Chapter 1

Jamie had been working for a month. Helping Reese, working for Vince. It had been nothing but exhausting at first but now he had gotten used to it. No longer was he passing out in the truck on the way home, or falling asleep on the couch while Reese watched TV.

It was just past 5 PM, the apartment hummed with the beginning of a heatwave, a rattling box fan doing little to cut the haze. Tara Lynn was asleep behind the closed bedroom door while the guys watched a game, sitting on the sagging love seat. Following their daily routine Reese was sprawled beside him, his muscular bulk crowding the love seat, one thick arm slung over the backrest, the other resting on his thigh. Like Jamie he was beat, his broad chest heaving under a damp tank top that hugged every ridge of muscle. His dark brown hair, buzzed short, glistened with sweat under a faded baseball cap, tilted back now as he exhaled. His cargo pants, dusty from hauling rebar, strained against his thick thighs, and his steel-toe boots were kicked off, leaving his feet bare, the faint scent of leather mixing with his studly aroma—sawdust, sweat, and raw masculinity. It filled the air, wrapping around Jamie like a warm, heady fog, inescapable in the tight quarters. The TV flickered with a baseball game, the announcer’s drone a soft hum under the fan’s rattle, the glow casting shadows over Reese’s scarred forearms, where a cheap skull tattoo peeked from his sleeve.

Jamie shifted, his bare foot brushing the rug Jamie’d vacuumed himself, a small pride swelling in his chest. The site had been brutally hot today—Reese lugging cement bags while Jamie darted around, fetching tools and squeezing into a cramped roof space to secure a beam. Jamie knew his limits; his wiry frame couldn’t match Reese’s power, but he made up for it with speed and hustle.

Now, sitting on the love seat, that gratitude thrummed. Reese stretched, his tank top riding up to reveal a sliver of chiseled abs, sweat beading along the line. Jamie’s eyes flicked to it, then away, his heart giving a quick thud. Reese’s body was unreal—broad pecs, thick arms, a physique carved from years of labor, the kind Jamie, small and lean, knew he’d never have.

Jamie’s mind drifted to the day they’d moved in, the day he had gotten a real look at Reese. He was shirtless as he hauled Tara Lynn’s boxes, his muscles flexing under the midday sun. Jamie, lugging a duffel, had frozen, awestruck, when Reese clapped his shoulder, grinning: “You’ll pitch in around the house, right, kid? With all that time, maybe fix this place up?” That promise had sparked something—gratitude, yes, but also a pull toward Reese’s sheer size, a body that seemed to fill every space it entered. Now, pressed close on the love seat, that pull hummed, Jamie’s wiry frame feeling smaller, but oddly safe, next to Reese’s bulk.