Hard For My Boss

by Daryl Banner

A tiny whimper escapes Lance’s throat. It’s probably entirely unrelated to my mention of the birds, but I put an arm around him and squeeze tighter nonetheless.

  The issue is, Lance can’t be walked around the city like other dogs. The first several times (and we’re talking over the course of months) that I tried to take him on a walk, poor Lance howled and protested with such terror that I simply gave up. I built a doggy-door into the door leading out onto the terrace, which has a full garden and considerable patches of grass. There’s even two small trees with a bench underneath one of them where Lance will sometimes lie down.

  But lately, we’ve had a team of bullies in avian form who will periodically show up and scare Lance inside. These birds are big, loud, and relentless. Though Lance is able to go out there to do his business whenever he wants, he often waits for me to go out with him, like I’m his guardian against the territorial bird bullies.

  His tail starts wagging suddenly, swatting my side softly every second. Then he hops up from the floor energetically and circles around, watching me as he pants, pants, pants.

  “Oh, I see. You want to play, do you?”

  He starts hopping around in place, then posing, like he’s ready to catch a Frisbee or chase a ball I’m not holding, but could totally produce from nowhere and throw, according to his expression and the canine logic of what crazy ball-throwing magic humans are apparently capable of.

  I peel off my socks and toss them aside, then bound after him. Lance goes running off to hide. Even though I know he’s always in the second guest room—since that’s always where he seems to run off to hide first—I give him a few seconds to situate, then call out a little taunting warning before going to “find” him. When his hiding spot under the bed is found, he goes dashing off to his next spot, which will either be in the gym or back out in the living room. I’m not sure when Lancelot and I figured out how to play hide-and-go-seek together, but it just sort of happened over the years without any effort on my part to train him (I think), and he seems to love the hell out of it.

  Eventually, he gets that look in his eye and starts whimpering by the terrace doggie door, so I grab my phone off the counter before heading out onto the terrace with Lance, acting as his guardian against the birds. I stroll across the garden while Lance goes about his business, since I note that there are no birds today.

  I come to a stop at the railing that overlooks the city, then calmly watch the sun as it slowly begins to sink past the jagged city skyline of ridged condominium towers to the west and the taller skyscrapers beyond.

  And somewhere in that sunset is a guy I totally ignored today.

  I didn’t just normal-ignore him, as per our agreement. I cold-ignored him when I entered the office, when I went about my day, and when I slipped into the meeting with three other interns. And none of that feels good to me. I need Trevor to know how special he is, and I can’t do that by treating him the way I did today for the rest of the summer.

  If he doesn’t kick me in the nads for how I’m treating him after a week of this, then I will.

  After a quick peek back at Lance, who is all but frolicking in the large patch of grass like he’s chasing an invisible goblin, I pull out my phone and tap the cryptic “T” on my contacts list.

  The phone rings once. Then twice. Then three times.

  My chest tightens. He’s going to ignore my call. He’s going to let it go to voicemail. He’s giving me a taste of my own puckery medicine, ignoring me with a cold, cold shoulder.

  Then he answers: “Hey.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “Trevor.”

  “Had to slip into my room. My roommate’s outside the door,” he adds in a whisper.

  “Elijah. Right.” I smile. “You kept me waiting, intern.”

  “Oh? We’re back to playing the boss-intern game?”

  “You know the boss doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  Trevor sighs into the phone. “Sorry, boss, but I think I’m going to need a reevaluation of my job description, seeing as bending to your every neurotic whim isn’t exactly on it.”

  I grin despite myself. Oh, Trevor … “An employee of Benjamin Gage has many responsibilities.”

  “Is the top of that list of responsibilities to be invisible and work thanklessly?”

  My mouth locks with my next words unsaid, hanging on my lips. I shut my eyes, then shake my head. “So … you noticed the oddness today, too.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Today was weird.”

  “Really weird. I mean, I know you keep to your office most of the time … but not even a glance my way? Not even a mention of my hard work? Or how cute I looked in my shirt and tie? I picked them out for you, I’ll have you know.”

  “For the record,” I state, “I did glance your way, and the only thing that greeted my eyes was the sight of your sexy booty across the room. That wasn’t very nice of you.”

  The sound of Trevor’s breathy, voiceless chuckle fills my ear. It makes me smile, hearing it.

  “Secondly,” I continue, “if you expect a high-five and a sugar cookie every time you do something good at the office, then you need a hard reminder of the dick you work for. Oh, and also the fact that you’re an adult, and every job in the world is like that.”

  A brief moment passes before he says, “I don’t suppose there are many jobs anywhere that aren’t, in most ways, thankless.”

  “How mature of you to note.”

  “But maybe …” He hesitates. “Maybe we don’t have to be … so professional at work.”

  I smirk, looking off toward the setting sun. The sky is a furious orange from one end of the jagged skyline to the other. “Yeah,” I agree quietly, all too aware of how uncomfortable today felt. It was like having your underwear riding up your crack all day long, and we all know how awkward that moment is when you’re pretty sure no one’s looking and it’s safe to finally pull your wedgie.

  “We can still keep things a secret,” he goes on.

  “Yes. It’s important.”

  “I’m just thinking that maybe we shouldn’t give each other so much of the cold shoulder. I think it’s making things—”

  “More suspicious,” I finish for him.

  “Exactly.”

  “We should just be ourselves.”

  “Totally ourselves.”

  “Me, the boss.”

  “Me, the intern.”

  “Benjamin Gage.”

  “Trevor Woodard.”

  I hear Lance whimper behind me, standing at the door and waiting to head back in, but apparently not wanting to go without me. I smile as I study him across the terrace. “Lance loves the toy you got him, by the way. He’s playing with it right now.”

  “You’re not a good liar.”

  “No, really. He loves it. He leads an army of sword-wielding pup soldiers now. They’re questing for the Holy Grail.”

  “He dug a hole, buried it, and peed on it.”

  I snort. “It’s the thought that counts.”

  “I’ll bring him a round table next time.”

  “Want to come over for dinner tomorrow?” I ask abruptly. “We can try having that night I wanted to give you all over again, except this time, we leave out the spontaneous round-trip flight.”

  “But I liked the spontaneity.”

  Lance paws at the door, still whimpering. “Oh, a dinner at my place can be plenty spontaneous. Trust me.”

  He takes a breath. “Well, the truth is … I don’t think I should be coming over every other night. I think my frequenting your place isn’t a good way to practice discretion. Not when—”

  “Your roommate. Right.” I grit my teeth, frustrated by the circumstance.

  “Maybe next week sometime. Or next weekend.”

  “Next weekend?” I blurt, incredulous. “You’re going to make me wait that long for your ass?”

  “Well, if it’s my ass we’re talking about,” responds Trevor, his tone light and superior, “then you may have to wait a
bit longer for that. I don’t just hand my ass out to anyone, considering …” He clears his throat. “Considering that I haven’t exactly handed it to anyone at all, ever, per se.”

  I nod and put my back to the glorious sunset, leaning against the railing. “I’m curious, Trevor. What kept you from going all the way? Are you waiting for the right guy or what?”

  “Maybe. Or I just …” He sighs. “I’ve been so busy being a good student and all that. I’m not even sure anymore if it’s some high road I’m taking, or if I’ve just … simply not gotten around to it.”

  “You make it sound like an item on your list of to-dos.”

  He chuckles at that. “Far from. Whenever I do go all the way, I want it to be … special.”

  “Special?”

  “Yeah. Meaningful. There’s so much casual sex in the world. Boys bending over to the first person who breathes on them, boys who meet up with a new piece of meat every single weekend, boys who bang through boys the way you toss back a bag of chips.” He lets out a sigh. “I don’t want to be a chip.”

  “You’re so not a chip.”

  “I can’t just throw away my virginity,” he goes on. “I know, I know. I’m the corniest, most old-fashioned guy you’ve ever met. You’re having second thoughts about even having me as one of your interns. I’ll ruin the cool-guy image of your whole company.”

  I smile and shake my head. “I doubt you’d ruin any company image if you sat right on it.”

  Saying that makes me think of him sitting right on me.

  On my lap, more accurately.

  On my naked lap, even more accurately.

  “Besides,” I go on, feeling my chest warm and my heart flutter excitedly, “I … think that makes you really cool, actually.”

  “Yeah?” he breathes, his voice quivering a bit.

  “It’s refreshing to hear such … virtue in another guy.”

  Okay. My dick is totally disagreeing. It’s hard from thinking about his tight ass squirming in my lap. I’m literally having wet and slippery shower daydreams in an instant. The sensation of my cock slipping between his firm butt cheeks, slick and easy, as it seeks his tight pink hole as naturally as a power cord pops into a wall socket.

  Zap. Pop. Power.

  The feeling of slipping inside him—the warmth, the ease, the tightness—is worth waiting for. It’s been so damned long since I’ve let myself get intimate with anyone.

  I can’t let my insatiable hunger for Trevor destroy the honor and respect I’m trying to give him—the very same honor he is exhibiting. Really, it isn’t the worst thing, being around a guy as adorable and hot and young as Trevor. It’s only agonizing.

  Meanwhile, my dick writes the most butt-hurt power ballad known to humankind. He isn’t happy.

  “Thanks for saying that, Benjamin.” The sound of all three syllables of my name in his slightly shy, achy voice casts a wave of excitement through my system. I’ve heard him grunt. I’ve heard that cute voice in my ear. I’ve been the reason for those sounds.

  And it makes me think about more than the sex. It makes me think about waking up next to him, or cuddling with him on the couch like we did just last night.

  I slap a palm to my face. What the hell is going on with me? I’m totally messed up about this kid.

  This … kid.

  “But seriously,” he goes on in his same cute voice, “and this is quite serious. Super serious question.” Trevor takes a breath. “If I was a chip, what kind would I be? Don’t say potato.”

  I let myself smile—while my dick throbs in a prison of mesh and microfiber. “A tortilla chip. But dipped in a tangy salsa.”

  “I am twenty-one percent Spanish-blooded. I did an ancestry DNA test thing a couple years ago for a class. I have ancestors in Spain, England, and a few other places.”

  I’m still thinking about his confession of wanting his first time to be special. “So are you picturing, like, flower petals leading up to a candlelit bathtub? And then—”

  “Wait. What?”

  “Your first time. Sorry, my mind’s a bit fixated now.”

  “Hey, now. Don’t go planning this like … like it’s a thing you’re going to orchestrate. I’m not an item on your to-do list.”

  “You’re the only item on my to-do list,” I counter, rubbing my hardened crotch as my devilish grin intensifies.

  “Alright. I should return to my roommate before he wonders what sex hotline I’ve holed myself up with in the closet.”

  “You’re … in the closet?” I tease.

  “I’m hanging up, Ben,” he warns, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

  “Come out of the closet! Elijah’s got your back. He probably already knows you’re gay. The closet is nowhere to live.”

  “I’ll see you at the office tomorrow, boss.”

  I smirk. “You sound like a salty chip right now.”

  “I’m a spicy barbecue Lays chip. I’m a spicy lay,” he whispers, trying on a suggestive, sexual tone.

  “You’re so much hotter when you’re trying not to be hot.”

  “The things you say!” Trevor protests with half a laugh and half a scoff. “I swear, if you were a chess piece, you’d move one step forward and two steps back!”

  “Sounds like a knight to me.”

  “Sounds like someone who doesn’t know how to play chess.”

  Lance has all but given up on me, lying in the grass again with his head cradled on his front paws, staring at me with bored, lazy eyes. I bite my lip and consider my next metaphorical move. Do I bring out my queen, or do I let my pawn take an unassuming step forward to prepare for a sexual ambush?

  A tone of sincerity touches his words. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” I agree, like a promise.

  He hangs up, and I let the phone drop into my pocket. Lance is up in an instant as I cross the terrace toward the door, and then the pair of us bound back inside. While Lance lounges on the couch to watch TV (or stare at the wall or wait for cat commercials or whatever dogs really do), I plant myself in a bar stool and whip out my laptop, figuring I’ll catch up on some work.

  When I’m about to plug my laptop power cord into the wall, I stop, staring at the three metal prongs and the socket, and recall something I’d thought before.

  The socket is Trevor.

  I am the plug. The very hard, throbbing, power-hungry plug.

  The next minute, I’m upstairs on my bed flat on my back, legs spread, pants off, and feverishly jerking my steel-hard dick. So much for working tonight.

  29

  Trevor notices some office tension.

  The tension is in my pants, by the way.

  And, when the following week arrives, it only intensifies.

  With each passing workday, whether I’m at the intern table or among the office computers, Ben makes it a point to stroll by, looking so damned proud of himself and greeting everyone by name. “Isaac. Caleb. Trevor.” His eyes linger on mine a bit too long, giving me the chance to catch that all-familiar glint of humor in them as he disappears into his office.

  He’s clearly taken what I said to heart.

  “Can you get me an intern to look over these numbers?” asks Ben one afternoon to Rebekah, loudly enough for me to hear. “I prefer someone with a good eye. Someone sharp. Someone who’s not let me down yet.” Then he casually looks my way and gives a nod. “Trevor, perhaps.”

  “Yes, sir,” says Rebekah at once, and then I get a new task.

  And when I turn in the corrected numbers to him, Ben gives me a twinkly-eyed nod and a curt, “Thank you,” before hopping back into his office like a proud puppy who’s found a bone.

  Each day that passes, I catch myself having to stifle my laugh in the presence of my peers for fear of giving away any secret thing going on between Mr. Gage and I—especially when he peers at me from across the office, thinks no one’s looking, then gives me some totally out-of-character, attitude-filled chin-lift, or one of his superior, cocky sm
irks, or decides to pose suggestively against whatever desk he’s near, deliberately poking out his butt in my direction.

  This third week as an intern at Gage Communications, I learn a very important lesson: Benjamin Gage is a super skilled cock tease.

  I seriously underestimated him. When I’m seated at one of the computers, innocently doing my work, he comes to check on one of his employees seated at the computer right next to mine, and when he does so, he leans into their computer with obscene demonstrativeness, putting his tight ass right at eyelevel with me while I’m trying to work. He has no shame about it either; the total dick that is Benjamin shifts his weight from one leg to the other as he innocuously inspects the employee’s work, and I have to fight to keep all my attention on my computer screen and not take a big bite out of that sexy butt hovering in my peripheral. Ben gets so daring that he leans his ass close enough to my face that I could literally lean on it like a second head cushion to my office chair. I have no doubt it’ll be twenty times more comfortable.

  I guess this kind of childishness is what I signed up for when I decided to screw around with the boss.

  The week flies by fast, and the following weekend, even faster. Elijah occupies me for every minute of it, despite my wanting to make plans with Ben. It’s bothersome, but Benjamin and I both knew we’d have to let things cool down for a bit until we have more allowance to sneak around our respective obstacles.

  My main obstacle: my roommate Elijah, who totally promised me not to mess with Ashlee if I don’t mess with whoever it is I did the dingy-dingy with in the bathroom.

  My roommate, who I am terribly, horribly, utterly lying to.

  Is it a good or bad thing that my devotion—if that isn’t too creepy and dramatic a word to use—to Benjamin is so strong, I’d deceive my best friend, hop around behind his back, and have little to no reservations about it?

  I mean, really. The guilt is almost nonexistent lately. Maybe that’s because, ever since that one crazy Wednesday night where I jumped on a jet in the middle of dinner, Ben and I haven’t spent any time together.

  That needs to change, I think to myself Sunday evening as I’m gripping my phone tightly awaiting yet another flirty text from Ben while watching my roommate kick some poor guy’s ass online on his Xbox.