He pushed open the apartment door and was surprised to hear noise coming from Oliver's room. The door was open which was strange by itself, Oliver almost always kept it closed whether he was in there or not, but he never seemed to be in the apartment during the day. Especially if he thought it was time for one of Dagen's strictly regimented meals.
"Oliver?" He called out, not wanting to startle him.
"Yeah?" came Oliver's muffled reply.
Dagen walked to the open door of Oliver's room and peeked inside. The room hadn't been disturbed much by Oliver's arrival. He'd mostly left things as they were, even though Dagen had told him he could move whatever he liked. The only signs someone was even staying in the room were the phone charger cord laying over the nightstand and a stick of deodorant sitting on top of the dresser.
Oliver was on his knees in front of the open closet door, and there were notebooks of every shape and size strewn all over the floor around him. Dagen tapped his knuckles on the door frame, one eyebrow raised at the mess, before settling one large shoulder against it.
Oliver looked back over his shoulder, eyes doing a quick sweep of Dagen that should not have had his blood stirring, before turning back to his task. "What's up?"
"I, uh…" Dagen scratched at his beard. He'd planned out what he wanted to say while he'd been doing his last set of bench presses, but faced with Oliver's tempting backside and partial attention, he found his mind going blank. "Um...I'm heading to the grocery store this afternoon. If there's anything you need, I could pick it up for—"
"Fuck," Oliver breathed, sitting back on his heels in front of the still-open box and running a shaking hand over his face.
After a few moments of silence, Dagen shifted off the door frame and took a tentative step into the room. "Oliver?"
Oliver let the hand he'd still had covering his face fall to his lap and turned his head in Dagen's direction but didn't lift his eyes. "Sorry," he said quietly before giving his head a little shake. "I've just left something behind."
Curious, Dagen perched on the end of the bed so he wasn't completely towering over the other man. "What was it?"
Huffing out a huge breath, Oliver shifted backward and settled on the edge of the bed beside Dagen. "A sketchbook."
Dagen glanced around at the floor, covered in what he assumed were sketchbooks and wondered how Oliver could even tell them apart without opening them first. Most of the ones he could see had similar covers with no discernible outward differences at all. "You're sure it's not one of these?"
The look Oliver shot him was clearly a judgment on Dagen's intelligence, or lack thereof, and Dagen found himself smiling back regardless of its intent. From day one, it was obvious Oliver kept a tight rein on his emotions. He had a neutral face whether he was making coffee in the morning or speaking to a client. Not to say he never changed expressions—he frowned, he smiled—but this was the first time Dagen actually believed one of them. The are you stupid look shifted to curiosity before Dagen's eyes, even as Oliver's eyes dropped down to his mouth. Dagen automatically licked his lips, and Oliver’s eyes widened.
Clearing his throat, he turned his face away from Dagen. "I'm sure. It's...it's, uh, one that I've had since high school." Oliver sighed. "I'd been working on some of those sketches for years. In bits and pieces, you know?"
Dagen didn't know, given that he had zero artistic ability, but he could relate to losing results that you'd put years into building. He'd felt that loss so often after his injury that some days there was a constant pit of failure under his feet ready to swallow him whole. He was feeling much better these days, but the echo of those things stayed with him. He hated that Oliver would have to face that now with something he obviously cared so much about. "I'm sorry, Oliver."
Oliver's eyes moved back to his. "Ollie. You can call me Ollie."
"Ollie," Dagen said gently, wanting to test the weight of it on his tongue and finding that he liked it. Maybe too much.
For a moment, their gazes held. Dagen was barely breathing, lungs seized up with the punch of want in his gut. There was something about this man that pushed all Dagen's buttons. Something in the way he guarded himself against giving away even the smallest secrets. Dagen knew he'd been granted a tiny glimpse inside just now, a drop of trust, and it was dangerous how badly he wanted more.
Ollie cleared his throat and the spell broke, letting air back in the room and leaving Dagen's head spinning. "You said something about groceries?"
Dagen had completely forgotten. He flushed. "Yeah, I'm heading to the store in a bit." He paused. He'd originally planned to just offer to pick up anything Ollie might need, but he found himself wanting to push, just a little, and wanting more of this man, if only his company. "Want to go with me?"
Chapter Five
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 asked, 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 has to 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 in the shed out behind the gym, and a bunch of other strong man training equipment. 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?"
"Let me see your arm. 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 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 lit
tle 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 even to bulk up, but just to 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—that had 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. And 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, and Dagen smiled. 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 even 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 three 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. He shook his head at himself. "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."
Chapter Six
Ollie fell back against his tattoo room door with a sigh, thankful to be enclosed in the small space that was just his. He'd finished his last tattoo for the afternoon, a flaming skull on the bicep of one of the fighters from the gym, but his mind had been stuck on Dagen all day. Tonight was his first personal training session. Shaking his head, he started the process of sanitizing his equipment and work area. Ollie couldn't believe he was about to do this. Couldn't believe he'd been the one to suggest it. Personal training sessions exchanged for Ollie getting to lay ink onto Dagen's skin. The thought of getting to put his hands on that sculpted body had Ollie's dick stirring to life behind the zipper of his jeans, and he chastised himself.
The last thing he needed was to get himself involved with s
omeone new. And his boss's brother? He shouldn't even be entertaining the thought. All his focus should be on saving his money, getting his own place, and establishing himself as a tattoo artist. That's it. And yet, the thought of meeting Dagen for his first weight training session had excitement buzzing under his skin. He was going to get strong and do something for himself and Dagen was going to help him, which by itself was testament to how different Dagen and Justin were. In the nearly two years he'd spent under Justin's thumb, he'd never done anything but try to tear Ollie down. He'd known Dagen all of two weeks and the giant of a man had done nothing but build him up. It was disconcerting, overwhelming, and absolutely addictive.
He was finishing cleaning up and shutting down his computer for the night when someone knocked on his still-closed door.
"Ollie? You still here?" Kayla's voice filtered through the wood, and he stood to pull the door open for her.
"Hey, I was just finishing up."
Kayla leaned against the door jamb, eyes sweeping over his space. "I saw that last tat. Nice work. Your shading is insane."
"Thanks."
The cordless phone for the shop rang and Kayla pulled it out of her back pocket, where she always seemed to keep it when she wasn’t at the front desk. “Open Wounds, this is Kayla.” Ollie went back to shutting down the computer and making sure everything was neat when he heard her say, “Ollie? Yeah, he’s right here, hold on.” She shrugged as she handed him the phone.
Open Wounds: The Boxed Set Page 4
