The grocery store with Dagen was an experience. At first, Dagen had said he would only get a few things to be quick, but Ollie told him that he might as well get everything he needed. They were already there, after all, no need to make a return trip. Dagen had eyed him for just a moment before nodding and grabbing a cart on their way into the store. Then he proceeded to fill it with more food than Ollie ate in a month.

"Will all this even fit in the fridge?" Ollie asked, poking through the cart's basket while they waited to check out. There had to be sixty pounds of meat alone, not to mention all the vegetables, fruit, nuts, rice, and canisters of oatmeal. Oh, and eggs, best not forget the six dozen eggs. Ollie felt practically empty-handed with his handheld basket filled only halfway with bread, cold cuts, frozen burritos, and hot sauce.

Dagen shrugged one big shoulder. "Should. Haven't you looked in there? There's nothing but some cheese and mustard left, I think."

"And you, by yourself, are really going to eat it all?"

Dagen looked the cart over, then back up at Ollie. "Yes."

"Huh. I mean I know you’re cooking all the time, but it just looks like so much more like this. I guess this is part of how you got so..." Ollie gestured to Dagen's body.

"So…?" Dagen prodded, lips twitching at the corners like he was fighting a smile.

"Come on, man. The muscles. I know you're not oblivious."

"It's the main part. Fitness is really seventy percent diet and thirty percent gym. Obviously, someone like me must put in some serious time training, but it's still all about diet. Can't throw around seven-hundred-pound tires without the right kind of fuel."

Ollie's brows crept up his forehead. "You throw around seven-hundred-pound tires?"

"Yeah, I'm trying to make the transition from straight powerlifting to strong man, and tire flip is one of the regular events. We've got an old tractor tire and a bunch of other strong man training equipment in the shed out behind the gym. It's not exactly standard gym stuff."

"I think I'd like to see that."

"Come to the competition on Saturday and you will." Dagen smiled at him, hands fidgeting on the cart's handle. "You going to use the gym at all?"

"Probably the treadmills. I try to run at least three times a week."

"No lifting?"

It was Ollie's turn to shrug. "I haven't since high school. It would be nice to put on some muscle, but I've never really been able to. Even when I was actively trying."

Dagen let his hands fall from the cart and turned to face Ollie. "Let me see your arm."

"What?" Ollie blinked in confusion.

"Let me see your arm,” he repeated. “I'm a personal trainer. This is what I do."

Ollie couldn't help the laugh that burst out of him. "Are you really going with the whole Trust me, I'm a professional right now?"

Dagen chuckled, face going pink under the beard he brought a hand up to scratch. "I guess so... is it working?"

Ollie smirked and held out his arm. Dagen wrapped the calloused fingers of one hand gently around his wrist, then lifted the short sleeve of his white t-shirt with the other. Dagen slid the hand wrapped around Ollie's wrist up, giving little squeezes as he went, until he reached Ollie’s bicep. At six feet tall, he wasn't a small man. A little on the skinny side, sure, but Ollie felt dwarfed standing next to Dagen, especially with Dagen's big hand encircling almost the entire circumference of his arm. A shiver raced up Ollie's spine, and he tried to stifle it, but the way Dagen's eyes jumped to his, he knew he wasn't successful.

Dagen lingered for a moment more, fingers still gently kneading the skin and muscle of Ollie's bicep, before he dropped his hand and took a step back, his eyes never leaving Ollie's.

The cart in front of them moved, and Dagen cleared his throat and pushed them forward.

"You've got a good BMI. If you want to gain, not bulk up, but build some defined, functional muscle, I can help you do it."

Ollie swallowed and hoped his cheeks weren't as red as they felt. "I appreciate that, but I can't afford a personal trainer right now."

"On the house," Dagen said, like it wasn't a big deal at all.

"No." Ollie shook his head, not realizing how forceful that one word had been until Dagen lifted his hands palms up.

"Sorry," Dagen backpedaled quickly, eyes wide. "I didn't mean anything by that. I wasn't try—"

Taking a deep breath, Ollie cut him off. "No, I'm sorry. You didn't say anything wrong, and it’s really nice of you to offer." Dagen wasn't Justin, and as much as the thought of being indebted to someone again had bile creeping up the back of his throat, Ollie needed to remember that the man standing in front of him—who’d been nothing but kind to him—shouldn't be held accountable for the sins of others.

His eyes traced over Dagen's concerned face and down to where the dark line of a tattoo Ollie had yet to see teased just above the collar of his t-shirt. It was sexy as fuck, and he felt the side of his mouth lift. "What if we trade? My skill set for yours?"

"What did you have in mind?"

I am in so much trouble.

Pulling items out of the grocery bags he'd just set on the counter, Dagen shook his head at himself. The grocery store trip had felt like a wonderful disaster. On one hand, spending time with Ollie had been great. It was ridiculous how charmed Dagen was by every new little thing he learned about the man—an aversion to vegetables had never been so attractive. On the other, talking with Ollie sometimes felt like navigating a proverbial minefield, and it seemed Dagen's lumbering steps never failed to set one off.

Heaving a sigh, Dagen stuffed the produce he'd bought into the crisper drawer of the fridge. The simple truth was that he wasn't good at this. His only "relationship" experience was the sum of two hook-ups with the same guy when he was eighteen and a string of first date attempts after that. A very short string mostly consisting of guys who wanted him to be something he wasn’t despite his outward appearance.

He considered running downstairs to the gym and asking for advice before immediately dismissing the notion. Harbor wouldn't see what the problem was at all, as long as they were going to have sex, then that was a win, right? Rory would pop off something ridiculous and suave—something Dagen had never been. And Vidar... well, as far as Dagen knew, Vidar had never been in a relationship and didn't have any desire to be.

As he finished putting the groceries away, Dagen checked the time, knew he'd have to fix his scheduled mid-afternoon meal within the hour, and decided to say fuck it and pulled out his phone. Ollie had gone back to finish up some things in the shop but had actually agreed to Dagen's offer of personal training—as long as Dagen let Ollie give him his next tattoo. His palms got sweaty just thinking about it.

Pressing his phone to his ear, Dagen settled onto the leather couch in the living room and waited for it to connect.

"Hey, little brother," Magnus, his second oldest brother, said in his ear a moment later making Dagen smile. Of all his brothers, he got along with Magnus the best. He always had, even though he was closer to Harbor in age. He and Magnus shared similar looks, both with dark brown hair and their mom's hazel eyes, where Harbor and Vidar took after the father Dagen couldn't really remember. Magnus was also the only one of them to really branch out and do his own thing. Dagen admired the hell out of him for that.

"You call just to listen to me breathe?" There was a teasing edge to his voice, but Dagen heard a hint of worry there too. It wouldn't be the first time he'd called Magnus out of the blue only to have the panic in his chest seize the words he would have spoken.

"Hey. I'm here. How are you, Mags?"

"No complaints. The club is picking up. Looking for some weekend dancers. You interested?" Magnus had purchased one of the few gay clubs in the Cincinnati area last year after he'd retired from his nearly decade-long porn star career, and go-go dancers were one of the main attractions.

Dagen laughed. "I'm struggling to picture that."

"I bet I even have a neon jock that would fit you. Or we could find you a nice leopard print th—"

"Oh Jesus, stop! No thongs!"

"I notice you didn't object to the neon jock. Sporting some color under those boring black training shorts, brother?" Magnus's voice was teasing, and it was nice to hear it. Dagen didn't call as often as he should.

"If I am, I'm never telling you." Dagen swallowed, trying to work out what he wanted to ask. Magnus was quiet, and Dagen knew he was waiting for whatever had prompted the call in the first place. "What if..."

"Yes?"

"Have you ever..."

"Dagen."

"Have you ever been into someone you lived with? Like a roommate?"

"Is this about the new guy? Oliver, right?"

Dagen sat up straight. "How do you know about him?"

"Dagen, he's been there for two weeks. I do talk to people other than you, you know."

"Who have you talked to? What did they say?"

Magnus's laugh was loud in his ear. "Harbor thinks he might be trouble and has advised me to spy on him if you bring him by the club, and Kayla thinks he's a lost little lamb."

"He's not trouble." Dagen felt his hackles rise and immediately clapped a hand over his mouth. He'd be upset if he hadn't planned to spill the beans in the first place, but there was no going back now. Magnus would have him trapped.

"Uh huh. So, how serious are we talking here? Nether regions all atwitter or is the problem a little farther north?"

Dagen stilled, a groan for Magnus to be serious dying on his tongue. What did he want from Ollie? His breath caught in his chest when a single word flashed unbidden through his mind. Everything.

"That serious, huh?" Magnus said in his ear, reading his mind. "Oh, little brother, you've always had the biggest heart of all of us. So, what's the problem?"

He wanted to say that he didn't know how to do this. That in all the attempts he'd made to get close to someone, it had always blown up in his face, and that there was something about this one that might kill him if he was forced to endure the same outcome. "I just don't want to screw this one up."

"Then stop thinking so hard and just be you. If you're worried about scaring him off, let him set the pace. Get to know him. Be there. If it's meant to work out, it will. And you should bring him by the club sometime."

Dagen felt the knot in his chest ease. Magnus was right. "I will. Thanks, Mags. You coming to the lift Saturday?"

"Yep. Wouldn’t miss it."