CHAPTER EIGHT

Not even five minutes after the kiss, the kitchen was overrun by Lucy and Steph and Chloe, Lucy’s crew of prep assistants. Evan tried not to think what they would’ve thought if they’d come in just a tiny bit earlier and caught him kissing Miles.

Or Miles kissing him.

Evan still wasn’t sure exactly how it had happened, only that it had happened at all, and if he was being very honest with himself, the world had shook and the floor had rocked and when he’d opened his eyes again, nothing was the same. It was the first kiss he’d always dreamt he’d get from Miles, and he’d let himself be persuaded into it because he’d imagined it would be like the first time.

It hadn’t been anything like the first time. It had been dreamy and wonderful and perfect.

It couldn’t happen again, but Evan could already tell from the determined glint in Miles’ eyes that he wanted it to. That he believed it was only a matter of time before Evan gave in and let it happen again.

Miles thought he knew Evan, but all he’d seen was the professional surface he’d spent years cultivating. He didn’t know anything about the steel inside that had been forged through even more shitty years making the best of bad situations.

And he’d seen enough in those situations that he wasn’t going to let himself be swayed into a situation where he liked Miles and Miles just thought it was convenient and easy and a simple way to convince Evan to go along with whatever he suggested.

Evan was never going to be the guy who fell for that and then let it drag on. It was necessary for Miles to understand that now.

He scrolled through his email, pretending like he was actually working, while he listened to Lucy and her minions divide up the remaining pain au chocolat and exclaim all over the place about how talented he was, how innovative, how flawless his execution was.

Evan could see the remaining half of his abandoned pain au chocolat on the other counter, and he had a visceral memory of how much he’d really hated Miles when he’d taken that first bite. He’d hated that everything Miles had said was true, and he’d tried to hate that smug look as Miles watched him discover all his truths.

The final, and worst, truth being that he didn’t hate Miles at all.

It was just ironic that Lucy and the assistants were so excited about Miles’ talents, when Miles had only been tangentially involved. They wouldn’t be squeeing all over the damn place if they’d discover Evan had made the pain au chocolat they were currently ingesting.

“Someday,” Lucy was saying, “I want to take you to this little bakery down the street. The choux are a revelation. And I want to pick your brain as you figure out how they do it.”

Evan tried not to grind his teeth together as Miles talked with Lucy. He shouldn't have been jealous. He and Miles weren't exactly friends, and Miles was a decent enough human being that Evan couldn't deny him workplace friends. Even if they weren't him.

“Are we done?” he asked as he stood, gathering his papers, notebook and laptop. “I have a meeting.” He didn’t have a meeting, and if Lucy went and looked at his schedule later, she’d know he’d manufactured a reason to escape.

Miles glanced over, and Evan steeled himself against the silent apology in his gaze. “Yeah, of course, if you’ve got to split, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It wasn’t his proudest moment, but later as he collapsed on his couch, feet and brain and heart hurting, he realized what he’d done. He’d given Miles all the advantages, all the power, all because he’d run away.

What he should do was get up, and go right over to where Miles was probably in his apartment, cooking something delicious, and take some of that power back. His heart and something deeper, a fault line that ran right through the core of him, quaked at the thought. He could do something. It was a huge risk, the sort of unimaginable risk that Evan couldn’t have conceptualized even a few months ago. But the promotion, even as uncertain as it was, had begun to give him the sort of solid foundation he’d always craved.

And once life had become less of a rat race towards one goal or another, always something necessary and vitally important, Evan had become unbearably aware of all the couples that surrounded him. And the contentment their happy relationships gave them.

He’d seen Reed grow confident and happier the longer he was with Jordan. He’d watched Nick worry and stew and pray as his husband, Colin, had figured out where he wanted to play football next. He’d seen one of Lucy’s assistants blossom as she fell in love with her girlfriend.

Love was something Evan had only vaguely heard about, because any kind of love was constantly in short supply in the homes he’d grown up in. There were always more important priorities.

But he’d fulfilled those priorities and they weren’t yelling at him anymore. He was clothed and fed and had a solid roof over his head. He had money in the bank. He wasn’t living a terrified hand-to-mouth existence anymore. He could afford to be exploratory, even if the possibility scared the shit out of him.

But even the fear wasn’t enough to stop him. Even the promise he’d made to himself only an hour earlier that he wouldn’t let Miles kiss him again.

That was the thing. He wasn’t going to let Miles do anything. He was going to be the one doing the kissing this time. The thought was fucking terrifying, but Evan had never let fear stop him.

“This is probably a mistake,” he told himself as he got to his feet and went to look for shoes. “This is almost definitely a mistake.”

Yet he still found the shoes, shoved his feet in them and still tromped one door down the hall.

Miles answered on the third knock, looking very surprised to see Evan on the other side of his doorway.

“Sorry about earlier,” Evan said in a rush because suddenly he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to go from the awkward realization he was standing on Miles’ doorstep to kissing him like he wanted to. His lack of any experience besides just sort of falling into bed with people had never seemed daunting. It was now.

He didn’t have a clue how to seduce someone. It seemed to come naturally to Miles, because when he wasn’t pissing Evan off, he was trying to charm him—usually successfully. Evan didn’t do that; Evan couldn’t do that.

Miles lifted an eyebrow. “Are you apologizing again for kissing me back? I didn’t think you had a bad time on the second try.” He was holding a whisk in one hand, and he had flour on his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Evan said because all he could do apparently was apologize. And even he knew that apologies usually weren’t preludes to anything sexy. “I interrupted you . . . cooking something.”

Miles pushed the door further open, and just shrugged. “Is it an interruption if you do it regularly enough? Besides, I’m making dinner, you might as well come in if you haven’t eaten.”

Evan had been in too much of a hurry to escape the office and his inconvenient, annoying jealousy to grab food on his way home, and his fridge was empty except for three bottles of fancy mustard and half a bottle of sauvignon blanc. His stomach rumbled as he stepped into the apartment and he smelled something buttery baking.

“You eat too much butter,” Evan said as he toed his shoes off near the front mat.

“At least butter’s natural. It isn’t processed shit,” Miles called from the kitchen.

This apartment was basically the same as his own, except for the kitchen, which Evan could acknowledge was drastically different.

Not the layout. Not the countertops, not the appliances. Just the flour dusting the countertops, and something delicious sautéing on the stove, and the general appearance of a room being used.

Evan mostly used his to unbox takeout containers and to reheat the leftovers the next day.

“You want some wine?” Miles asked, gesturing to the bottle on the counter. “I’ve actually been to this winery, so I can vouch that it’s pretty good.”

Evan had just graduated from buying the very cheap wine at the grocery store, the wine that was a whisper above the box wine and the huge jugs of white zinfandel. He’d never actually been to a winery; in fact his only trip to Napa had been the six hour round-trip he’d made to collect Miles.

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to expand his horizons—Reed was always coaching him to do just that—but horizon-expanding took money and, until recently, he’d never been in any position to indulge.

He poured himself a glass of the cabernet sauvignon and sniffed it, carefully swirling the glass like Reed had taught him the first time he’d taken him to a nice restaurant for dinner.

“It is pretty good,” Evan admitted. Even to his relatively uncultured palate. And it might give him the liquid courage to close the few feet of distance Miles was giving him.

“I know the sommelier who’s in charge there,” Miles said, and his voice grew grittier as he stirred the pan on the stove and then pulled it off the heat.

Evan almost asked if it was an ex-boyfriend but Miles seemed like he was going to tell him even if he didn’t really want to know about all the people Miles had kissed before him. Especially not when Evan was planning on doing more kissing.

“You know Wyatt?” Miles asked, shaking the sautéed veggies in the pan and carefully stirring them into the bowl on the counter. “My old roommate?”

Evan barely remembered anything about his trip to Napa, except the lighter fluid stench coming off Miles and the guilt in his eyes. But he nodded anyway, even though all he had was an impression of a big guy, built like a linebacker with sun-bleached hair.

“Yeah, it’s Wyatt’s ex. Good sommelier. Terrible boyfriend.” He hesitated as he pulled a partially baked pie crust from the oven, which explained the deliciously buttery smell in the apartment. “Got us some great wine though. Not that this one is spectacular, but he was connected, you know?”

Evan had learned really fast that some people—okay, most people—didn’t want to know about how he wasn’t connected at all. Or about his shitty childhood. Or about how he’d clawed his way up the ladder to success. He’d been on a handful of very terrible dates where he’d been at least partially honest when asked, and afterwards, he’d figured out that when people asked, they weren’t asking because they actually wanted to know the truth.

Miles poured the contents of the bowl into the crust and sprinkled some sort of cheese over the top.

“What are you making?” Evan asked, because changing the subject seemed like the best plan he could come up with at such short notice.

“Veggie quiche with some really good fontina I picked up at the farmer’s market,” Miles said, like everyone came home from a trying day and whipped together a gourmet meal.

Sometimes it felt like too much for Evan to dial the number to the local Chinese restaurant.

Miles must have caught Evan’s eye roll because he smirked. “Are you going to tease me now about the good fontina from the farmer’s market?” He was leaning over the counter, eyes sparkling under the lights, looking too delicious for words, even with the flour dusting his t-shirt. Especially with the flour dusting his t-shirt.

“It just was such a cliché. You’re like a walking chef cliché ninety-four point six percent of the time.”

He didn’t look concerned about Evan’s accusation, though, and Evan couldn’t help but be a little surprised. Two weeks ago, that comment would have gotten Evan a sour lemon expression and some biting remark back.

“Why are you being so nice?” Evan wanted to know. He wanted to know even more, like what Miles wanted from him, but he thought he’d start small. Simple.

“To you? Especially when you seem to enjoy making fun of me?” Miles shrugged, clearly unconcerned by the sudden shift in their relationship. “I’m not sure. Why does it matter?”

“It matters because it matters.”

“Some things don’t require you to overthink them. Just like some pastries shouldn’t rise too much. Or that a dessert can be too sweet, but can never have too much chocolate.”

“Life advice from Miles Costa. You should change career paths.” Evan knew he got bitchy when he got defensive. “Finding Your Best Self by Miles.”

Evan ignored the twinge of hurt in Miles’ eyes.

“Hey, I never promised I was some sort of expert. I sort of fall into most things,” he said, voice still easy, “and when I got out of my own way, this seemed pretty obvious.”

“I can’t do that. I don’t do that.” Evan hesitated, confessions teetering on the edge of his tongue, but he held them back. “If something isn’t going to work out, if something looks like it’s going to fail, I make sure it doesn’t.” He didn’t want this to fail, but he also didn’t know how to make it a success.

Show me how, he wanted to beg Miles, but his pride would have stung far too much to ever admit that out loud.

“You know," Miles said casually, "that explains a lot about you. About how you are with your job."

Evan turned away, twisting the stem of his wine glass. “I thought I was the luckiest person in the world when I got a paid internship at Five Points my senior year of college. It was the best opportunity I was ever going to get, and I jumped at it.”

“And you worked your ass off,” Miles finished. When Evan glanced up, he was smiling ruefully.

“What?” Miles asked with amusement. “Don’t tell me you’ve changed that much.”

Evan flushed and nodded. “I haven’t. I did everything they asked me to do. And it wasn’t glamorous stuff, we didn’t do any videos back then. Not like now. The culinary department didn’t even exist. Most of the staff writers had assistants. I was an assistant to the assistants. And that makes it sound even better than it was.”

“How did you end up working for Reed?” Miles asked. “He’s never struck me as the sort who would get a new job and demand an assistant.”

“Oh god, no,” Evan breathed out. “That didn’t even become official right away. I had started helping out here and there on the Dream Team set, this was right before I graduated from college, and I really wanted to transition from a paid internship to a full-time paid position. And I thought if I made myself an expert, the guy you went to for everything related to that show, I might make myself a job.”

“So you helped Reed when he came on.”

Evan leaned over the counter, wondering how, in a week, he and Miles had gone from hating each other to reluctantly working together, to conspiratorially trading work stories and sharing a bottle of wine as Miles cooked.

For the very first time he let himself think, I want more. I want this all the time.

“You and Reed have more in common than you realize,” Evan confessed.

“We’re both brilliant chefs?” Miles’ incredulous look left Evan feeling warm inside. Too warm. He took a gulp of wine before belatedly realizing that was not going to help at all.

“Other than that,” Evan said. “When he started, he was fucking lost. Jordan helped, of course, especially with his Dream Team producing duties. But the rest of it? I found myself doing a lot of stuff he asked me to help him with.”

Miles leaned over the stove, pulling the oven door open a crack to check his quiche. Evan tried to ignore the way his t-shirt rode up his back, exposing a tempting slice of bare skin.

He failed. He wanted to reach over and touch that skin. He wanted to know what it tasted like under his tongue.

“So how long did you officially work as Reed’s assistant?”

Evan hesitated. “Are we really having the conversation we should have had the first day you showed up? Right now?”

“You just knocked on my door. We’re having a nice glass of wine. I kissed you today and we both liked it.” Miles shrugged unrepentantly. “It makes sense to start over, as much as we can.”

Evan couldn’t believe his nerve, but Miles did seem to do that: float through life, unconcerned and not heavily bogged down by regrets or complicated situations. He was a surface person; Evan was desperate for roots. They were probably not the most obvious match, and Evan knew that, but sometimes fate was crazy like that. You wanted the wrong person, even if you knew he was the wrong person.

And then, suddenly, like a light flashing on, it didn’t even matter.

Evan reached over and grabbed the hem of Miles’ t-shirt and jerked him closer. “Then let’s start over,” he said, and kissed him.

It probably wasn’t the best line ever. It wasn’t even the most successful line, but that didn’t matter because Miles’ mouth was on his. Pleasure roared through Evan like a freight train. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d wanted until he could just take, so he did.

He fisted his hand in the hair that he’d been watching and wanting for eight months, and it was just as soft and necessary as Evan had imagined it would be. It also proved handy to use as a directional force because Miles went just where Evan wanted him, sliding right back against the counter, his mouth a hot brand against Evan’s.

It turned out that seduction was easy when you just took what you wanted. Evan took Miles’ mouth, his hair, and then his body as his other hand slid right down his back, fingers testing and touching every lean inch of muscle the way his eyes had for the last week.

It was also easy when you didn’t think, when you let the fire of desire consume everything—every fear, every worry, every quietly murmured doubt.

Evan flipped up the hem of Miles’ t-shirt, and slid his hand right up the skin of his back.

It felt even more incredible than he’d imagined, and then Miles moaned, something wild and free and unhinged, like he was torn apart by Evan kissing him, by Evan pursuing him.

It wasn’t like Evan didn’t think he was worth wanting; it was more complicated than that. And Evan didn’t want to do complicated right now. He’d done complicated his whole damn life, and right now a really cute boy was kissing him and beginning to sort of grind against his thigh, his hard cock definitely mirroring Evan’s own.

It was so easy to just say, fuck it.

When Evan broke the kiss with a gasp, Miles’ lips were red and wet, the same color as the raspberry strawberry tarts he’d made that had started everything. And it was so easy to tangle his fingers deeper into Miles’ curls. Evan had barely even begun to push when Miles tore the floor right out from under Evan and sunk to his knees.

Yeah, Evan definitely wanted that, but he’d also never conceptualized that it was a thing that could actually happen.

He watched as Miles unbuckled his belt with legitimately trembling fingers. Something Evan had always been sure only happened in overwrought porn. But his own fingers didn’t feel so steady either, so it could definitely happen, especially when the moment felt like this and you were so close to the edge you could tumble right off with only a gentle nudge.

There was no time to worry. No time to second-guess. Miles already had his cock out, pleasure spiking as he stroked it expertly with those long, slender fingers that Evan had already been fantasizing about for months.

Then Miles lowered his mouth, and Evan stopped thinking at all. There was only a fuzzy haze of bliss blanketing everything, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Evan just let himself feel it. Up until the moment his cock slipped out of Miles’ mouth and he realized that Miles was babbling helplessly as his fingers reached back and gripped Evan tight by the ass, each of his ten fingers branding him.

“God, your ass in these pants,” he was mumbling, “I love it so damn much.”

And like the worst nightmare in the world, a single, blinding flash.

I really hate your face.

Evan tried to push it aside. He worked really hard, so hard in fact, that he felt himself grow the opposite. And then the flare of embarrassment as he couldn’t help but flash back to every single damning word of that email. All those disparaging, drunk, stupid words.

He wrenched his body away, his softening dick falling from Miles’ worshipful fingers.

Evan couldn’t look down, couldn’t see Miles’ face as he realized everything was wrong.

His fingers were still trembling stupidly as he stuffed himself back in his briefs and zipped his fly. His belt buckle was hopeless and he just left it dangling uselessly.

“What’s going on?” Miles asked softly. Carefully. Like he was afraid he’d spook a wild animal.

And it was Evan who was the wild animal; the wild card who’d just lost his mind and let Miles blow him and then lost the whole train because he couldn’t forget—not really, not when it counted—that Miles didn’t really like him.

Evan remembered too many homes he’d lived in, where the kids’ faces would change the moment he walked in the room. And then how they’d suck up later that night, begging for Evan to do their homework for them.

He remembered every single time he’d gone to bed with that sick feeling in his stomach. Needed for something but never really liked. Never respected. Always used.

It turned out that it didn’t feel different even if he was the one doing the using.

“I can’t do this,” Evan said, and to his own shock, his voice was steady. Rock steady. Like his belt wasn’t dangling undone, and Miles wasn’t still on his knees in his kitchen.

“It just . . .” Miles said, and then hesitated. And yeah, Evan didn’t know what to say either. How else did you address the elephant in the room that the guy you were blowing suddenly and inexplicably lost his hard-on?

“It happened,” Evan said with a hard edge, and forced himself to turn back and meet Miles’ eyes straight on. To take in his position and remember that it was Evan who had put him there. “It’s not going to happen again.”

“You’re the one who showed up on my doorstep!” Miles exclaimed, pulling himself upright.

“Yes, well, I wanted to check in with you before tomorrow. And now that I have, I’ll be going,” Evan said. He picked up his wine glass, letting the rest of the alcohol slide down his throat. It didn’t help. He set the glass on the counter with a decisive click.

“Wait,” Miles said. “Don’t go. You haven’t even had dinner yet.”

“That’s your dinner, not mine,” Evan said. It hurt, realizing that it was probably never going to be his dinner. But the short-term pain was easier than the long term; he’d learned that the hard way.

“Why are you being like this?” Miles asked, and yeah, he was definitely annoyed.

“I’m being this way because we cleared the air, we had a nice glass of wine together, and now you want more out of me. But it's not going to happen. This wasn’t some sort of impromptu date.”

“You can’t ignore this,” Miles protested. “You wanted it too. I know you did.” He didn’t even have to say, I had your dick in my mouth and it was hard and you wanted it. You wanted to come.

“But I am ignoring it,” Evan said, pulling the door open, “I’m exercising my right not to deal with this.”

Evan shouldn’t have been surprised that Miles followed him right out the door, socks and all. Really, he should have just kept going and not stopped, therefore tipping Miles off to the fact they lived next door to each other. A fact Evan had been very determined to keep to himself.

“What are you doing?” Miles stood, shock on his features as Evan pulled out his keys and proceeded to unlock his door.

“Going home,” Evan shot over with a challenging look.

“You live next door,” he stated incredulously.

“Five Points owns this building. Reed got me a good deal when I was looking for a new place.”

“Just like my ‘good deal,’” Miles said wonderingly. “I wondered why it seemed so convenient.”

Evan rolled his eyes. “You should read your lease a lot more carefully. This place is rented to you as long as you’re an employee of Five Points.”

Miles didn’t look phased for a moment, and Evan figured that was because he’d never been desperate and on the edge of homeless. If it ever happened to him, he’d learn to read his leases.

Tapping his foot impatiently, Evan asked, “Are we done here?”

It was so sudden, Evan would tell himself that was why he didn’t see it coming. Except that Miles uttered some stupid line first about, “one more thing,” and that should have been all the warning Evan needed that he was going to take another three steps, cup Evan’s chin in one beautiful hand, and kiss him again.

Later, Evan would also tell himself that the reason he didn’t stop it right away was because he was so surprised, but how could that really be true after what had just happened?

So if Evan fell into the kiss, let his head be tipped back against his door, let his mouth be nearly ransacked by Miles’ mouth, let himself wonder if that was his slightly salty taste, then that was his own damn fault.

Then Miles broke the kiss way too soon, leaving Evan wanting more and again and everything, but it was all useless, and Miles’ lips, wet and red, superseded anything else.

“You weren’t supposed to do that again,” Evan said unsteadily, because the blood had left his brain again and taken a fast route to his cock. He shifted his hips away from Miles, because even though he’d probably already felt his hard-on, Evan didn’t need him to gloat about it. Yes, it was back. No, this still wasn’t happening.

Miles placed a finger right on his damp lips to shut him up. “I know what you’re about to say,” he said, “and I’m just going to stop you there, before you say it.”

Evan glared, but Miles didn’t move. “Besides,” Miles said, with a cute little shrug that Evan wanted to hate, but didn’t, “we both know everything you were about to say was some bullshit you’re trying to believe and that I don’t believe at all.”

Evan backed up a step, and then another, even though this was his doorway. Miles’ hand fell to his side, and he was free to insist that Miles was the one who was full of bullshit, but for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know how to refute something so blindingly obvious.

“Don’t ever do that again.” Evan crossed his arms over his chest—because, defiant body language and also it kept Miles at arm’s length while Evan tried to figure out what to do with him.

“Kiss you?” Miles raised an eyebrow. “Blow you? I’m happy to do both again.”

“Shut me up,” Evan corrected. “Besides, I’m hardly the one who needs to stop talking. Or typing.”

Evan’s bomb hit Miles just the way he’d expected it too. Hard. And it left a trail of guilt and shame in its wake. It should have made Evan feel better, but it turned out that he didn’t like seeing Miles look like a kicked puppy. The aggressively charming, certain-of-his-own-charisma Miles was a lot more fun. Evan licked his lips, and tried not to think about why that might be.

“I should really . . . apologize for that,” Miles mumbled.

“For what?” Evan asked, loudly and clearly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite get that.”

“I was an asshole. I wrote some asshole things. None of which I really meant, by the way. And I’m sorry.”

Evan shot him a level stare. “Five point seven points for execution, three point eight points for technique. And don’t even get me started on sincerity.”

“What?” Miles exclaimed, a little of his fight coming back. “I totally meant that. I am sorry.”

“And yet it took you days to apologize.” Evan paused. “Now that we’ve established that I’m good enough to blow, but not good enough to apologize to, I’m going in my apartment now. Move.”

Miles conceded the doorway with a shambling, ashamed motion that made Evan feel even guiltier. And it wasn’t his responsibility to feel guilty! He wasn’t the one who’d written that email and then not apologized for it. Anything he wanted to ding Miles for, he should be free and clear to ding away.

It didn’t matter that he’d spent the last week convincing himself that the email meant nothing and that he hadn’t cared that Miles had sent it, because it was clearly all bullshit.

It mattered. Miles mattered.

Desire was fine and good when everyone had a good time and got their rocks off. But sometimes desire was slippery, and you couldn’t get a handle on it.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. Miles had given Evan half a blowjob. He’d been enjoying himself so much he’d ached with it. Had been tempted, with Evan’s dick in his mouth, to slide his hand down the front of his pants and hump his own palm.

It was tempting to do it now. Miles still didn’t know what had stopped him after he’d gone back to his own apartment, and he’d spent the rest of the night sulking. He didn’t know what was stopping him now.

Maybe because what he wanted was something he couldn’t have, and the idea of settling for his own hand felt paltry in comparison.

If he couldn’t have Evan, maybe at least he could think about him. Miles imagined that tight rounded ass naked, spread out for him on his bed. Evan, glancing back, desire written all over his face, pleading for Miles to touch him.

No. Miles shredded that fantasy, unhappy with it as he palmed himself through his boxer briefs. He was already hard—had barely gone soft since he’d been on his knees in the kitchen—and there was a damp spot in the cotton.

It would be so easy to get off. He just needed the right image. The perfect image. Miles rolled through them, one after another. Evan bending over, Evan on all fours, Evan on his knees, Evan with a cruel smile on his face as his fist wrapped around Miles’ dick.

Pleasure arched through him as Miles shoved his underwear aside and gripped himself. That was what he wanted. He didn’t want Evan on his knees for him. He wanted Evan owning up to every bit of his own power and control. He wanted Evan completely in control and completely under Miles’ spell.

It was rougher than Miles usually liked, but that added to the swirl of fantasy in his own head. Evan, smiling with a hint of teeth as he worked him over good, thumb swiping over the head and making Miles moan.

Miles was making himself moan, but suddenly that didn’t matter. It was Evan doing it. Evan was in charge. Evan was wringing this pleasure out of his body. Only Evan.

He couldn’t even enjoy the hot burst of pleasure from his orgasm because he was already panicking about what it meant.

He wanted Evan, but Evan was pissed off. Evan might even hate him a little. And he might have a legitimate reason. Miles groaned and grabbed a handful of tissues from the bedside table. He should feel more relaxed now, his problem taken care of, but instead he felt edgier than ever.

What could he say to Evan so he would forgive him? Was it even possible or was Miles chasing after a pipe dream? Was he going to be resigned to forever fantasizing about Evan in his bed and never actually having him?

Evan didn’t hesitate when he got back inside his apartment. He immediately headed for the shower and sanity. Stripping his clothes off, he turned the water on as hot as he could stand.

He ducked his head under the spray and hissed as the water beat down over his forehead.

Evan had known it was a mistake a long time ago to start thinking about Miles while jacking off. He’d always been afraid it would make things weird between them if and when Miles came to work at Five Points. It turned out that, ironically, Evan thinking about him while orgasming was hardly the weirdest part of their relationship.

He gave himself a tentative pump, and yeah, he was still hard, and still definitely into at least thinking about Miles while getting off.

Maybe he wasn’t ready yet for Miles to actually be involved, but it was still so easy to just let his mind drift and settle on an image of them together.

Him bent over the kitchen counter, Miles sliding into him slowly, just thick enough to make him ache and feel it the next day. His hand caressing his back, letting him know how much he cared, even as his cock made sure Evan knew just how much he wanted him. Evan’s hand sped up on his own dick, rough and careless, as he chased the pleasure he imagined Miles could give him.

It was over too soon, but Evan knew he’d been too worked up to last. He could still feel the ghost of Miles’ mouth around him, and how wet and warm it had been. And that last thought was all it took to blow his load against the tile wall. He let out a groan, and wondered, just for a second, if Miles could hear. If Miles would know what he was doing.

If maybe Miles was doing the same thing.