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Dare must have the same thought I do because he chuffs and then says, “Yeah. I do. It’s a cool profession. And it’s really tough sometimes.” He goes on to explain to me that he hasn’t been doing this job for a long time, just over two years. “I’ve always liked to draw, and I really like the fact that you can take a blank sheet or screen or whatever and have a finished . . . thing there that you created.” He gets a soft smile on his face, and I can tell that he really enjoys it. “I think I still have a lot to learn,” he says. “There are plenty of people out there who have done much more and have way more talent than I do.”

“I really doubt that,” I tell him.

“No, no,” he continues. “They have larger portfolios and bigger clients. They went to big universities, got big-shot art or design degrees, and I just took online classes on my own time, and I’m still sort of new to the field.”

A shadow falls over his face. “When I was in high school, my art teachers always enjoyed my work and thought that I had potential. But isn’t that what they tell all of the students? I doubt they are going to look at a kid and be like, Your work sucks.”

We laugh at that, but maybe some of the teachers would? I’m glad no one dampened Dare’s enthusiasm for his art and designs.

“Anyway, after I graduated, I started just really putting myself out there. I started with a few small contracts and then took a few much bigger clients, and I’ve been doing pretty well since then. It helps that I don’t have much going on and can spend a lot of time working to get better with my art and my ideas. It’s the one part of my life that I feel like I have some control over, and I enjoy it.”

He releases a shallow sigh and takes a drink of water. “It’s competitive. There are a lot of us and only so many jobs to go around. You have to fight for it sometimes, and I know I’m not the best or most talented artist out there, so sometimes it gets hard being rejected over and over. Sometimes you feel like you’re not good or talented enough, and I’ve really had to learn how to not let it get to me and take it personally.”

I let what he says marinate a little. “I’m sure that can be rough,” I reply. “Especially when you’re proud of your work and someone doesn’t see it.” I remember Dare was always drawing as a kid, always sketching and making graffiti doodles on his notebooks. “I’d also bet that you’re pretty good at it.”

He laughs. “Well thank you for the vote of confidence, but I know that I’m not. Like I said, I don’t have the formal training, so I stick to the smaller contracts and personal businesses. It works.”

It pains me that he doesn’t think more highly of himself. “I remember your parents used to have your work hanging up around the house. And you used to share some of your work with me. It was good, Dare.”

Dare wraps the leftover half of his sandwich in the paper and tucks it in his crossover bag, which is black like his clothing and decorated with pins and patches that I would love to take a closer look at some time. I’m momentarily distracted by the black polish on his nails and then his hands, which look soft—a contrast to the thick silver rings he has on several of his fingers.

I’m staring again. I can’t seem to stop doing that.

He clears his throat, breaking me out of whatever trance I was in. “I’m actually bidding on a really big contract right now. It’s been a challenge, but I feel good about it. And I really hope I get it. It could boost my name and product a lot.”

“That’s great. I hope you land it. I’m sure your work is just as amazing as everyone who is bidding. I know you have a great chance.” I give him a half smile.

He laughs, but his smile doesn’t last. A darkness falls over his face and eyes.

“Yeah. Thanks. So, I’m going to go.” He stands up, brushes off his pants, and then picks up his bag and his boots and socks. “Um, thanks for dinner,” he says. “This was cool. See ya, Lev.” Without looking at me, he turns and walks down the dock.

Then he gets into his car and drives out of the loading area, heading toward his house, and I’m just sitting here like an asshole staring at where his car disappeared around the bend in the road.

What the fuck just happened?

Chapter 16

Darian

I’m shaking. Full-on shaking, my whole body. I couldn’t stay there for one more second, not after that. My car seems too far away, and by the time I get there and climb in, my heart is racing and I’m lightheaded and nauseous.

Fuck.

Why did he have to sound so nice about everything? Like . . . like I was a fucking charity case. I’m such a fool. Lev isn’t interested in me. He just feels bad about what happened with Nate, and he thinks he has some restitution to pay or something. The texts, the food, the invitation to meet at the lake tonight . . . it was all just fucking charity.

I lower my head to the steering wheel for a second, trying to push away the pain and despair. But I just feel sick. I take two long, deep breaths, start the car, and put it in drive. I only allow myself a brief glance in the rearview mirror as I drive off, and my chest tightens as I see him sitting on the dock, wide-eyed and unmoving.

I’m an idiot. He doesn’t fucking care about me. He just wants to “fix” me, like everyone else. And I’m not going to be someone’s project. That’s not what I want or need. I just want some company. I want someone to do things with and talk to and share my interests with. Lev’s familiar. I thought it would be fun. I want a friend. Not someone who thinks he owes me because of my fucking brother.

It doesn’t take me long to get home, and I pull the car into my driveway and turn it off. I open the door and climb out, replaying the last hour or so in my head as I walk up to the front door.

Fuck him for looking so good.

The moment he pulled up into the parking lot on that bike of his . . . damn. He’s freaking hot. But not only that. I really liked talking to him. My dick stirs as I’m reminded of the sweetness of his words and all the kind things he said to me. My double-crossing dick. I’m mad and still frustrated, yet my dick wants what it wants, the traitorous thing.

Sighing, I strip off my clothes and head to the shower. I let the hot water trickle down my face, down the muscles of my shoulders and back, and over the curve of my ass. I soap up and try to let myself focus on how angry I am. Yet my dick continues to stay hard. I turn so the spray hits my back and soap up my hand. The only way I’m going to get any sleep is to jerk off and get rid of this hard-on.

Closing my eyes, I picture myself on top of Lev, straddling his hips as my ass grinds against his dick. My cock is rock-hard now, and I grip it tightly, moving my hand up and down, pumping myself. I feel my balls start to tighten as I envision myself sliding up Lev’s broad chest and shoving myself into his mouth, his beautiful lips wrapping around my cock. I grip myself harder. I imagine fucking his face, hitting the back of his throat and hearing him gag and cough. With a moan, I fuck my hand faster, wishing it was his mouth. God, I would love to see his dimple while he hollows his cheeks to take me deeper. I squeeze my eyes closed tightly and start murmuring his name as I thrust my hips forward, the side of my hand hitting my pelvis as I pound my cock.