“Fuck you,” I slur at the chair that so brazenly jumped in my way, causing me to stumble off-balance.

It takes me a few steps, but I manage to right myself and stay on my feet. The chair, however, is not so lucky. I kick that bastard right in the junk, sending it flying against the wall across from me.

I’m in the lobby of my building—if that’s what you really want to call it. In a dump like this, I’d say it’s more of a rathole than a lobby. The overhead light flickers ominously, and I’m half-convinced there’s a serial killer hiding behind the dead ficus in the corner, just waiting for his opportunity to strike. I’ve seen Dexter. I know how it works.

Sadly, being slaughtered by a psychopath doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world right now. Despite all of Judy K’s reassurances that I was going to blow those casting directors out of the water on my last two auditions, I was rejected once again.

I’d felt so good about those performances. I’d channeled into places of myself I’d only grazed the surface of before. And, when I’d gotten the call a few days ago that I’d been passed by for one role, I’d told myself it was because I’d for sure gotten the other part. I’d felt it deep down in my bones. I had nailed that audition. Directors talked. Everyone knew that. So, instead of being disappointed when I’d received that call, I’d gone out and celebrated with my friends.

But tonight…tonight, I’m alone. And the call I’d been so sure I was going to get wasn’t at all what I’d expected.

“Quinn Owens?” he asked as soon as I picked up the phone.

“Yes,” I replied, already feeling the excitement rising in my chest. I’d programmed this number into my phone the second I stepped out of the studio, so I would know exactly who was on the other end of the line. But, deciding to play it cool, I asked who was calling.

“Gentry Fowler. We spoke earlier this week after your audition.”

“Oh, yes, how are you, Mr. Fowler?” I opted for the more formal title, knowing he’d correct me and tell me to call him Gentry. We were going to be working closely together after all.

“I’m well. Thank you for asking. Look, I’ll get straight to the point. We were very impressed by your audition.”

Yes. Yes, yes, yes!

“It’s evident you have a lot of talent and passion for what you do. Unfortunately, we don’t feel you fit the part we’re looking for. We’ve decided to go with someone else, but we wish you luck in your future endeavors.”

My entire world stopped. I don’t remember what he said after that or if I even had the dignity to respond and thank him for the opportunity. My mind had shut down, and it wasn’t until I was halfway through a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, slouched over the bar at Ascent, that I even realized I’d moved from the spot where I stood when my phone rang.

Lucky for me, Rick wasn’t around tonight. The only thing that could’ve made this excruciating day any worse would have been listening to his dumb ass. Instead, I was able to drown my sorrows in peace, my friend and fellow bartender Chuck giving me a ride home after closing. Good thing, too; otherwise, I’d probably be facedown in the alley behind the club right about now.

I stumble into the elevator, and it takes me three tries to hit the button for the third floor. There’s a solid chance I’ll end up stuck in this damn thing. It doesn’t work right, even on a good day. But there’s no way in hell I could navigate the stairs right now. I can’t even push a damn button, for God’s sake. The idea of trying to put one foot in front of the other while also trying to climb is more than I can comprehend at the moment.

The doors open when the lift reaches my floor, my drunk body spilling out onto the carpet. Did I actually doze off against the door in the three seconds it took to get up here? I look back into the empty elevator and shrug. At least I arrived and won’t have to spend the night in a pool of vomit on the elevator floor.

Things are sure looking up for Quinn Owens.

I give a halfhearted chuckle from where I lie, letting my head roll back on my neck until it falls to the floor with a thump. As soon as my skull hits the hard boards under the threadbare carpet, I feel the tears start to well in my eyes. Not from pain. Well, at least not from the pain of hitting my head. The pain of rejection, however…that’s an entirely different story.

I was so sure I had this one. I’d put every single part of me on the line, putting myself out there in ways I hadn’t even thought I was capable of. If I can’t get a job after all that, then maybe everyone back home was right. Maybe I’m fooling myself out here. Maybe it’s time I man up and realize it’s just not going to happen for me. Maybe it’s time I face the cold, hard truth. I’ve failed.

I lie here a few minutes longer, allowing myself to wallow in self-pity, with my eyes squeezed tight as the tears roll down the sides of my face and fall onto the dingy carpet beneath me. When I’m finally cried out—at least for the moment—I blow out a heavy breath, lifting my hand to wipe the wetness from my cheeks before opening my eyes. My gaze shifts to a blurry object to my right. It takes a few blinks, but when my vision clears, I find two beady eyes staring back at me.

The fucking rat!

I scramble to my feet, my heartache temporarily replaced by determination to catch the little asshole and put him out, where he belongs. I seriously thought I was losing my mind, always hearing the scratching behind the walls but never being able to locate where it was coming from, catching glimpses of the rat bastard but never being able to find where he went. Fucking rat must be Houdini reincarnated or some shit.

“Come here, you little cocksucker!” I shout, springing off the balls of my feet and lunging at him.

And, instead of dirty fur and shrieking squeals, I’m met with a solid thunk against the plaster on the wall.

With my fingers laced behind my head, I’m staring at the ceiling above my bed, trying to count the cracks in the dark, when there’s a loud crash from out in the hall. I bolt upright, turning to look at Elder Fisher to see if the sound woke him. He snorts loudly, as if in response, rolling over and settling right back to sleep.

Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I sit in silence, waiting to hear if there will be any other commotion outside our door. Last week, there was a break-in at the building across the street. Last I heard, they haven’t caught the people who did it. Could they be back for more, hoping to have more luck with our building? I heard they hadn’t gotten away with much.

A voice sounds from the hallway, and I’m about to reach over and wake up Fisher, so we can be prepared to run if it comes to it when something gives me pause. I climb to my feet instead, walking across the living room and pressing my ear against the door.

“You won’t get away from me this time. I’m sick of your shit,” an obviously drunk voice says from out in the hallway.

I think I might be hearing the start of a domestic dispute and wonder if I should be calling the cops when he speaks again, “Get back here, you fucker. And your diseased ass had better not give me the plague.”

The words are slurred—like three-sheets-to-the-wind slurred—but I’d recognize that voice anywhere.

The question is, what is he doing on my floor at four in the morning?

I look down at my attire, deciding the wrinkled shirt and flannel pants will just have to do since I don’t have time to change. From the sounds of it, Quinn won’t remember any of this tomorrow anyway. So, he definitely won’t care about seeing me in my PJs.

I open the door as slowly as I can, hoping doing so will lessen the creak of the hinges. It works to a degree, but just before the opening is big enough for me to squeeze through, a soft groan rings through the room. I’m sure I’m caught, my eyes flashing back to Fisher as I try to come up with a logical explanation for my opening the door in the middle of the night.

But he’s still sound asleep, as I probably should’ve guessed. The man just slept through Quinn trying to crash through the wall. A squeaky hinge wouldn’t even be a blip on his radar.

I step out into the hall, immediately finding Quinn, as he stalks toward the corner, his hands outstretched in front of him, as if reaching for something. With as much noise as he’s made, I’m surprised to see I’m the only one out here. But then again, this is LA, and like I said, break-ins aren’t exactly a rare occurrence around here. Why open the door and invite them in? Besides, this probably doesn’t even rate on the top ten weirdest things the other tenants have heard in these halls.

I step up behind Quinn, gently placing my hand on his shoulder. He jumps at the contact, whirling around with his hands up in a defensive position. Well, what should be a defensive position anyway. In Quinn’s drunken state, he looks more like he’s attempting to communicate through sign. And failing.

I can almost see the recognition dawn on his face as he looks at me, his eyes brightening when he realizes who I am.

“Barker! What are you doing up here?”

I look around, confused for a second before I realize he thinks he’s on his floor. “Better question. What are you doing down here? And how much have you had to drink?”

He slings his arm around my shoulders, pulling my body into his side. And, even though he’s inebriated beyond words, he feels good. Smells good, too. If you can get past the smell of what must be hard liquor seeping from his pores.

“I like you, Barker. You make shitty days like today feel so much better.”

My breath catches in my throat, his words causing a warm sensation to run through my entire body. Is he too drunk to realize what he’s saying? Or does he really feel that way? I knew he liked me, at least enough to want to try to kiss me the other day. But does he think of me as much as I think of him?

I’m about to open my mouth to ask him when his body slumps against me, catching me completely off guard. It takes all the strength I possess to hold him upright and not let his giant body slump to the floor. I knew Quinn was ripped. But I had no clue just how big the guy was until I was responsible for keeping him on his feet.

I pull his arm more snugly around my shoulders, throwing my other arm around his waist and trying to shift some of his weight onto my hip. He laughs as I maneuver him but does little in the way of helping.

“Come on, buddy.” I laugh when I finally have him in a position where I think we can walk. “Let’s get you to bed.”

His other hand reaches over and grazes my cheek as I walk, half-dragging, half-swinging Quinn along with me. I manage to get him into the elevator—there’s no way I’m dragging him up those stairs—and hit the button for his floor. He doesn’t stop touching my face, his eyes never leaving mine the entire time we’re locked together.

When the door dings open and I start dragging him into the hall, he speaks, “How come you never come out with me, Barker?”

I give him a sardonic laugh. “You know I can’t do that, Quinn. Besides, I can’t imagine you and Elder Fisher would be interested in going to the same places.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “But you would? Would you be interested in going to the places I like to hang out at?”

His eyes seem to have cleared in the few minutes it’s taken to get him onto his floor. He’s still drunk as a skunk, but there’s a clarity that wasn’t there downstairs, and it makes me think he might remember more of this conversation than I originally thought.

“I don’t know, Quinn. Maybe. But you seem to have plenty of friends. You don’t need me coming and cramping your style.”

He scoffs, his breath flowing past his lips, causing them to flap together in a wet sound. He sounds a little like a cartoon character.

“You’d never cramp my style, Barkey Boy. And you’d always be welcome with my friends. If you ever change your mind, you just let me know. I’ll make sure and show you a good time.”

We’ve finally reached his door, and I watch as he struggles to get the key in the lock. The whole time, I’m pondering his words. I think back to the guys I saw him with the other night. They were all laughing, seemingly having a good time. None of them looked ashamed. None of them appeared sad. They were just a group of friends, out enjoying a night together.

I wonder what that would be like. Not having to hide. Not having to worry about what others might think. Just being with people who understand you. People who accept you for who you are.

I suddenly want nothing more than to go out with Quinn and his friends. But I know it isn’t possible. Elder Fisher would never allow it, and I’d get sent home before I even had a chance to figure out how to explain.

When Quinn finally jiggles open the door, I help him inside, laying him down on the bed in the living room. The one where he tried to kiss me last week. The one he sat on for our last few lessons. The bed on which I wish I could curl up next to him even if only for a moment just to see what it would feel like to have his arms around me.

I untangle his arm from my neck, settling him back into the pillows behind him, his eyes drifting shut the second his head hits their fluffy softness. He doesn’t speak; he doesn’t move. The only indication he’s even conscious is the short, even bursts of air escaping his lips. I run my fingers down the side of his cheek, needing to touch him one more time before I leave. He looks so peaceful, so beautiful. But, even in the dim light of the living room, I can see the tearstains on his cheeks. Something upset him. Something made him want to go out and completely lose himself tonight.

I think back to his earlier comment about today being a bad day, and I want to know why. I want him to tell me everything. I want to be the one he vents to. The one he calls when he’s had a bad day, and he just needs to let off some steam. I want to be the one to cheer him up.

I want…him.

I exhale deeply, knowing there’s no going back now that I’ve thought those words. I’ve been dancing around them since the first time we met. But there’s no denying it now.

Even though I know it’s wrong.

Even if it’s a sin.

Even knowing my father might never be able to look me in the eye again.

I am attracted to Quinn Owens.

And I want him.

I turn and walk toward the door, my hand coming to rest on the knob as I think about my realization. I stand here for a moment, my head bowed, wondering what I’m going to do next. How can I stay here, knowing what I know? But how can I leave? The thought of leaving before really getting to know Quinn is more devastating than going home and facing the disappointment of my family.

A soft touch covers my hand where it rests on the knob, Quinn’s breath coming hot and deep on my neck.

“Thank you, Barker. Thank you for getting me home.”

I slightly turn my face, just enough so I can see him out of the corner of my eye. He uses the movement to run his nose up my cheek, pressing his lips to my temple when he reaches it. My knees buckle at the sensation of their soft fullness, all the air rushing out of my lungs, like I just fell from the monkey bars on the playground.

He turns the knob under both our hands. “Goodnight, Elder Barker. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I nod, unable to speak. He gives me a gentle push out the door, a crooked smile on his face as he watches me leave. I don’t take my eyes from him until I reach the stairwell. Pulling open the door to the stairs, I turn back and give him one final look.

He winks before closing his door with a gentle snap.

I float back to my apartment, completely high off the man who is Quinn Owens.