighter Hayden didn’t use the fireplace.
Jez opened the door off the kitchen to find another stark room that Hayden had claimed as a home gym. In the far corner sat a desk and a filing cabinet, but Jez assumed they didn’t get much use. Aside from paying bills and doing taxes, he didn’t know why Hayden would bother with an office portion. It didn’t take more than a glance at Hayden’s impressive body for Jez to know the gym part of the room was far more important.
Biting his lip, he tried desperately not to picture Hayden working the weights, skin slick with sweat, muscles pumped, veins prominent on his corded forearms. Blood flowed south, and Jez’s cock thickened.
No, for fuck’s sake, no. No lusting over the alpha male who might or might not be gay. Who probably wasn’t gay and might not appreciate fueling the sexual fantasies of his best friend’s younger brother.
Developing a crush on yet another unsuitable man would be the height of folly, and if Jez screwed up here, his options for refuge would become severely limited.
Jez backed out of the room, shutting the door with a decisive bang. His cock needed to get the message pronto—Hayden was off-limits.
Another door, beyond which he’d expected to find the garage, opened onto a laundry room. He laughed. No more laundromat, at least while he was here. Laundromats sucked, and he’d heard LA apartments with en suite laundry were notably scarce and a real luxury.
On the opposite side of the house, running along half of the side yard, was a… Jez didn’t know what it was. Covered porch? Sunroom? Something like that, and yet it wasn’t exposed to the elements. But this room had an entire wall of windows that went from ceiling to three-quarters of the way to the floor. Hayden clearly didn’t take advantage of the gorgeous, light, airy atmosphere, given it contained nothing more than a white wicker love seat and matching coffee table. Nobody sane would sit on cushionless wicker for any length of time. Unlike much of the rest of the main floor, this had a plush sort of Berber carpet in a pale sand color. Jez snorted. Had Hayden looked for snow-white carpet? He must have realized at some point that even if he’d managed to hermetically seal the house, white carpet was a bad fucking idea.
Nevertheless, this room would be ideal for Jez to exercise. Hell, it was nicer than the studio he’d rehearsed in most of his career. In fact, just thinking about putting himself through his stretches in this room, the lush greenery visible through the windows, sunlight streaming in, soothed him like he’d popped an antianxiety tablet. Without all the muzzy-headed side effects.
Fucking hell. He wanted this room and was already anticipating the regret he’d feel when he found a new apartment. Even more than he’d regret no longer having a laundry room. His new job had studio space where he could stretch and rehearse, but Jez had no delusions about being able to afford an apartment w
ith room enough to exercise in. He was going to have to find a gym as well, hopefully close to this mythical apartment he needed to find.
A prioritized list might help. First, find a car, because that would make it easier to check out apartments and to take Fang to a park on the days when Hayden didn’t work.
Just like that, most of his tension returned. He picked up Fang, buried his face in the warm fur, and just breathed.
Determined to stave off another bout of despondency, Jez went back upstairs. Since the downstairs was large, there were several rooms on the second floor. He resolutely avoided Hayden’s room. Sitting on the couch last night beside a freshly showered Hayden had wreaked havoc on his olfactory senses. He could only imagine a whole room where the scents of Hayden—and ones more intimate than bodywash—permeated everything. Devastating. Especially for a man dead set on not falling in lust.
One of the doors led to another guest room every bit as stark as the one Jez resided in, one door deceptively led to a shallow linen closet, and another opened into a stairwell that appeared to lead to the attic. The last room, though, interested him plenty.
Its walls had also been painted white—Jez could not believe the institutional color scheme had been original to the house—but it was stacked with cardboard boxes. And not the haphazard jumble of different-sized boxes Jez had scrounged from his local markets and liquor stores. No, these were the type that had been purchased from a moving company and were all identical in size and stacked precisely against one wall.
Desperate to know what was in those boxes, Jez shifted a couple. They weren’t as heavy as he expected, but none of them appeared to be labeled. Curious. For someone who enjoyed a very regimented living style, neatly packed cardboard boxes with no labels seemed wildly out of character.
No way could he justify snooping, though. Not if he expected the same courtesy from Hayden. And he couldn’t think of any subtle way to ask.