Without waiting for Cantrell’s reply, he set the grocery bag on the floor and turned on his heel. At the top of the stairs he heard a door slam shut, then open, and Cantrell call out.
“Wait. Please?”
Leo closed his eyes. He really should walk away and leave that mouthy little fucker alone. “What is it?”
“Th-that was nice of you. You didn’t have to do it.”
“I know.” Leo crossed his arms and waited.
“Thank you. And…” Cantrell bit his lip. “I’m sorry. I-I guess I shouldn’t have tried to fix the problem myself. You’re right.”
The guy was pretty damn cute.
Oh hell no. Don’t even go there.
Leo nodded. “Okay. Like I said, next time you have an issue with something in the building, come to me. I’ll take care of it. That’s what I’m here for.”
“I will. And thanks for getting my groceries.” Cheeks pink, Cantrell ducked his head, and Leo had to harden his heart against the unaccustomed and unexpected prickle of pleasure. The guy was too nice. And sweet.
Too damn nice and sweet for you.
“It was nothing. Now that I’ve wasted enough time, I’ll see you.”
“But wait. I owe you money. Let me get my wallet—”
“No. I already said it’s not a big deal. I have to go.”
Cantrell’s protests faded as Leo hustled down the steps and into his apartment, where he paced until he worked off the strange burst of excitement running through him. He enjoyed sparring with the man too much, and that spark of defiance, in an otherwise mild-mannered demeanor, intrigued him. Leo wanted to stay and talk to Cantrell more, find out what made him so fearful one moment, then catch fire the next. So instead he made tracks, putting as much distance between them as he could.
Body buzzing with electricity, Leo ran behind the apartment building, and after jamming the helmet on his head, swung himself onto his motorcycle. He started the engine, coasted out, and took off for the one place where he could breathe easily and be himself without judgment.
Hot wind hit his face as he took the turn from Ocean Parkway down 18th Avenue, weaving past the delivery trucks and double-parked cars. The sidewalks were filled with people shopping at the fruit stands and small shops selling everything from handmade men’s hats and cheap women’s clothing to take-out Chinese food and imported Italian cheese. Anything you wanted could most likely be found somewhere in one of these stores.
He had to make sure to watch out for the kids darting out into traffic. Every year it seemed to get busier and busier, with more people leaving the city and choosing to live in Brooklyn. Leo might be happy for the quick turnaround in renting out his apartments, but he missed the quieter, less congested streets.
It was only a ten-minute ride to the garage-slash-repair-shop his buddy Peter owned, and Leo knew a couple of hours of shooting the shit or working a few rounds in the makeshift boxing ring Peter had in the yard behind the garage would get rid of the odd tension running through him.
“Leo, dude, what’s up?” Peter pushed the safety goggles onto the top of his head. “Bike okay? You ain’t crashed her, have ya?” He snickered, and Leo rolled his eyes.
“Fuck off.” He dismounted and hugged Peter. “I just had a tenant mouth off at me and almost black out my building. I needed to get out of there before I lost it on him.”
True, but his definition of “lost it” and Peter’s were probably different.
“Daaaamn. No shit.” Peter wiped his hands on a rag and tossed it. “C’mon and take a load off. Wanna drink?”
“Yeah. Water would be good. It’s disgusting out there.” Gingerly, he lowered himself into one of the rickety chairs in Peter’s office.
“Heads up.” Grinning over the refrigerator door, Peter tossed him a bottle of water and took an energy drink for himself.
“Ugh, I can’t understand how you drink that shit. It tastes disgusting.”
“Spoken by the gay guy who sucks cock and swallows.” Peter’s smile flashed white through the tangle of his dark beard. Big and burly, Peter made an imposing, fearsome impression, but if he let you in, you got to see past the bushy beard, tattoos, and thick muscles to an incredibly kind and devoted family man. His wife, Marla, and their two little boys, PJ—Peter Jr.—and Evan, were his world. Peter Korakis was the living embodiment of a teddy bear.
“Do you kiss your wife with that mouth?” Leo shot back and smirked.
“Every chance I get.” Peter rolled the thin silver-and-blue can around in his large, work-roughened hands. “What’s the real reason you showed up here? You don’t usually leave the building during the day.”
Dammit. Peter was too good a friend. He sliced right through Leo’s bullshit.
“I saw my mother yesterday, and it didn’t go well. As usual. Then today when this guy blew the electricity in my place—”
“You blew up on him?” Peter stopped teasing, his gentle voice edged with concern. “Like for real?”
“Nothing physical,” Leo snapped, shifting away from Peter’s probing gaze. “You know I don’t do that shit. He just annoyed the hell out of me, and I told him off.”
Get physical with Morgan Cantrell? Yeah. He’d like to get physical with the man and feel that smartass, back-talking mouth on his. Leo bet he tasted soft. Soft and sweet. He smelled good too, when they’d gone nose-to-nose in the basement, like vanilla and something spicy. He’d like to tangle those silky curls in his fingers as he bent him over.…Leo blinked and gulped more water.
“Uh-huh. You don’t get all red in the face neither whenever you’ve gotten pissed off at someone. Which is usually all the time. So, what? You got a hard-on for the guy?”
Leo choked and wheezed. “What the fuck?” He wiped his mouth, angry that Peter saw right through him, and used the time to gather his jumbled thoughts. He focused on the dirty linoleum floor and Peter’s big, black Doc Martens. A hollow laugh pushed from his lips. “Hard-on? You’re nuts.”
“Why? You ain’t been with a guy in forever. Not since Diego.”
“Diego wanted a relationship, and he wasn’t getting it from me, so he went elsewhere.”
It wasn’t Diego’s fault. He’d wanted more than easy hookups, had said so from the start, and after eight months of waiting for Leo to change, had finally given up. Leo couldn’t give the man what he wanted, so he couldn’t blame him for getting it somewhere else. The last time he’d seen Diego was the last time he’d allowed himself to care.
He just hadn’t cared enough.
“You know, having a boyfriend could help you with whatever’s going on inside that thick head of yours. I’m not pushing, but lately you don’t seem like you’re in a good place.”
They’d had this conversation over the years, increasing in frequency since Peter married Marla and had the boys. It rankled that he kept pushing when Leo had made it obvious he wasn’t about spilling his life story.
“I’m here, which is supposed to be a good place, and yet you’re acting like fuckin’ Dear Abby with the relationship psychobabble. What’s next, my mommy issues? Trust me, bro, I know the score.”