Chapter One
Everett
The red flannel shirt on my bed mocked me. How could a shirt mock a person? Well, the longer I stared, the more it morphed into more than just a shirt. My best friend gifted it to me last Christmas, and I’d yet to wear it. Not because I didn’t like it. I did. Truly. But she coined it as a ‘falling in love’ red plaid, and I’d fall in love when I’d wear it.
I’d rolled my eyes at her then. Why I’d pulled it out tonight, I didn’t know. I wanted to get laid, not fall in love.
My dog, Ranger, tilted his head and his chocolate eyes dared me to say that out loud. He lifted his paw and placed it near the red flannel, urging me on.
Lovely. Even my dog gives me fashion advice.
Resigned, I rubbed the back of my neck, spraying water droplets in the process. I needed to get dressed or I’d be late, but I couldn’t stop glaring at the shirt.
It’s just a shirt. It can’t make someone fall in love with me!
Yet, five minutes later, when I patted Ranger’s head and told him to be good, I had on my navy plaid shirt. It was thinner and brought out my eyes, two important qualities for dancing and picking up guys. That was all. It had nothing to do with being scared of falling in love. Nope.
I drove the familiar curves and bends, making my way down the mountain toward the small town of Applewood. Tonight was my last chance to get laid before the craziness of the following week unfolded. My best friend was getting married and, in perfect Mindy fashion, had a week-long itinerary of events planned. It was more peopling than I did in an entire month, which meant I needed a night of hot, meaningless sex to make it through—Mindy’s words, not mine.
I’d agreed to meet for dinner before heading a few towns over to Ridgeway. It was slightly bigger than Applewood, but considering the club hosted queer night twice a month, it expanded the pool of hookups. Especially since Applewood only had two gay men, and I was one of them.
Pulling into the town pub, I took a deep breath before opening my door. It was just dinner. Then, I would be on my way to rubbing up against random strangers. How dancing with hot, sweaty men was preferable to small talk with townsfolk, I didn’t know. I’d learned not to question my brain anymore. I didn’t always make sense to myself, never mind others, but I no longer cared.
The Sawmill might not look like much on the outside, but the view always took my breath away. The autumn sky tinted pink and purple; the sun dipping behind the mountains. The trees burst with color over the valley, drawing eyes in every direction. I tapped my fingers against my jeans, eager to capture how the light danced on the leaves.
I was half tempted to turn around, go home, and do just that, but then I remembered why I was here. And while I might loathe most people, I loved Mindy and would never miss out on something for her. She’d been the first friend—and only—I’d made when I’d moved here four years ago. No matter what, I wouldn’t trade her friendship for anything.
Even if it meant peopleing. For Mindy, I would.
I opened the door to the Sawmill Pub and squinted as my eyes adjusted to the dark interior. Grimacing, I headed to the bar and snagged two stools when I couldn’t spot Mindy.
“Usual, Daws?” Tony asked, using the town’s nickname for me. Mindy was the only one who used my first name, something I liked. It kept everyone else at arm’s length.
I nodded, saving all my words for hooking up later. Thankfully, Tony wasn’t a chatty bartender and filled up a pint glass of the local IPA and placed it on a coaster.
While sipping the cold beer, I scanned the place again. It was a Friday night, but the pub wasn’t crowded. I spotted a few regulars playing pool, some other Applewoodians dancing to the jukebox, along with a handful of strangers. Most likely tourists stopping in on their way somewhere else.
My heart stuttered when I stumbled upon a pair of evergreen orbs and I eagerly attempted to suck in oxygen. It was as if he’d punched me in the gut with one look.
I trailed my eyes over him, taking in his dark blond hair that curled over his forehead and fell in long strands around his head. I wanted to thread my fingers through it; his dark green eyes peering up at me as he sucked my cock with those perfectly pouty lips.
My dick jumped at the image, already half-hard. Holy fuck.
Tony stepped into my line of sight, disrupting my perusal of the hottest man I’d ever laid eyes on. Irritation rose at not being able to check out the hot guy, my body returning to normal, and reminding me how uncharacteristic of a response that had been.
But damn. That guy was beautiful. There was no way he was gay. I couldn’t be that lucky.
My phone vibrated, and I pulled it out of my jeans, thankful for another reason not to stare unabashedly at the guy. When Mindy’s name appeared, I knew she was standing me up.
That was the thing about best friends—you loved them despite their flaws. And Mindy Devlin, soon to be St. James, was a notorious over-scheduler.
Mindy: Don’t hate me, E, but I can’t make it. Mitch’s mom is demanding I try on my dress one more time.
Mindy: If I didn’t love Mitch so much, I’d tell her exactly where she could take her suggestions.
Everett: No, you woodn’t. You love Peggy.
Mindy: Ugh. You’re right. And God, I love your phone.
Everett: It’s your fault. I can’t get it to change for the life of me.
Mindy: bwahahaha
Mindy: Got wood?
Everett: I’m ignoring you now.
Mindy: Wood you?
Mindy: What’s wood have to do with it?
Mindy: *laughing emoji*
Mindy: Ah, come on, E. Don’t hate me.
Everett: Not for missing dinner, but the phone thing’s still up for grabs.
Mindy: Yay, you don’t hate me.
Everett: I love your ability to ignore the things you want.
Mindy: It is a skill. Speaking of ignoring…
Mindy: Are you wearing the shirt?
Everett: No.
Mindy: Lame, E. Promise me you’ll still go to Ridgeway.
Everett: Maybe.
Mindy: Don’t make me storm down to Sawmill in my dress to give you a talking-to.
Everett: I’m half tempted to see if you wood.
Mindy: *laughing emoji* LMAO
Everett: I’ve changed my mind. I hate you now.
Mindy: No take backs.
Everett: Fine. Leave me alone so I can find a man.
Mindy: I expect you to meet me for breakfast and tell me about it!
Everett: Oh, yay. Talking.
Mindy: I swear. You’re the most boring gay man I know!
Everett: I’m the only gay man you know. Old man Gibson doesn’t count.
Mindy: Not true! My little brother is gay. And he’s a lot of fun.
Everett: I still think you’re making him up.
Mindy: You wish! Just wait. You’ll meet him soon.
Everett: Yippee.
Mindy: Ah, look, you can read sarcasm through a phone!
Everett: Bye, Mindy.
Mindy: Bye, Everett. *Sticks out tongue emoji*
I grinned despite myself as I tucked my phone away. Mindy always put me in a good mood, even when I fought it. She was the sunshine to my grumpy nature, and according to her, if I were straight, we’d be her favorite romance trope. I pretended to not know what she spoke of, but secretly, I read as many romance books as she did. Mine just happened to be gay.
Taking a sip of my beer, my eyes returned to the beautiful man at the bar. This time, his eyes were trained right on mine. His evergreen orbs reminded me so much of the trees I logged that I wanted to scream out, Timber!
His eyes swept over me, giving me a good once-over. I choked on my beer, the liquid lodging in my throat.
Was he checking me out? No. Way.
His eyes lingered over my forearms, the barest of tattoos peeking out from the cuffs I’d rolled up. He traveled further up, slowly taking in my chest, then lingering on my beard. My hand twitched; the need to scratch where he stared overwhelming. But what if I spooked him by moving? Did he realize he was checking me out? Would I scare off the straight guy if I shifted?
The second our eyes reconnected, all my questions fled, and heat ignited in the space between us. Mutual attraction and desire swirled in his evergreen eyes. They were so bright I almost didn’t believe it.
Okay, so the hot guy at the bar wasn’t so straight, after all.
Those perfectly pouty lips tilted up in a grin, sending goosebumps skirting over my arms. He lifted his drink and took a deep swallow, his tongue peeking out to lick the drops off his lips.
I’d never been more jealous of a liquid in my life.
My cock was fully aware of the hot guy sending us direct signals. It pressed into the zipper of my jeans. I kept staring, oblivious to everything that didn’t include him.
He gave me another flirty smile, this one a little more teasing. He gripped his glass and stood, and my heart raced at the gesture. He stopped, his face changing as he turned his head. An arm draped over his shoulder, and he sank back onto the stool with a grimace.
Disappointment hit me squarely in the gut. Green eyes was taken. It figured the new queer guy in Applewood would be off the market. I watched the interaction longer, and got the distinct impression the guy wasn’t his date. Not even his friend if the scowl and closed-off body language said anything.
The hottie didn’t glance my way, but his demeanor had shifted. He shoved off the other man’s arm and turned away, and stared at his glass. The other man continued to yammer in his ear, but the hottie ignored him, his face turning redder by the second.
No, this wasn’t a date.
With how he kept shielding himself from the man, he might have been an ex or bully. There was a level of familiarity, but it didn’t appear friendly, much less wanted.
I gripped my pint and laser-focused on the intruder. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it felt oddly like possession—like this stranger was messing with something that was mine.
It didn’t make sense. I’d only shared a heated moment across the bar, but it had been profound.
Something twisted in my gut, and I knew I would make a monumental move—one so out of character for me but something I couldn’t seem to stop—not that I wanted to.
Regardless if it made sense, the guy with the evergreen eyes felt like mine, and I’d be damned if I’d let some asshole mess with him.
Draining the last of my beer, I pulled out a wad of cash and shoved it on the bar. My eyes never left the duo, my hottie becoming more distressed with each passing second. There was only one course of action left for me to take.
To claim what I’d decided was mine.