I’m halfway up the steps to Craig’s front door when I hear a high-pitched growl behind me.

“What do you think, Toto? Attack mode alpha?”

A tiny brown furball with Craig in tow approaches, and the growls turn into full-blown barks. Which are actually more like tiny yelps of terror, but it’s the thought that counts.

I kneel down and hold out my hand to see if he’ll approach. “Toto, huh?”

“Mrs. Hill is old school all the way,” Craig says and grins at Toto, who has decided to investigate my hand with his tongue.

“Such a vicious guard dog,” I coo and Toto rolls over for belly rubs. “I’d give you a kiss hello, but my services are required elsewhere.”

Craig squats to my level and runs his fingers behind my ears to my neck, holding me in place while his lips seek mine. His lips are dry but gentle, and I want to run my tongue along them, but we’re interrupted by yips complaining that my hand has stopped its petting.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“We should probably go inside,” I say, looking around. We’re far enough away from Old Town that it isn’t like there’s a ton of foot traffic going by, but I’d still rather not be sprouting wood out in public. Craig stands and holds out a hand to help me to my feet. Toto whines at the loss and paws at my pants leg.

“Smart dog,” Craig says, and I feel my cheeks heat in pleasure.

Craig leads us inside, and a door to the side of the stairwell immediately opens, as if someone was watching for us.

“You must be Zach. Come in, come in.” A white-haired lady takes my elbow and ushers me inside to a dining room table. It looks handcrafted and antique, and there are lace doilies at three of the four place settings. I pull out her seat and she insists I sit next to her.

Craig is in the kitchen, unclipping Toto’s leash and feeding him a treat. Toto circles Craig’s heels until the treat is held down at his level, where he snaps it up and runs away with his treasure.

“Craig, could you please bring the tray in with you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Hill,” Craig calls as he washes Toto off his hands.

“I’m thrilled to finally meet you,” Mrs. Hill says. “I was beginning to think that Craig was going to keep you all to himself and never share you with the rest of us.”

I bite back a smile. We’ve been going out for maybe a week now, and she’s acting like we’d run off and eloped without telling her. I can see why Craig likes her.

Craig sets a small tray that has an assortment of cookies neatly arranged in the middle of the table.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” She nods as if that were an obvious fact. “And Toto, of course,” I say because I can feel something brushing around my ankles, hoping for more treats.

“Do you play rummy?”

Craig laughs and points a finger at her. “Don’t make me regret bringing him here to meet you. You are not allowed to hustle my … Zach.”

I don’t think it would be possible for my smile to get any bigger. Ever. I think I deserve an amazing amount of credit for not teasing him on that slip the way he did when we first met, though. He’s the one blushing this time.

Mrs. Hill’s eyes soften as she studies Craig, then blink in surprise when she looks to me, though I have no idea what I could have done to garner that reaction.

“Oh, I like you,” she says, and pats my cheek. “Have a cookie, dear.”

Mrs. Hill places a cookie in my hand, which I desperately try not to think about Toto licking earlier. She doesn’t allow me to take a single bite, peppering me with question after question, just like I’d imagine Craig’s actual grandmother doing.

When I’m finally able to turn my attention to Craig, he’s got a dopey expression on his face. I nudge him under the table with a knee, and he nudges back.

“Thanks for everything, Mrs. Hill, but if I’m going to feed this one, we’d better get going.” Craig smiles as if the thought of feeding me fills him with pleasure.

“Of course. Feel free to come get me if you need anything. This one isn’t much of a cook,” she fake whispers, and Craig protests, throwing his hands up.

“Don’t tell him that right before I cook for him. Traitor!”

“You’re a good boy, Craig,” she says and pulls on his shirt until he’s bent low enough for her to buss a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for walking Toto. You two have a lovely evening.”

As we make our way upstairs, Craig tries to apologize for that unexpected detour.

“Are you kidding? She’s great. And she clearly adores you. Not that I blame her.”

“She’s like my family,” Craig says as he lets us into his apartment, and I think I might finally get to hear about his elusive family. Instead, he continues by saying, “But she wasn’t lying about my cooking skills.”

Craig pulls out ingredients, all of which are packaged in plastic containers, boxes, or cans, and sets them onto his counter. “This is about as fancy as my cooking gets.”

“Do you need help?” I ask because it’s the polite thing to do, even though what I really want to do is snoop around Craig’s living room.

Craig laughs but it’s a cover, because his eyes are sheepish. “If you thought this was going to be one of those rom-com cooking montage moments, then you greatly overestimate me.”

My nose wrinkles at the cuteness. “Good. More time for investigation.”

“Investigating what?”

“You,” I say as I peruse the bookshelf near his TV. “I know the important things about you, but I’m woefully lacking on historical info.” He doesn’t have nearly as many books as I do, and those that he has are paperback. The only pictures he has are of him with his friend Victoria. I was hoping for anything on his family, and the fact that there’s none is a seed that burrows deep, planting fears of why not.

“Oh, and what are these important things?” he teases, but the uncertainty hasn’t left his eyes. If anything, it’s stronger than ever.

“That you’re good. And you’re kind. And you’re a Malec shipper,” I say, holding up a framed pencil drawing of the couple. “That’s all I need to know, really.”

“Victoria drew that for me. We were both obsessed with the books in high school,” he says, but his face is blank as he scans his own belongings himself. “So what happened this week that you needed stress relief?”

I guess we aren’t there yet, I think with a heavy internal sigh, but I’m determined to get Craig to trust me with his past. It obviously weighs on him enough to avoid it at every turn, and I want to be there for him, but then maybe that’s selfish of me, if that isn’t what he needs. So I take the bait and spend the next ten minutes, during which time he skillfully dumps the contents of cans and jars and boxes into a casserole dish and pops it into his oven, complaining about Parker and Shelby and their stupid announcement party.

“What about you?” I ask when I’ve run out of adjectives for Shelby. “How was your week?”

“Eh, not great. But what can you do.”

“You don’t like to complain, do you?”

His eyebrows jump, and he quirks his head toward me. “What? I complain.”

“Hmm.” I tap my lips, thinking back to our conversations. “Maybe about the crickets. But I can’t remember any other times that you totally let go and just bitched about something. Come on, it feels good.”

“What am I going to bitch about?”

I throw my hands up. “I don’t know. You said work wasn’t great.”

“Right, but what’s complaining going to do?”

Now that food’s in the oven and we have to wait, we’ve moved to his couch, and I get a little flustered remembering what we did on this couch last time. Refocus, Zach. “What’s it going to do? Make you feel better.”

“Well, I had to deal with a homophobic kid and his mom at the gaming party.”

“Fuckers,” I say.

“He was twelve. I can’t say anything bad about a twelve-year-old.”

“Sure you can. Kids can be assholes. And it’s just me here. I won’t judge.”

“Fine. I had to deal with a homophobic, misogynistic shithead kid, whose mom tried to get me fired.”

“What a bitch!”

“Right?”

“Right, so say it.”

“What a bitch,” Craig says and laughs. I’m bouncing on my knees on the sofa in encouragement.

“And then Ted tells me that we’re doing the Fourth of July parade again this year. Do you have any idea how miserable that is?”

I shake my head, but wave my fingers at him. “No idea. Tell me.”

“Spending hours in ninety degree heat, in costumes thanks to your brilliant roommate. Last year, my sunburn was still peeling a week later. And of course Ted doesn’t care because he drives the truck. He gets air conditioning. And cushy seats. And no blisters. And-”

Craig falls back against the couch and laughs. “Okay, you win. I feel better.”

He leans over and kisses the smug smile off my face. Before it can go any further, the oven beeps.

Craig looks sheepish again as he dishes out his baked pasta creation. I take my first bite as expectant eyes watch the movement of my fork. It’s really … not good. The pasta is still tough in places, and the sauce is watery. Each bite is either this, or a crusted glob of cheese that doesn’t seem to have melted right. So of course, I scarf down two full helpings.

This Craig is someone I don’t think many people get to see. He has this tough, funny exterior, but really he’s a mess of insecurities on the inside, just like me. And I find that knowledge incredibly attractive.

I carry dishes to the sink and start to rinse off plates. “You can leave that. I’ll take care of it later,” Craig says, uncertainty still bleeding through his voice.

“I’ve never had anyone cook for me before. So thank you.”

“It wasn’t-”

I put a finger to his lips, revelling a little in my courage and in Craig’s surprise.

“It was everything.”

Craig’s lips descend on mine with a hunger that feels new. He pulls my hair until I gasp into the kiss, and takes advantage of my open mouth to swirl his tongue inside. With his other hand, he’s already delving inside my jeans to grab my ass. My lower lip throbs from his sharp bites, and I pant with each new bite across my jaw.

“Nngh.” I’m having trouble getting words out, but I know there’s something I need to break through and say. “Bed.”

I don’t want tonight to be a quickie on his kitchen floor, but then Craig scrapes his teeth along my collarbone, and I stop caring. God, it’s like he’s figured out the magical combination of pain and pleasure that keeps both my brain and my body in the game.

My fingers scrabble at his shirt, and he gets the hint, peeling himself away long enough to dispose of both of our shirts. I barely have time to drool over his nipple piercings before he returns his attention to my body. His tongue flicks across my nipple and it isn’t enough. It’s too teasing, too light, and it’s almost making my stomach turn.

“Harder,” I growl and smash his face into my chest until his teeth graze my nipple. It sends sparks down my sides, and I cry out.

“Harder, huh,” Craig says against my chest, “I’ll give you harder.” He bites down on my nipple and stretches it with his teeth, then opens wider and bites hard and tugs again, and again, until he’s pulled at the sensitive skin so much that it’s swollen. Each tug sends jolts of pleasure straight to my cock.

“Yeah,” I cry, and writhe against him. My hips thrust forward, trying to find some friction, but he pushes me back.

“Not yet, baby,” he says against my chest. “You were right. We need bed.”

Craig grabs my jeans and tugs me across the room by my zipper, which he opens as he goes. When we reach his bed, he presses his tongue all along my chest until I have no choice but to scoot backward until I’m fully spread across the mattress. He bites his way down my stomach, then peels back my jeans and licks at my hip bones.

I can’t do teasing right now. We’ve done quick and we’ve done teasing, but he hasn’t been inside me yet. We haven’t done hard.

“Nuh-uh.” I shake my head back and forth. “Don’t tease, Craig. Fuck me. Hard.”

I’m afraid he’s going to try to draw it out, but I can’t handle that right now. I need it, and I need it now. Hard and fast and fucking dirty. Fuck, please Craig, please give it to me like I need it.

He must hear my silent plea, because he grabs me by the belt loops and flips me over, then in a single, swift motion, pulls both my jeans and my boxers down my legs. The zipper bites into my thigh on its way down, causing pinpricks of pain that grab my focus and feel so fucking good.

He’s rummaging through his nightstand, and I haven’t even registered the click of the lube opening before I feel a cool, slick finger pressing into my hole.

“Yes,” I moan, because he’s going too fast, but it’s exactly what I want, and before long he’s working two fingers in and I can’t hold off anymore. “Now, Craig. Please. Do it now. Do it hard. Fucking hard.”