The dull thump of music crept through the thick walls of his neighbor’s penthouse apartment, irritating him to the point he punched in the incorrect code to open his door. He’d only lived in this tower for three months, but he’d already learned the curious and annoying schedule of the only other top floor resident. Loud music, erotic costumes, and a different group of lovers every second and last Friday of the month.
When the electronic lock buzzed a warning to indicate he’d entered the incorrect code, his best friend barked out a laugh. Connor being there to laugh at him didn’t help the situation one damned bit. The bastard knew how much his younger neighbor pissed him off and was clearly enjoying witnessing it firsthand.
Zach had lived in his new apartment for exactly ninety-three days and had complained to Connor all ninety-three days about Neighbor Boy. Hell, the thing was, Connor hadn’t heard the half of it. He’d only complained about the loud music and irritating way the kid was always at home. He’d yet to mention the fact that he was fairly certain the guy was a prostitute of some sort.
Neighbor Boy rocked the kind of sexy appearance that could make a straight man untuck his wallet and smack down some of his hard-earned cash to see those plump lips wrapped around his cock.
“Fuck!” He hissed in frustration as the image of those lips wrapped around his own cock caused him to fumble with the code yet again. “Damned music,” he muttered, unsure if the lie was for Connor’s benefit or his. No, the lie was solely for Connor’s benefit. As far as his friend understood, Zachary hated his new neighbor because of the wild parties…not because just looking at the guy made him forget his ABCs and 123s. If Connor had any hint of the beauty residing on the other side of the heavy iron door, he would know exactly why Zachary bitched from daylight to dark to anybody who would listen to him as he complained about the one and only offensive thing about his new penthouse suite. Yeah, his lifelong goal was to never allow Connor to meet John face-to-face.
The guy told him his name was John. Mr. Hottie Hot Pants didn’t look like a John, but Zachary assumed the kid knew his own name, even if he didn’t know turning tricks was against the law and extremely dangerous.
“Problems, Doctor?” Connor asked with one of his annoying smirks. “Here, let me hold the pizza so you can focus all your intellect on punching in the seven-digit code you’re struggling so diligently with. I hope to fuck you aren’t the doctor on duty at the hospital if I’m ever injured in the line of duty.” He leaned against the wall. “I mean, seriously, Zach, the music isn’t that loud. To hear you tell it, I would’ve estimated having to have you fitted for a hearing aid sometime in the next two weeks. Jeezus, man; I used to answer 911 calls where pictures on the walls were rattling six doors down in a neighborhood instead of a top floor uppity penthouse suite.” He shook his head. “I think somebody is just old and crotchety.”
Connor tugged the delicious-smelling pizza out of his hands about the same time the bane of Zach’s existence started unbolting the locking mechanism on his door. Shit. Shit. Shit. He didn’t want Connor seeing what he was about to see. Connor was about to learn exactly why Zachary did indeed feel old and crotchety since moving in, and it didn’t have one damned thing to do with loud music or sex parties…that Zach had never once been invited to.
His finger trembled with nervous embarrassment as he hit the last digit and heard the blessed sound of the locking mechanism indicating he’d finally entered the proper code. He grabbed Connor’s upper arm and tried to push him through the door at the same time he was shoving it open.
But, of course, he wouldn’t dare get so lucky. Not him. No sirree. Luck wasn’t his friend tonight.
The music’s clarity increased then became muffled again, warning him his neighbor’s door had opened and closed. Hell, who was he fooling? He hadn’t needed the musical warning to alert him that John had stepped out into the hallway. Every fucking nerve in his traitorous body went on high alert, especially the really big one between his legs.
Defeated, he dropped his head and tried to wish himself somewhere far, far away, but Connor’s soft whistle told him he remained stuck straight in I-lust-after-my-hot-prostitute-neighbor land. Party for fucking three since Connor was right there with him. One glance in his friend’s direction told him he was fucked seven ways to Sunday. He absolutely refused to look in John’s way.
“Hey, neighbor.” John’s sexy voice filled the hallway.
That was what John called him since Zachary refused to tell him his name, even though John had politely tried to pry the information from him. The low, sexy voice tickled Zachary in places that hadn’t been tickled in…well, forever. He hadn’t encountered another person who got under his skin like this kid did. To top it off, they couldn’t have exchanged more than twenty words to each other. He also had to admit he’d been horrifically rude with every word, one through twenty. Stopping the rudeness seemed implausible as well. It infuriated Zachary to see someone so young and beautiful live their life so dangerously. He was a prostitute; Zachary was convinced of it.
“Hey, John,” he mumbled without even looking over his shoulder. All it would take would be one glance and he’d be lost in those bright blue eyes and pouty lips. Eyes straight ahead. He could do this. “Get inside, Connor. The pizza’s getting cold.” He tried muscling Connor through the door, but his friend stood strong, feet glued to the floor and eyes glued to the man standing across the hallway.
A knowing smile curved Connor’s lips. “The pizza may get cold, but it sure as hell is hot out here.” He stepped away from Zachary’s door and straight toward John. “Well, hello, there,” Connor’s voice teased playfully. “I can’t believe Zachary has never once mentioned that his neighbor modeled. Aren’t you a pretty little thing?”
Zachary rolled his eyes, counted to ten, and then slowly turned around to face what he lusted and longed for at night in his lonely bedroom, knowing the object of his desire was on the other side of the wall…fucking a different man, or men, every other fucking Friday. Fucking Fridays. That was what he’d labeled them in his warped mind. He should’ve known better than to let Connor invite himself over tonight of all nights.
Don’t look into his eyes. Just walk into your apartment, close the door, and leave Connor to flirt his fool head off. Ha! Wouldn’t it be hilarious if John propositioned Connor, a cop, for sex? Yeah, that’d serve them both right.
Regardless of the warnings blaring inside his head, Zachary allowed his eyes to stray in John’s direction. He shouldn’t have done it. It was even worse than he could’ve ever imagined, and he’d imagined a lot of bad things where his younger neighbor was concerned. Connor was positioned on the other side of John and was propped up against the wall, eye-fucking John one minute and laughing at Zachary the next. Zach’s beloved pizza was tucked beneath Connor’s armpit.
All the times he’d accidentally run into his neighbor the past three months, John had been wearing workout clothes, because he’d been in the building’s gym, coming home from the gym, or going to the gym. John, even in slouchy gym clothes that looked at least one size too big, was almost too much for Zachary to handle. John wearing one of the erotic costumes Zach had seen many of the frequent guests dressed in was damned well going to be more than his thirty-year-old heart could handle. He stood there, mouth wide open, and gawked at John.
Tonight, on Fucking Friday, John wore a pair of skin-tight black leather pants cut low enough to perfectly frame the most fucking sexy V and washboard abs Zachary’s eyes had ever lusted after. He was a doctor; he’d seen a lot of nakedness. Nothing came close to what this kid looked like without a shirt on. His torso was lean yet defined with lithe muscles that could only be described as a work of art. Sheer perfection. His pale skin was flawless except for the tattoo of a strand of rosary beads that dipped almost as low as the leather pants—something pure decorating something so obviously impure. Zachary couldn’t help himself; the dark tattoo on the pale skin literally made his mouth water and his cock leak. John’s inky black hair looked mussed, like he’d already engaged in at least one bout of reckless fucking. Zachary’s fingers itched to test the silkiness, to prove that it couldn’t possibly feel as soft as it looked. Heavy black eyeliner highlighted John’s azure blue eyes, making him appear seductively haunted. To top off the magnificence of six feet of perfection, a thick diamond collar wrapped snugly around his slim neck.
Connor’s hearty laugh snapped him from his blatant ogling, and Zachary’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. More than he wanted his next breath of air, he wished he still held that damned pizza box so he could hide the bulge growing in his pants. But Connor had it trapped under his arm and turned on its side, clearly forgotten as he focused on Zach’s neighbor.
“Stop acting like a fool, Connor,” he finally snapped. “He’s a child.” Oh, good Lord, what a ridiculous statement. John wasn’t a child; if he were being honest with himself, he’d have to admit he didn’t like Connor looking at or flirting with John.
John’s blue eyes narrowed following Zachary’s comment, the first real burst of emotion Zachary had seen from him. John was always polite and had shyly tried to engage him in conversation a couple of times, but in most of their encounters, John kept his head down and he focused on the floor in front of him. It was a strange trait for a hooker, but from all the men he saw going in and out of that apartment, people bought what John was selling.
After another flash of annoyance directed toward Zachary, John turned away and gave Connor his full attention. “Hey. I’m John. Twenty-two-year-old adult extraordinaire,” he said as he offered Connor his hand to shake.
Connor’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he eagerly shook John’s hand. “Connor Vanderwall. Thirty-year-old pretender of adulthood.”
Connor didn’t let go of John’s hand at anywhere near the appropriate hand-shaking time limit…in Zachary’s opinion. Then again, from the looks of the two men in front of him, neither of them gave a fuck about his opinion. With John’s back turned to him as his hand stayed imprisoned in Connor’s grasp, Zachary had an unrestricted view of his neighbor’s bare back. Like his chest, it was perfectly proportioned with just the right amount of lean muscle. A pair of black angel wings, with delicate feathers appearing so real Zachary longed to touch them, covered his slim back.
Lust burned through Zachary, making him want things he had no business wanting. John was a fucking prostitute, not potential dating material for a doctor. Hell, maybe he should just purchase a night of mischief and be done with it. Once he’d gotten a taste of what was sold on Fucking Fridays, he’d be finished with his ridiculous infatuation with his neighbor. Yeah, that was it; he’d ask what he charged for a ‘trick,’ tally up the funds, fuck him silly, and be finished. Zachary’s eyes strayed to the luscious curve of John’s bubble ass that was barely tucked into the black leather. No, it might take more than one hit before he could quit.
What. The. Fuck. He wasn’t going to proposition a hooker, for fuck’s sake. Frustrated anger rolled through him. The fact that Connor still gripped John’s hand did nothing to soothe the dangerous mood threatening to overtake him.
As well as he could remember, he and Connor hadn’t had a serious argument in their entire twenty-six years of inseparable best-friendship, which started at the ripe old age of four. If Connor didn’t take his hands off John, that would change. Zachary wasn’t a violent man, but he wasn’t having any problems whatsoever picturing his fist connecting with Connor’s arrogant smirk. It also didn’t take much effort on his part to imagine bending John over the nearest hard surface and fucking him into submission.
He shook his head, forcing the images away. John wasn’t his. John belonged to whomever opened their wallet. Zachary had never paid for sex in his entire life and wasn’t going to start. In a tone he hoped to be harsh enough to snap Connor out of his lust-fest, he said, “Let’s go, Connor. Trust me, you don’t want to get mixed up with that.”
John’s head swung around so fast Zachary feared the kid would need to visit the chiropractor in the morning. Zachary found the shocked expression on John’s face comical. What had the kid thought? That nobody would notice the shit going in and out of his apartment? Hell, a blind nun would have caught on to what happened next door.
Connor stared at him like he resembled a zit on somebody’s ass. Too bad; his friend could be pissed all he wanted. Zachary would have the last laugh when he finally revealed to Connor what John did to pay his rent.
“What in the hell does that mean?” John asked quietly, his voice low and trembling slightly.
His blue eyes darkened to a color Zachary was certain wasn’t in the Crayola crayon box, but needed to be. The only other time he’d seen the shade he’d been in the Caribbean and the normally bright turquoise waters were darker than normal due to an impending storm. The waters had looked so beautiful, yet so deadly. John’s eyes appeared the same. Well, except a hint of sadness still lurked there.
As John glared at him, Zachary couldn’t let his bleeding heart find sympathy. The kid had made his own decisions about life. It wasn’t Zachary’s fault if his lifestyle created sadness or shame. He glared back and answered. “My friend Connor is a cop, John. Do you really want me to explain what I meant?”
John’s high cheekbones turned a faint pink even as his eyes sparkled with outrage. If Zachary considered him hot before, when he was all shy and flirting with the floorboards, outraged John blew that hotness right off the fucking charts. The tattooed rosary beads practically vibrated with fury as John’s heart thundered in his chest. His hands were on his hips, and Zachary tried not to note how long and graceful his fingers looked. He should be a musician instead of a whore.
“You’re being an ass, Zachary,” Connor said with an irritated frown.
All Connor’s playfulness had disappeared, but instead of going into full cop mode as Zachary would’ve expected after his comment, his friend had a look about him that closely resembled a mama bear about to protect her cub. What in the hell? Connor didn’t know the first damned thing about his neighbor, but he was willing to step right up and protect his honor. Yeah, as if John had any of that left.
Zachary suddenly felt outnumbered and that pissed him off even more. He responded to Connor’s comment. “Better to be one than sell it.”
The faint pink blossomed into a full-blown fire-engine red as John took one tiny step in his direction…before pulling himself up short and then moving in the other way until his back pressed flat against his door. A myriad of emotions flashed across his face—shock, anger, outrage. All of those, but mostly, there was pain. The other emotions vanished quickly, but the pain remained lodged in his blue eyes as he stared at Zach.
After a few seconds, he said, “I just wanted to let you know your dog was barking a lot today. Really loud. I called the desk to see if there was a number where you could be reached, but there wasn’t one on file.”
Zachary couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Seriously? The hot neighbor from hell dared to complain about noise from his apartment? Zachary closed the distance between the two of them. When they stood only inches apart, he hissed, “Are you seriously complaining about my dog barking too loud when I’m forced to listen to this bullshit music coming from your apartment every damned time you decide to entertain guests?” He loved his dog a hell of a lot more than he loved looking at John’s ass.
John met him glare for glare. They stood so close Zachary could feel the other man’s breath tickle his face. He smelled so fucking good that Zachary kept reminding himself he was pissed. Part of him wanted to punch John’s pretty face but another part wanted to lean closer and see if he tasted as good as he smelled.
“I was worried about your dog,” John answered softly. “She’s always very quiet, so I was afraid something might be wrong with her.” He took a deep breath and added, “I’ll worry about her even more now that I realize she lives with an asshole.”
Zachary’s anger wilted when John told him he’d been worried about Denala. Well, shit. Now he felt like a prick. An apology died on his lips when John’s words really registered in his head. Denala didn’t bark just to hear herself bark. While she might have been rejected by the police academy for not being aggressive enough, she was the best damned dog he’d ever had in his life. She was also very pregnant with her first litter of puppies.
Shit. She always waited on him at the door, but he’d been so caught up in Connor’s cockiness and John’s nakedness he hadn’t even noticed she wasn’t there. She was always there. He left John and Connor in the hallway, terror sweeping through him as he dashed inside.
An hour later, with the bloody mess cleaned up, Connor and Zachary were exhausted but wiped clean, and Denala was the proud mommy of eight squirming puppies. They hadn’t lost a one, but the last baby had been touch and go. Without Zachary’s medical experience, Denala or the runt might not have survived the birthing. From the looks of the spare bedroom and Denala’s exhausted expression, she’d labored all day with her delivery. He didn’t know how long the last baby had been turned sideways in her birthing canal, but his dog had been near death when he’d gotten to her.
With a broad smile, he tapped his beer bottle against Connor’s and said, “Good job, Uncle Connor.” He eased back on the couch and shoved a piece of cold pizza into his mouth. He beamed with pride. Not even the dull thud of the music next door could squash his good mood. Denala would make a good mommy dog…even if she’d been a slut that had apparently gotten herself knocked up the first time he’d looked the other way. Hell, as far as he knew, the delinquent dad was probably a Chihuahua. Denala was a German shepherd. Right now, the puppies resembled rats, so it was too early to tell if she’d been selective in her partying.
“That was disgusting, man. Please don’t ever make me do shit like that again,” Connor said as he studied his hands carefully, no doubt trying to assure himself he’d gotten off all the dog goo before he touched the pizza. Zachary saw no reason to tell him about the smear of blood on his chin.
“Your hands are clean, idiot. Eat the pizza while there’s still some left. I’m starved, so it won’t be around long.” To prove his point, he dove into the box to steal his second piece. The thing about pizza was that it was as good cold as it was hot. Add ice cold beer to the mix and Zachary skated on the outskirts of heaven.
Connor studied his hands another second and finally shrugged in defeat. Once he started eating, he didn’t stop until his half of the pizza was nothing more than a sweet memory.
After licking his fingers clean, he turned to Zachary and said, “You really were a jackass earlier, Zach. That’s not like you. What’s your deal with Hot Stuff?” His grin stretched across his face. “I’ll tell you this much, if he was my neighbor, I would’ve already nailed that ass at least ten times.” He whistled through his teeth. “Seriously, Doc, did you see his ass? Those ab muscles. Sad eyes and pouty lips. He was sweet.” Connor lazily sipped the remainder of his beer, brown eyes alert and daring Zach to deny the obvious.
Connor propped his socked feet on the coffee table, almost knocking a vase off in the process. Zach shook his head. His best friend had grown up in a family loaded with both money and love—hell, there’d even been enough leftover love for the poor kid whose family had so little to give and even fewer morals—but being born with money, Connor didn’t value material items quite as much as Zachary. And he’d let that jackass comment go because he loved the big oaf. John wasn’t Connor’s type anyway. Connor liked them big and brawny, someone he could get rough with and not accidentally break. No, Connor was antagonizing him because John was exactly the type Zachary normally went for.
“Yep, he’s a real Georgia peach,” Zachary answered with a laugh he hoped sounded like he didn’t give a fuck about his hot neighbor. Even to his own ears, he sounded fake…and desperate. “Want another beer?”
“Nope. Beer distraction—epic fail,” Connor answered. “Although you almost got me with the Georgia peach comment. My mind immediately pictured his bubble ass and started comparing it to a firm but ripe peach, all juicy and dripping with a sweet taste I could suck on all damned night long.”
Zachary’s jaw clenched in what felt like jealousy, but that couldn’t be right. No way would he be jealous where John was concerned…or of all the men who had tasted John’s juicy peach while Zachary was fucking starving for a sample. Nope, he wasn’t jealous. Couldn’t be.
Connor leaned toward Zachary and asked in a fake whisper, “Be honest, Doc. You’ve hit that, right?”
“You know that I haven’t, Connor. Quit acting like an idiot. If you knew what I know, you wouldn’t be so quick to sing his praises, whether physical or anything else. He’s not the angel the wings on his back would have you believe.” How had he missed those angel wings? Sure, the kid always had on a tank top, but sometimes it was white, and Zach’s eagle eyes should have noticed something so incredibly sexy. Somehow, he’d missed it.
Clearly getting excited about what he hoped to be some naughty details coming his way, Connor moved his feet from the coffee table and placed them on the couch and said, “You keep hinting at something illicit, Zach. It’s just us girls now. Go ahead and say what you’ve been dancing around ever since that slice of hotness joined us in the hall. I damned well hope there’s a reason for treating him like shit, because that’s exactly what you did.”
“For fuck’s sake, Connor,” Zachary exploded. “I thought cops were supposed to notice details, look for crimes, or be able to determine a criminal from a law-abiding citizen. Didn’t you receive any training at the academy?”
Zachary wasn’t having any luck getting Connor riled up. Instead, his friend grinned slowly and said, “Nah, I must’ve skipped the be-mean-to-hot-neighbor day during my training. What’s up? Go ahead, spill it. Reveal his deep, dark secrets, so I’ll have something really wicked to jack off to tonight.”
“He’s a prostitute, Connor! Surely you could see that. Anybody could see that. I knew it right away,” Zachary bragged and then his mood darkened again as he imagined beautiful John selling his body to the highest bidder.
Connor stared at him for a few seconds and then leaned over to set his empty beer bottle on the edge of the coffee table—right next to the tile coaster. “A prostitute, eh? What makes you think that?”
Zachary rolled his eyes, but as his evidence rolled around in his head, he didn’t have many cold, hard facts to back up his beliefs. What he did have was all circumstantial shit, but he was in too deep to keep his beliefs to himself.
“Well, let me see,” he said in his most sarcastic voice. “There’s the fact that he entertains a different group of men every other Friday of the month. His guests always wear trashy costumes, a lot like what John wore tonight. The only repeat visitor always carries a huge duffel bag that he probably hauls sex toys in. That’s probably his pimp. Yeah, I bet he sets the dates up and then sticks around to make sure he gets his cut of the earnings.”
“You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you, Doc? Maybe you took some police training yourself? Is that what you were doing when I thought you were studying anatomy in med school? Taking Spotting a Prostitute 101?”
“Now who’s being the asshole?” Zachary asked as he got up to grab himself another beer. Connor might not need the extra suds to make him forget how fucking hot John looked in that rhinestone dog collar, but Zachary sure the fuck did. He went ahead and grabbed two bottles while he was up. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to help him forget how wickedly delicious John had looked tonight. Anything short of brainwashing would result in failure. He dropped back down on the couch and waited for Connor to explain how John couldn’t possibly be a hooker. Oh, it was coming. He’d seen that look on Connor’s face many times.
“Okay, maybe he’s a prostitute,” Connor said thoughtfully. “I doubt it, but maybe. I guess.” He shrugged.
“Go ahead, asshole. Tell me why you think I’m wrong. I mean, you were around him for all of five minutes at the most, but you’re clearly the John expert between the two of us.”
“Okay, first of all, he doesn’t have the look of a person forced to sell his body for survival…or drugs.” He frowned at Zachary. “It’s usually for drugs. Trust me on this one, Doc, that body is not on street drugs, recreational drugs, or any other kind of illegal drug up for sale these days. Well, not unless he’s in the very early stages of drug abuse. Twink-boy looked damn fine from where I stood.”
“Just stop it, Connor. We both know John isn’t the type of man you go for. He’s more of what I usually find attractive.”
Connor laughed. “I know. I just needed to make sure you remembered. For some unknown reason, you seem to have forgotten what gets you all hot and bothered.” His grin was playful and antagonizing at the same time. “Okay, back to Hookersville. Secondly, hookers don’t usually bring tricks to their apartment. That’s just not how it works.” He shook his head at Zachary. “And their pimps don’t carry a goodie bag for them. No, I think you’re off base.”
Zachary rolled his eyes. “Then what was he doing? Did you see how he dressed? He had a rhinestone dog collar around his neck, for fuck’s sake!”
“I know, and it looked fucking hot, Doc. People do shit like that and there’s nothing wrong with it. Stop being such a Republican. It isn’t attractive on you.”
“Is it time for you to go home yet?” Zachary asked. “I’m ready for you to go home.”
“Nah, I’m good. I’ve got all night to torment you about the infatuation you’ve got for your neighbor.” Connor reached over and grabbed Zachary’s extra beer off the coffee table. “It’s been driving me nuts, actually. The neighbor’s the very reason I suggested pizza at your place tonight. I’ve listened to you bitch and bitch about things you wouldn’t normally bitch about. He plays music too loud. He doesn’t stretch before getting on the treadmill. People come and go from his apartment. He’s always home. Why doesn’t he have a real job? He doesn’t talk to anybody when he’s working out in the gym. He always tries to pet my dog. Blah. Blah. Blah. It’s nonsense, Zachary. He got under your skin and I needed to see for myself why.” A feral grin turned his face wicked. “And now I know.”
Zachary dropped his head to the back of the sofa, completely defeated and wishing he’d at least licked the top of the beer bottle to keep Connor from stealing it. There was no point arguing with Connor anymore, especially when his friend was dead-on concerning John. He wanted his neighbor and he wasn’t going to have a smidgen of peace in his life until he had him.
“It’s weird, though,” Connor murmured. “He looks really familiar.” A frown knitted his brow as he glanced away and then shook his head.
“I doubt it, Conn. We’ve only lived in Georgia for four months, and I’d bet everything I own that he hasn’t left this apartment building one time since I moved in. You haven’t been here, so I don’t think he’s somebody you know.” Zachary grinned. “Oh, wait. Maybe you’ve seen him on the Most Wanted Prostitute list you guys have at work.”
Connor was right. He’d been stupid for thinking John was a hooker. He still wasn’t sure what John was or what he was doing every other Friday—and whatever it was, he sure as hell didn’t like it—but he could…grudgingly…admit he no longer thought he turned tricks.
“Nah, it’s not that, but I’ve seen him somewhere.” Connor shook his head, obviously tucking thoughts of John away for another time. “I’ve got to run. You’re boring.” He stood, stretched, and belched. “You got a shift at the hospital tomorrow or are you available for a fun night of bar hopping?”
“Shift at the hospital…then bar hopping,” Zachary answered with a beer bottle salute, not getting up to show Connor out.