Bull’s Boy

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“ I t just sucks. I haven’t been on a date in… fuck, I don’t even know how long. And it’s not like I can help how I look, you know.”

Bull paused, a dirty plate in his hand. He wondered if the two people talking realized he was there.

The restaurant’s dining room had a wall that jutted out several feet to separate the space into two areas, and Bull was standing right behind it, clearing a table.

The only other people in the front were two servers sitting at a table and finishing rolling silverware for the next day.

He recognized the voice of the man who’d spoken, and it confused the hell out of him.

There wasn’t anything wrong with the way Malcolm looked.

Hell, Bull had rubbed one out more than once, thinking about the younger guy.

Imagining Malcolm’s lean body covered in hickeys and spunk had gotten him off more often than he’d care to admit.

“There’s nothing wrong with the way you look!” Dahlia exclaimed, sounding shocked. “You’re adorable.”

Bull agreed wholeheartedly. Malcolm was exactly his type, but there was one little problem…

“Women who are actually into men don’t agree with you,” Malcolm said, a forced chuckle making Bull frown harder.

As much as he was attracted to Malcolm, the guy had only ever expressed interest in women in the six months they’d worked together at Bo’s Bar he got lonely, too, and wished he had someone to share his life and bed with.

Someone who wouldn’t mind when he acted possessively.

And who didn’t mind his… anatomical issues.

The last few guys he’d been with had basically run screaming when he took his pants off—not a great feeling.

It had made him take a step back from dating, and before he’d realized it, two years had passed.

He and his left hand had been in an exclusive relationship for so long he wasn’t sure he’d remember what to do with another person.

“I guess,” Malcolm said, sounding unconvinced.

As Bull moved to the last table he needed to clear—one that was still partially hidden from where the two were working, but they’d be able to catch sight of him if they looked up—he kept his eyes down, refusing to look over to see if Malcolm appeared as upset as he sounded.

It wasn’t his business. Malcolm wasn’t his business.

As long as he continued to do his job well, Bull had no reason to talk to him about his personal life.

The two of them chatted quietly about nothing important as they worked to finish their tasks so they could go home, and by the time Bull was almost done, Dahlia was saying, “I’m going to pee, then start on condiments. Want me to grab you a water or anything?”

“No,” Malcolm said. “I just want to get this stuff done so I can go home and pass out. I’m so tired.”

For a reason he didn’t care to think about too hard, Bull waited until Dahlia headed off to the restrooms before picking up his tub and moving toward the kitchen.

He was a couple of yards from the table Malcolm was working at when he frowned and glanced up, seeming confused by Bull’s appearance, then flushed an adorable pink, probably realizing Bull must have overheard them.

Malcolm grimaced and gave him a half smile as he finished the last of the silverware and stood.

Even after working all day at a demanding job, Malcolm looked unfairly attractive.

His wavy, light brown hair was disheveled, and there was a mystery stain on the apron tied around his waist, but Bull could honestly stare at him for hours without getting bored.

His dark blue eyes and freckles sprinkled across his cheeks and the bridge of his perfectly straight nose drew him in.

And when Malcolm smiled and his whole face lit up?

Bull was a damn goner.

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

Bull frowned, setting the full tub of dishes on a nearby table and crossing his arms over his chest, discomfort crawling up his spine. “What for?”

Gesturing vaguely, Malcolm said, “For you having to hear all that. I’m sure you don’t want to listen to me whining about my love life.”

Bull didn’t say anything for a moment, unsure what an appropriate response would be. In reality, he craved every little tidbit he could get of Malcolm and his life, but he knew if he tried to explain that to the younger man, he’d just come across as an obsessed creep.

Which was probably accurate.

He was still trying to decide how he should respond when Malcolm’s eyebrows began to climb up his forehead, and his eyes widened a little.

Fuck . He’d taken too long to answer. That happened sometimes; Bull had a bad habit of thinking through things too slowly for others’ liking and making them feel uncomfortable.

Clearing his throat, Bull turned partially away and picked up his tub once more. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m sorry you’re… having a hard time.”

“Thanks, Bull,” Malcolm said softly.

He nodded but didn’t turn back around, not sure he wanted to see the look on Malcolm’s face.

Resisting the urge to try and offer comforting words or advice, he carried the dishes into the kitchen and did his best to remind himself that it didn’t matter how many women turned Malcolm down or how sad he was about it: that didn’t mean he’d suddenly become interested in men.

Or interested in Bull.

Bull managed to put the conversation and Malcolm’s shitty luck with dating out of his head eventually, focusing on his moms and work and helping his brother Marv with projects around his old farmhouse whenever he had a spare evening or weekend.

He refused to let himself think about offering to take Malcolm’s mind off things by sucking his dick.

He could drive himself crazy if he let his mind wander down the path of impossible what-ifs .

He’d even gone on a date in his attempt to ignore his attraction and draw to the unavailable man. But he’d spent all night comparing the guy—and finding him lacking—to a certain straight server. His hair wasn’t the right color. He didn’t have blue eyes. His laugh was too soft.