Chapter 4 Brek
brEK
Her voice is one of those tones that makes me cringe. I can’t hold the phone to my ear, or it’ll be too loud, and I’ll sit here looking like I’m trying to curl in on myself. That’s not a professional look at work.
As it is, holding the phone away from my ear and struggling to keep the scowl from my face is far more challenging than it should be. I can’t remember what she’s on about. Who assigned me this sale? I won’t forgive them. They’re going to become the focus of my ire.
Fortunately for me, she doesn’t need input. She simply wants to hear her own voice. How can she stand it? Ugh.
There’s a knock on my open door, and I glance up.
My mentor, Zaiden, is standing there. I’d worked with him when we lived at Rolling Green Estates and was first starting out.
Maybe I spoke highly of him. He was here within six months of our moving to the Van Doren Estate and my working at the Van Doren Real Estate Agency.
He said they’d reached out to him and made him an offer he’d have felt stupid not to accept.
So here he is. I’m thankful he’s here. It’s not that the other people in the office aren’t great, but I feel like they think of me as if I’m a Van Doren.
I get it. The plaque on my office door reads Van Doren.
Interestingly enough, I’m not even sure which Van Doren holds their real estate license. Probably not one I know at all.
Zaiden treats me like a person. Not a Van Doren or maybe Van Doren adjacent. Besides that, he’s a great mentor.
“Mrs. Golderman,” I interrupt. “I’m sorry, but I need to let you go. My next appointment just arrived.”
“Okay, darling. Give me a call when the papers are ready,” she says.
“I will, Mrs. Golderman. Have a great day.” I hang up before she can respond. Now that she can’t see me through the phone, I glare. My scowl doesn’t stay inside, either.
Zaiden laughs. “She’s that awful, is she?” He crosses the room to sit in the chair in front of my desk.
“No, she’s very pleasant and kind. But she speaks in a register that makes my jaw hurt.”
He laughs again. “Wow.”
“Right?” I rub the bridge of my nose and sigh. “What’s up?”
“El and I are taking off for the mountains in a couple hours. You’re taking the weekend off, right?”
“Why are you going to the mountains? Which one of you wants to bury the other?”
He grins. “We’ve been enjoying the hiking scene. There’s a cabin close to half a dozen trails, so we’re making a weekend of it.”
“I suppose who’s burying who isn’t the question I should have asked, huh? How many trails are you going to mark?”
This time, his smirk is all kinds of mischievous.
“You can’t tell me you’re not into public fun. Didn’t you tell me you guys did the deed in a church closet?” I ask, raising a brow.
Zaiden’s smile remains firmly on his face as he gets to his feet. “Go home, Brek. No work this weekend, huh?”
“My weekend won’t be as fun as yours, but yeah, fine.”
“Leave your work phone here,” Zaiden says.
He figured out shortly after he started here that working over the weekend was an excuse so that I wouldn’t have to socialize with my friends.
I love them, but I hate the constant change.
At least if I’m working, seeing less and less of them can feel like it’s my fault and not because they’re all building lives without me.
“Yes, boss,” I deadpan. He taps my desk and heads for the door with a wave.
“Have fun,” I call after him, then I’m sitting in my silent office.
There are no indications about which Van Doren worked here. I’ve wanted to ask, but the other agents tend to get skittish and tense when I talk about the Van Dorens. Which I find strange because every Van Doren I’ve ever met has been perfectly kind.
Except perhaps Loren. That’s a different story, but I’m confident he doesn’t have his real estate license.
It’s only three, but aside from more calls, I have nothing else scheduled, so I decide that maybe I’ll head home early. Why not?
I make sure I’m always kind and approachable in the office, so a smile is on my face as soon as I step out.
There are five others who work in the office besides me and Zaiden.
Three are full-time, two are part-time. Since Zaiden left, there are four remaining, two of whom have their desks right out in the open and not in an office with four walls.
Absently, I wonder if they resent me for having the Van Doren office.
“Have a great weekend, everyone,” I call as I head for the door.
I hear a repeat of the same words in return, some of which say my name. It took me a solid eight months to keep them from calling me Mr. Holleran. I’m not their superior. I’m a real estate agent. Just as they are. Zaiden is the superior.
But I get it; I sit in the VD office.
The sun is hot today. Surprising for Arizona, right? The thought makes me roll my eyes. It’s always funny to me how uptight people get about how hot it is when I mention the weather. Like… I live here. I know. Guess what? I’m still going to live my life, regardless of the temperature.
I start my car, and the check engine light flickers on with one of those loud car bings. I wince because they always make me jump. Then I glare at the light. This is a new fucking car!
As soon as I touch my finger to the ignition, the light turns off. I pause, staring at the spot where the light had just been. Is it going to come back? Was it a fluke? I pull my finger away and wait again. Nothing.
“Huh,” I murmur out loud. Perhaps I should bring it in for a quick check.
It’s early enough. But the light is out now, so are they even going to be able to figure out what’s wrong?
Was it on long enough to send a code through the computer?
Actually, was there even something wrong if it went off less than thirty seconds later?
No matter. I shift into Drive, but don’t take my foot off the brake until I’m relatively certain the light won’t turn back on. Okay, it was just a fluke. The car was having a moment. Not a big deal.
Depending on traffic, my drive home is only twenty-two minutes, though it can be up to half an hour when I leave during the peak of rush hour.
I try not to. My goal is usually to get in early enough that I miss it in the morning, so I can leave early enough to beat it in the afternoon. Three is a good time.
When I get home, I drive around the side of the big house where I can access the underground parking.
If I’m not working this weekend, I might as well park my car where it belongs.
It’s not like it’s difficult to get my car in or out.
Like the rest of the world, laziness is often confused with convenience.
It truly is laziness when I keep my car in the side lot instead of driving it into the garage. It’s not like there isn’t an elevator!
I head to the third floor and my room to change out of my clothes. There isn’t exactly a dress code at work, but I tend to dress in slacks and polo shirts. It’s dress casual as far as I’m concerned. I’m not a slob, and I’m not in a suit. Perfectly presentable.
However, I feel like I look like my father, so I stay in it for as little time as possible. Slacks and a polo aren’t just his work attire; they’re also his golf attire, weekend attire, vacation attire, and lounge attire. The material of his clothing changes more than the style.
Now in something that feels far more comfortable, I step back into the loggia and look around. It’s empty. I can’t say a house this big is ever truly quiet, but… it’s quiet.
I glance at Honey Bee’s room. The door is closed, but I imagine she’s still at work. As is Levis. I could drop in on Oakley, but Loren doesn’t work anymore either, apparently, so I know he’ll be there. Haze is probably at work. Briar has a spouse and a kid.
Sighing, I drop onto the couch and close my eyes. I’m surrounded by my friends, and yet, it feels like they’re hundreds of miles away.
“Hey, you.”
My heart stutters at Voss’ voice, even before I pick my head up and open my eyes. He sits beside me instead of across from me. His hand rests on my leg.
Voss has kind of a preppy-grunge look. His jeans look well-worn with tears and rips all over the place. They’re folded at the bottoms, though they’re not long, and worn over suede shoes. He’s wearing a knit vest with a hood over nothing.
One wrist is covered in a variety of bracelets. The other has a large-faced silver watch. His hair is short, dark, and almost always messy. His face has a permanent fuzzy shadow. Interestingly, his glasses are incredibly similar to mine, with a square-ish shape and solid, dark frames.
“Hey.”
“You’re home early,” he says, leaning in to kiss me.
“Yeah. Zaiden told me to go home, and you don’t argue with the boss.”
He grins. “Good call.”
“Hey, so who’s the Van Doren with a real estate license? Whose office am I in?”
“Rome.”
He doesn’t expand until I shove him. “Who the hell is that?”
Voss laughs. “Let’s see if you can keep up. Ready?” I nod. “Dad’s father is Grandpa Weston. Grandpa Weston’s mother is Great Gran Poppy. She had ten siblings, one of whom is Rome the First. His great-grandson, Rome the Fourth, is the current real estate mogul.”
“That’s not as complicated as you made it sound.”
“That’s because you only needed to know one name—Rome. Rome had eight kids, but it’s the responsibility of those who carry on the Rome Van Doren name who run the real estate business.”
“They’re never in the office,” I point out.
“Nah. Rome the Fourth lives in northern Oregon.”
“Well, that’s better than here.”
“You say that, but I love our home here.”
I glance around, and yeah, I guess. It’s amazing. Breathtaking. But not mine. I’m temporary.
Voss grips my chin and pulls my face to his. My breath is already stuttering before his mouth lands on mine. Since that first time, he’s kissed me many times over the last couple of weeks. I enjoy the give and take, where sometimes he dictates our kisses, and other times I control it.
It’s not just about control, though. I like the way he kisses. It’s not sloppy or incredibly wet, even with his tongue in my mouth. No matter how, uh… deep our kisses become. When it ends, I never feel like he slobbered all over me.
Unlike our past kisses, he leans in closer to me, and his hand lands on my thigh. I’m a little startled when my dick takes notice of his hand’s proximity to it. It’s taken me a long time to come to terms with the fact that I’m asexual and aromantic, but that isn’t entirely relevant right now.
But if I’m asexual like I’ve recently come to believe about myself, what is this fucking zing shooting through me at his touch?
My body breaks out in chills—down my arms and over my thighs as Voss crowds my space, forcing me to lie backward. I do, maybe out of confusion, but also because I’m feeling a little breathless.
His body comes down on mine. Not squarely, but still with enough weight that I feel pinned. Not in a bad way, though. There’s something strangely arousing about him being on top of me like this, too.
“You okay?” Voss asks, taking his mouth from my lips and moving it along my jaw and down to my neck.
Fuck, why do I feel so… squirmy? What is my dick doing?
“Yes?”
He chuckles. Even that deep, husky sound does something to me.
“Are you sure? You feel a little tense.”
Am I? I close my eyes and try to take a complete inventory of my body. There have been times when I was a teenager when I kept trying to get in the mood with various people. Mostly girls, but in college, I tried on a guy or two.
Well, I tried to try them on. I was never into it.
In fact, this feeling of need is so unfamiliar, it’s also startling. I’m not surprised that I feel tense.
“Brek.”
I open my eyes and meet Voss’ stare.
“We don’t have to do anything at all. You know that, right?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Do you want to stop? We can just kiss or maybe just cuddle?”
I shake my head. I’m nervous, but I’m curious as much as I am turned on. I’m fucking turned on! How does this fit into my damn life as I know it?
Voss adjusts on top of me, and his thigh presses between my legs. I shift under him, letting my leg fall off the side of the couch. His thigh presses against my cock, and I groan. I groan!
“Mm,” he hums, his mouth covering mine again.
I can’t decide whether I’m drowning in his kisses or from the heat gathering in my groin. My dick is getting hard with every rub of his thigh against it.
Something in my head feels panicky. This isn’t supposed to happen. I just accepted that I’m completely normal being asexual, and that’s okay.
But the louder part of me is succumbing to the way my body responds to Voss. It feels good. It feels startling and hot and shaky and urgent all at the same time. I feel squirmy, needing more, and overwhelmed by every bit of more I get.
Voss’ hand tangles in my hair, and I moan into his mouth. He tastes so good. I love the way he kisses me. Now, I love the way he touches me, too. He isn’t pushy, and he’s not trying to do more than this. As if he knows that this might be the limit I can handle before my brain explodes.
I grip him tightly, kissing him hungrily, and lose myself in the feeling that Voss alone has been able to stir in me. This means something new, but I don’t know what right now.