"Fill these out. I also need your ID to make a copy for your file," Kayla Johnson, his new boss and manager at Open Wounds, ordered as she pushed a stack of papers at him across her desk situated in the back office of the tattoo shop. Ollie hoped he wasn't being naive, but he liked her already. She had a no-nonsense attitude that some people probably found brash and Ollie found completely refreshing. He liked it when people were who they presented themselves to be.

The office was a left turn at the bottom of the steps that led up to the apartment. Ollie was surprised at how nice it had been to simply walk downstairs to report to work. There had to be negative aspects as well, but he was tired enough not to worry about contemplating them.

Last night had been strange. First nights anywhere new were always a little uncomfortable, a little unsettled. Add the camaraderie and obvious affection of the people here and Ollie was feeling too big for his skin. Even though the guys, Dagen especially, had made every effort to include him in their impromptu dinner and movie night, he'd remained on the fringe.

He shifted in his seat, searching for a comfortable position, and looked down at the forms in his hand. This was day one. It would get better. Easier. He may never truly fit, but maybe he wouldn't always feel like such an outsider. Trying to focus, he began to write in his personal information for his employee file and stopped short at one of the questions on the form.

"Um." He looked up to find Kayla focused on her computer, long black hair pushed back over one shoulder and the line of intricately woven snowflake tattoos that started on her neck and stretched down to the back of her hand illuminated by the glow of the screen. "What if I don't have an emergency contact?"

Green eyes turned to him, asking a question she was too professional to voice. "Just make a note that we have your permission to seek emergency medical help for you if you need it."

"Okay." He scribbled out a note, still feeling the weight of her gaze on him.

"Oliver..."

"Ollie."

She smiled. "Ollie," she paused, like she was taking care with her words. "Be sure you update that when it changes. Okay?"

He held her gaze for a moment, wanting to ask what made her think it would change. It hadn't in four years, even when it was supposed to. Even when it should have. He had no reason to think things would suddenly be different now. He nodded anyway. "Yeah, okay."

"Good. Can I see your ID?"

He handed it over. She made a copy but paused before handing it back to him.

"Looks like you've got a birthday coming up next month."

Ollie tried not to fidget. "I don't celebrate that." He lifted his eyes to her green ones and held out his hand for his license, willing her to let it go. Of all the things he didn't want to talk about, that was close to the top of the list.

After a moment, Kayla nodded, handed him the card back, and finished talking him through the shop's policies. Ollie was glad to hear that they were busy, booked several months ahead, mostly with people traveling from out of state for custom pieces. They had several days a week open to walk-ins, and for the time being that would be Ollie’s domain. Doing walk-ins and building up a new portfolio. He had some images of the tattoos he'd done before, but not all. Not some of his best work. I’m going to be so much smarter this time.

His side bumped the chair arm, and he grit his teeth as he handed back the completed forms. His leg started jiggling in place, and Kayla arched a dark brow at him.

"In a hurry?"

He felt himself flush. "No, just anxious I guess."

Kayla nodded. "Then let's get you set up. Vidar showed you which room is yours?"

Ollie echoed her nod and practically vaulted out of the chair. His side was killing him. Between the pain and lack of sleep, he knew as he followed Kayla down the hall and into his work space that he'd be hunting the coffee pot within the hour.

Kayla looked over her shoulder at him. "If Vidar didn't tell you already, one of the perks of working here is use of the gym. The only things you'd have to pay for are any of the martial arts classes or personal training if you wanted it."

"But the weights and treadmills and stuff?"

"Totally free. You can use them anytime you'd like."

"Nice." Ollie was already missing his running routine. Not being able to run in the last few days had left him irritable, even if he probably couldn't run in his current state. The jostling alone would be unbearable. "I'll definitely check that out."

Kayla smiled at him before logging on to his computer and having him set up his own personal settings. "We use this cloud sharing site to store pictures. So, when you upload any pictures of your work, be sure to name them Ollie underscore skull tat or whatever. I try to go in every week and add new images to our online portfolios."

"And we each have our own portfolio?"

"Yes." She held his gaze. "You'll always get credit for your work here."

Ollie nodded again, keeping his face neutral, but he thought he saw recognition in her eyes. Understanding. It made him feel as stupid as it always did because, even halfway across the country, people could see what he hadn't been able to even when it was right in front of his face.

Straining under three hundred pounds on the bench press bar, Dagen pushed his shaky muscles to return the bar to the top on his last rep. Just before the bar settled home, Vidar’s face appeared in his line of sight and his hand gripped the middle of the bar to help guide it.

“Thanks,” Dagen said, sitting up and wondering when Vi had taken Rory’s place as his spotter.

“How do you feel this morning?” Vi asked, looking Dagen over and handing him a towel.

“Good. Better if my brother had bothered to tell me I should be expecting a roommate.”

Vidar’s expression didn’t even flicker with a hint of guilt. “Dagen, you’re getting a roommate.”

“You’re hilarious.” Dagen stood and shook the tremors from his arms. “I’m just saying a heads up would have been nice.”

Releasing a deep breath, Vidar walked with him over to the small front counter where Dagen kept his protein shaker. The gym only had one official entrance and you had to go through Open Wounds to get to it. On nice days though, they kept one or more of the old bay doors open and an unseasonably cool May breeze chilled the sweat on Dagen’s skin. When he reached the counter—which served more as a catch all and place for the gym’s sound system than an actual welcome area—he grabbed his shaker and a bottle of water before turning to face his brother.

“I wasn’t sure if he’d show. That’s why I didn’t say anything. And… I didn’t really think you’d mind once you got a look at him.”

Dagen nearly choked. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that Ollie is an excellent tattoo artist, but he was in a bad situation and needed a hand. I knew you wouldn’t object once you realized that and that there was no better place for him to be.” Vidar’s face gave nothing away, but Dagen knew him well enough to see it in his eyes. He knew Dagen would be drawn to Oliver. That the crazy protective instinct that had him tossing and turning through the night wondering exactly how Oliver had gotten those busted knuckles would make Dagen accept him without a moment’s pause. And damn it if he hadn’t been right.

Clearing his throat, Dagen nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“I know.” Vidar turned for the door of the tattoo shop and paused. “Just make sure you don’t neglect yourself in the process. If you’re set on competing in two weeks you can’t afford too many distractions.”

Dagen had never been so antsy sitting in his own apartment. He pulled the handles of the grip strength trainer in his left hand together and wondered if Oliver would even be around tonight. It wasn’t like he knew his routine. Last night could have been an exception for how he liked to spend his evenings. Dagen knew that just because he was a homebody and preferred the quiet of his living room along with a book or movie to a bar or club didn’t mean the same held true for everyone. For all he knew Oliver could be sitting on a barstool somewhere that very minute surrounded by other outgoing twenty somethings.

I bet someone would try to pick him up every five seconds.

That thought made something sour unfurl in Dagen’s belly and he scoffed at himself. He didn’t even know if Oliver was into guys so imagining random men trying to sweep his absent roommate off his feet was ridiculous. Pushing the black rimmed glasses he needed for reading back up his nose, he focused back on the book in his right hand and the metal grip trainer in his left.

Well, he tried to focus. Two sentences in he was sighing to himself as he glanced at the clock for the thousandth time since he came up from his last lifting session of the day. He still needed to get two more meals in tonight and had been hoping that he and Oliver might eat one of them together. Maybe get to know each other a bit. They were going to be sharing this space after all and the only things Dagen knew about the guy were either related to his tattoo skills or the unbelievable way the worn-out jeans he was wearing last night hugged his ass.

Jesus, Dagen. Dude doesn’t need you perving on him from minute one.

The click of the door opening broke Dagen out of his musings and he looked over to see the object of his less than pure thoughts step into the apartment with his head down while he juggled several plastic grocery bags. Dagen set his book and grip trainer aside, then walked to him as Oliver pushed the door closed with his foot.

“Are there more groceries downstairs?” Dagen asked and immediately felt bad when Oliver tensed up like he’d barely avoided jumping out of his skin.

“Shit. I didn’t realize you were hom… here.” Oliver looked up quickly and cleared his throat.

Dagen reached out his hands offering to take some of the bags, but Oliver took a step back toward the door. “I got it. And no this is it.” Stepping to the side, he moved past Dagen through the living room and into the kitchen where he dumped all his bags on the island with a wince and a sigh. Dagen noticed now, just as he did the day before, that there was a stiffness to Oliver’s movements.

He’d originally chalked it up to the stiffness that being trapped in a car all day would give you, but the dark circles coloring the tan skin under Ollie’s eyes and the way he was moving now plus Vidar’s words from this morning, Dagen wondered if there wasn’t something more going on.

Hoping to combat some of the awkwardness the room was bathed in, Dagen walked to the other side of the island, pulled out one of the stools next to it, and sat down. Oliver’s dark eyes tracked over to him, widening just a fraction when they landed on Dagen’s glasses, like he hadn’t noticed them when he’d first walked in the door. Dagen gave him what he hoped was a welcoming smile. “How was your first day?”

Oliver chewed on the inside of his cheek before his teeth sank into his full bottom lip. He narrowed his eyes. “It was fine.” He started to pull items out of the plastic bags he’d brought in When empty, he balled them up, one by one. He didn’t look at Dagen again.

Okay… Dagen opened his mouth to ask about dinner as his eyes roamed over the contents scattered on the counters. So, he’s not a cook. Dagen eyed the pile of frozen burritos, several chocolate candy bars, and other convenience food. As he watched, Oliver gathered up the burritos and walked to the refrigerator, opened the freezer portion on the left side and stuffed them inside. He paused for a moment before turning back to Dagen. His teeth were back in his lip and he fidgeted with the door handle after closing it.

Walking back to the island, he quietly inquired, “Do I need to label my food or put stuff any certain place?”

“Um, no,” Dagen’s eyes tracked to the things still waiting to be put away. “I don’t think we need to do anything like that.”

Oliver nodded and reached up to shift some things around in one of the taller cabinets and Dagen’s mouth went dry. The man was so lean, but there was something undeniably sexy about the way his clothes moved over his tall frame. Eyes glued to the stretch of denim over Ollie’s ass, Dagen imagined how it would feel to have two perfect handfuls, feeling the muscle shift beneath his palms while Oliver thrust into him.

“I was about to start dinner…um, if you’d like to join me?” Dagen asked to distract himself from the naughty imagery. Pulling his eyes back up, he flushed when he found Oliver’s dark eyes watching him from over his shoulder. Busted.

“Thanks, but no. I’m just gonna heat up a burrito.”

Dagen forced his eyes away from the other man and focused on the things left on the counter. He was about to give up on trying to get to know his new roommate when he caught sight of two glass bottles. “Like things spicy, huh?”

“What?” Ollie asked. Was he just checking out my ass?

“The um, hot sauce—” Dagen sputtered, one of his hands motioning in the direction of the bottles where Ollie’s favorite hot sauce sat on the island.

Ollie actually chuckled then. Maybe it was the nerves, or he was just that tired, but he couldn’t help it and for some reason he would probably never figure out, decided to fuck with the guy a little. Dagen’s face had gone red under his beard and the rims of those damn glasses resting on the skin just under his eyes. As if the striking giant wasn’t enigmatic enough without adding sexy as fuck nerd glasses into the mix. “It’s cool. I do though… like things spicy.” Dagen shifted on the stool, eyes glued to Ollie’s face. Ollie surprised himself again when he added, “Extra spicy.”

He could see Dagen’s throat work from where he stood across the kitchen. “I, uh, like to try spicy things… but they generally don’t like me.” There was a spark in Dagen’s eyes, timid, but there and Ollie’s heart started to thud in his chest.

Holy shit. Is he really flirting with me?

Testing, he walked back to the island and let his tongue run over his bottom lip. Dagen’s eyes tracked the movement before snapping back up to hold his and the air in the room charged. Ollie needed to be careful. Dagen seemed like a genuinely decent guy, even if he could probably break Ollie with one hand. However, he shouldn’t let himself get tangled up with someone new—or with anyone for that matter. No one. Period.

He took a breath and released it slowly. After reaching for the hot sauce, Ollie turned his back on the big man still watching his every move. For some reason, he didn’t want to see Dagen’s face when he uttered his next words.

“Probably best to stay away from them then.”