I wanted to believe that. God, I wanted to believe that so badly. But the fear still lingered, a constant hum in the back of my mind.

  “What are you making?” I asked, changing the subject before I could spiral into anxiety again.

  “Chicken piccata. Or at least, my attempt at it.” He gestured to the pan. “I figured we should celebrate you surviving your talk with Derek.”

  “With lemon and capers?”

  “Don’t knock it until you try it.” He turned back to the stove, adjusting the heat. “Go get changed. It’ll be ready in about ten minutes.”

  I headed to the bedroom, stripping off my work clothes and pulling on sweats and a t-shirt. When I caught sight of myself in the mirror, I paused. I looked tired, the shadows under my eyes evidence of too many sleepless nights. But there was something else too—a softness around my mouth, a lightness in my expression that hadn’t been there a week ago.

  I looked like someone who was happy. Or at least, someone who was on their way to being happy.

  The realization was startling enough that I stood there for a moment, just staring at my reflection. When had that happened? When had I stopped being the bitter, angry guy who couldn’t see past his own prejudices?

  “Kent? You good?” James called from the kitchen.

  “Yeah, coming.”

  Chapter 21

  Kent

  The theatre was mostly empty, but that was fine by me. There was a new animated movie that had come out a couple weeks ago that James wanted to see. But my arrival had sort of messed up his schedule. When I found out he’d wanted to go for a while, I told him I’d take him. I don’t think I’d ever seen him smile so wide.

  I bought us a large popcorn to share and watched as he practically bounced toward the theater entrance. It was endearing in a way that made my chest ache. This was the real James—not the guarded version who’d learned to protect himself from people like me, but the one who got excited about animated movies and didn’t try to hide it.

  We settled into seats near the back, the previews already starting. James immediately grabbed a handful of popcorn, and I found myself watching him more than the screen. The way the flickering light played across his face, the small smile that tugged at his lips during the funny parts of the trailers.

  “You’re staring,” he whispered without looking at me.

  “Maybe I like what I’m looking at.”

  He turned then, his eyes meeting mine in the darkness. “Careful. Someone might see.”

  “Theater’s basically empty.” But I looked away anyway, that familiar fear creeping back in. Even here, in the relative anonymity of a dark movie theater, I couldn’t fully relax.

  James’s hand found mine in the space between our seats, his fingers threading through mine. “Hey. It’s okay.”

  I squeezed his hand, grateful for the understanding. We stayed like that through the previews, hands clasped in the darkness where no one could see. It was such a small thing, but it felt monumental. A few weeks ago, the thought of holding another man’s hand would have sent me into a panic. Now, sitting here with James, it felt like the most natural thing in the world, even if I was just a little bit scared still.

  The movie started, and I tried to focus on it. It was actually pretty good, funny and heartfelt in equal measure. But I kept getting distracted by James’s reactions. The way he laughed at the jokes, the subtle shift in his posture during the emotional scenes. At one point, about halfway through, he leaned over and whispered, “Thank you for bringing me.”

  “It’s just a movie,” I whispered back.

  “It’s not, though.” His thumb traced circles on the back of my hand. “It’s you making an effort. Doing something I wanted to do just because I wanted to do it. That matters.”

  The words hit me harder than they should have. How many times had Brittany asked me to do something with her, and I’d made excuses or half-assed my way through it? How many times had I prioritized what I wanted over what she needed?

  But with James, it was different. I wanted to make him smile. I wanted to see that light in his eyes when he was happy. And if that meant sitting through an animated movie about talking animals or whatever the hell this was, then that’s what I’d do.

  “You’re doing it again,” James murmured, amusement in his voice.

  “Doing what?”

  “Staring at me instead of watching the movie.”

  “Can’t help it.” The words came out before I could stop them, raw and honest in a way that probably should have scared me.

  James turned to look at me fully, the movie forgotten. In the dim light, I could see the emotion in his eyes. It was something tender and vulnerable that made my breath catch.

  “Kent—”

  A loud laugh from someone a few rows ahead broke the moment. James glanced toward the screen, then back at me. “We should watch the movie.”

  “Right. The movie.”

  But neither of us looked away for another few seconds, caught in that suspended moment where everything else fell away. Then James smiled, soft and private, and turned back to the screen. His hand stayed in mine, though, warm and steady.

  I forced myself to focus on the movie, actually paying attention this time. It was something about a family of creatures who had to learn to work together, with the typical animated movie beats—conflict, resolution, heartwarming message about accepting differences. The kind of thing that I usually rolled my eyes at.

  Now, sitting here with James’s hand in mine, the message hit a little too close to home. Accepting differences. Learning to see past what you thought you knew about someone. Finding family in unexpected places.

  By the time the credits rolled, I was more emotionally affected than I wanted to admit. James stood, stretching, and I reluctantly let go of his hand.

  “So?” he asked as we filed out with the handful of other moviegoers. “What did you think?”

  “It was good. Better than I expected.”

  “Just good?” He bumped his shoulder against mine as we walked. “Come on, I saw you getting misty-eyed during that scene with the dad.”

  “I was not getting misty-eyed.”

  “You totally were.” His grin was infectious. “It’s okay to have feelings, Kent. I won’t tell anyone.”

  I shook my head, but I was smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

  “Maybe. But you like me anyway.”

  The words were teasing, light, but they carried weight underneath. Because he was right. I did like him. More than like him, if I was being honest with myself. And that realization, standing in the bright lights of the theater lobby with people milling around us, should have terrified me to the core.

  Instead, it felt like relief.

  We headed out to the parking lot, the evening air cool against my face. James was humming something from the movie soundtrack, and I found myself memorizing this moment—the sound of his voice, the way he walked beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world, the lingering warmth where our hands had been joined.

  “So, are we going out to dinner or ordering takeout at home?” I asked as we settled into my truck.

  “Dealer’s choice.”

  “Hmm,” I hummed, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. “How about I take you home, eat you for dinner, then we can order snacks afterwards?”

  James’s face flushed, even in the dim light of the parking lot. He bit his lip, and I watched his throat work as he swallowed.

  “That’s... yeah. That works for me.”

  I started the truck, my own pulse quickening at the thought of getting him home. The drive back felt longer than usual, anticipation building with every mile. I could feel James’s eyes on me periodically, could sense the tension coiling between us.

  When we hit a red light, I reached over and put my hand on his thigh. His breath hitched, and I felt the muscle tense under my palm.

  “You okay?” I asked, glancing at him.

  “More than okay.” His hand covered mine, pulling it higher up his leg until my fingers brushed against the bulge growing there. “Just thinking about what you said.”

  “Having second thoughts?”

  “Not even close.” His voice had gone rough in that way that made heat pool in my gut. “Just trying to figure out if it’s possible to make traffic lights turn green through sheer force of will.”

  I laughed, pulling my hand back as the light changed. “Patience.”

  “Not really my strong suit when you say stuff like that.”

  The rest of the drive was torture in the best way. Every glance, every shift in his seat, every time he adjusted himself in his jeans—it all added to the building pressure. By the time I pulled into the parking lot of our apartment building, I was fully hard and aching.

  We made it through the lobby and into the elevator without incident, though I could feel the electricity crackling between us. The second the squeaky elevator doors closed, James was on me, his hands fisting in my shirt as he pulled me down into a kiss.

  I kissed him back hard, walking him backward until his back hit the elevator wall. My hands found his hips, holding him in place as I pressed against him. He made a desperate sound into my mouth that went straight to my cock.

  The elevator dinged, announcing our floor, and we broke apart. James’s lips were red and swollen, his eyes dark with want. I grabbed his hand and practically dragged him down the hallway to our door.

  My hands were shaking as I fumbled with the keys. James pressed against my back, his lips finding my neck, and I nearly dropped the fucking things.

  “You’re not helping,” I muttered, finally getting the door unlocked.

  “Not trying to help.” His teeth grazed my earlobe. “Trying to drive you crazy.”

  “Mission accomplished.”

  We stumbled inside, and I barely had the presence of mind to lock the door behind us before I was turning, capturing his mouth again. This kiss was deeper, more desperate. I walked him backward until his butt hit the kitchen counter, our mouths never breaking contact.

  “Fuck, Kent.” His hands were already working at my belt, fingers clumsy with urgency. “Get these off.”

  I helped him with my jeans, shoving them down along with my boxers. Then I turned my attention to his, yanking at the button and zipper until I could get my hands on him. He was already hard, straining against his underwear, and when I wrapped my hand around him through the fabric, he arched up with a gasp.

  “Off,” I demanded, tugging at his jeans. “All of it. Off.”

  We scrambled to undress, all coordination lost to desperate need. Clothes ended up scattered across the living room floor, and then I was back on him, skin against skin, the heat of him making me dizzy.

  I kissed down his neck, his chest, taking my time even though everything in me was screaming to rush. I wanted to taste every inch of him, wanted to map his body with my mouth until I knew exactly what made him fall apart.

  When I reached his cock, I didn’t hesitate. I dropped to my knees right there and took him in my mouth, hollowing my cheeks and sucking hard. James’s hips jerked up, his hands flying to my hair.

  “Jesus, Kent. Your mouth—” He cut himself off with a moan as I took him deeper.

  I loved this. Loved the way he tasted, the sounds he made, the way his thighs trembled with delight. I’d never understood the appeal before, I’d had always seen it as something you did to get something in return. But with James, I wanted to do this. Wanted to make him feel good just for the sake of it.

  I pulled off with a wet sound, looking up at him. His head was thrown back, his chest heaving, and the sight made my cock throb.

  “Come over here,” I said, getting to my feet. I led him over to the bed. “On your belly.”

  His eyes met mine, understanding dawning. “You want to⁠—?”

  “Yeah. If you do.”

  He nodded quickly, scrambling onto the bed. I grabbed the lube from where we’d stashed it in the side table drawer and slicked up my fingers. When I turned back to him, he wasn’t just lying on his belly. He was face down with his ass in the air, his cheeks spread wide giving me the perfect view of his perfect pink hole.

  I froze for a second, just taking in the sight. James, presenting himself to me like this, trusting me completely. My cock throbbed, leaking pre-cum at the visual.

  “Fuck, you’re perfect,” I breathed, moving closer. I ran my hands over his ass, kneading the flesh before spreading him wider. “So fucking perfect.”

  I pressed one slicked finger against his entrance, circling slowly before pushing inside. He was tight and hot, and the sound he made, like a needy whimper muffled by the pillow, made my head spin.

  “More,” he gasped. “I can take more.”

  I worked him open carefully, adding a second finger and then a third. He pushed back against my hand, fucking himself on my fingers with increasing desperation. I curved them, searching for that spot I’d found by accident a couple nights ago. And when I found it, his whole body jerked.

  “There,” he moaned. “Right there, Kent. Please.”

  I pulled my fingers out and slicked up my cock, positioning myself at his entrance. “You sure about this?”

  “If you don’t fuck me right now, I swear to God⁠—”

  I pushed inside, cutting off his threat with a gasp that turned into a long moan. The feeling of him around me was indescribable. Tight and hot and so fucking good I had to pause, gripping his hips hard enough to bruise just to keep from losing it immediately.

  “Don’t stop,” James demanded, his voice wrecked. “Kent, please fuck me.”

  I pulled back and thrust in again, establishing a rhythm that had us both groaning. Every angle felt perfect, every thrust hitting deep. I leaned over him, one hand braced on the bed beside his head, the other wrapped around his hip.

  “You feel so good,” I panted against his shoulder. “So fucking good, James.”

  He pushed back to meet my thrusts, and I could hear the wet slap of skin on skin, could hear both of our breathing getting more ragged. I shifted slightly, changing the angle, and he cried out.

  “There! Fuck, right there, don’t stop.”

  I didn’t. I couldn’t have stopped if I’d wanted to. The pressure was building at the base of my spine, my balls drawing up tight. But I refused to finish before he did. I reached around, wrapping my hand around his cock and stroking in time with my thrusts.

  “Come on,” I urged, my voice rough. “Wanna feel you cum around my cock.”

  James’s whole body went taut, his muscles clenching around me as he came with a shout. The feeling of him pulsing, the way he tightened around me… It pushed me over the edge. I buried myself deep and came hard, my vision whiting out as pleasure crashed through me.

  I collapsed on top of him, both of us breathing hard. After a moment, I carefully pulled out and rolled to the side, pulling him with me so we were facing each other.

  “Holy shit,” he breathed, his eyes still glazed.

  “Yeah.” I brushed his hair back from his forehead, my hand trembling slightly. “Wow…”

  “Pretty good?” he asked with a tired grin.

  “Understatement of the century.”

  We lay there catching our breath, and I found myself studying his face. The flush on his cheeks, the satisfaction in his eyes, the small smile playing at his lips. He looked happy. Content. And I realized with startling clarity that I’d do anything to keep that expression on his face.

  “I’m starving,” James said eventually. “Think we can still order those snacks you mentioned?”

  I laughed, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Yeah. Let me just... we should probably clean up first.”

  “Probably,” he agreed, but neither of us moved.

  Eventually we made it to the shower, which turned into another round of lazy touching and kisses under the hot water. By the time we finally ordered food, it was nearly eleven, and we were both exhausted but grinning like idiots.

  We ate pizza on the couch, James curled up against my side wearing nothing but one of my t-shirts. It hung loose on his frame, and something about seeing him in my clothes made possessiveness flare in my chest.

  “So,” he said around a mouthful of lo mein. “Movie was good, right?”

  “The movie was fine. What came after was better.”

  He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Can’t argue with that.”

  “We should do it again sometime.”

  James grinned at me, a dangerous glint in his eye. “You can do that to me any fucking time you want.” He leaned closer, my t-shirt riding higher. “Any time.”

  Chapter 22

  James

  Waking up with Kent in my bed never got old. I thought maybe after the first week I’d start to miss the extra room or the personal space. But the truth was, I couldn’t get enough of him.

  Every morning he’d curl around me like a vine, his warmth seeping into my bones until I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began. This morning was no different. His arm was draped over my waist, his breath warm against my neck, and I could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back.

  I checked my phone, and it wasn’t even seven yet. Way too early for me to be awake on a Tuesday, but my internal clock hadn’t gotten the memo about sleeping in. Kent was still out cold, his grip on me loosening slightly as he shifted in his sleep.

  I carefully extracted myself from his octopus hold, trying not to wake him. He made a small sound of protest, his hand reaching out for me even in sleep, but he settled back down when I pulled the blanket up over his shoulder.

  In the kitchen, I started the coffee maker, the familiar sound and smell helping to wake me up properly. While it brewed, I scrolled through my phone, checking emails and social media out of habit. There was a new message from my mom that I’d been ignoring since the night before.

  Mom: Haven’t heard from you in a while. How are things? How’s Kent settling in?