The breakfast dishes are in the drying rack, and I’m wiping down the counter, ignoring how awkwardly excited my dick is about Brewer naked in my apartment right now. The sound of the shower running is distracting.

My phone vibrates loudly against the table. I frown as I reach for it. No one ever calls me. Rebel sometimes, I guess, but he mostly texts. And I talked to my mom recently, so she won’t be calling again for at least a month with another round of guilt trips. When I reach it, a cute picture of Pixie is lighting up the screen.

“Hey, kiddo, what’s up?” I answer.

“I need a favor.”

“The kind of favor that’s going to land me in jail or just get me in trouble with Bear?”

Pixie giggles on the other end of the phone, and the sound warms my cold heart a little. It’s impossible not to love the kid, I swear.

“Neither,” he assures me. “Actually, it’s a favor to ease Bear’s mind and still allow me to live a little, out in the world and all.”

I grunt, realizing this must have something to do with an event or a shoot Pixie wants to do. That asshole photographer from the jockstrap thing is lucky I wasn’t there when he had his hands all over Pixie and Campy. He would’ve ended that afternoon in the hospital if I had caught him.

“What do you need, Pix?” I prompt, realizing my noise of displeasure caused him to clam up.

“You know the club Vibe? They wanted to pay me for an appearance this weekend. All I have to do is show up, sign some autographs, and have a good time. It’s easy money and great publicity.”

“And Bear won’t let you?” I guess.

“He said it’s not safe for me to go alone and that there are men out there who’d love to take advantage of me,” Pixie says with a little tremble in his voice, followed by a sniffle.

“Oh, man, don’t cry, baby boy,” I beg.

“Is that Pixie?” Brewer asks, coming into the kitchen, his hair hanging in a damp tangle from the shower. “Why is he crying?” he demands, reaching for the phone without giving me a chance to answer.

“Pixie, this is Brewer. What’s wrong?”

While Pixie explains everything again to Brewer, I let my eyes roam over the bruise around his eye, and I feel like a complete asshole again. Sadly, punching Brewer in the face was nowhere near as satisfying as I always imagined it would be.

“Of course, Tank will go with you and keep you safe,” Brewer assures him.

I raise my eyebrows and cross my arms over my chest. “I will, will I?”

“Yes, you will.” Brewer fixes me with what I’m sure is supposed to be a menacing look, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek against a laugh.

I hold my hand out for the phone again, and Brewer hands it back to me.

“When is this thing, and how late am I going to have to babysit your cute ass?”

“It’s on Saturday, and I promise it won’t be too late, one at the latest.”

I snort a laugh. I must be getting too old if the kids think one in the morning isn’t late these days. Although, to be fair, I remember my fair share of all-nighters at the clubs when I first moved to LA. I got over that pretty damn quick, though, when I realized how expensive it was and how much it sucked to work construction with a hangover.

“You got it. Tell Bear I’ll keep an eye on you so he can relax.”

It’s Pixie’s turn to chuckle on the other end of the phone. “I don’t know why he’s so uptight about everything having to do with me. Campy got groped, too, and Bear isn’t treating him like Grandma’s fine china.”

Yeah, I’m going to go ahead and assume that’s rhetorical, because I’m so not touching that one. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

“Thanks again, Tank. I owe you one.”

“Thanks for breakfast. I’d better get going. I have a lot of things to do today,” Brewer says as soon as I hang up the phone with Pixie.

I’m not sure why there’s a weird pang in my chest as Brewer makes a beeline for the door in a hurry.

“Oh, yeah, of course. See you later.” I give a casual wave as he heads out the door without a backward glance.

I huff in irritation and turn back to cleaning the kitchen. It’s so easy for him to just dismiss me like that, isn’t it? He’s no different than every other pretty boy I’ve met in my life. Self-absorbed, full of himself. He thinks he’s too good for me? Well, fuck him. If anything, I’m too good for him.

I grit my teeth as the familiar feeling of rejection rolls over me. I’m good enough to fuck for a paycheck, but not good enough to spare a second thought once the lights and cameras aren’t rolling. Nothing new there. Every ex I’ve ever had felt the same way. I was good enough to show off and to be seen as a novelty fuck, but never for anything more.

That’s life and it’s time to shake off the melancholy and self-pity bullshit and get on with my day.

* * *

Saturday night, I’m standing outside Pixie’s apartment, waiting for him to come down so we can head out to this appearance he’s so excited about. I parked my bike around the corner, and now I’m wondering if it would be better to Uber it to Vibe rather than put Pixie on the back of my bike. If anything were to happen, I know Bear would literally skin me alive.

He pulled me into his office yesterday afternoon to make sure I understood how seriously he expected me to take security duty for Pixie tonight. “If you catch one asshole laying an unwanted hand on him, I’m expecting you to break fingers. Are we clear?”

I chuckle at the memory of his words and the intensity in his eyes. He’s so sprung over this kid, it’s actually a little heartwarming.

“Hey, Tank,” Pixie calls as he flounces out of the building. I look him up and down and sigh inwardly. He’s not going to make my task easy tonight in a pair of low riding, skin tight jeans and a sequin tank top that shows off a fair amount of skin. It’s obvious he’s not wearing any underwear.

“Do you wax, or are you naturally that hairless?” I question. Literally, not a speck of hair on the kid’s whole body. Obviously, he waxes his balls, but how is it possible for someone to be so smooth all over?

“I only wax my pubes, the rest is all natural. I only have to shave my face like once a month.” He shrugs. “Not all of us are lucky enough to be big ol’ furry grizzly bears.”

“Ugh, do not let Brewer’s dumbass nickname for me catch on. I know you’re cute, and you get away with whatever you want, but I’m drawing a hard line on this one.”

Pixie sticks out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. I shake my head and chuckle at him.

“Did you order an Uber?” he asks.

“No, I thought we’d take my bike, if you’re okay with that?”

He lights up, bouncing on his toes and clapping his hands.

“Oh, so fun. Don’t tell Bear you took me on it, though. He’d never let me ride a motorcycle.”

I raise an eyebrow at that statement, wondering again if there’s something more going on between those two than just painful longing on both ends.

“I won’t tell him. I’d be the one getting my ass chewed for taking you if he found out.”

Pixie giggles but doesn’t dispute my assessment.

I lead him around the corner and down the block to where I parked, while he prattles about how excited he is about tonight and about a scene he did a few days ago with Heart. I can’t help but smile at his infectious enthusiasm about pretty much everything. We see someone walking a dog and he coos and launches into a story about a stray dog he used to feed back home. Then I tell him about Shaggy, and he demands to see pictures on my phone.

When we reach my motorcycle, I hand him my spare helmet, and then I fling my leg over and wait for him to do the same. His slim arms wrap around my middle, and he snugs up against my back.

“Hold on tight, kiddo.”

He lets out an excited little squeal as the bike lurches forward.

By the time we make it to Vibe, there’s a line around the corner and a big sign announcing an appearance by Pixie tonight. We’re met by cheers and catcalls as we walk up to the door, and Pixie glows under the attention. Quite a few guys call out my name as well, and I offer polite waves and nods.

“This is so cool,” Pixie whispers, clutching my arm.

The bouncer ushers us in, and we’re met by the club manager who shows us where to go. They’ve set Pixie up in the VIP section, where he’ll be able to sign autographs, and then he can mingle, dance, invite people to join him in VIP, anything he wants to do for the night, as long as he looks like he’s having a good time and takes lots of pictures to post on Instagram and Twitter.

I stand off to the side so I can keep an eye on all the men and women approaching for autographs. A few try to get a little handsy, but a low growl and a pointed look puts them in their places. I lose track of how many guys bring a drink for Pixie. Shot after shot has him getting a little wobbly after an hour or so.

“You might want to slow down a little,” I suggest when he gets up to dance and trips over his own feet. I caught him no problem, but the last thing he needs is to fall over on the crowded dance floor.

“I’m fine, just clumsy.” He waves me off, and I watch from a distance as he dances and accepts more drinks.

A larger man who looks like he’s in his forties approaches Pixie and starts dancing close. Pixie notices him and moves closer, grinding up against him and whispering something in his ear with a flirty smile on his lips.

Since Pixie seems into it, I just watch for a while to make sure the guy doesn’t get too fresh with him. I’m not sure what my directive is if Pixie decides he wants to go home with this guy. Technically, he’s an adult, and he can go home with anyone he wants. Somehow, I doubt Bear will be okay with that excuse if he were to find out I let Pixie go home with a stranger.

Luckily, they break apart eventually, Pixie shaking his head and giving the guy an apologetic look. He stumbles over toward where I’m waiting in the VIP section, clearly at least four sheets to the wind. He waves me to bend down when he reaches me.

“I don’t feel so good,” he says in a small voice that I can hardly hear over the music, even though he’s speaking directly into my ear.

“I suspected as much. Let’s get you home before you start puking.”

Pixie groans and nods his head.

By the time we make it outside, it’s obvious he’s in no condition to cling on to the back of my bike. But I don’t want to leave it here for someone to potentially steal. I can’t exactly afford another set of wheels. Well, I can, but I don’t want to.

After a few minutes of deliberation, I decide to bite the bullet and call Brewer.

“Hello?” he answers on the second ring, sounding distracted and tired.

“Hey, are you working or anything right now?”

“Um, no. Why?”

“Pixie is trashed, and unfortunately, I drove him to the club on my bike, so I need another way to get him home so I don’t leave my bike out here. Would you be able to come pick him up and take him home?”

“Oh, sure. I can be there in a half hour. Will you be okay waiting with him until then?” Brewer checks.

“No problem.”

* * *

“Jesus, you weren’t kidding,” Brewer says as I load a sleeping Pixie into the backseat of his car. “I don’t think he should be left alone like this. I’ll take him back to my place.”

“I was going to stay with him at his place tonight. I figured he’d want his own bed, and I could crash on his couch and take care of him when he starts puking up the gallons of alcohol he’s consumed tonight.”

Brewer hesitates for a second before nodding.

When we make it back to Pixie’s place, I fish his keys out of his pocket and then pick him up to carry him upstairs.

“Would you mind coming up to get the doors for me?” I ask Brewer.

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

Luckily Pixie weighs less than nothing, so the walk from where we found parking up to his apartment couldn’t even be considered a minor workout.

“Are you sure you’ve got him by yourself?” Brewer asks once he’s got the door to Pixie’s apartment open.

“If you want to stay, stay.” I shrug. I know Brewer has a soft spot for the little imp, so it doesn’t surprise me he wants to stay and make sure he’s okay.

“Do you think we should put him into pajamas or anything?” Brewer asks when I lay Pixie on his bed.

“Is that weird?”

Brewer shrugs. “It’s not like we haven’t seen him naked, and we’re not going to touch him or anything, just put some more comfortable clothes on him.”

“I guess that should be fine.”

With the two of us working, it only takes a minute or two to get Pixie changed into a pair of pink pajama pants he had in his dresser. We decide to leave the tank top on and call it good.

Once he’s tucked in with a bucket next to his bed, Brewer and I head to the living room.

“Great job taking care of him tonight,” Brewer says sarcastically.

“I didn’t let anyone touch him; that was my job, not keeping an adult from drinking too much.”

“Your job was to make sure he got home in one piece,” Brewer counters.

“You want to go in there and count all his appendages? He’s in one piece. So he’ll have a hangover tomorrow, big deal.”

“Why don’t you tell Bear it’s not a big deal,” he challenges.

“Don’t fight,” a mumbling voice says. Brewer and I both whip our heads around to see Pixie standing in the doorway to his bedroom, now without a shirt on.

“We weren’t fighting, baby boy,” Brewer assures him, hurrying over to usher him back to bed.

“You were,” Pixie argues. “Tank took care of me, I’m just bad at taking care of myself.”

“That’s okay, that’s what we’re here for,” Brewer coos, smoothing his hands through Pixie’s hair.

“But I want Bear.” Pixie starts to cry.

“Oh, baby boy—”

Before Brewer can finish whatever he was about to say, Pixie puts a hand over his own mouth and runs for the bathroom. Retching sounds echo from the bathroom, and after a few minutes, the sink turns on and Pixie comes back out.

“Can you come sleep with me?” he asks no one in particular.

Brewer and I share a look.

“I’ll come lay with you,” Brewer assures him as Pixie buries his face against Brewer’s neck and starts to cry.

Now we know Pixie is a sad drunk.

“I’ll be on the couch if you need me,” I call out, and Brewer waves a hand to let me know he heard me.

I settle onto the couch with a sigh. I guess it’s a good thing Brewer stayed, because I’m no good with tears, and he seems to know what he’s doing. At least it seems Brewer has one good quality outside of his hot ass.