by Riley Hart
Riley Hart
&
Devon McCormack
METROPOLIS SERIES, BOOK I
Copyright © 2016 by Riley Hart and Devon McCormack
Cover Photography by Allan Spiers Photography
Cover Design by Jay Aheer
Editing by Flat Earth Editing
Proofing by Judy’s Proofreading
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All products and brand names mentioned are registered trademarks of their respective holders/companies.
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.
Click here to receive email updates when Riley Hart and Devon McCormack have a new release coming out.
Working It (Metropolis, Book II)
Coming March 2017
Other Works by Riley Hart
Wild Side Series
Dare You To (Wild Side Series Prequel)
Crossroads Series
Crossroads (Crossroads Series #1)
Shifting Gears (Crossroad Series #2)
Test Drive (Crossroads Series #3)
Blackcreek Series
Collide (Blackcreek Series #1)
Stay (Blackcreek Series #2)
Pretend (Blackcreek Series #3)
Broken Pieces Series
Broken Pieces (Broken Pieces Series #1)
Full Circle (Broken Pieces Series #2)
Losing Control (Broken Pieces Series #3)
Rock Solid Construction Series
Rock Solid (Rock Solid Construction Series #1)
***
Other Works by Devon McCormack
Romance
Filthy Little Secret
Tight End
Weight of the World (Devon McCormack & Riley Hart)
Bastards Series
Cheating Bastard (Bastards #1)
Lying Bastard (Bastards #2)
Young Adult Titles
The Pining
Hideous
When Ryan Came Back
The Night Screams
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Other Works by Riley Hart & Devon McCormack
1. Gary
2. Travis
3. Gary
4. Travis
5. Gary
6. Travis
7. Gary
8. Travis
9. Gary
10. Travis
11. Gary
12. Travis
13. Gary
14. Travis
15. Gary
16. Travis
17. Gary
18. Travis
19. Gary
20. Travis
21. Gary
22. Travis
23. Gary
24. Travis
25. Gary
26. Travis
27. Gary
28. Travis
29. Gary
30. Travis
31. Gary
32. Travis
33. Gary
34. Travis
35. Gary
36. Travis
37. Gary
Epilogue
About the Authors
1
Gary
“What’s wrong with you?” Derek asks. He slaps my arm as we make our way down the sidewalk, toward the condo building we both live in. After spending a couple of hours at Flirt, the local gay bar, we’re hammered. We downed vodka sodas and Fireball shots before tearing it up on the dance floor. Well, in my case, I bobbed my head slightly on the dance floor while Derek forced every hottie he could find on me. His version of therapy.
“There was sooo much hot man-beef out tonight,” he says.
I try to ignore his rambling, but he grabs my arm and pulls sharply.
I stop walking and turn to him. He glares at me. The long blond bangs of his undercut falls over his eye. He slaps at it, which makes the hair rise and fall right back where it was before. Despite his failure, he continues staring at me, but I’m hardly intimidated by a guy who’s five foot four and wearing a T-shirt that says “dumpster” across the front. If anything, his expression is pretty adorable as he purses his lips and bats his long lashes repeatedly—surely thinking somehow this fierce look will help him get his point across.
“I just wanted to hang,” I say.
“You still don’t want to move on.” He shifts his weight to one leg. He loses his balance and starts to fall. I grab him and help him regain his bearings before putting his arm over my shoulder.
“Okay, buddy,” I say. “Let’s just keep walking. Get you some water.”
“I want Chinese. Can we order Lucky Buddha? Please…please…pretty please?”
This sounds more like the Derek I’m used to.
“That’s fine.”
Although as soon as I get him back to my place, I doubt he’ll be conscious long enough for us to order out.
“Don’t patronize me!” he shouts. “You’re a sexy guy. You need to own that. You got that nice muscular build. Not super ripped, but like muscly and sexy. It’s a very vers look. Is he gonna want to bottom? Top? Who knows? Let’s find out. And this short crewcut is like Sean-Cody-cute. Totally all-American. It’s perfect for this sandy-blond hair you got. Will be great for hiding the grays when you need to worry about that. I think you have seven years before you have to worry.”
Derek’s a hair stylist, so I’m used to him assaulting me with critiques like these.
His expression turns serious again. “Don’t get me wrong now. You’re not like hot stuff. You don’t got the jawline people like. And that freckle under your right eye is like all I can look at right now. Just saying, you’re not like a cover model or nothing. But like…porn hot.”
He must sense my confusion. “Like I wouldn’t mind watching you sit on a guy’s face for five to ten minutes of a thirty-minute scene. I’m just saying you have to own it and get back out there. Guys will date some ugly dudes, and you’re not ugly, which means you’re pretty much a hot commodity. It’s science.”
Before I have a chance to make sense of anything he just said, I notice a couple of guys heading down the street, making their way from Cypress Street to Flirt. I pull Derek aside to let them pass.
One of the guys, in a backward baseball cap, wears a tight, green T-shirt that sculpts around his fit body.
I appreciate the view and smile politely to him and his friends as they pass. They have that sort of dazed look in their eyes—one that suggests they pre-gamed before coming out.
“Hey, sexy thing,” Derek sings, turning his head and watching the guys pass.
The guy in the cap turns back to us, gazing at Derek with interest—the kind of interest that makes me think, if I’m not careful, I might lose my buddy in a few minutes.
“Show me your dick!” Derek shouts.
“Holy shit,” I say, turning away from the guys. A gut reaction. Maybe because I hope they won’t see me when they look back.
But I’m too curious not to glance over my shoulder. Cap spins around
, grabs either side of his khaki shorts and yanks them down with his underwear, revealing an impressive length…especially for being soft. His friends laugh and gaze at each other with wide eyes, clearly as shocked as I am by his reaction.
Derek pulls away from the arm I have around him. I grip his shoulder.
“I’ve gotta go,” he says, his expression stoic, dead serious.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say, forcing him to turn with me back toward the condo building.
“That’s my boyfriend,” he whimpers, glancing over his shoulder and shouting, “I love you!”
“I love you, too!” the guy shouts back.
He resists me even more.
“We’re going the wrong way!”
“No, we’re really going the right way.”
“Why won’t you let me have sex with him? I’m sorry for getting mad. You can be a prude and abstain from sex while you figure your stupid shit out about that asshole Peter. Go. Lie down in bed. Dream about what it’ll be like in ten years when you finally decide to get over him. I honestly don’t care right now. Just let me have my boo.”
He fights me again, but he doesn’t resist enough for me to believe he wants to follow through with this horrible decision.
“How about we get back to my condo,” I say, “and we can discuss how you aren’t able to consent right now.”
“Consent? I would consent to anything that man wanted.”
“That’s what concerns me.”
He pouts. “This sucks. I am so clean right now. I took a laxative two days ago. I fucking cleaned the hell out of this thing this afternoon.”
“That’s…incredible information to be aware of.”
I continue guiding him back to the building. We live in separate towers of Metropolis, which people refer to as the only unofficial gay building in Atlanta. Straight people live here, too, but we have an unusually high demographic of young, gay tenants. Derek lives in the North Tower, while I’m in the South.
I take him up to my unit on the fifteenth floor. I’m fine with him crashing on the couch tonight as he sometimes does, so we can run out in the morning and get donuts and coffee…or as Derek calls them, “carbs and happy.”
We stumble into my place.
I’d be a little worried about my new roommate, but we saw him on the dance floor less than thirty minutes ago, and he was on the prowl. I doubt he’ll be home before Derek passes out.
“You so should have fucked one of those guys,” Derek says as he makes himself cozy on the couch. “Gary…Gare…Garusula…listen to me.” He runs his fingers through his lengthy bangs again. “Peter was a douchebag to you. He was seeing a guy for two years of your four-year relationship.”
“Five years.”
“You guys were together five years? Really? I would say that’s impressive, but I know a little too much now to be impressed.”
“Can we just go to bed?”
The room is spinning, and all I want to do is climb into bed and pass the fuck out.
“No!” Derek shouts. “Not until you promise me you will move the fuck on.”
“It’s been three weeks since I broke up with him.”
Three weeks since I found the message on his Facebook Messenger. Three weeks since I found the vids on his phone. Three weeks since everything I thought was safe and secure blew up into the biggest fucking catastrophe ever.
“Most people need more time than three weeks,” I insist.
He rolls his eyes—a big dramatic roll—before falling back on the couch.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and scrolls across the screen.
We chat a bit more, Derek’s energy fading as he lectures me about needing to move on. When he passes out, I make my escape into my room, adjacent to the living room Derek’s sleeping in. I take off my clothes.
Just gonna take a quick shower. But the bed is too tempting to resist—I’ll take a shower after a brief nap. I need a minute to rest.
***
My head. Oh, my fucking head. The pressure is so intense it feels like I need to dig a knife into my skull to relieve it.
The night returns to me in a series of flashbacks: a wide-eyed Derek shouting “shots” at the top of his lungs before downing Fireballs, the music blaring so loud I thought my eardrums were going to pop, and the awkward feeling that everyone was watching and judging me while I was on the dance floor.
The comfort of Peter’s arm around me is the only thing that brings me some ease.
I scoot back across the bed, tucking my ass against his pelvis.
He clings to me a little tighter.
Wait a second. I’m not with Peter anymore.
Must be Derek. He’s only slept in the bed with me a few times and definitely never cuddled with me before, but it’s gonna be funny to give him shit about it before we go out for carbs and happy.
I roll around to face him, a grin sweeping across my face. He’s going to feel so fucking silly. But it’s not Derek. There’s someone else in my bed. There’s someone fucking else in my bed!
“Holy shit!” I exclaim, crawling across the mattress and jumping off the foot of the bed. I land on my feet, and in my rush to get away from the stranger, I hit my heel against the metal frame of my desk.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I say, before losing my footing and falling on my ass.
The guy in the bed sits up quickly, his eyes wide, as though he’s as surprised by all this as I am.
All the craziness in my brain settles as I realize I know this guy.
His dark brown hair. Those jacked arms, stacked with muscles. The dip between his abs that hints at the incredible six-pack I know is concealed under those covers.
The guy lives in the tower across from me, two floors below. I’ve caught him a few times working out on a mat in his living room, doing Pilates and some sort of ab workout video. His body would glisten with sweat as he committed hardcore to whatever exercise he was in the middle of.
Wonderful as he is to look at, what is he doing in my bed?
“Where the fuck am I?” he asks, glancing around uneasily. “You’re not Jacob.”
Oh, shit.
“Jacob’s my roommate,” I say. “Let me guess. You came back with him.”
And likely came with him, too.
Jacob’s six-foot-something with strawberry-blond hair and a body thick with muscles. His sweet, southern charisma never fails to charm the pants off the guys he’s interested in. He’s only been living with me for two weeks—since I gave Peter the boot, but in that amount of time he’s let me know just how much sex I should be having as a single, gay man. And not like one trick a night. Like multiple sessions throughout every day. I’ve managed to get a handful of Grindr and Scruff tricks, but I’m no Jacob.
I definitely couldn’t get a guy like this.
Sharp lines stress the definition in his thick muscles, and he has that jawline Derek was talking about last night—the kind everyone thinks is so hot. His full, pouty lips push forward as he glances around my room. His eyebrows shift together as his forehead scrunches up. “What the fuck? I went to the bathroom and when I came out, I was heading back to what I thought was the right room, but there was this twink on the couch. Just said, ‘wrong room,’ and pointed me to this one.”
Of course. Thanks a lot, Derek.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “He was really drunk. I think he got confused.”
Confused about how totally inappropriate that was.
His gaze shifts, and he looks like he’s thinking about something, but it only takes me a moment to realize he’s looking at my crotch.
Fuck. I’m still naked.
2
Travis
I’ve seen this guy around, but I can’t for the life of me remember what his name is. Garrett, maybe…? Whatever his name is, he’s cute. He’s got a little flush to his cheeks, especially now that he’s realized where my eyes keep traveling. His dick lengthens, and I can’t help but take in the show. I mea
n, he’s here, I’m here, and he’s not moving to cover himself up. He’s got a nice cock, heavy balls, and neatly trimmed brown pubes.
I can’t see it, but I know his ass isn’t bad either since I kept my cock nudged against it half the night.
When I meet his eyes, it’s clear he’s going to lose it. I’m pretty sure his body is cemented in shock, and a little embarrassment—because if he could move right now, I have no doubt Garrett would run and hide.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I was drunk as shit last night. The twink told me this was the right room.” Kicking the covers off, I turn so I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, facing Garrett. As soon as I do, my head begins to spin.
“Oh fuck,” he rushes out as his eyes dart toward my dick.
“Yeah, I know. It can be intimidating the first time you see it, but I promise, I’m good with heavy equipment.” I wink at him, hoping to relax him a bit. Jesus, he’s wound up tight.
“Come here.” I hold out my hand to him as he’s still laid out on the carpet.
“Huh?”
“Come here,” I say again. “I know I should leave, but I’m afraid if I try to stand up right away, I’ll be the one on the floor. My head is like the fucking Gravitron or something. I need a minute, and you shouldn’t have to be naked on the floor in your own room.” Unless he wants to be naked on the floor. Sometimes the bed is just too far away.
There’s a short pause before Garrett reaches out his hand and grabs mine. I pull him up easily. Once he’s on his feet, I pat the bed beside me. He’s smaller than I am. Not real twinky, but I don’t think he spends much time in the gym. I’ve seen him there off and on. He’s timid, almost like he does just enough to get by. He’s cute though, in an awkward way. “Are you going to stand in front of me with your dick out, or are you going to at least sit down?” He looks like he wants to crawl under the bed and not come out.
“Let me grab some clothes.”
“So, I’ll be the only one naked? Don’t think so,” I reply.
“You’re the one who ended up in my bed, not the other way around. And look at you…you’re…” He attempts to shield his cock, cupping it with one hand. The other hand he uses to try and cover his stomach, which is ridiculous considering he can’t really hide either one, and there’s no reason to. “I’m just going to get some clothes on.”