Irons and Works: The Complete Series

by E M Lindsey

  He wanted that. Not Derek—though a year ago he wouldn’t have said no if either Derek or Sage had propositioned him. But watching them fall in love, one by one, he knew he wanted something more.

  Waving the bartender over, Amit handed off his card and paid for his tab, scribbling a tip before waving his goodbye and heading out. No one seemed to mind he’d slipped away without the endless goodbyes, and he knew he’d get shit for it later, but he needed some space.

  He needed…something. A good dicking is what he’d call it. Or hell, if Ruby wasn’t seeing someone else, he might have visited her. She was always good for a quick romp, and she made him feel relaxed. But she’d been seeing Basil’s sister lately, and Amit wasn’t going to begrudge her a happy ending either.

  It was just hard, being so left out.

  A chocolate craving hit him not far from home, so he pulled into the supermarket parking lot next to a couple of motorcycles and switched the car off. He debated about his hearing aids—it was just easier in public, but he was feeling overwhelmed and craved his muted silence. He checked his phone again—nothing new, which meant his friends hadn’t cared about his escape, and he tried not to let it hurt.

  He didn’t know why he was being such a child about this suddenly. He’d always been a relatively happy person, but life was starting to weigh on him in ways he hadn’t expected. He never assumed everything in his life would make him feel content, but he was starting to wonder when everything started to leave him feeling so damn unsatisfied.

  Skipping the little hand baskets, Amit wandered to the chocolate aisle, but nothing stuck out at him. He had a craving for something, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It was easy to wander there, though, especially so late. Hardly anyone was out, and he didn’t feel the uncomfortable panic like he might have to muddle through conversation with total strangers.

  At least Denver was good for that. The people were friendly enough, but he wasn’t expected to share bits of his life with people in line. It was one of the many reasons he had no desire to leave, even if he could find solace somewhere his mother wasn’t watching—where he didn’t have family friends reporting back to her.

  And maybe that was it. Maybe her hold on him—her desperation to create a life that suited her instead of what he needed—was starting to suffocate him. He loved her to death—he loved all of his family, but he wished he could be brave enough to find out whether or not they’d love him with all the of the parts of himself he was too afraid to show.

  Amit found himself in the beauty aisle—not really a surprise. He tended to gravitate in that direction, tempting himself with things he didn’t have the courage to reach out for. His hand stretched out and traced over lip glosses—bright violets, fierce reds. He pulled an opaque, pearlescent one from the rack and turned it in his hand, the light catching on the shimmer.

  His heart ached for it. He wanted it, wanted to feel the sticky spread over his lips, stare at himself in the mirror. Wanted to feel beautiful in ways he’d never let himself.

  “… good … you… it.”

  The broken words crossed the space between him and the person a few feet away, and when Amit looked up, his heart gave a single, violent beat against his ribs. Miguel was standing not two feet away, his scarred arm behind his back, the other clutching a basket full of various freezer meals.

  Miguel looked almost scared to have said whatever it was, but he didn’t back away either, and Amit felt emboldened by it. He took a step closer. “Can you repeat that? I left my hearing aids in the car.”

  Miguel swallowed, then nodded. “I said that’s a good color. You should buy it.”

  Amit blinked, felt the weight of the gloss in his hand as though it weighed a ton instead of an ounce, and his palm went sweaty. “Oh. Um. I don’t…ha. That’s not something I wear.”

  Miguel cocked his head to the side. “Sorry. I thought…”

  “My sister,” he blurted. “She’s getting married in a couple of months and she asked me to help.” The lie tasted like ash on his tongue and he hated himself a little because Miguel was encouraging him. Yet his fear took over, robbing him of this chance to be brave.

  He spun, crouching down to the nail polish display and grabbed at the opal ones. When he stood back up, Miguel’s eyes were a little wider, and a pink flush had spread across his cheeks. Amit wasn’t sure what had the guy worked up, but before he could ask, another figure came around the corner.

  Finn, he was pretty sure. He hadn’t gotten the chance to meet the other guy on his journey, but he could see where he fit in. He was very tall, lean but muscular, with sleeves all the way down to his knuckles. He had a severe undercut, the long part twisted into a bun, shadows of ink under the shaved parts. It was textured, curled, and very dark, which complimented his light brown skin and golden eyes.

  His gaze flickered over Amit’s tattoo for a long second, then he looked over at Miguel. “Did you do that?”

  Miguel laughed, a low sound which rumbled through Amit’s chest, thick in his ears. “Yeah, man. A few days ago. How’s it feel?”

  Amit shrugged, feeling strange under the scrutiny of both men. “Healing up nicely. I’ll be glad when the itch is over.”

  “It’s your body’s way of healing. It’s a good sign,” Finn told him.

  Amit blinked, ready to tell Finn he was aware of that, considering he had more than just the one piece, but Miguel clapped Finn on the shoulder. “I think that’s something he’ll remember. You want to meet me at check-out?”

  Finn nodded. “I need to get a couple of things. I can be there in about seven minutes.”

  “I won’t time you,” Miguel answered with another smile.

  It was strange—Amit hadn’t seen him grin like that at all when they were at the shop. In fact, the expression seemed to tug on muscles Miguel rarely used. He lacked laugh lines where all the other guys had them, and it made Amit a little sad.

  “You guys are traveling together?” he asked when Finn walked away.

  Miguel’s shoulders rose and fell with a shrug, but when he answered, he half turned away so Amit only caught part. “…a while…to the…soon.”

  “Can you… sorry. Just, you turned away. Can you repeat that? I know it’s annoying,” he added. He hated how often he apologized to hearing people for forgetting basic etiquette, but he’d been doing it his entire damn life with his family, it was second nature by then.

  Miguel looked vaguely mortified. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

  Amit started to wave him off. “Really it’s fine, I just…”

  “No. I’m sorry,” Miguel said pointedly. “I said Finn and I have been traveling together for a while. We were headed to the West Coast, but I think he wants to head back home soon.” When Amit’s smile went wide, Miguel frowned. “What?”

  Amit shook his head. “I like that you didn’t, like, yell or talk to me like I’m two. I fucking hate that, and they always do whenever I miss something. I think that’s why I hate asking people to repeat themselves.”

  “People are shit.” There was an edge to his tone Amit could hear clearly, something that said Miguel understood on a profound level just how shitty people could be. “I should uh…I gotta finish checking out and get home.” He started to take a step back, then his eyes darted down to the polish and gloss Amit still held. “Your…ahem… sister,” he said, giving him a pointed look, “will look great in those. Just…so you know.”

  Amit felt white-hot desire rush through him which almost brought him to his knees. He couldn’t form a response, couldn’t even raise his hand in goodbye as Miguel nodded, then walked away. It took a full minute for him to recover as he squeezed his hand around the bottles, and it was no surprise when he eventually ended at the self-check-out with only two items. None of them being chocolate.

  Chapter Seven

  Miguel managed to keep his shit together through checking out and helping Finn pack his stuff in his storage compartment. They parted ways at the intersection, and he managed
to get back to James’ property without crashing.

  He was in a half-daze as he dumped his bags on the kitchen table, then gripped the edge and let himself get hard in his jeans. It was so unexpected, so intensely arousing, he wasn’t quite sure how to process what he saw.

  Amit was hot enough as it was, and the sight of him thumbing through rows of lip gloss was enough of an incentive to say hi. He felt a little bad for the way he’d made the other man panic, but then Amit had bent over to grab something off the shelf and there they were.

  Just a little peek of red lace stretched across his back, tucked safely under Amit’s jeans, but so very much visible. The red contrasted with the rich shade of Amit’s skin in the perfect way, and Miguel had been unable to stop himself from picturing Amit laid out on a bed, wearing nothing but the lace panties.

  He’d never been so close to busting a nut without touching himself as he’d been there in the store. Finn’s timing was perfect—just distracting enough for Miguel to get his shit together. But he knew he had to do something about it.

  Stepping away from the table, he backed up toward the sofa, his hand fumbling for the zipper on his jeans. It was strained, and it took him a couple of tries, but eventually he got his cock out. He licked his palm, then gave himself firm, furious strokes. When his knees hit the edge of the sofa and he collapsed, his thighs spread, head tipped back as he stripped himself raw at the thought of being able to touch Amit.

  He knew what the other man felt like under his hands now. The warm softness of his skin, the taut edges of his muscles, the way his breath puffed warm and soft against the side of Miguel’s face. How would it be to have him on display, for his body to belong to Miguel? How would it feel to peel those panties away, to swallow his cock, then impale himself on it?

  He wanted it so fucking much he ached. He wanted to get fucked, to hold the other man, to peer into his soul and find out what was making him so scared, and so damn sad. With Kyle, Miguel had been reaching for something that was selfish—a way out, proof that he was wanted, that at least someone out there saw him as more than just a freak accident or a cautionary tale. With Amit, it was so much more.

  Miguel wanted to protect him, to love him, to make him laugh and smile. It was such an absurd thought, but it was so all consuming he couldn’t stop. His hand flew over his dick, his orgasm rising, then cresting. He crashed over the edge with a shout, his come shooting up and hitting his chest as his hand slowed and muscles began to relax. He sank into the cushions, surprised at himself, startled he had it in him to lose control like that.

  He had never felt that way before. Never. Not before the fire, and definitely not after. How had a man he’d sat with for less than three hours crawled under his skin so quickly? They had shared more looks than words, but Miguel found himself craving like never before. It was dangerous. He had to stop. He knew exactly where weakness would lead him, and he’d made a promise four years ago that he wouldn’t let that happen again.

  Amit was nothing like Kyle—he knew that much—but he was too much of a risk. And besides, apart from all that, Amit deserved someone better than a bitter man with nothing going for him except abstract watercolors and a vision of what he once had.

  Miguel got into the shop early the next morning, surprised to find a light on in the back. Tony had given him a key, but warned him most of the guys didn’t bother to show their faces until right before they opened. He felt a little like he was intruding on something personal, and it was tough at times to remind himself that he wasn’t just working here, he was welcome.

  Pushing the door open, he locked it behind him, then startled a bit when Derek’s head poked around the side of the back door. His brows were furrowed, but his expression softened when his gaze landed on Miguel, and he stepped all the way out.

  “Hey man. Early appointment?”

  Miguel shook his head. “I wanted to get some sketch work done, and Tony said it was okay if I came in early.”

  Derek chuckled as he leaned his hip against the doorframe. “That’s what the key is for.”

  “If I’m interrupting,” Miguel began, but his words went quiet as Derek shook his head.

  “I was having a bad night. PTSD,” he clarified, and Miguel gave a short nod to let Derek know he’d been briefed on his situation. “Got a little overwhelming at home. Basil’s—I love him,” he said with a laugh, “but he can be so damn loud.”

  Miguel’s brows lifted. “You’d think a Deaf guy would be more quiet.” Then he flushed. “Sorry. Jesus, I didn’t mean to be an ass.”

  Derek waved him off. “I thought the same damn thing, but he can’t hear shit so he has no idea how loud he can be. It’s,” Derek stopped with a sigh, then shrugged. “I think it hurts his feelings sometimes. He gets it, the sensory overload shit. He knows when I take off it’s not about him, but I don’t think he can help taking it personally.”

  Miguel hadn’t ever been in a relationship long enough to have any idea what Derek was talking about, but somehow, he understood. “He loves you though.”

  Derek’s mouth curled into a small grin. “Yeah. He does. And I’m one lucky bastard because of it.” He glanced out the window, then shrugged. “Let’s go grab a coffee, man. Or a tea.”

  Miguel’s mouth opened to tell him no, but he reminded himself he was trying to bond a little more—to let himself feel welcome and wanted. Licking his lips, he nodded, then let Derek lead the way out front.

  “You met Will?” Derek asked as they started down the pavement toward the little coffee shop.

  Miguel shook his head. “Heard about him, but I don’t think I had the chance yet.”

  “He’s a good dude,” Derek said, and Miguel almost laughed only because he knew anyone who wasn’t wouldn’t have been allowed within a hundred feet of the shop. “His chai is fucking killer.”

  Miguel did laugh at that. “Never had it.”

  “Then you’re going to have your mind blown,” Derek told him with a wink. They reached the door, but before he went in, he turned to give Miguel a look. “Can I ask you something?”

  Miguel braced himself for something personal, or offensive, because he just could never escape it. “Shoot.”

  “You and Amit…”

  Miguel physically startled, only because that was the last thing in the world he expected to hear from Derek. “Uh…”

  “We ran into him at Ruby’s last night,” Derek clarified. He pulled the door open and gestured for Miguel to walk in first. As the door swung shut, Derek dropped his voice, though there wasn’t anyone else around to hear him. “He was asking about you.”

  Miguel rubbed the back of his neck absently, his gaze scanning the neatly printed chalk menu, though he wasn’t actually processing any of it. Amit had asked about him? His stomach began to squirm and he actually felt a little sweat break out over his forehead. These sudden and intense feelings for the other man were unexpected, unwelcome, unwanted.

  “People ask about me all the time. Can’t help it,” he said, gesturing to his face.

  Derek rolled his eyes and gave him a flat look. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

  Miguel did know, and he hated it a little bit, feeling half-panicked. “We had a decent session. He seems like a good guy.”

  “He’s a really fucking good guy,” Derek said, a little heat in his tone. “He’s almost like family to us.”

  “I’m not,” Miguel started, but his voice started to sound a little faint, and suddenly he felt like he was standing outside his body. He came to a minute later, and realized he’d been bustled off to the side and Derek was hovering close, but not touching.

  “I triggered you. I’m so fucking sorry,” Derek murmured when he realized Miguel was back.

  Miguel blinked. “You…what?”

  “Panic attack,” Derek said, like Miguel should know what that felt like. “You’re still a little pale. Just sit and I’ll grab us something to eat. You should probably have a little sugar.”

  Before
Miguel could argue, Derek loped off to the front and leaned over the counter to talk to the man standing there. He was shorter, a mop of dark, messy bed-head, rich brown skin and a gorgeous smile. Will, Miguel assumed, and he let his brain focus on that rather than what the hell had just happened.

  He knew what panic attacks were, he’d had a few. The sudden, suffocating sensation like he was about to goddamn die. This wasn’t like that. This was like blinking and realizing he was waking up from a dream. He lifted his hand to brush through his hair, but when he saw his fingers trembling, he curled them into a fist and dropped it back into his lap.

  Derek wasn’t long, though. He appeared a minute later with two steaming mugs and a plate filled with some sort of pastry that had sesame seeds sprinkled on top. “Here. Try the chai first, and then this. You won’t regret it.”

  There was an edge in Derek’s tone—something apologetic, guilty, and a little intense—so Miguel did as he was told just to ease the tension between them. It helped that Derek wasn’t wrong, either. It was possibly the best latte Miguel had ever had, and it didn’t take a lot of coaxing for him to gulp down half.

  As it hit his stomach, he started to feel a little better, and then the humiliation set in. “Fuck. I fell apart back there.”

  Derek shook his head. “Totally my fault. I mean, I don’t know you that well, but I was getting pushy and I didn’t mean it.”

  Miguel swiped his hand down his face, then reached for the pastry just to give himself something to do. It crumbled, and he took a bite, the buttery flakes melting on his tongue. “Mm.”

  Derek laughed. “I know, right?”

  Miguel finished a few bites, then sighed. “Look, it’s not your fault. I get that I haven’t been the most open guy here. It ain’t personal.”