by Tessa Bailey
A lot of things. Starting now.
“I just…I have a thing for someone. And I don’t know how to approach him about it.” The drumming in his ears beat louder. “You’re the only guy I know who—”
“I’m sorry.” Renner held up a finger. “Did you just say you have a thing for a him?”
Chapter Two
Bautista had thing for a him?
“Yeah, try to keep up, huh?” Milo paced to the left, then back to the right. “I realize this is something inside a person. Not something he’s taught. But I’m not…secure yet. Not as self-assured as you. So I’m learning the way I learned everything else. Watching. Listening. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around him, so I thought…I’d watch you.” Silence. Way too much silence. And a lot of processing that would be easier to do if his head wasn’t throbbing like a son of a bitch. “But then you had to go and park outside the lot over and over again, so frankly, it’s been way more necessary to watch you than I’d originally thought.”
“I knew you couldn’t refrain from lecturing me,” Renner murmured, because really, his irritating persistence had to be pointed out. “Well, that confession was severely unexpected.”
Milo snorted. “You’re telling me.”
Renner couldn’t recall the last time he’d been surprised by…anything. His stepsister’s falling in love with a mechanic the size of a mountain had been more exhausting than anything else. His factory’s exploding had meant more paperwork. Bautista, gay? That was one for the record books. Not only did he like men, however. He liked a specific man. Which seemed to be the part Renner’s attention continued to snag on. Snagging and snagging. And snagging.
Back in the factory tonight—and every day prior—Renner had looked at Milo the way one appreciates fine art. Objectively, because it wasn’t for touching. Even if a man went through the trouble of bidding on or negotiating the price of said art piece, it would only be a pain in the ass once he got it home. Hence his no straight guys rule. His infrequent hookups were with professionals like himself who didn’t have the time for entanglements. Nor did they have any desire to waste time on a man who still had a foot inside the closet.
Was that the case with Milo?
Dropping the fine art filter, Renner let himself look at Milo. Really look. And Christ, there was no way not to enjoy what he saw. The guy looked like a young, undiscovered Adam Rodriguez. Intelligent light brown eyes, dimples, scruff. The latter one normally turned Renner off, but on Milo, it was somehow really, obnoxiously charming. He had a scar bisecting his chin, which caused a disruption in his five-o’clock shadow, giving him a piratical edge. That was what he had going for him above the neck. Below? Renner hadn’t let himself go there yet, but they were only a few feet apart, and Milo’s head was tipped forward, as if awaiting judgment, so Renner allowed his gaze to dip down over the sturdy ridges of Milo’s pecs, and lower to where his buttoned shirt tucked into his belted pants. His stomach was like a fucking drum waiting for someone to beat on it. And that heavy-looking curve behind his fly…
Renner’s mouth dried up.
All of these observances could be for nothing, because while Renner wouldn’t doubt him—hell, he’d come out like that to the boss he didn’t even like—he still couldn’t wrap his mind around Milo wanting to date a man. Renner hadn’t suspected a damn thing, and he’d been reading men and their signals for a very long time.
Maybe he’d missed the signs because Bautista was only interested in someone else.
Fuck, his head hurt.
“Listen, you need to get an ice pack on that shiner,” Milo said, not looking him in the eye. “The longer you wait, the worse it’ll be in the morning.” One of his dimples came out to play. “You can tell your city friends the other guy looks worse, if you want. Your secret is safe with me.”
With that, Milo turned and walked back toward the factory, moving in that loose, male way of his. Just like that. As if he hadn’t run up like a hero, saved Renner from being robbed, then come flying out of the closet. Renner was supposed to just drive back to his apartment now and pretend that this man hadn’t been looking to him for help all this time? Had he…assisted him at all? He didn’t know. He wouldn’t know. Unless he investigated a little more.
Against his will, Renner’s eyes dropped to Milo’s ass, the lean muscles flexing beneath his work pants. Investigating could lead to trouble. But only for his peace of mind, since Milo had a “thing” for someone else. Who?
“Bautista, wait.” Renner hitched his thumb toward the car. “Get in. Let’s go…talk about this guy. You can ask me direct questions instead of skulking around in the dark like a confused cat burglar.” He turned on a heel, away from Milo’s hopeful expression, which was making him a fair bit confused himself. “I’m leaving in the morning, so we can pretend that this temporary truce never happened.”
Milo’s footsteps gained ground behind him. “As long as you put ice on that eye while we’re talking—”
“Yes,” Renner cut in. “I heard you the first time, Florence Nightingale.”
A minute later, they were cutting down the deserted streets of Hook, its residents either at home or at the Third Shift. Sharing space with Milo was odd. They’d been shit-talking each other for months. Now out of nowhere, there was a shared moment they had to deal with. It was disconcerting for Renner, who didn’t have any friends to begin with. Now—as if being seven years Milo’s senior wasn’t bad enough—he felt like the sage veteran, guiding the eager, young ingenue. Not a flattering look.
They parked outside Renner’s building and he let them inside, trying his best to appear aloof, even though a gorgeous man was following him up the stairs. Jesus, it’s not like it was the first time he’d gone home with someone attractive. It wasn’t even the first time this fall. But there was no denying how different it felt with Bautista. The man who’d become his sort of…uninvited protector. Or had he misinterpreted everything up until tonight?
Determined to get all the cards on the table—just for closure’s sake—Renner shut his apartment door behind Milo and turned the lock. “Well, here you go. This is what a gay man’s apartment looks like. Start taking notes.”
In a familiar gesture, Milo flipped Renner off, continuing his journey through the sparse layout of furniture. When he reached the kitchen, he propped his elbows on the counter and leaned, like a man ordering beer at a dive bar. “So there’s no way I’ll ever trade decorating tips with another guy. Even if I…” He pushed off the counter and straightened, running an agitated hand through his hair. “Even if this thing with Travis works out.”
“Travis.” Huh. Renner had apparently swallowed a wrench by accident. “Right. So he has a name. Where did you meet him?” Milo sauntered from one end of the kitchen to the next, opening the fridge and taking out a bag of frozen peas. “Those vegetables have been there since the previous tenant. Or the one before that. They’re not going anywhere near my face.”
“So touchy,” Milo tsked, his dimple showing. He threw the peas back into the freezer and removed the ice tray instead, cracking the cubes into a paper towel he laid out. In the process of twisting the end and creating a makeshift ice pack, he stopped, something catching his eye in the open cabinet.
“Blood pressure medication.” Milo plucked the orange bottle off the shelf and shook it. “Your name is on them. Don’t tell me these belonged to the last tenant.”
Exasperated over the kick of humiliation in his stomach, Renner crossed to the kitchen and snagged the pill bottle out of Milo’s hand. “Yes, they’re mine. But we’re here to talk about you and not me. So. If you please—”
“My father took that same brand after his heart attack.” Milo looked a little seasick. “You’re only, what…thirtysomething—”
“Thirty-three.” Renner shoved the bottle into his pocket. “Same age as Henry Cavill.”
“Who?”
Really? “Never mind.” He sighed. “Yes, I had a mild heart attack last winter. I’d app
reciate if you could keep it to yourself.” It wouldn’t be good for business to have a perceived weakness passing from mouth to mouth. God help him if it got back to his sister—she’d probably show up on his doorstep demanding he engage in some kind of art therapy. “I have it under control. I’ve eliminated the amount of stressful—”
Milo snorted.
“What was that?”
“That was skepticism. You’ve been working twelve-hour days since the explosion.” He ticked off his fingers. “You don’t get enough sunlight. You have to put up with animosity from everyone at the factory. Sometimes you don’t even eat—”
“How close of attention have you been paying exactly?”
Milo dropped his hand and slipped it into his pocket, rocking back on his heels like the absolute epitome of someone trying to play it cool. Had he completely judged Milo wrong? The guy had been eye-rolling him since he’d been hired by Vaughn. But it appeared some kind of veil had been dropped. Or maybe he just hadn’t been looking diligently enough. “Close enough attention to know you’re probably better off in Hook than Manhattan. You know…” The hand in Milo’s pocket started to jostle. “Stress-wise and all.”
“Yeah. Stress-wise.” Desperately needing to move on from the subject of himself, Renner leaned back against the kitchen counter. “All right, tell me about this Travis. Make it fast and interesting. Someone recently pointed out I’m not getting enough rest.”
Milo’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and there they were. Those damn dimples again. “You know Holly Burbank? The singer?”
“The pop star? Yes, I’m aware of her.”
“Okay, well, after I got out of the army, I worked as her bodyguard for a while.” He scratched behind his right ear. “We kind of dated.”
Renner had to bite back a laugh. Or a growl. He wasn’t sure which. “Well, you’re certainly holding up the interesting part of the bargain.”
The security guard executed a small bow, but turned serious in degrees. Like a clock winding down. “I liked her. I’ve liked a lot of girls, truth be told.” He winked at Renner, but there wasn’t any heart in it. “But liking Holly and the other girls…it was nothing compared to when I met Travis. He was Holly’s personal chef.” He held up a hand and rushed to add, “Nothing happened. I wouldn’t do that to someone I was seeing. And anyway, Travis…he goes out with men and…I don’t even know where to start with another dude.” His head fell back on a laugh. “God, this must all sound so stupid to you.”
No, it didn’t. It sounded the opposite of stupid, actually. This was a man who’d taken a long road to discovering something important about himself. Now that he’d done so, he wasn’t sure how to proceed. It was…admirable, really. He wasn’t in denial. There was no shame layered into the story he told. It was the most refreshing thing Renner could remember witnessing in a long damn time.
But admiring Milo and helping him were two different things. If Milo had been hoping to understand himself better by watching Renner, he clearly needed more guidance than Renner was willing to give. He didn’t have the time or inclination to become someone’s field guide. Hell, being as jaded and disinterested in real love as Renner was, he’d probably do damage to the new potential way Milo could see the world.
“Shit, we need to take care of your eye.” Milo closed the distance between them in a long stride, holding the homemade ice pack aloft. When Renner flinched at the sudden intimacy, he hesitated. “Come on, man. It’s swelling up.”
Yeah. Well, his eye wasn’t the only part of him in danger of swelling, and that’s why Milo needed to go home. This was a young man with a hang-up on someone else, and Renner was quite inappropriately attracted to him. And the asshole seemed to have no idea. His wide-eyed enthusiasm was only reminding Renner that he’d become a cold, calculating, emotionless drifter, going from place to place and getting attached to no one. This whole situation was an unwanted distraction from where his focus was required. Growing the corporation. Landing the account he’d been chasing for a full year.
Renner pushed the ice pack away. “Listen, your concern is touching, but it’s time for you to go, Bautista.”
There it was. The eye roll he knew so well. “Nope.”
Chapter Three
Yeah, Milo was giving Renner attitude, but on the inside he was kind of wondering how he’d screwed up a conversation that had seemed to be going so well. In fact, he was still kind of reeling under the impact of telling another human being he was attracted to Travis. The longer he’d kept it inside, the more earthshaking the whole confession waiting in his chest had felt. Now that it was out, God, he could float up to the ceiling and bob around for a while.
Until Renner had shut him down.
Fortunately, he was used to the boss man throwing his weight around and rejecting anything resembling basic, non-business-related communication. That didn’t mean Renner’s asking him to leave didn’t…cut him up a little. It did. Probably because he was still feeling a little raw from being so honest. But Renner’s abrupt demand for him to leave wasn’t going to deter him from the idea he’d gotten when he’d seen Renner’s heart pills. Whether the boss realized it or not, he needed Milo’s help. So he was going to get it.
And maybe, just maybe, he could convince the man to help him in return.
God knew he didn’t know where to start without it.
Since the day he’d been introduced to Travis, he’d been slowly retreating into himself, trying to figure out how to deal. He loved women. Didn’t he? Yes. Did he get excited at the idea of them finding fulfillment with the use of his body? Yes, who wouldn’t? Giving someone pleasure was something he reveled in. Did he want to reach his own release with a woman? Not as much as he’d once thought. And lately, not at all. When he jerked off in the mornings, it was Travis he thought about.
Or it used to be. The body he’d been imagining more and more often was just an anomaly. A proximity thing. Kind of like right now, with Renner giving him a what the fuck face, he kind of wanted to kiss it right off of him. And then he wanted to ice that shiner.
His attraction to Renner was nothing like his interest in Travis. It was noisy and in his face, as opposed to exciting and nonintimidating. Allowing himself to feel for Travis, letting those first strains of connection grow, hadn’t bruised him. Meanwhile, even acknowledging he’d been nursing a secret crush on his boss was like taking roadside enemy fire. Someone was going to get injured.
“You know, refusing to leave someone’s residence has a name,” Renner droned. “It’s called trespassing.”
Maybe instead of icing that black eye, Milo could just give him a matching set. “You know, for someone who just had their stubborn butt saved, you’re pretty ungrateful.”
Renner crossed his arms. “Just put the damn ice on my eye. I know you’re not going to leave until you’ve felt useful.”
Milo felt a spark of satisfaction in his chest. It appeared he hadn’t been the only one paying attention. During the time Milo had spent overseas, he’d been most fascinated with the medics in his regiment. He’d pestered them into teaching him more than just the basic set of skills they passed on in army training, and he’d always thought if he could go back in time, he would have gone to medical school. He enjoyed taking care of people.
For some reason, that quality was amplified around Renner. By about seven million notches. Probably because the jerk needed taking care of more than anyone.
Which is where Milo’s idea came into play.
He eased the ice pack onto Renner’s eye and immediately, something inside him settled. “Why do you want me to leave?”
“I don’t need a reason.”
“Yes, you do.” Renner’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t respond. So Milo tried again. “Did I say something that was offensive or dumb—”
“No.” Renner opened his eyes and Milo tried not to dwell on how green they were. “You didn’t say anything wrong. Are you always this self-conscious?”
“I’m never this se
lf-conscious,” Milo said on a rushing laugh. “I just told the most critical person on the planet something I’ve never told anyone else. Excuse me for feeling like the ground is moving under my feet.”
He regretted his choice of words right away when an invisible wall went up around Renner. Great. He might as well try to infiltrate Alcatraz now. But he couldn’t take it back, because it was true and they both knew it. If he wanted a shot at turning his idea into a reality, now was the time to voice it. Before Renner demanded he leave again.
“How’s the eye?” Milo asked, by way of apology.
“Fine,” Renner clipped.
“I have a proposition for you.”
“I know you do. I can hear hamsters running on wheels in your head.”
Milo’s lips molded into a smile against his will. “You’re always ten steps ahead of everybody. That’s why you’re the boss.”
Fleeting surprise crossed Renner’s face. “Stop kissing my ass because you feel bad for calling me critical.”
That was the first time Renner had ever made him laugh. In a non-sarcastic way. The sound climbed up his throat and skidded out, making Renner’s eyebrows shoot up. He softened, just a touch, and Milo stopped thinking of him as the boss. Less like an enforcer in a suit, more like a man who would eventually climb into bed tonight without his armor. The sheets would warm his skin and rub in places Milo would never see. In the morning, he would wake with an ache between his legs, just like every other warm-blooded man. Who would he be thinking about when he reached into his briefs?
Stop. These were bad thoughts that wouldn’t fit into the plan.
Stop calling it the plan, like it’s some brilliant war strategy.
Okay, but if it were a war, Renner would definitely be the general, scowling at him from where he was leaning on the counter and still—still—he was…incredible looking. Powerful, in charge, doesn’t-take-shit-from-anyone incredible looking. Even after a too-long day at the office and a scuffle in the street, his dress shirt was still crisp and white, his suit jacket showing off the definition of his arm muscles. At the very least, he was getting exercise somewhere, because no one bulged and dipped in all the right places without an effort. And it was like Renner knew Milo was suddenly picturing him sweating in gym shorts and no shirt, because he shook his head, dislodging the ice pack.