Ah. He’d wondered if there was something else behind this. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I could arrange to have you both over for dinner this weekend, if you’d actually show up.”

  He thought about it. “Sunday, not Saturday, please. I’ve got to work Saturday morning.”

  “Cool! I’ll text you when I set it up. Love ya.”

  “Thanks. Love you, too.”

  She ended the call, and Rom set his phone aside to finish his salad.

  He loved Ina, he really did. She was sort of a mom to him. Considering Chad had raised him since Rom was five, and Chad married Ina when Rom was ten, they’d kind of practiced parenthood on him.

  Probably why they were such great parents to their own two kids now.

  Sure, the brothers had bad luck, losing their parents as young as they had, but life could have turned out a lot worse for Rom, and he knew it.

  And considering Chad and Ina had lovingly supported him when he finally worked up the nerve to come out to them at fifteen, he knew he could have done a hell of a lot worse than a slightly nerdy older brother and his overprotective and slightly smothering wife.

  Like he could’ve been home, instead of in school, when the guy murdered their parents.

  Chapter Two

  “Do you take checks, hon?”

  Colton Oakes dusted off his hands where he was removing a greenware vase from its mold. “Only for classes, ma’am.” He walked over to the front counter, where the older woman had one of his custom pieces sitting there next to the register and ready to purchase. “Sorry about that.”

  “No, it’s okay.” She offered him a smile and dug a credit card out of her wallet. “I can hide purchases easier from my husband when I use a check. He gets texts when we use one of our cards. Helps keep the accounts more secure, but a bitch when he sees what I spend.” She grinned.

  He chuckled. “Ah, I see.” He rang her up and carefully wrapped the piece for her. This was a delicate lacework ceramic vase, translucent, and designed to show off interesting light patterns when the accompanying LED tea light inside was turned on. He’d painted an underwater scene on the lower part of it, and the vertical glazed swooshes baked into the finish resembled seaweed.

  Since it was almost closing time, he’d be able to lock the door once she left. Normally, he took Mondays off. He hadn’t taught any classes today, but, unfortunately, his Aunt Roberta couldn’t work because she and Uncle Mike had routine doctor appointments scheduled.

  She chatted with him for a few more minutes, and he didn’t feel right about rushing her out when she’d just dropped nearly a hundred dollars on a piece.

  Cell phone bill—paid.

  Before she could leave, though, the door opened and three men walked in.

  Goddammit.

  But he smiled. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

  All three acknowledged him with smiles and waves, but one who looked to be the oldest of the three walked over.

  “Sorry, I know you’re close to closing, but one of my boys was in here last Monday and saw a piece he really liked. We couldn’t get back here before now.”

  “No problem.” Colton smiled. “Take your time.” They looked like money. If they were going to buy something, hell, yeah, he’d let them look. “Let me know if you have any questions.” And if he came by on a Monday, it’d explain why he hadn’t seen them before.

  The man rejoined the other two, and from the way he stood between them and draped his arms around both their shoulders, plus the fact that the other two men weren’t young enough to be the guy’s kids, Colton suspected the guy hadn’t meant “sons” when he called them his boys.

  Lucky bastards.

  They stood at the “expensive shelf,” as his Aunt Roberta called it, where his priciest custom pieces were displayed. Close enough to the front counter to be highly visible, but out of the way enough it was unlikely someone would bump into anything and break it.

  The older man turned, glanced around, and found him. “Did you make all of these yourself?”

  “Yes.” Colton grabbed two of his business cards and walked over, offering them to him. “I do custom work, as well as mass-produce certain things.”

  “These are gorgeous.” The man accepted the business cards, glanced at them, then offered his hand. “Kent Corwin. This is Paul and Tim.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Colton shook with the other two men, as well.

  “This is the one I really liked, Sir,” Paul said to Kent, “but now I can’t make up my mind between this one or that one.”

  Colton’s ears perked up at Paul’s use of that title, and now that he was standing with them, he realized all three men wore matching wedding bands on their left hands.

  And they were looking at his two priciest pieces, delicate lacework vases with tea lights in them, even fancier than the one the woman had purchased earlier. They’d taken him over thirty hours each to complete, and he had them priced at four hundred apiece. He’d sold the other two already, at an art gallery there on Venice Island.

  “Get them both,” Tim said. “Not like we can’t afford them. They’d look perfect in the bedroom. We were looking for something to put in the niches on either side of the window.”

  Colton hoped his gulp at the man’s nonchalance over money wasn’t audible to them, and he had to force himself not to offer them a discount if they bought them both. Sure, on the inexpensive and mass-produced pieces, he would do that sometimes.

  But not on these. These had been labor-intensive and a labor of love, a way to focus and distract himself after his grandmother’s death four years ago.

  If she was alive, she’d be herding Colton away from the customers and trying to talk them into buying both, and would stomp Colton’s foot if he dared offer a discount for buying both.

  “That’s my vote,” Kent said. He smiled at Colton. “I spoil my boys.”

  “Lucky men,” Colton offered.

  “Bet your wife will be happy if you sell both of these, huh?” Kent asked.

  Colton recognized a fishing expedition when he saw one. “No wife. No boyfriend, either. Unfortunately, I’m unattached and between relationships.”

  Well, that was technically true, even if it was understating the truth.

  By a lot.

  Kent glanced at the card again. “Paul, why don’t you pick out a couple of pieces for the office lobby, too?” He held up the cards. “Can we take some more cards with us? We don’t get a lot of walk-in traffic, but I like supporting local artists. We just opened our new office up in Bradenton. Custom software development.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure!” Colton somehow managed not to trip over his own feet as he hurried back behind the counter where he kept boxes of business cards. He grabbed a rubber band and a few dozen cards and bundled them together, taking them back to Kent. “There you go. Thank you!”

  “No problem. You know, I’ve driven past here countless times since I’ve lived in Venice, but I didn’t know you sold art, too. I thought you just taught classes and stuff.”

  “We do a little of everything now.” He hoped he didn’t sound like he was rambling. “My grandmother used to own the place. For years, that’s what Grammy did—teach and sell some mass-produced stuff, like souvenirs. Things the tourists would gravitate toward. Supplied a few gift shops here on the island, and up in Sarasota, down in Englewood, places close like that. Then she encouraged me to put some of my art pieces out to sell when I was in high school, and the rest is history.”

  Kent smiled. “Smart woman to recognize talent. Does she still work with you?”

  He sadly shook his head. “I lost her four years ago. She raised me and left everything to me. I was already helping her run it. I decided I wanted to keep running it.”

  “Yikes, sorry. About your loss, I mean.”

  They stood there chatting for a few minutes more before Paul decided on two smaller pieces for their office—a custom statue of a manatee, and a smaller lacework vase. When Colton tried to give them a discount on those two pieces, Kent waved him off.

  “No, like I said, I support artists. AMEX okay, or do you prefer Visa?”

  “I take either.”

  Kent handed over a black AMEX that Colton knew definitely meant money. Hell, Colton knew that already, from the Rolex on the man’s left wrist.

  When all was said and done, Colton was twelve hundred dollars richer, and he happily helped the men carry their carefully wrapped purchases to the brand-new Mercedes sedan parked just outside on the street.

  Holy shit.

  Colton was trembling when he returned to the shop after shaking their hands. He barely remembered to lock the door behind him and flip the sign over.

  He’d just made what he cleared in the average week during summer months. And since they were all custom pieces he’d created in his free time, he considered them “bonus” money. Normally, he kept the bills paid, between classes, mass-produced items for local stores, weekend walk-in traffic, and his part-time personal trainer gig at the gym.

  But if he didn’t already own the building free and clear of a mortgage he’d be totally screwed, and he knew it. In fact, during the slower summer months, it was usually his personal trainer gig that paid most of his bills.

  Before leaving, Kent left Colton his card and promised to send people his way whenever possible. Colton studied it before adding it to the business card book of valuable contacts, which he kept behind the counter.

  After making sure everything was locked up downstairs, he headed upstairs to grab a shower and dinner. He didn’t have to be at the gym today, fortunately. Mondays were usually his full day off from the store, and he never scheduled gym clients for Mondays, either.

  All he wanted to do today was vegetate. He’d have to be up at four thirty in the morning to be at the gym by five for clients, do his own workout, and then back home so he could open the store by ten. As he showered the dust off him, he closed his eyes and thought about rubbing one out, except he was too dang tired.

  Damn. That’s pretty sad.

  He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been on a damn date, much less got his ass spanked.

  Then his mind drifted a little, returned to his three last-minute customers, Kent and Tim and Paul.

  Mmm.

  His cock gave an interested twitch.

  No, in real life he was interested in monogamy, if he was actually with someone.

  Thing was, he needed to have a boyfriend to be monogamous with them. If Kent and his boys decided to hit on him for some strings-free sex…yeah, he wouldn’t turn them down, if it was just for fun, and they were all on board with that.

  Another twitch from his cock.

  With his right hand, he fisted his cock and gave it a couple of slow tugs. Leaning against the shower wall, he closed his eyes and with his left hand started pinching his right nipple.

  Mmmmm.

  Yeah, there was a fantasy better than porn, being sandwiched between the three guys and them taking turns doing him. Maybe Kent spanking him while he rode Tim’s cock and sucked Paul’s.

  Oooh, baby.

  His cock liked that fantasy and finished stiffening in his hand. As he mentally ran through a few different scenarios that all ended with him taking loads of cum from all three men, he felt his balls tighten, his release growing closer. As he stroked himself harder, faster, he threw his head back and wished he’d grabbed a toy before getting into the shower.

  Now that he was horny, he was horny. What finally finished him off was the fantasy of being DP’d by Tim and Paul and sucking on Kent’s cock. He let out a groan. His body tensed as ropes of cum erupted from the head of his cock, covering his hand while he furiously stroked the last echoes of his climax out of his balls.

  Whew.

  That was definitely better. Of course, his fantasy life was far wilder than he’d really experienced. He’d had a few decent Tops who knew how to spank him, but no one who’d stuck out head and shoulders above the rest to be boyfriend material.

  Finally satisfied, he finished his shower and wrapped a towel around his waist after drying off. He wouldn’t bother throwing clothes on, but he preferred at least a little cover walking around. It wasn’t likely he’d have any visitors, yet he didn’t want to have to pull all the blinds shut yet.

  Days like this he did miss having the house, except it’d made sense to sell it and move into the three-bedroom apartment over the studio once the tenants moved out. That was money in the bank he’d stashed into savings, along with the life insurance policy Grammy had left to him. He didn’t want to have to touch any of that. At thirty-two, he knew he wouldn’t have forever before he needed to think about retiring, and it wasn’t like what he did was going to make him a rich man.

  Running this business was definitely a labor of love, but he really didn’t have anything else he’d rather be doing. Sure, he could take the money, go to college, and get a degree, but that was no guarantee he’d make a living doing that.

  He had a job. He always had a waiting list for clients at the gym, and he got by with a relatively low stress level overall.

  He was just…alone.

  Lonely.

  He grilled a couple of chicken breasts to go with his protein shake for dinner before he settled in bed with the TV on. He set the sleep timer and opted to watch the Science Channel.

  Maybe I need a cat.

  He thought about it.

  Then again, maybe that would make me more pitiful.

  Chapter Three

  Nine thirty Tuesday morning, Rom stood in the bank’s parking lot, outside the police cordon, along with the rest of the bank’s employees, and watched while a deputy with a bomb-sniffing dog entered the building.

  Denise leaned in. “Twenty bucks says it was your pissed-off granny from yesterday,” Denise muttered under her breath.

  He stood there, arms crossed and sweating his balls off in his long-sleeved shirt, of which he’d already rolled the cuffs up to his elbows. “I won’t take that bet, because I think you’re right.”

  The bomb threat had been called in to the branch manager just a few minutes after they opened. While no one seriously thought there was a bomb on the premises, the sheriff’s office was checking it out anyway, and the bank’s loss-prevention procedures required that it be called in as a serious threat.

  It’d been an older woman, was all the branch manager knew for certain. The authorities were in the process of identifying the number where the call originated.

  Meanwhile…

  There they sweated.

  Why can’t anything be easy?

  They were also waiting for the head of security to arrive from the main branch to start their own investigation into the incident. They wouldn’t be able to open immediately upon the sheriff’s office clearing the building, either. They had protocols to go through first, and it’d take at least a couple of hours, if not the rest of the business day.

  First, they all had to be questioned about who they thought was responsible, or for any information they might have about the incident. Since Rom was the one who’d dealt with the woman yesterday, he’d likely end up occupied for hours going through his statement, reviewing the CCTV footage from yesterday—everything.

  Gawd, what a fricking pita.

  “By the way, scruffy looks good on you,” Denise said. “I meant to tell you that yesterday.”

  Rom was tired of people thinking he was barely over eighteen, so he thought he’d try something different for a change and grow out a beard and mustache. Not long and shaggy, of course.

  “Thanks. Never grew one before.”

  “Well, if you need any advice, Jim does beard grooming in his shop.” Her husband was a barber and hair stylist.

  “Thanks. We’ll see how it goes, or if I shave it off before that point.” He scratched at his four days’ worth of scruff. “Haven’t shaved since Friday.”

  He wasn’t exactly hairy, and neither was Chad, but at least it was coming in even and not patchy.

  Although Rom was sweating his balls off right now and starting to regret the decision. If they kept them out there too much longer, he was going to go sit in his car with the AC running. In fact, he was about to invite Denise to do just that with him when one of their frequent customers walked up, Kent Corwin.

  “Whoa. What’s goin’ on?”

  “Bomb scare,” Rom told him, even though, technically, they weren’t supposed to be talking about it.

  But Kent Corwin was a legitimate rich guy, with assets in their bank well over the five-hundred-million-dollar mark. He was their biggest depositor, and if Rom couldn’t tell him something that’d likely be all over the six o’clock news anyway, from the looks of the three news vans set up in the parking lot next door, then management could go fuck themselves.

  “Damn,” Kent said. “I wanted to sit down with you this morning about looking at some of my accounts. I need to add my boys to them.”

  “I didn’t know you had kids.”

  He slyly smiled. “They’re not my kids.”

  Rom immediately grokked Kent’s meaning and nodded his head. “Ah. Gotcha.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, unfortunately, it’s going to be several hours before we can do that. Once they let us back inside, we have procedures to go through before we can re-open. Might not be until tomorrow that we’re open for business. I could call one of the other branches and get you in with someone there?”

  “No, I’d rather deal with you.” Over the past couple of years Rom had worked at the bank, Kent Corwin had insisted on dealing only with him. Never anything creepy with him, but after Rom had gently rebuffed the man’s initial advance, because Rom wasn’t allowed to fraternize with customers like that, Kent had remained warmly cordial to him.

  “Sorry, Mr. Corwin.”

  He smirked. “Still won’t call me Kent, huh?”

  Rom just smiled and shrugged.

  “Listen. So I had another reason I wanted to talk to you today.” Kent glanced around and dropped his voice, motioning Rom a short distance away. “We saw you at the Toucan last weekend, but I didn’t want to interrupt your fun. I know you can’t fraternize with me, and I’m taken now, anyway. But I’m throwing a party this Saturday night. I usually throw one every few weeks. Kind of party people keep quiet, if you know what I mean? Open-minded guys, carefully vetted, anything goes. Nothing illegal, though. I have several single guys I could introduce you to. If you’re interested?”