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“It’s not the best area, but it’s what I can afford, and I’ve lived here for years, so I’m practically a local. It’s fine,” I tell her with a shrug, embarrassed at how obvious it is that I’m dirt poor.

“You should accept the job from the Barnetts. You can move in with me and Danny, we have a spare room,” she blurts, her tone excited.

“I don’t think getting in the middle of your relationship would be a great idea right now.” I laugh.

“Take the job, move in with us, then we can commute to work together and you won’t have to worry about crazy rent or long bus rides.”

A warmth suffuses me. I really did make a friend. A great friend from what I’ve seen so far. “Thank you for the ride, Parker,” I tell her, not agreeing to her crazy plan, but more grateful than she will ever know for the offer.

“Think about it, I’m serious,” she calls as I climb out of the car. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Have fun tonight,” I call back with a smirk, closing the door and rushing to my apartment building. The moment I’m inside, I listen as she drives away.

Instead of my dreams being plagued with dirty thoughts about Anders, they’re filled with the hopeless possibility of moving to Rockhead Point and living with Parker. It’s all a pipe dream, but when I wake up, I’m smiling.

FOUR

ANDERS

Danny:Parker dropped your man at his place last night. She said it’s in a scary part of town, and she wants him to move in with us. I’ve got no problem giving him a safe place to stay, but if he were mine, I’d want to know. So, this is your heads-up. Take care of what’s yours, or I will.

It’s been days since I last saw Henry, and after reading Danny’s text, it’s taking every inch of my self-control not to drive down to the garage to make sure my boy’s okay and knows he’ll be sleeping in my bed from now on. Only I’m not a psycho or a kidnapper…even though I kind of wish I was.

Distracted and frustrated, I pace my living room, immediately turning around and walking in the opposite direction when I hit the front door. I’m not entirely sure how he got it, but Danny texted me Henry’s number yesterday, and since it appeared in my inbox, I’ve spent every moment convincing myself not to contact him. Henry is mine. I know it as surely as I know that claiming him would be the absolute wrong thing todo. But the more time that passes, the harder it is to convince myself why I shouldn’t just tell him he belongs to me.

He’s gay, I’m bi. I’m older than him, but not so old that I look like his dad. I’m a controlling, dominant alpha male, but I can tone it down. I could stop being me. I could be gentle and relaxed and…nope. No, that’s not going to happen. If I touch him, if I even allow myself to think about him being mine, I’ll have given him a set of rules and explained how deliciously painful the consequences of breaking them would be before he could tell me to fuck off.

But maybe he’s into that. When I saw him at the diner, he didn’t fight me feeding him. He wasn’t aggressively against my desire to care for him. In fact, he almost seemed like he was enjoying my attention. Well, maybe not enjoying it, but he never asked me to stop.

But that still doesn’t mean I can claim him. Texting him isn’t crossing a line, though…right? I’ve asked myself this question a million times, but fuck it…it’s only a harmless text.

My feet stop moving, and I pull my cell from my pocket and type his number into the text app. I haven’t saved his number into my contacts because if I do, that will make his presence in my life permanent and push me one step closer to me laying claim to him.

Me: Hello, Boy.

The moment I hit send, I regret it. What the fuck is wrong with me? I didn’t even use his name. This is the first text I’ve sent him and I’m already addressing him like he’s my sub, not a guy I’ve literally met once and have zero connection with outside of my own head.

But even as regret is ripping a hole in my stomach, I add his number to my cell and save it into my contacts, because I’ve crossed a line and it’s too late to fight it now.

When my cell beeps, I’m shocked. I figured he’d ignore me, or worse, block me.

My Boy: Who is this?

Me: It’s Anders, we met at the diner the other night.

My Boy: Oh, hi.

His response is fucking adorable. I’ve met so many brats who would have pretended not to remember me or who would have instantly replied with a dick or ass picture. Yet it’s Henry’s innocent“Oh, hi.”that has my dick pulsing with need.

Me: Where are you?

It’s four p.m. on a weekday. He’s at work, but I think a part of me wants to know he’ll answer me, even if it’s something I already know the answer to.

My Boy: At work.

Me: What time do you finish? I’ll give you a ride home.

My Boy: …