by Riley Hart
My name is Quinn Barker. We met the other day. You were so kind to offer your expertise, and I feel I shortchanged you. I assure you, this is the first time I haven’t gotten the job done. I’d love it if we could talk again. I’ll fix my prior error.
Quinn Barker
He added his phone number just in case, submitted the message and wished like hell he could see Miles’s face when he got it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Miles was going to kill him.
He read the email from Quinn for the tenth time and smiled. His secretary had sent it through to his private email account earlier that morning and now, every few minutes, he found himself flipping back to it.
At first, he told himself he would ignore it. Eventually, he’d come to terms with the fact that he obviously wasn’t doing a good job forgetting about the message, so he just needed to pull his head out of his ass and reply. Unfortunately, he couldn’t decide what to say. It was annoying as shit that he was obsessing over it so much in the first place, but he was. Fucker. It was all Quinn’s fault. Why couldn’t he just leave it alone?
Miles copied the address and composed a new email.
Quinn,
Stalking is illegal, you know. You better not be sitting outside my office right now. This is why I don’t give hookups my last name. I’m very familiar with restraining orders and I’m not afraid to use them.
Miles
He hit send and leaned back in his chair. And I’m not afraid to use them? Jesus, that was the corniest shit he’d ever said in his life. What had he been thinking?
Scratch that. Why the fuck did it matter and why was he overthinking stupid emails to some guy he fucked a few times? He wasn’t the type to obsess about emails. He realized there was more important shit to worry about than that.
He moved his finger across the mouse to close the tab, just as another message popped up. Miles didn’t think twice before clicking it.
Miles,
Is this a private email?
Q
Again, he found himself hitting reply.
Yes.
M
He waited. Jesus, he couldn’t believe he sat there watching his damn inbox for a good two minutes before another email popped up.
M,
Does that mean I get to talk dirty to you? Oh! I know. We should have email sex. You like naughty shit. I bet it would feel real forbidden to jerk off at work.
Q
“Oh fuck,” Miles mumbled but damned if he didn’t have a smile on his face too. Fucking Quinn. The man seemed to have a knack for making Miles feel less surly, which he didn’t understand. Along with the fact that he didn’t get why Quinn wasn’t surlier than he was.
He checked the time before composing another message.
Sorry. Just finished jerking off. Your timing is off. Again. Now, I have to go to work. Some of us don’t get to play with video games all day.
M
The second the message went through, his pulse unexplainably shot up and he found himself typing another message.
That was a joke, by the way. The timing and the video games instead of working.
What the hell was wrong with him? Here he was stressing out over a fucking email to a guy he was never supposed to see again.
Miles pushed to his feet just as he received another message.
I know. You’re not quite the bastard you pretend to be.
Q
He stared at the email for far too long. He wasn’t even sure why he continued to look or how he would respond. And again, why was he making a big deal out of nothing where Quinn was concerned? It seemed to have become a habit for him.
His eyes darted toward the door when there was a soft knock. “Come in,” he called out as his secretary stuck her head in the door. “Did you forget about your meeting, Mr. Sorenson? You’re late.”
“No, I didn’t. Thank you, though. I’m on my way out right now.”
But instead, he found himself doing one last thing. He clicked back into the original message from the contact form and added Quinn’s number to his phone.
Quinn had him breaking all his rules.
Miles really was going to kill him.
*
It was Tuesday evening when the first text came through, and Quinn knew right away who it was from. He wasn’t sure how, but he did and he felt much too excited at the thought of that message.
I can be a bastard, I promise you.
“Holy shit,” he whispered. Yes, he’d just been positive this was Miles but seeing it was a different thing. He hadn’t heard from Miles since the day before, and then, of course, it had only been email. Miles had taken his number from the contact form and actually sent a fucking message.
Huh.
Stalking is against the law, he replied.
I’m not stalking you. You gave me your phone number. The evidence is on my computer.
He smiled and took a drink of his wine before pausing his re-watch of Queer as Folk.
My mistake, Counselor. To what do I owe the honor of your attention?
Miles replied almost instantly. Fuck off.
Fuck me?
I’ve done that quite a bit, if you remember correctly, Miles replied.
Yeah, I remember. I felt you for days afterward. I had bruises on my hips from your fingers. Bruises he’d fucking loved.
There was a delay in response. After a few minutes, Quinn tossed his cell to the couch, figuring Miles had decided he’d had too much conversation for the day, and was building those walls back up. Quinn fucking hated walls. All they did was cause more damage and hurt more people.
He hit play on his show again but found his eyes kept getting drawn to his cell. It was a few minutes later when it buzzed. He picked it up to see another response from Miles.
You know you liked it.
He grinned. Ah, so they were going to discuss the bruises. Never said I didn’t.
Somehow Quinn knew this text really was the end of it for tonight. He saved the number in his phone and then went back to watching his show.
He was halfway through his work day on Wednesday, his eyes blurring from all the time he’d spent staring at a computer screen.
He’d been fucking around on this game for months. It wasn’t the same one he’d helped Christian test the other day. It wasn’t quite as far along in the process, and at the rate it was going, Quinn thought he would blow up the computer rather than have the player in the video game blow things up. He’d always been a fan of blowing, after all.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, groaned, and then picked up his phone. He considered texting Christian or another friend of his, Michael, but ended up pulling up Miles’s phone number instead.
Forest or jungle? he asked.
Is that a real question? Jungle, of course.
Quinn smiled as he looked at the phone. Jungle, huh? Yeah, he could work with that. Before he had the chance to reply, Miles messaged again.
Stop texting me.
You texted me first.
That’s because you’re a stalker and you looked up my office and emailed me, Miles answered.
Quinn thought for a moment. Wondered why in the fuck he enjoyed this so much, and then typed out his reply. True. And I’m the one who offered my number, but you’re the one who decided you wanted to use it. And then he turned off his phone, somehow knowing that Miles would drive himself batshit crazy, thinking about what Quinn had just said.
*
Miles was going to kill him.
No, it didn’t escape his attention that this wasn’t the first time he’d thought those words about Quinn this week, but the man was infuriating as fuck.
He’d been the one who showed up at Wild Side last week.
He’d been the one to ask Miles to stay the night.
He’d been the one who emailed him.
He’d been the one to give Miles his phone number and damn it, now Miles was obsessing over the guy. He’d never obsessed over anyone in his life. He fuc
ked and that was it. He worried about his career, his parents, and his friends—that was it—and now he was texting Quinn and getting irritated when Quinn didn’t text back and why in the fuck hadn’t he texted back, anyway? Was he trying to make Miles lose his mind? If so, it was working.
Still, Miles wasn’t the type to chase a man, that was for sure. He’d texted once on Thursday and since Quinn didn’t text back, he was over it.
Or he guessed he wasn’t over it but he wasn’t messaging again.
Who did he think he was? Calling Miles out on using the number Quinn had been the one to give him? Isn’t that what you gave people your phone number for?
Holy fucking shit. He was doing it again. If he didn’t stop thinking about Quinn he was going to fucking murder someone.
Or murder Quinn. He kept going back to that.
Before Miles drove himself insane or checked into the hospital to see if he’d been given a brain implant he wasn’t aware of, Miles went into his bathroom. He opened the glass shower door and turned on the spray. He had dual showerheads. The walls that weren’t glass were gray and blue tile, and the floors matched.
It was a ridiculous thing to love, but his shower was one of his favorite things in his apartment.
Miles stripped out of his clothes and stepped under the spray. As he soaped up his balls, he considered rubbing one out real quick. He was slightly sexually frustrated since last weekend. His dick had thought it would get to sink deep inside Quinn’s ass again and that obviously hadn’t happened and motherfucker. Why was he thinking about Quinn again?
He finished cleaning up and got out. He brushed his teeth, thought about shaving but then left the dark stubble along his jaw.
Miles took the towel off his waist as he moved through his bedroom and to his walk-in closet. He let his fingers flick through the shirts hanging there before he again became frustrated with himself and just tugged at the last shirt he’d touched.
It was a white tee with three buttons down the neck, but no collar on it. He paired it with black jeans. Once he was dressed, he grabbed his keys, wallet, and phone and then headed to Wild Side to meet his friends and get his mind off an extremely frustrating and addicting Quinn Barker.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“You have an eyelash on your face.” Chance swiped his finger under Miles’s eye. When Miles turned and reached for his drink, Chance added, “Wait. Where do you think you’re going? Blow.” He held his finger out, apparently for Miles to blow the fucking eyelash off. “And you have to make a wish too.”
“I’m not making a wish,” Miles grumbled. What in the hell did wishes have to do with eyelashes, anyway? It made no damn sense. A lot of what Chance said didn’t make sense, though.
“Make a fucking wish, Miles, and stop raining on my parade. You’ve known me all your life and you know I’m obsessed with wishes. You’re extra fucking grumpy tonight, by the way,” Chance replied.
Yes, he was being extra fucking grumpy and he knew it, only he didn’t know why. “Fine.” He blew the lash off Chance’s finger.
“What did you wish for?”
“You to leave me alone?”
Oliver chuckled from the other side of him.
“Aww. Come on, baby. You know that’s never going to happen. You don’t want it to either.” Chance blew a kiss at him, picked up Miles’s glass, and finished the rest of the liquid in it. He had a habit of doing that. Miles thought part of the reason was just to annoy people. Chance always got off on that.
“I hate you,” Miles told him.
“You love me,” Chance replied.
Miles opened his mouth to counter it, but Matt cut him off, “Are you working on a hard case?”
He shrugged, signaled the waitress over, and ordered another drink. “No. Not particularly harder than any other case. I’m just in a bad mood, I guess.”
“No! You?” Ollie teased but then winked at him. “And you’re not in a bad mood. You’re just being Miles, and we love you for it.” Sometimes he wondered why they put up with him but he would never tell them that. He would be silently thankful while doing what he could to support them—even if it bothered them while he was doing it.
They all sat around and talked the way they did every Friday night. The longer they stayed the more fidgety he became. Miles never fidgeted. His eyes kept casing the bar. He wouldn’t put it past Quinn to show up here just to try and rattle him. He didn’t want to let himself think about the fact that it would work, when he’d never been easily shaken before.
The longer they hung out, he started to realize he was actually a bit disappointed Quinn hadn’t come. If this had been Ollie thinking about Matt before Matt had gotten his shit together or Chance dreaming about a trick he had, Miles would have been the first one to tell them to chill the fuck out or do something about it. He would also likely come with a list of what could and likely would go wrong because that’s just how he rolled.
Thank fuck none of them would do that to him.
“You gonna dance with me or what?” Matt asked Ollie after a few moments of silence. Oliver’s eyes lit up. He was so fucking gone for Matt, always had been, but it was good to see Matty looking at Oliver the same way. Miles wasn’t looking for what they had, he just wasn’t interested, but he was happy for them.
“Of course.” The two men got up from the table.
As they left, Chance grabbed Miles’s wrist. “Dance with me, Daddy.”
Miles rolled his eyes. “I fucking hate it when you call me that.”
“Come on. Don’t pretend you’re not one of those big, top daddies we all love.”
He wasn’t pretending anything. He knew exactly who and what he was. “Yeah but not with you.”
“Nope. Not with me. But we are best friends, and I want to dance so it’s kind of in your job description to get out there and dance with me.”
Which was true. Plus, maybe it would help him get his mind off shit he didn’t want his mind on. “Let’s go.”
They stood up and found an empty spot on the dance floor. Chance wrapped his arms around Miles’s shoulders and rode his thigh like he’d done a million times before, as though there was a chance the two of them would go home together.
He put his mouth next to Miles’s ear and asked, “You okay?”
Unease skated down Miles’s spine. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” He went rigid as he waited for Chance to answer.
“Because you just went tense when I asked you that? Because you’ve been a little off the past week. I can’t put my finger on how or why…”
“Oh, sounds like a mystery,” Miles teased and Chance laughed.
“It is. And I think you’re lying, but I also think you’re okay. I’m good at reading people. You know that. So I’m not too worried, but just remember, it’s not only okay for you to stick your nose in our business and bust our balls all the time, it’s also okay for us to do the same to you.”
That wasn’t the first time his friends had said something like that to him, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. Miles had no problems talking to them about important things going on in their lives. It was actually really important to him to keep involved and to make sure they were okay…he just didn’t like it when the situation was reversed.
“I hear ya,” he finally answered.
“Good boy.”
“Hey. I’m the one who’s supposed to be saying that stuff, remember? I’m the daddy.”
They laughed and finished dancing. It wasn’t long before the group made their way back to the table. They all ordered another round of drinks except Miles, because the truth was, he knew he would be leaving soon.
He was an answers guy, and he wanted answers about why he had apparently become obsessed with Quinn.
He said his goodbyes to his friends and left early. As soon as he was outside he pulled out his phone and typed out a text.
You home?
The reply came a few seconds later. Yes.
I’ll be there in ten.
; What if I’m busy? Quinn texted back, but Miles turned off his phone without a reply. Two could play at that game.
*
Quinn knew Miles wasn’t going to reply to him. Still, he found himself chuckling. “Always have to get the upper hand, you bastard.”
It didn’t take knowing Miles very long or extremely well to know that.
He sat back down on the couch and picked up the video game controller again. He wasn’t going to change his plans because Miles suddenly realized he either wanted to take Quinn up on his offer of another piece of his ass, or because he couldn’t handle that Quinn hadn’t responded the other day.
It was close to fifteen minutes later when there was a knock at his door. His back was to it, because of the position of the couch. “Come in!” he called out without looking over his shoulder. He continued to slice his way through bad guys on his quest to save his prince.
The door opened, then closed with a soft click. “This is what you’re busy doing?” Miles asked in that deep voice that got Quinn’s dick hard.
“I had dinner with my friend Tony earlier. I never said I was busy now. I just asked, what if I was. Sit down. Check this out.”
His character stuck a knife into a man on the screen. Blood shot out, and his character wiped it away from his own face.
“What game is this?” Miles asked as the couch dipped from his weight.
“It’s not out yet. I’m doing some final beta testing on it—which means I’m playing it, basically. I’m a mob boss. My boyfriend was kidnapped by a rival crew. I basically kick ass, killing everyone who crosses my path until I get my guy back.”
“It’s a gay game?” Miles asked, shock apparent in the tone of his voice.
“It gives you the option in the beginning of playing as either a female character or a male. Also, between rescuing your guy or your girl. I thought of it myself.” He nudged Miles’s arm playfully. “We need more options like that.”
“This is yours? You did this?” Miles rested his elbows on his knees and leaned in, looking much more interested than he had a moment ago. His white shirt stretched across his arms, and Quinn considered dropping the controller and sitting on his dick, but he didn’t.
