Page 10

Monday night finds the site office quiet, empty except for two people: one trying to work, the other determined to prevent it.

Dennis is still riding the high of the investor visit—they'd loved everything, praised his vision, called the project revolutionary. Even his father had looked almost impressed. It would have been perfect if not for...

"No," Dennis says firmly, not looking up from his tablet, trying very hard not to remember how Chris had spent the entire morning bending and stretching in that ridiculous excuse for a tank top, just because the investors were coming and Chris likes being difficult.

"But it was a success," Chris insists, leaning against the edge of the table, arms crossed on its surface and a barely restrained grin tugging at his mouth.

His work clothes are back to normal now, but Dennis can't unsee the way those muscles had gleamed under the morning sun, how his Versace briefs had peeked out every time he reached up to explain the bamboo supports.

"Investors loved it, you won over your father, and now they're calling you a 'visionary' and everything."

Dennis huffs, his lips twitching. "It’s still a no."

"Come on," Chris whines. Actually whines. "One drink. I got a six-pack in the fridge with your name on it. We deserve it—hell, you deserve it, Mr. Visionary."

"I deserve to not have my site manager parading around half-naked during important meetings," Dennis mutters before he can stop himself.

Chris's grin widens. "Noticed that, did you?"

Dennis keeps his eyes trained on his tablet. Bites the inside of his cheek till it hurts to stop himself from smiling. "I have work."

"It's seven PM."

"Some of us care about this project."

"Says the guy who approved my time sheet for today even though I've been bugging him for two hours straight." Chris spins around, draping himself backward over the table's edge until his head dangles near Dennis’s tablet, grinning up at him upside down.

Dennis whacks him between the eyes with his stylus.

"Ow!" Chris rights himself up, rubbing his forehead, but doesn't move away from the table.

"Though you seemed pretty distracted this morning too." His voice drops lower as he tips his head to catch Dennis’s eye. "Especially when I was demonstrating the load-bearing capacity of those beams."

Dennis’s face heats as he remembers—Chris stretched up, tank riding high, muscles flexing as he'd explained the engineering principles that Dennis absolutely hadn't heard because he'd been too busy staring at...

Dennis’s head snaps up. "I did not—" He feels himself blush. Looks back down before Chris notices. "I was checking for safety violations," Dennis manages to say.

"Considering how long you were checking out my ass, I must have a lot of violations."

"Fuck you," Dennis murmurs with no heat behind it. "Looking isn't a crime."

It's not his fault Chris has a nice ass. And he was only checking it out for technical reasons. No one should have one that sculpted. Maybe he uses botox.

"Oops, caught you perving on the help," Chris doesn't look sorry at all. "Guess you need a break."

"I need you to leave."

"Nope." Chris plucks the tablet from Dennis’s hands. Dennis lunges for it, but Chris jerks it away with exasperating speed. Holds it above his head. "Break time."

"What are you, five?"

"Six and a half." Chris backs toward the door, tablet dangling from his fingers like bait. "Come get it, princess."

"I will end you,” Dennis seethes. He watches Chris saunter backwards, all smug satisfaction and stupid dimples. Why is he so immature?!

"Promises, promises."

Dennis stands slowly. "Chris, I swear to god, if you run—" He takes one step forward.

Chris bolts.

"Hey!" Dennis races after him. "Get back here!"

They sprint through the empty site. Past covered machinery. Through half-built rooms. Past the exact spot where Chris had bent over to check foundation work that morning, giving Dennis and the investors quite the view until one had actually said Dennis looked faint and started fanning him with a brochure, asking if he needed to sit down.

Obviously he'd been stressed about maintaining professional standards on site and Chris was single-handedly ruining his reputation. Nothing to do with Chris's assets at all.

Chris is fast but Dennis is determined. He catches up just as Chris reaches the elevator.

"Give it—" Dennis grabs Chris's shirt. Stumbles when Chris spins around.

They crash into the wall. Chris's back hits first. Dennis slams into his chest.

Then they’re nose to nose, breathing hard, eyes locked, Dennis’s fingers still twisted in Chris’s shirt.

"Got you," Chris says, breathless.

He's so close. All muscle and warmth and that goddamn cologne mixed with his natural scent that's been driving Dennis insane all day.

"My tablet," Dennis manages to say.

"Sure." Chris holds it out. Doesn't let go when Dennis grabs it. "But first..."

"First?"

"One drink." Chris's eyes drop to Dennis’s mouth. "That's all I'm asking."

Dennis should say no. Should grab his tablet and leave.

Should definitely not notice how Chris's other hand has settled on his hip, warm and solid like it had been this morning when he steadied Dennis after Dennis nearly tripped over his own feet watching Chris demonstrate proper lifting technique.

"Fine," Dennis says. "One drink."

Chris's whole face lights up. "Yeah?"

"Don't make me change my mind."

"Wouldn't dream of it, princess." Chris releases the tablet. Doesn't move his other hand. Instead, he steps forward, his free hand finding Dennis’s other hip, pressing until Dennis steps back.

One smooth turn and Dennis’s spine meets concrete, Chris's hands steady on his waist. "Let me go grab my stuff."

Then he's gone, disappearing into the site office.

Dennis stays where Chris left him, back against cool concrete, trying to get his breathing under control.

One drink.

What could possibly go wrong?

His phone buzzes.

Dad.

Dennis cancels the call. Sends it to voicemail like he has every other call this evening. Doesn’t matter how happy the investors are, he’s never happy, and after today, Dennis has earned a break from being a massive disappointment.

"Ready?" Chris is back, keys jangling.

"Your car?" Dennis raises an eyebrow. "What happened to one drink and the six-pack with my name on it?" His eyes drop to Chris's abs, now safely under his T-shirt—not the kind of six-pack he meant, but hey. He snaps his gaze back up before Chris can catch him looking. Again.

"Changed my mind." Chris grins. "Figure we should celebrate properly."

"Celebrate what?"

"Our rebellion." Chris waves his arm at the partially-constructed building around them. "Your vision. My excellent construction skills—"

"Your what now?"

"—and the fact you haven't punched me in almost two weeks."

"Don't tempt me."

"But you hit so pretty." Chris works his jaw side to side, wincing at the memory. "Still hurts, by the way.” He cradles it with his hand. Pouts. “You should be nice to me.”

Dennis rolls his eyes so hard his whole head follows, tongue pressing into his cheek to stop from smirking.

Then Chris holds out his arm in invitation. Dennis pushes off the wall with the heel of his shoe, and suddenly Chris's hand is at the small of his back, guiding him forward.

Dennis pretends the heat from that touch isn't sinking through his shirt. That it isn't spreading across his skin like wildfire.

They make their way through the darkened site, their footsteps echoing in the empty space. The night air hits them as they push through the main doors, cooler now than during the afternoon's investor circus.

Chris leads them across the empty lot to where his Lexus sits under a streetlight. He opens the passenger door with a flourish. "After you, your highness."

"I hate you," Dennis says, but he gets in anyway.

"No you don't." Chris closes the door. Walks around to the driver's side. "You just think you do."

"Pretty sure I do after that stunt with the tank top."

"Didn't hear you complaining." Chris starts the car. "In fact, you seemed pretty appreciative of the view."

He adjusts the rearview mirror, catching Dennis’s eyes in the reflection.

Dennis looks away first, but not before he sees Chris's smile widen.

The worst part is, Dennis is starting to think he might be right.

His phone buzzes again.

Dad.

Dennis turns it off.

Tonight's about rebellion after all.

Might as well do it properly.