4. Dylan
Chapter 4
Dylan
I ’ve had six collective hours of sleep in the last three days. I’m seeing double and feeling nauseated, but I text Jake to let him know the Maserati’s finally done. I got it done in four days, but I ended up having to wait an extra week for the parts so I’m a little late on delivery. Hence the reason for the major lack of sleep. Even still, a three-week turn-around is faster than the dealership would’ve had it done.
And I know everything’s been done correctly.
Once the message is sent, I lie down in the breakroom. I figure he won’t be by until after work, so I have time for a quick power nap. But when I wake up thirty-minutes later with him standing over me, I damn near kick him in the balls.
“What the fuck?” I jump off the couch.
He holds up his hands. “Sorry. Sorry. I tried knocking. No one’s at the front.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder. “You said come by any time.”
“Right. Sorry. I just thought it would’ve been later.”
I scrub my hand down my face and lead him back into the main office. It’s a little after noon and Cassie took Dad out to lunch.
I’m getting ready to walk behind the counter to cash Jake out when suddenly, he throws me to the floor.
“What the he—”
“Get down!” he yells, covering me with his body.
Less than a second later the window shatters, spraying glass shards everywhere. Jake’s torso is wrapped around my back, his arms covering my head and neck as the brick lands next to us on the floor.
He stays on top of me for a solid minute, until he’s sure nothing else is coming through the window.
“Jesus, fuck ! What the hell ?” he yells, finally jumping up and running into the parking lot, no doubt looking for the people responsible.
“They’re long gone,” I call, slowly getting to my feet and making my way outside to stand next to him, staring down the empty street.
He turns to me, assessing my body for damage. His gaze makes my skin heat everywhere it lands.
“Are you alright? Christ, that brick could have smashed your fucking skull. Are you cut?”
His concern takes me aback, but I check my arms and come up clean. “No, I’m fine. Thanks to your reaction time,” I joke dryly, so tired of this shit. The past couple of weeks have been more of the same, but the brick is a whole new level and it makes my teeth grind in angry frustration.
“Is this the first time that’s happened?” Jake asks.
“The window’s new. The attack isn’t. The incidents are getting more frequent though. At least the window is an easier fix than scrubbing dried animal blood off our bay doors…well, I hope it was animal blood,” I add as a disturbing afterthought.
“What the actual fuck? Why are people doing this?”
He’s used the word fuck three times in the last minute and a half. I’m not sure why I notice other than it seems strange coming out of his mouth. He’s so clean-cut, the word sounds too vulgar for him. Like a dirty edge to an otherwise clean blade.
I like it a little too much.
“Who knows?” I finally answer. “We’ve never really had problems until about six months ago.”
“Anything change? Piss anyone off?” Jake asks, following me back inside, our shoes crunching on the glass littering the floor.
“Not that I can recall. We’ve always kept our heads down and our hands clean.” It isn’t until I turn back from the supply closet with the broom in my hand that I realize he’s bleeding. “Oh, shit. It looks like some of that glass got you .”
He looks down at his in-tact suit jacket then back at me with confusion on his face. I point to my neck, mirroring where he’s cut. “Bathroom’s this way.”
The bathroom is small, but not obnoxiously so, allowing enough room for me to stand in the doorway in case blood isn’t really his thing and he ends up passing out. But he does just fine.
He shrugs out of his jacket, placing it next to the sink and it’s impossible to miss how broad his shoulders are. It’s like he purposely has his suits cut to hide his frame. The sleeves of his dress shirt are tight around his biceps and I’m rendered speechless. How does he hide all of this? Why does he hide all of this?
His tie comes off next, making me a little warm, and by the time he pops the top two buttons on his dress shirt, I push off the doorframe needing a little space and a helluva lot more air.
“I’m going to go check and see if we have some boards I can use to cover that window.”
His dark eyes meet mine in the mirror and he nods.
“I’m happy to help once I know I’m not going to bleed all over my clothes. People at the office might have questions and be overly concerned about my dry-cleaning bill.” The smile he flashes shouldn’t make my knees weak, but it definitely does.
I also can’t help the way my stomach rolls. People at his office would see his blood and be more concerned about the laundry than what happened to him? I couldn’t live like that.
“Take your time.” My voice comes out more gruffly than I intend.
I have a type. And Jacob Ellington isn’t it.
My last three boyfriends were all muscle-bound dickheads whose cocks were bigger than their brains. Finding overly-masculine gay guys can be a challenge, especially if your city isn’t big on the lifestyle.
Even more especially if your culture — and your Mexican grandfather — has ingrained a sense of machismo in you, making you an unyielding top. Assuming any submissive role is completely unappealing to me. As a gay, biracial man, already being part of two minority groups makes the need to dominate my partners overwhelming for my sense of self-worth.
And while I don’t invest in the cultural principle entirely — I don’t abuse my partners in any way nor do I try to control them outside the bedroom — I buy in to it enough that I’ve never gotten on my knees for one either.
After Ben and I broke up, I figured I’d have to move in order to find what I want, but feeling my reaction to Jake just now, I’m not even sure I know what I want anymore. Though, one thing is certain, I need to shut this down fast. He and I are from two different worlds, not to mention, he’s straight.
When Jake comes out of the bathroom, he’s on the phone. His suit jacket is draped over his arm, his tie is in his hand, and the top buttons of his shirt are still undone. I don’t see any chest hair, but I do see the line between his pecs. I also notice where his shirt is tucked into his slacks, highlighting his tapered waist where his jacket kept it hidden.
The sight damn near knocks me on my ass.
His eyes pass over my face with a stern, no-nonsense look that I imagine gets him whatever he wants in the boardroom, and quite possibly, the bedroom, and he holds the phone away from his mouth. “Do you have measurements on that window?”
Confused, I don’t answer right away.
“Dylan, the window. Do you know how big it is?” he asks again, interrupting my embarrassingly obvious perusal of his body.
I shake my head. Mostly just to snap out of the trance he’s put me in, but he takes it as my answer to his question.
“Can you grab a tape measure?”
I don’t even nod, I just head for the shop on autopilot.
Coming back into the office, I notice Jake has put his stuff, including his phone, on the counter. The screen is lit and shows that the call is still active.
I hand Jake the tape measure and he immediately pulls it out and gives me the end. “Here, take this to that far side.” Once I’m in place, he looks down, makes a mental note of the number then flips the tape measure vertically. “Knox, the window’s six feet long and four feet high.”
“Got it. What material do you want?” the disembodied voice asks through the phone’s speaker.
Finally, my brain joins the party.
“Oh, uh, can we talk cost first? I probably need to shop around. I mean, we do alright, but we have a huge property tax bill due soon and the bastards keep raising them, so—”
“Relax. I’ve got it,” Jake says, picking his phone up off the counter, not giving me a chance to argue as he paces in front of the desk.
“I want bullet-resistant polycarb and I want it for both windows. They’re the same size. His sister works in the office and he says things are escalating. Can you bring one of those reinforced, fire-proof doors while you’re at it? Actually, make it two. I don’t want the door into the shop to be a weak spot.” Jake’s now walking around the office, surveying the ceiling and looks back at me. “Do you have cameras?”
“Uh, yeah, but only on the garage bays and out back where we park the cars.”
Jake talks into the phone, looking everywhere except at me. “And bring one of those new wireless security systems. The one with the cameras that look like light bulbs.” When he finally flashes me an unreadable look, he laughs. The sound goes straight to my groin. “Yeah, something like that. Just tell me how much I owe you. Any chance you can bump this up on the to-do list? Feels kind of urgent.” He pauses before laughing again. “Thanks, man. I’ll pay for the materials, but you’re doing the labor for free. You still me owe me for the bet you lost.”
I’m staring in disbelief, my mouth hanging open when he pockets his phone a minute later. “That polycarbonate is fucking expensive, man. We can’t afford that, let alone all the other stuff.”
“Knox is one of my best friends. He’s a contractor and he owes me. It’s no big deal.”
“ No big deal? You just cashed in a thirty-thousand-dollar favor for me.”
He shrugs. “It’s just money. Knox’ll be here in two hours.”
Before I can argue any further, my dad and sister return from lunch.
“What the hell happened here?” my dad asks calmly, which tells me he already knows what happened.
“Hello, sir. I don’t think we’ve formally met. I’m Jacob Ellington.” Jake reaches forward to shake my father’s hand. “Dylan just finished up with my Maserati. We were about to go over the paperwork when a brick came flying through the window. A good friend of mine is coming by in a couple hours to repair the damage and reinforce the windows and doors. I’ve also asked him to install new cameras.”
My father lets out a low whistle. “Sounds expensive.”
“No, sir. I’ve covered the costs.”
“Why would you do that?” my father asks, not beating around the bush, his eyes narrowing at Jake.
“Well,” Jake looks at my sister. “I know she works up here and that brick could have done some serious damage.” Then he looks at me and I swear his pupils dilate for a split second before he clears his throat and makes a joke to lighten the tension. “And now that I’ve found this place, I’ve got more business for you. It’s hard to find someone who has this level of expertise for both the Maserati and my old Corvette. Assuming I’ll have to leave them both here over night for periods of time, consider it protecting my investment.”
“We don’t take handouts,” my dad says, fire behind his words.
“Dad, Jake just wants to help.” I hope like hell I’m right.
My dad looks at the glass still littering the floor and then flits his gaze between me and Jake. “If you’re sure, we appreciate it, but we can’t pay you back. I just want to be clear about that.”
“Understood, sir.”
My dad and Cassie share a conspiratorial glance before my sister starts speaking to Jake again. “Dad and I will finish cleaning this up, why don’t you two take the Maserati for a spin and make sure everything is how you want it? Dylan said there was still a slight tremble when he made a right turn, but he couldn’t tell what was causing it.”
My brows pinch together in confusion. “I never s—”
“Uh, Cassie’s right,” my dad chimes in, albeit hesitantly. “Dyl, don’t you remember? You said you weren’t sure if it drove like that before the accident or not? Go with him and let him tell you.”
Oh my God. My family is trying to set me up with a straight billionaire who’s on some hero mission. Real smooth, guys.
I can’t help my snorted laugh as I slap Jake on the back. What the hell, I’ll play along. “You got time?”
“I’ll make time.” His voice is low, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand up.
Cassie nudges her shoulder into mine as I pass, letting Jake lead the way into the bay, but my father grabs my shoulder, holding me back for a second.
“Just be careful, son. His kind of money changes good men and I don’t want to see your heart get broken when he decides your differences are too great.”
I appreciate the warning even if it stings, but I’m just out for a quick ride in a sick car with a hot guy in an effort to make this day somehow different than all the others surrounding it.
The keys to the Maserati are still hanging on the board inside the shop door, but the bottle opener keychain makes it easy to locate amongst the rest. I hadn’t realized until just now that it has Beautiful Deceit’s logo on it. Guess he really is a fan.
I toss them to him and head for the passenger door, my heart racing. I appreciate what my family is trying to do, but making me hopeful for a lost cause isn’t really all that helpful. I’ve seen the woman he’s with. She’s a total knockout…and she’s a she . At best, Jake is bi, but I really don’t think that’s the case.
“You’ll have to navigate for me,” he says, stepping over the cables on the floor.
“No problem. I know this side of the tracks isn’t familiar territory.” I meant it as a joke, but he stops as he reaches the car, spreads his arms wide, and places his palms on the roof.
“Just because my life is on a different side of town doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with this one.”
I appreciate his willingness to overlook the discrepancy in our socioeconomic status as he considers our business for his future needs, but it feels awkward to just pretend it isn’t there at all. Nonetheless, I nod while an unnamed emotion clogs my throat and I watch as the Maserati’s doors rise like those on the Batmobile.
Since making the joke about him having a hundred thousand dollars to spare, I’ve realized this car is actually worth closer to two hundred thousand dollars and I savor every detail.
Jake and I are both right at six feet tall, but instead of being stuffy, the interior is comfortably snug for the two of us. With no backseat, the front seat reclines as much as I need it to and while I can’t spread out, my knees aren’t in my chest either.
When he presses the button on the steering column to start the car, I feel the rumble in my balls.
I fucking love this feeling.
Although it’s not my first choice, there’s no denying this Maserati has a fuck-ton of power under the hood.
“Ready?” he asks, cocking a half grin that has my dick begging me to drive the heel of my hand into it.
I nod once, clenching my teeth, trying to rein in the lust pummeling through me.
He revs the engine and can’t possibly know how much he’s turning me on right now. His jacket and tie are both thrown in the small space behind us and I work on controlling my breathing while he rolls his shirtsleeves up his forearms.
His smooth, muscular forearms…where his veins are popping.
Fuck my life.
“You always go through this routine before a trip around the block?” I joke in an effort to decrease the mounting tension in my chest…and my pants.
He stays quiet and just smirks from the driver’s seat.
I believe that smirk will be the death of me.