September 2026 Drake - Part 8

Drake - Part 8 

Prompt: They spread a blanket on the hill to watch the Perseid meteor shower. One of them made a wish. The other caught them making it.

“Can we head out to our place tonight? To watch the Perseid meteor shower?”

Grant’s question caught me off-guard. The couple of times we’d gone since July 4th had been on my suggestion. Heading off to the mountains, though, would never be a destination I’d turn down. That he’d started to think of the clearing as our place struck a deep chord within me. We hadn’t said the words, but it was there in everything we did together, from our quick coffee dates to dinner out to hanging with my brothers, to spending time in my bed or his. I was head over heels. So why hadn’t I told him? Why hadn’t he said anything? What the fuck was holding either of us back?

When I replied yes to the impromptu trip, I made a second silent decision as well. I’d tell him today, up on our mountain, in our spot, on a blanket under the stars.

We left after he was done with work, him riding pillion behind me again, his arms around me, one hand on my cock as he pressed his chest to my back. Fuck, I was so gone for this guy. We didn’t talk much on the drive, which made me a little nervous. From the moment I picked him up outside his condo, I got the feeling he had something on his mind. I wondered for a hot minute whether we were on the same page, but there hadn’t been anything to indicate he wanted to call it quits.

Sure, he’d been working a lot more lately, so we hadn’t spent as much time together as I would have liked. His job was important, as was mine, and sometimes life just got in the way of relationships. I was determined, though, for us not to be a casualty of such a demise. If there was work to be done to save us, I’d put in twice as much. I doubted I could do much to help him with his job, but asked anyway.

“I got muscles, you know.” I flexed playfully on a straightaway. “If you need help staging houses or putting up signs…”

Grant chuckled and, with his arms around me, squeezed me tighter. “I’ve got minions whom I pay very well to do those things for me. Thank you for your concern, but there’s not much you could do to help me with this deal. The buyer is being a jackass about the financing. It’s not even a house.” His sigh sounded very heavy through the speaker.

“Commercial property?” I mentally scratched my head, trying to remember if I’d seen signs for commercial property anywhere in Brawley, outside of our downtown main street. “Wait, is this the same guy you said was giving you the creeps? I thought you said you washed your hands of him.” Fuck, I tried to keep the possessive growl out of my voice, but doubted my success when he hugged me again.

“I did, but he came back. He apologized, and everything was good for the first month or so. It’s a huge sale. I don’t want to lose the commission, but he’s insisting on paying in cash, and nobody in the business world does that. You want financing, so you can offset it yearly on your taxes. Paying cash… that’s just sending up all sorts of red flags. I sent out a few inquiries, but haven’t gotten anything back yet.”

The way Grant was talking about this dude was giving me all sorts of red flags, too. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything I could personally do, but thankfully, there were people I knew who could. I briefly slipped my left hand off the handle and rubbed Grant’s thigh. “You should talk to Alden.”

“Your Prez? Why?”

“He knows people.”

Grant didn’t say anything for a few minutes, and I didn’t rush him. Dealing with Alden usually meant owing him a favor. Now, would I absolutely take on whatever that favor might be at a later date…? One hundred percent, if I could. Prez knew people; he knew the kinds of thoughts they had, the kind of people they were. I doubted he’d ask Grant to do anything nefarious, but Grant had to make that decision.

“Yeah, alright,” he finally said, so quietly I almost didn’t hear him.

“Good. If he can, he’ll help.” I pulled into the empty parking lot and into a spot. Once I cut the engine, Grant dismounted, but I didn’t let him get far. I snagged the back of his jacket and tugged him to stand where I could see him. Seeing his lopsided smile when he popped off his helmet made me happy. Fuck-a-duck, I loved seeing that wicked grin. I wanted to keep him happy all the damn time just so I could.

“Stay,” I ordered, releasing him so I could take off my helmet. I shoved a gloved hand through my hair, then ‌tipped my chin up. “Kiss me.”

God, could his smile get any more mischievous? And that glint in his eyes… Fucking yum. I pursed my lips as he leaned down, his hands landing on my shoulders to keep his balance. The first touch of our mouths was entirely too chaste, but Grant softened and deepened the kiss as I snuck my hands beneath the hem of his jacket, latching onto his hips and holding him in place.

I hummed when we finally parted, blinking open my eyes in the dimming light of sunset to take him in. Mine rumbled unhelpfully through my mind, primeval in my want of this gorgeous man. He quirked his eyebrows at me and darted in to place another quick kiss on my lips before he backpedaled away, giving me room to dismount.

Grant slung the backpack off his shoulders and dug inside, pulling out a couple of small flashlights. “I’ve got some of those thin emergency blankets in here, too. And some snacks.”

“What about a tent?” I asked, unlatching my saddlebag.

“No. Why? I wasn’t planning on sleeping out here.”

“We could, if you want. I have a little setup that’ll fit us both.”

Grant pouted. “I wish I’d thought of that. I’d have had you bring it.”

Giving him the biggest, cheesiest smile I could, I said, “I did.”

“I knew I liked you.”

I laughed as I bagged up the two-person camping tent and lightweight bedrolls. I tucked in my own small flashlight along with some trail mix, water bottles, and a travel-size bottle of mouthwash.

“Smart. We’ll appreciate that in the morning.”

“Yup.” I zipped up my backpack and slipped it on as Grant did the same. “Come on, we’re burning daylight.”

Grant snickered as we made our way to the trailhead. “You and your dad-isms.”

“When patients are stressed, they help.”

“No doubt.” Grant slipped his hand into mine. He continued making idle chit-chat as we hiked to our spot, slipping between the trees and shrubs until we cleared the forest’s edge and stood alone on the out-cropping with nothing by darkening skies, the moon, and the first hint of stars.

As I pitched the tent and unrolled the bedding, stacking them for the cushioning of layers, and adding one of his shiny, crinkly blankets on top, Grant asked with a hopeful lilt, “Any chance you brought those ground chairs?”

“Of course. In my bag.” They were one of the best purchases I ever made. A combination cushion and backrest for comfort while sitting on the ground. Had a handy water bottle pouch, too.

“Excellent.” Grant set out the second blanket and chairs and gathered up our snacks. “Had I known we’d be staying, I would have suggested bringing some beer.”

I shook my head as I knelt beside where he reclined on the blanket. “I don’t need it. You make my thoughts too crazy as it is.” I waved my hands around in a weird mimicry.

Grant grabbed one of my hands and held it in both of his. “I feel the same way.”

This was it. This was the moment I’d been waiting for.

“I love you,” he whispered.

I gaped, shocked speechless. He’d beaten me to it, but I couldn’t be mad. Slowly, regaining my senses, my lips curved into a smile without any thought from me.

“Drake?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Did you hear me? I said, I love you.”

“Yeah…” My grin grew. “I heard you.”

Grant’s expression sobered. “You’re scaring me.”

“I am?” Oh, fuck, that was the last thing I wanted to do. How in the world was I scaring him… Oh, God. I slapped my free hand over my eyes. “I’m such a dork. Don’t be scared. Please. You just surprised me.”

“Really? I thought you knew.”

“Well…” I shrugged sheepishly. “I suspected.”

“So…”

“So…?” JFC, I was an idiot. I shook out of his grip and then took both his hands in mine and squeezed them. “Grant, I love you. The whole ride here I’d been planning when and how to tell you. You beat me to the punch.”

“Well, I suspected, too.” Grant leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to my lips. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like us to be dorks together.”

“Hell, yeah,” I whispered back. “I’d like that. A lot.”

“Me, too.” Grant glanced around. “I think it’s dark enough that we’ll be able to see the meteor shower. Let’s sit and talk. Let’s plan while we watch the moon cross the sky and make wishes on every shooting star we see.”

Fucking A, I loved it when he got all poetic. We sat side by side, my hand on his thigh, his hand on mine, and tilted our heads back. It wasn’t long before we both saw the first bolt of light crisscross the clear night sky, gasping at the awe-inspiring sight. When I turned to Grant, I saw he had his eyes closed; his lips moved as he whispered his wish into the universe. I supposed I could have made a wish as well, but why bother… My wish had already come true.

Also... Quick reminder that Drake is currently on a special preorder price of 99 cents. https://mybook.to/DrakeVengefulKingsMC

August 2026 Drake - Part 7

 DRAKE - Part 7

Prompt: July 4th activities (Hiking and Picnicking)

It felt strange having the day off, but when one of my coworkers asked if they could work my shift for the holiday pay, I was more than happy to give it up. Now I had the day free and a boyfriend who wanted to spend the day with me. Win-win.

I packed my saddlebags and drove across the complex to Grant’s apartment and ogled him as I slowed to a stop in front of him. The mid-morning sun was shining behind him; the light a halo around his head and shoulders. He wore khaki slacks with a tight black tee that showed off his trim figure, and he held a classic leather vest. His broad grin and small bounce of enthusiasm as I handed him a helmet made me smile.

Grant slipped on the jacket, then grabbed the helmet and put it on. “Are these new helmets?”

“Yeah,” I replied softly, knowing he’d hear me through the new Bluetooth system.

“Hell, yeah.” Grant slapped my shoulder, then slid onto the bike behind me and made himself comfortable. Of course, him snuggling up against my back woke my dick, and I made a few adjustments of my own. “These are amazing. I love that we can talk on the trip, and I won’t have to yell so you can hear me.”

“That’s the plan.” I patted and rubbed his leg. “You ready to ride?”

“Yes! Let’s go.” Grant held onto my waist as I pulled away from the curb and drove out of the apartment complex.

The day was picture-perfect: warm, sunny, and not a cloud in sight. Even though we could easily communicate, we still rode in silence for the first quarter hour or so, just enjoying the scenery of a town on holiday. There were hundreds of American flags blowing in the breeze, and plenty of homes were decorated in a wealth of red, white, and blue.

As we neared town, we chatted amicably about the antique and classic cars we’d passed, and how everyone seemed in good spirits. It was a day to put aside politics and come together to celebrate our great nation. Realistically, I knew that was a hard sell, but with a pretty man riding pillion and holding on tight, I was pushing those kinds of thoughts to the very back of my mind.

I turned off the main road and headed for the mountains. There was a trail I wanted to take Grant hiking on that ended in a clearing with a breathtaking view. The plan was a picnic and, hopefully, maybe, sneaking in a little playtime if my beau was willing. Some guys balked at outdoor sex, but I loved the rush of it.

There were a few cars parked in the lot, but I wasn’t worried. The place I’d found was off the beaten track, and in all the times I’d come here, I’d never been bothered.

“This is nice,” Grant said, after removing his helmet and peering around the gravel lot, taking in the neatly fenced picnic areas and visitor information tucked under a wooden overhang.

“My favorite place. When I need to get away and just…”

“Unplug from the world?” Grant’s gaze softened. He stepped close enough to put a hand on my arm and gently squeeze.

I shrugged. “Yeah. Some days Denver can be a downright bitch. All it takes is one massive fender bender or apartment fire to throw the whole day into chaos. I’m good under pressure, but afterwards I need to unwind. This place is where I usually end up.”

“Just here?” Grant glanced around again. “Or…?”

“Definitely ‘or,’” I answered with a broad smile. I unlatched the saddle bags and pulled out the cold bags I’d packed inside along with a flattened backpack. “Just give me a sec to get this situated. You can check out the map if you want. Use the… Biffy.”

Grant laughed. “That right there. Such an outsider. You have to have more confidence.”

I rolled my eyes. “Just go use the damn Porta-John, then I’ll go, and then we can get with the hiking and picnicking.”

Grant snapped off a well-intentioned salute and marched toward the portable toilets. I snickered and shook my head before packing the cold bags into the backpack and slinging it on. I darted into an open stall and used the urinal. We exited at the same time, rubbing on hand sanitizer and grinning.

“Ready?” I held out a hand, and Grant took hold.

“Ready. I’m excited for this. It’s been a long time since I went hiking,” he said as we started on the upward path.

I was, too, for other reasons. “Gyms are okay, but I’ve always loved being outside. I was one of those kids who—during the summer—never went home until the sun was on its way down. My brother and I were always coming up with weird games and getting our friends to play them.”

“What kind of games?”

I thought for a moment, remembering back to those Jersey summers. My parents always complained about the weather, but my siblings and I ‌didn’t care. Talk about freedom. Those were the days of carefree living. “We lived in this community that had a pool, tennis and basketball courts; a small baseball field. Kind of like the one we live in, but with mostly single-family homes. Everybody lived on a postage stamp lot. The roads were kinda dangerous because we all lived on top of each other and everybody parked on the street, so we went to the pocket playground, or the pool, or the courts.”

“I know the kind of place you mean. There are a few over in Erie that I’ve sold, but I don’t really like selling those. I raised my fee on them, so most people don’t book me anymore.”

“Why don’t you like selling them?” I peered over at Grant curiously. “They’re great places for families. Ah!”

“Sorry, I’m not one for kids. Full disclosure,” Grant lowered his head and his voice, “I don’t want any. If that’s going to be a problem, then maybe—”

“Hold up.” I pulled him to a stop. “Personally, I don’t know where I stand on future kids, and I’m not ready to make that call. But I hear what you’re saying, and all I can tell you is right now they aren’t in the cards. I mean, look at me. I’m a biker in a motorcycle club. Besides, I don’t even have a husband yet.”

The way I’d ended with a teasing lilt and sly wink brought a smile back to Grant’s face. I cupped his jaw. “There’s one other thing I want to say to you. This is something I learned, and it’s worth repeating: never say never. Our lives can change so fast. If we were together and my sister had a kid and, God forbid, died and left me with custody, I would love my niece or nephew so hard. Would you leave me just because of them?”

Grant pressed his cheek into my palm. “I get it, and…” He took a deep breath in through his nose and blew it out. “You’re right. I can only say how I feel now. Who knows what the future holds?”

“Exactly.” I leaned in and kissed him until wolf-whistles broke us apart.

July 2026 Drake - Part 6

DRAKE: Part 6 

Prompt: Two strangers keep crossing paths at every Pride Month event in the city — finally, one of them decides to say something. Grant: I'll be there, but… I held my breath. But what? Those three little blinking dots taunted me. It could be seconds, minutes, even hours sometimes before I'd get an answer if Grant got pulled away. Grant: The office is a sponsor, so I have to be at our booth. With my coworkers. I chuckled at the grimacing emoji with its little tongue sticking out. Aren't you the boss? Delegate! Grant: Face of the business, baby. I've got to be there. A thrill of excitement went through me as I read the endearment. Baby. I'd never been anybody's baby except Mom's. Grant hadn't meant it the way he'd written it, though. Still, I could hear the inflection in the statement, and wished. I'd been falling for Grant since the day we met in the return line. I understood why we were taking it slow, or at least I thought it had to do with the fact that we were both coming off relationships. Mine had been short-lived anyway, with a doctor who wanted to date the big bad biker. Too bad I hadn't been willing to “clean up” enough for Dr. McHottie, or whatever the ladies at work were calling him nowadays. God, how did I keep picking the wrong guys? Grant was different, though. He knew the club, knew my brothers, knew motorcycles even. He didn’t look at me with only one thought in mind: banging the biker. I drummed on my lips, covering the smile that had formed there. Seriously, I could get behind—or in front of—banging the realtor. I didn’t really have a preference, though Grant gave off top vibes. Damn, we still didn’t really know each other, and that had to change. It was Pride. A time to take chances. Time to grab the man I wanted and take him to bed. Mine? Grant’s? A hotel…? Eh, maybe not a hotel. Definitely not at the club. Grant was too classy for that. For Grant, I might even try to clean up my act, something I’d never bothered to do for anyone else. Grant: So you’re going? I think so. Some of my brothers and their partners will be there. I was invited along. Grant: Excellent. I won’t have to stay at my table the whole time, just the first couple of hours. If you’re there, we can walk the festival afterwards. Sound good? Yeah. See you later. Grant sent back a thumbs-up emoji, and that was that. We had another meet-up. A pseudo-date, but I’d take it. *** The Brawly PD had set aside a row near the front for us to park. It let the officers and the townspeople check out our bikes, but it was cool since they’d keep an eye on our rides. Indians weren’t that common, and people liked to look; I didn’t mind as long as they didn’t touch. I locked my bike down and joined my club brothers and their partners. “Is there a plan?” I asked, running my fingers through my hair, fluffing it up after having it smushed under my helmet. “Nah,” Sunshine said, taking the hands of Orion and Marcus. “I think Bark and Brews has a table and Master Axe has an axe-throwing setup, so make sure you stop by those. Otherwise, enjoy yourself. Happy Pride.” He dragged his two partners off, leaving the rest of them staring after him. “It’s good to see him out and about,” Quinn said, tucking his hands into his back pockets. He peered around, his gaze catching on the sleek Corvettes with their hoods propped open. “I’m gonna go check out those sweet rides. See if I can find someone to ride later…” He winked at Drake before wandering off, not even noticing how the ladies he passed paused and looked back to watch him go. That left me with Ryan, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, especially when he turned slowly to me, shoved his fingers in his back pockets, and drawled, “So…” “So…?” I mimicked his posture, then assumed I looked stupid and crossed my arms instead. “What?” “So… is your boy here?” This time, I stared at him. “Boy? You know he’s older than me.” “So you’re not the dominant partner in your relationship?” “Oh, my God.” I slapped my hands to my face and dragged them down as I groaned. “Look, Ryan. I love you, but you need to stop talking now.” “Why?” Our club VP looked perplexed. Did he really not get how inappropriate his question was? Not everyone was kinky. Not everyone was a strict top or bottom. Not everybody had been having sex for Christ's sake. “Doc, man, look. I’m busting your balls. You don’t have to tell me anything except if he’s done something bad to you. Then you know your brothers will have your back.” Ryan punched his palm, adding emphasis. “I know that. And I’ve got yours, but Grant and I… It’s not like that.” Ryan clapped my shoulder and gave me a shove toward the fairgrounds, away from our bikes and the crowd they were already drawing. We walked shoulder to shoulder for a minute in silence, both of us peering around at the tables, booths, and concessions lining the entrance before he leaned closer, jerking his chin to the right. “There.” I turned, immediately seeing the realty sign, the sky-blue tablecloth, and the man I’d been lusting after for the last six months. Grant was engaged in conversation with a young gay couple—or so I assumed, though I knew I shouldn’t. One man, the larger of the two, wore an empty baby carrier on his back, while the shorter partner had the baby in his arms. As Ryan herded me toward Grant and his tent, the baby popped up, peeking over the caregiver’s shoulder, and gave me a toothless grin with that full-body wiggle babies like to do, forcing her caregiver to grab hold. “Dehlia, what are you doing, sweet thing?” the one holding her gently scolded, all coo and concern. With her gaze riveted on me, he glanced over his shoulder. Spotting me, his eyes widened. Instead of saying anything, I avoided contact with the guy and just smiled sweetly, wiggling my fingers at the tiny girl, who bounced with happiness. I caught Grant’s eye and winked, but took a right turn and kept on walking, not wanting to bother him while he was talking shop. He tried to wave me over, and Ryan bumped me to go, but I shook my head and continued on. “You’re not going over?” Ryan asked. “Nah. He’s busy. I’ll catch up with him later.” After another minute of Ryan side-eyeing me and his frown growing deeper, I sighed. “Are you seriously so desperate to get laid that you need to live vicariously through me?” “Ha!” Ryan slapped my back, throwing me off balance. “Dude. No, man, I’m just surprised. I thought—” I held up a hand to cut him off. “Stop right there.” Pausing our stroll, I turned to face him. “I really like him, so I don’t want to fuck this up. I tried a couple of times to…” My cheeks heated with embarrassment because who the fuck gets hung up on a guy and forgoes sex for half a year? Ryan’s gaze softened. He really was a good guy underneath that bad-ass exterior. “To what?” A sharp whistle drew our attention. I twisted to see Grant walking past with another of his co-workers, both of them in matching sky-blue polos. He winked at me, cocky grin and all, and then kept on going, heading toward the food trucks. Ryan chuckled and rubbed his hands together almost menacingly. “Me thinks there’re games afoot.”

June 2026 - Drake Part 5

 Drake - Part 5

Photo by Aida Sam on Unsplash

Date Prompt: First dates should be things like paintball, axe throwing, or the gun range to determine the danger level you’re in when you fuck up and piss him off.

Grant and I continued to meet for random—and not so random—cups of coffee, meals, and dessert throughout the rest of April. May’s weather was better for riding, but storms liked to pop up, so I made sure I tucked my poncho and a spare into my saddlebags. And an umbrella. And every time it rained, I thought of him crossing the street.

Our discussions revolved around family, friends, and work, while steering clear of my time in the service and most things regarding the club. I noticed Grant also stayed mum on his commercial dealings. I’d casually asked once about his cancelled dinner, the one I capitalized on with our chance meeting in the rain. Grant had been quick to shut down the conversation, so I figured either it had gone nowhere and he was mad, or it was super-secret hush-hush. I knew about those kinds of things as well.

The Vengeful Kings rode out twice in May on Veteran Rides, but I could only make one of them with my work schedule. There’d been some club meetings about standard business, dues, and potential new members, and a few more about the “other” kind. I tried to stay out of those, but sometimes my presence was required.

After one such stressful “required” ride on club business, I needed to decompress. Being in the clubhouse, around my brothers, wasn't relaxing—most of them thought drinking away their problems solved everything. I needed something else… or someone else.

Sitting on the always surprisingly comfortable couch at the clubhouse, I flipped my phone from hand to hand and debated texting Grant. It had been a couple of days since I'd last seen him, a fleeting cup of coffee in between appointments for him. I suspected he'd be busy. Spring, he’d said, was a special kind of hell for realtors.

Still, he was the person I wanted to hang with more than anyone at that moment, so I gave in and sent him a quick text.

Hey.

I tried to think of something witty to add, but came up with less than nothing. Thankfully, Grant saved me from myself.

Grant: Hey, yourself. Day off? You bored?

He'd added a cute little eye-roll emoji that made me smile.

Yes and yes. You free?

Grant: Open house, but done in an hour. Come keep me company? I have free coffee!

Now that sounded like a solid plan to get me outta here.

Sure, send me the addy.

I was up and moving, and my phone binged with the address before I even hit send.

“Who lit a fire under your ass, Doc?” Alden drawled as I passed him. He swiveled on his barstool, his eyes holding me in place.

“Booty call?” Ryan asked loudly, earning a raucous round of laughter.

“Our sweet Doc?” Silver parried. “Doubt it.”

I paused at the door, looked back at Silver, and then panned the room, halfway between humored and annoyed with my brothers. Did they think I was celibate or something? What right did they have to ask, anyway? “And if I was, what business is it of yours?”

Silver held up his hands. “Well then, good for you. No disrespect intended.”

I glared around the room and huffed. “Anyone else wanna stick their nose into my business?”

Alden slammed his hand on the bar top. “Drake! My office. Now.” He stood and crossed the room. Ryan, our VP, followed him.

My brothers snickered as I passed through the room, but nobody moved to back me up. Fuckers. Why was I here again? Oh yeah, I didn’t have a home to go back to since my folks sold the house while I was overseas and put all my shit into storage while they motor-homed their way from sea to shining sea.

I paused halfway down the hall, out of sight of ‌Alden, Ryan, and the rest of my club brothers, and took a deep breath. My hands shook, and everything felt tight. I tried to shake off the jitters and rolled my head around to loosen my neck muscles, but it wasn’t working.

“Come on, kid,” Ryan called from the doorway. “You know Prez is more bark than bite.”

Reluctantly, I shuffled through the door, my feet—and Prez’s sharp gaze—locking me down only a few steps inside.

“Sit,” Alden ordered, leaning back in his office chair and kicking his feet up onto the edge of his desk. He peered at me while I sat, unable to make eye contact. Instead, I keep my focus on his chin, like I used to in the service.

After a minute of silence, he snorted. “Chill, kid. I ain’t gonna kill you for back-talking your elders.” I lifted my gaze and took in his wry grin, and finally let myself relax. He was amused at my expense, not that I could do anything about it. “Good,” he drawled, then dropped his feet to the floor and rested his forearms on his desk, his jaw hardening and expression stern.

“Are you happy here, Doc? With your job, your place, the club? Cause if not—”

“No!” I barely kept myself from shouting as I gripped the edge of the desk and lifted a few inches off the chair. Ryan gripped my shoulder, holding me in place. “No. I’m… fine.” I fell back onto the seat, glanced away, then returned my gaze to him with regret, which I’m sure was showing on my face. “You know I don’t like the club’s side business, but I’m not going to stop you or turn you in. I’m just nervous.” I pushed my fingers into my hair and cursed. “Fuck, Prez, I made it back—alive. I wanna keep it that way, and keep you all alive, too. Am I making sense here?”

Alden grinned. “You are, and I’m thankful. Grateful, even. It’s good to have someone with your training to take care of us, but I hear what you’re saying. I see how stressed you get on those rides, but you need to understand that those I ask you to come on are because I need you there. They’re the dicey ones that might go sideways, and you’ve got the training that might come in handy. That’s the reason you’re there, but also the reason why I always have you hang back while I make the exchange.”

“I know,” I said, nodding, “and I appreciate it, but it’s still stressful, and I’m not a drinker. I can’t drown out the adrenaline with a beer.”

“So you need a fuck then.”

I snorted and shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.”

“I was right,” Ryan crowed. “It is a booty call.”

I side-eyed our VP and shrugged again. “Maybe. It’s casual, and I like him, but we haven’t even kissed, so…”

“Grant, yeah?” Alden asked.

“Yeah.” I grinned. Couldn’t really stop myself whenever I thought of the sexy realtor. “How’d you know?”

“Couple of the guys have seen the two of you together. We thought maybe you were thinking of moving, but since you didn’t say you were… assumptions happened.”

Ryan cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but did you say you haven’t even kissed? That’s the worst kinda hook-up.”

“I agree,” I said, leaning back in the chair, “but we haven’t done that either.”

“Why not?” Ryan perched on the edge of Alden’s desk, peering down at me.

I shrugged. “Maybe because we haven’t even gone on a real date yet. We’ve had coffee, a couple of rushed lunches, and one ‘hey, we’re both here, so let’s eat together’ dinner.”

“But you’re going to meet him now… why can’t this be a date?”

What the actual fuck? This conversation was… surreal. Never in a million years did I think I’d be discussing my love life with my Prez and VP, even if Alden and some of my other brothers were in committed relationships now.

“He’s coming off a job, an open house. I’m going to keep him company, and then, I don’t know…”

“You need to take him on a date.” Ryan stabbed a finger into his thigh to make his point. “And since it’s a first date, you gotta do things like paintball, axe throwing, or the gun range to determine the danger level you’re in when you fuck up and piss him off.”

“And vice-versa,” Alden chipped in. “Take him to Master Axe. Food’s good there, and the beer selection is stellar. Plus, the manager will give you a discount if you’re wearing your cut.”

“Really? Why?” But then I held up my hand. “Don’t answer that.” As far as I knew, we didn’t have any deals with the place, but we were laundering money through some other businesses, and I really didn’t want to get involved in the knowing.

“Smart boy,” Alden grinned. “Go on, get outta here. Look dejected on the way out, so the guys think I was mean.”

I couldn’t help chuckling at that as I left, and schooled my features into an angry scowl as I stomped through the clubhouse like I had a storm cloud over my head. My bike roared to life and, with a plan forming in the back of my mind, I rode away.

May 2026: Drake - Part 4

Another day closer to summer... but first we have to get through the rainy spring days and the yellow-green haze of oak pollen. Bleech! This month's addition is about one of those cold, rainy nights of an unexpected storm.

DRAKE...

... several months have now passed since Drake and Grant first met.

Prompt: April Showers — A sudden downpour traps two strangers under the same café awning.

After parting ways with Grant, life went back to its normal, boring self. I worked a lot; I rode a lot; I drank a little. Some of my brothers were hard-core drinkers, but I’d never been. Even when I got out, I couldn’t get lost in the bottom of a bottle. Alcohol let the depression in along with the anger, and since I liked my job, getting arrested for doing dumb shit while intoxicated wasn’t high on my list.

Grant had my number, and I had his, but I’d left the ball in his court. Maybe that was a mistake on my part, but work was keeping me on my toes. Any time I wasn’t working, the club took its share. Winter’s chill and a couple of hard snowfalls meant club business was slow, which I preferred, mostly for my brothers’ safety. I’d never say anything to Riggs or Ryan—our Prez and VP respectfully—but their “side business” fucking scared me. Running guns was not for the faint of heart, and I for damn sure liked mine right where it was.

Occasionally, I rode through Indio and stopped at The Cozy Cup for coffee and my usual bear claw and think about Grant, but I never saw him again until one mid-April afternoon. The day started with sunny skies, but by the time I was heading home from work, angry dark-gray clouds had blown in on a stiff breeze, and it was fixing to snow or rain something fierce. I was betting on rain with the warmer temperatures, but I’d already learned that thinking I could predict Colorado weather was a losing endeavor.

True to form, the skies opened in a torrential downpour when I was still about ten minutes out from home. I could ride in the rain, but storms like this affected everyone’s vision, and I didn’t want to be a statistic because I’d foolishly thought I knew best. I pulled to the side of the road and, spotting a large awning spanning a cafe that had sidewalk dining in the summer but was currently bare of its usual tables and chairs.

I walked my bike beneath its cover, popped my visor, and was brushing the rain off my jacket when I heard my name.

“Drake?”

Grant had a steel grip on his umbrella, a large black one that looked like it wanted to take him for a ride, as he hustled across the street and joined me under the striped awning. His smile was broad and bright, and my own came out to play.

“Fancy meeting you here?” I teased as I removed my helmet and propped it on the seat of my bike. I opened my saddlebag, pulled out a towel, and began wiping my helmet, seat, and motorcycle dry.

Grant carefully closed his umbrella, locked it down with the velcro strap, and peered past me into the restaurant window before meeting my gaze. “Indeed. I was supposed to meet a prospective customer for an early dinner, but he canceled at the last minute.” He huffed as he glanced at the door, and I saw his jaw working, his shoulders slumping, his mouth dip into a frown. Saw the way he swallowed, then straightened his shoulders as if the failure of meeting this person didn’t matter, though I suspected it might have. I also saw the way the light from the neon sign behind me reflected in his eyes. “Would you… Would you like to join me instead?”

Feeling like Grant needed the win, and I was all about helping out a friend, especially if there was food attached, I readily agreed. “I’m in. You think my bike is okay here?”

He shrugged. “Let’s ask.” He waited for me to stow my towel and pocket my key. I gestured for him to go first and followed, but like the first time we met, I jumped ahead to open the door for him.

“Such a gentleman,” he murmured as he passed, so close his arm brushed my chest, and I could smell the faint scent of his cologne.

Grant smelled good. Like I wanted to stick my face in his neck and breathe him in good. My cock agreed, but I told it to behave. Whether my little head would listen was another story.

The hostess seated us by the window where we could look out and see my baby. My very expensive baby.

“Seems I have some competition.”

“Yup,” I chuckled, opening my menu, but not reading it yet. I peeked at him over the top edge. “You know anything about motorcycles?”

“Indian Chief Anniversary edition with seating for two. All-weather vinyl saddlebags, good for a couple of days' worth of clothes, a small laptop, or a six-pack of your favorite beverage, maybe a blanket to sit on. I like the matching red helmet and that you wear it. Some of your brothers ride without… I’m not a fan of that.” Grant’s moue of disapproval pinged my heart’s safety feature.

“Yeah, well, I think a couple of them have death-wishes, so there’s that.”

“Riggs is a smart guy, but why take chances? Couldn’t he order everyone to wear one?”

“Riggs knows when to pick his battles,” I said with one-hundred percent confidence. How? Because I’d already had that conversation with him after XXX took a spill, and I was one of the responding EMTs. Seeing your brother bleeding on the side of the road wasn’t something I ever wanted to see again. I probably would, though. It was just a matter of time.

I looked down at the menu, Grant’s displeasure landing like a rock on my chest. The subject needed to change… fast. “What’s good here? I’ve never been.”

“Really?” Grant laughed. “I find that hard to believe. Mario’s has been a staple in this town forever.”

Closing and tucking the menu under the lip of my bread plate, I said, “Order for me. No allergies. I like it all except calamari. Weirdlly, I like it pickled but not fried.”

“Pickled?” he gasped. “I’ve never… You know what? I don’t want to know.” Grant placed his menu on top of mine. “My favorites are the chicken Alfredo and the shrimp scampi over linguini.”

“Sounds good.” I leaned back in the chair and watched him fiddle with his silverware. He hadn’t been nervous the first time we’d met, but he was giving off some serious anxiety-ridden vibes now. I leaned forward. “What’s wrong?”

Grant shook his head, his denial nearly spilling out, but the server, dropping off bread, seasoned dipping oil, and ready to take our orders, interrupted. Instead, he reeled off the meal choices, and once the server left, he took a small roll and dismantled it with regimental precision.

“Grant?” I was going to ask again what was wrong, but what spilled out was, “How come you never called me? Or texted?”

“Me?” He gaped, then huffed. “What about you? You had my number.”

I chose a roll, broke off a piece, and popped it into my mouth, chewed and swallowed to give myself a moment. “True. I could have, but let’s take a sec to look at the situation. Suit and tie, club cut. Realtor, nurse. I’m not Mom’s first choice.”

He scoffed. “My mother’s my secretary. She loves me, supports me; accepts me for who I am and whomever I choose to love. But you’re right. I should have reached out, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

With his eyes locked on me, I nodded and apologized as well. “Me, too. I’m prone to bad cases of self-flagellation. My parents were great when I was a kid, but Mom wanted the straight-A student, and Dad wanted the sports enthusiast. It was a lot of push-and-pull and never quite living up to either of their aspirations, so eventually they both started ignoring me in favor of my younger siblings. My sister is currently getting her MBA, and my brother is playing ball in the minor leagues. I’m sure they all love me, but none of them understands my choices: life, love, or career.”

“They don’t respect that you enlisted and became a nurse?” Grant seemed horrified that anyone would dare.

I shrugged. “They are fine with the nurse part. Mom’s a veterinarian. It was not going to college and enlisting that— I don’t think scared is the right word, but maybe the fact that I didn’t follow through on what they wanted for me drove a wedge between us. We talk around the holidays, and I try to get to my brother’s games when he plays out this way. Not that either is close—Albuquerque or Salt Lake City—so I have to schedule a couple of days off from work to go.”

Grant bobbed his head. “Not a lot of baseball in Colorado. We have a couple of Pioneer teams, but pretty much it’s football, basketball, and hockey.”

“You a fan?” I asked, relaxing into my chair and nibbling on the roll when the server arrived with our drinks.

“Meh.” Grant wobbled his head. “I like going to the occasional game, and I know the big players, so I can make conversation with clients, but I’m no die-hard.”

“Yeah, same for me. My brothers set the channel to the games in the clubhouse, but only a couple really watch.”

We talked about teams we’d seen and stadiums we’d been to until our meals arrived, then it was a few minutes of exchanging food and digging in. The chicken melted on my tongue, and the scampi was damn perfect.

“Mmm. Grant, this is so good. Thanks again for the invite.”

“My pleasure,” Grant said with a smile. “Can we consider this our first date?”

“First…?” Yeah, there was no keeping the grin off my face. “I’d like that.”

 

April 2026 - Drake Part 3

 Picking up right where we left off...

* Grant *

Prompt: Choose a physical scar and tell the story of how you got it. [side note that I'd forgotten I'd made Grant clean-shaven in part 2 and gave him a short beard in this one.]

“You can tell, huh?” Sitting with my back to the artwork, let me keep an eye on him and the door both. Sometimes I needed to run.

“Reasonable deduction.”

“How so?” I lifted my cup and inhaled the steam and the wonderful aroma of good coffee. The guys tended to buy cheap, which is why I stayed far away from the clubhouse’s kitchen. My place was small, but it was mine.

“Your aura, and I know the Kings. I’ve done business with Riggs and a couple of your brothers. I run the local realty office.”

I leaned back in my chair. “You’re the guy he told me about. I found a place, so...”

Grant waved me off. “It’s fine, but do you like it? Because I can—”

“It’s good. Don’t hurt yourself trying to convince me otherwise.” I smiled to take the sting out of my words.

He laughed. “Right. Sorry. Force of habit…?” Grant shrugged, then turned his attention to dismantling his scone. Long fingers, manicured nails, and smooth skin drew my gaze as he broke the pastry into a couple of pieces and popped one into his mouth. His tongue darted out to catch a crumb before his lips tilted up slightly. There was a little space on his jaw where his short beard didn’t grow. Two scars…

“See something you like?”

His whisper barely reached my ears, and it took me a sec or so to process. My eyes shot open. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s flattering. Been a while since someone’s looked at me like that.”

“You’re lying.” Grant was beautiful. Mature. Put together. Not like me at all. He might have a few little scars on his face, but I had scars deep in my soul.

“Maybe.” He wobbled his head. “Or maybe I didn’t notice. I’m noticing you, though.”

Oh God. Flirting. Fuck. It’d been ages since I had to do the small talk, the suggestive innuendo. Most guys just came up to me asking for a good time. If I were able and willing, it would be an easy yes. I had moments of head-shaking, though. Headaches, irrational anger, anxiety, and the occasional flashback all contributed to my lack of relationships. Except for my brothers, nobody lasted more than a night. Ew… No, not like that. Get that thought right out of your head.

“You don’t believe me?” Grant rested an elbow on the table and knuckled his chin, staring hard.

Oops. I hadn’t realized I’d been shaking my head. “Sorry.”

“You say that a lot.”

“Say what a lot?” I narrowed my eyes. Was he upset? Did I do something wrong?

“Sorry. You apologize when it’s not necessary.” His arm slowly extended over the table, and he dragged his fingertips over the back of my hand.

I opened my mouth to say sorry again, but caught myself and slammed my lips together. There was a want or something itching me to pull my hand away, but I forced myself to remain still. Feeling brave, I flipped my hand over, caught his fingers, and met his gaze. “I almost apologized. Fuck, it’ll be hard to stop, but I’ll try. For you.”

“Do it for you, not me.” Grant left his hand curled with mine, using the other to take another bite.

I broke off a piece of my bear claw and chewed thoughtfully. “Okay. I’m… uh… noticing you, too.” Fuck, I could feel my cheeks warming. “How did you get that scar on your chin?”

Grant laughed lightly. “Bicycle. When I was ten, I wanted to be the next great Evel Knievel. Of course, I also thought his name was E-V-I-L, and he was the most villainous villain that ever lived. I rode that superhero card all the way to the hospital and got ten stitches for my dashed dreams.”

Sporting a smile for him, remembering my youthful imaginings, I figured he learned his lesson early on. Maybe if I had, I never woulda enlisted. “Only ten?” I teased, liking the way his eyes brightened and the way they kept me from getting sucked into one of my nightmares.

“You’re different from your brothers.”

“Younger? Prettier?” I fished.

“Yes, but also less… jaded.”

I leaned back in my chair, losing his grip as I snagged my cup and hid ineffectively behind it. I’d like the ‘yes’ but the rest, not so much. “Interesting word choice. I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

He shrugged. “You just seem a little more open than the others I’ve met. Maybe it’s your desire to heal over hurt.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong there. Some of my brothers had no problem causing hurt. I’d seen it, helped even, but Riggs knew I wouldn’t ever pull the trigger of the gun I had hidden under my cut unless my life or one of theirs was in trouble. That protection extended to their partners, and maybe now Grant. I liked him more than I probably should for someone I’d just met. Maybe it was because he knew about the club, met the guys, and wasn’t intimidated by any of it. Maybe it was because he was gorgeous, funny, insightful, caring, and those eyes of his were gonna be my kryptonite.

“Can we do this again?” I blurted.

He choked on his coffee. Quickly, he covered his mouth, swallowed, and then wiped away the few errant tears of his struggle. Seriously though, it was me who was embarrassed. Mortification, thy name is Drake.

I rounded the table and patted his upper back. “Sorry.”

The glare I got made my dick twitch. Oh, hello. Stern Daddy vibes for the win. I slunk back to my seat and shoved a big piece of bear claw into my mouth, hoping it would keep me from saying something else stupid. Grant pulled himself together, dabbed at his eyes and mouth, took a sip of his coffee, and then checked the time on his watch, one of those smart kinds that linked to his phone. Finally, he met my gaze.

“So… another time?” I hedged, biting my thumbnail, my heart pounding. Not the panic attack horrible kind, thank fuck, but in a good way. A hopeful way.

“Yes,” he whispered, “and get your fingers out of your mouth.” I yanked my hand away, my spine going ramrod straight, and he laughed. “You’re all kinds of adorable, do you know that?”

“Me?” I shook my head. “I’m a mess.”

Grant scoffed. “We’ll see.”

 March 2026

Drake
Serial Fiction: Part 2

The prompt: Urban Concrete: Find beauty in something "ugly" (a parking lot, a rusted fence, a puddle). I opted to go with a painting for this prompt.

My characters have names now. Yippee!! MC is short for motorcycle club.

Drake (Doc) - member of the Vengeful Kings MC, a military veterans group that also runs guns

Grant (local businessman) - realtor

Currently in Indio, a small touristy town about 15min outside of Brawley, Colorado, where Drake lives with his MC.

This piece picks up where we left off in January after exchanging presents.

***

“There’s a place a couple doors down,” I suggested, looping the soft scarf around his unprotected neck. It was unseasonably warm today, but a scarf in 45-degree weather was still warranted. I’d left mine in my bike’s bag because appearances mattered.

“The Cozy Cup? Sure.” He peered into the gift bag I handed him and then fingered the beige scarf. “These are really nice. Are you sure?”

I grinned. “Absolutely. Come on.” Itching to touch him, to palm his lower back as he stepped in front of me and escort him, I stuffed my hands into my pockets. When we reached the door, I jumped ahead to grab it for him.

His shy smile was worth the effort, as was his whispered “Thank you.” He led the way past a shop selling deco artwork alongside authentic Native American crafts. There were flyers in the window advertising the next Ute Tribe powwow over the July 4th holiday and something about handgame signups.

Again, I got to the door before him, and his blush turned his clean-shaven cheeks rosy. He stopped a few feet inside and just breathed. I chuckled. “Yeah, nothing beats the smell of a good cup of coffee.”

“And fresh-baked pastries.”

“Of course. Let’s order both. It’s on me.”

“I can pay.” He reached for his wallet.

“Nope. My treat.” I really liked how his blush deepened and had to thrust my hands into my pockets again to keep from touching him. Fuck, he was beautiful. Sandy blond hair cut short on the sides and styled on top. His eyes were a warm brown that reminded me of lightly stained oak, and there was a little scar on his forehead near his scalp.

He faced forward when the line advanced. Thankfully, this line was a lot faster than the return one we’d been stuck in. “I’ll have a vanilla latte, please, and a cinnamon chip scone.”

The barista punched in his order before asking for mine. “Large coffee with a splash of cream and a bear claw.” I tapped my card on the reader, waved off the receipt, and then stuffed a couple of singles into the tip jar.

When I stepped aside for the next person, he pointed to a free table. “There okay?”

“Sure.” I followed him and let him choose which seat he wanted as I slipped off my jacket and hung it on the back of the other chair, leaving me in my Vengeful Kings cut over a black waffle-knit Henley. His eyes widened, and his mouth formed into a tiny oh. “This a problem?”

He shook his head. “Just surprised me.”

“Okay.” I sat and extended my hand. “Name’s Drake.”

“Grant.” His hand was warm when it clasped mine. “Are you a doctor?” He pointed to my name on my cut.

“Ha. No, I’m a nurse’s aide and certified EMT, though. The guys call me Doc.”

“Makes sense.”

Hearing our order called, I gestured for Grant to stay and got up. His coffee smelled good, but I could never justify spending money on frothed milk. Placing his cup down, I noticed his attention wasn’t on me but on a large painting hanging across the room.

“What an odd picture,” he commented. “It’s ugly, but also poetic.”

I’d seen the painting-slash-sculpture before. Ugly was one word for it. Downright-fucking-scary was another. It was a juxtaposition of paint, wood, cement, and nails, and reminded me way too much of my time in the theater. I’d seen my fill of broken and blown-up buildings in those war-torn countries and would happily not be reminded of them while I’m having a get-to-know-you cup of Joe with a pretty man who seems interested in me.

He must have read something in my expression because his gaze softened. “Thank you for your service.”

I nodded my thanks, but fuck, I hated hearing that phrase. I never knew what to say. I went in, did my time, and got the fuck out with only a little PTSD to show for it. The guys in the Kings—my brothers—they’re the ones I look up to. There is one service that ‌the Kings and I take to heart, though. To support our military brethren, we ride with the Patriot Riders.

***

See you next month. Until then, Happy Spring!

February 2026: New Serial Fiction Project

February 2026: New Serial Fiction...

This story will eventually be part of a MC (Motorcycle Club) Shared World with eight other authors and will be fully edited and published in June of 2027. I'm writing this series based on prompts provided by my monthly writing group. This is January's submission.

Title of book:

DRAKE

(Bracelet image from Talisa®)

Chapter 1: The Meet-cute

The prompt:

The Return Desk: Two strangers meet while standing in a long line to return unwanted holiday gifts.

I leaned closer to the pretty man in a navy suit in front of me in the high-end department store’s customer service line, trying to see what he was returning. “What’d you get?”

He turned his head, peering at me for a moment before he turned to show me a leather bracelet nestled in a velvet-lined box.

“Oh, nice,” I said, impressed with the three thinly braided cords with sterling silver beads and clasps. I glanced at the box and realized I’d erred. Those weren’t silver; they were platinum.

He wrinkled his nose. “You think? It’s okay, I guess, just not my style.”

“Mine then, I guess.” I held up my hand, which already had several leather and silver chain mail bracelets encircling my wrist.

“I see.” He jerked his smooth chin toward the gift bag I held. “What about you? What are you returning?”

I pulled a cashmere scarf and a silk tie from the bag. “Doesn’t quite go with my leather jacket. Not sure what he was thinking, but it doesn’t matter anyway, since we split the day after Christmas.”

“Me too,” he said with a frown as he eyed my items. “Those are nice.” He looked at his bracelet, at my scarf and tie, and then at the line we’d already been standing in for over fifteen minutes.

There was a smile playing at the corners of my mouth as he checked me out and then met my gaze when I asked, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

He rubbed his fingers across his lips. Pretty lips that I wouldn’t mind rubbing with my own. “Maybe.”

I laughed, holding out the gift bag. “Trade you? Then let’s get some coffee and trade names.”

He laughed as we stepped out of line and exchanged items. “Actually,” I said, “why don’t you put it on me?” And as he fastened the bracelet’s clasp around my wrist, I hoped it signaled the start of something good for the new year.

***

See you next month, but till then I hope you all are keeping warm... It's been a doozy of a winter here in Southern New Jersey. Brrr....

June Pride Flash Fiction

 

#Pride2024 - written for the Small but Mighty Facebook Group

#forgottenestate #flashfiction

I love doing these smaller (longer) flash fiction pieces. I've done four now set in this world that started with the elevator prompt for GRL 2022. The first piece was included in the Midnight in the Renaissance Elevator anthology collected and published by fellow author, Miski Harris. My goal is to eventually collate them all into their own anthology world. This piece was inspired by a prompt on the Small but Mighty FB group.

Enjoy and Happy Pride.

Prompt by Cathy Brockman: A gardener and a lost pocket watch

World: Forgotten Estate (Paranormal world where anything goes).

Characters:

Arden - Head Groundskeeper of the Forgotten Estate

Basil - Assistant to Arden. Squirrel shifter

Master Devan (vampire), Lucian (vampire), and Kestral (wolf shifter) - fated mates who rule the Forgotten Estate

Johan - Chatelaine of the estate

Bella - white tiger, favored pet of Master Devan

Clem and Heath - garden gnomes living on the estate.

 

The sun was just beginning its ascent when Arden, Head Groundskeeper of the Forgotten Estate, stepped through the glass doors of his greenhouse. He paused and breathed in the moist air, fragrant with the blooms of colorful orchids and geraniums. The petrichor of leaves decaying in the compost bin mingled with the scent of cut grass and the riotous wild roses.

As he walked the length of space between long benches covered with plants of all kinds, he spoke aloud, “Good morning, my fine leafy friends. The sun is shining, the day a pleasing temperature, but when isn’t it?” Arden lifted a small watering can, a magical one that refilled itself. It was quite handy for a gardener such as he was.

“Oh, dear.” Quickly, he doused a few daffodils with water and stroked their long green leaves, watching as their bold yellow heads raised to the proper height. “There you go. All better.”

He continued on toward the rear of the greenhouse, hearing the chittering of chipmunks and his earnest assistant Basil, a squirrel shifter. Basil’s lengthy sigh and put-upon whine of “Yes, I remembered the nuts and berries” had Arden chuckling quietly. The chipmunks had moved in when an owl roosted nearby. By the time he’d figured out the cause, the owl had moved on, but the chipmunks liked their new nest, safely tucked behind the foot of a statue that had been in place since even before Arden came to work at the estate.

Pausing again at the end of the row, Arden watched Basil kneeling in front of the statue, which seemed to glow in the early morning rays of sunshine. A halo of light framed the wavy shoulder-length hair and swirled around the chiseled features of a handsome face.

Once again, Arden was struck by how handsome the man was… Is? Well, how handsome the statue of the man is. Lifelike stone that never seemed to chip or fade. If it truly was made to size, the man had been several inches taller than Arden, and broader across the chest and back. Thick thighs pushed at the fabric of his trousers, and a peek behind showed a tight ass that would surely fill Arden’s hands if only they were flesh and blood.

Curious to know more about who the person was, Arden had inquired first to Johan and then to Devan. Neither the Chatelaine nor the Master of the estate, respectively, had any answers for him. The statue preceded their time. Devan had taken control of the lands half a century ago in an odd turn of events that no one but he and Johan knew—for the head of the household had been the sole companion of Devan at the time the vampire had seized possession of the Forgotten Estate.

Some evenings, overcome with the desire to discover just who the statue was, Arden retreated to the estate’s libraries, searching the histories for the man’s name. His occupation on the property was obviously a gardener. Or maybe a botanist. Either worked for the statue wore similar clothing to Arden’s, along with a belt hung with the tools of their shared trade.

“Oh, hello, Arden. Mister and Missus say hello, too.” Basil pointed to the chittering chipmunks.

“Good morning, Basil. Good morning, friends.” Arden slid his gaze upward from the tiny woodland creatures, skating up the long legs and muscular torso, to the crooked smile gracing the statue’s face. “Good morning, sir. I trust you kept watch for the evening and all is well.”

Of course Arden wasn’t expecting an answer to the variation of morning salutation he often spoke aloud.

“I’m sure he did,” Basil replied, drawing Arden’s gaze back to the shifter kneeling at the statue’s feet.

An odd niggle of jealousy bloomed in Arden’s gut. He wanted to be the one there, the only one. But why? He shook off his confusion and turned in a slow circle to survey his domain. Through the glass, he spied the garden recently disturbed by the gnomes destruction of Kestral’s fairies’ home. The greedy creatures hated interlopers. Moving them to the front of the house, into an even lovelier garden of flowers, had been a stroke of genius.

He’d been meaning to transpose a smaller shrub for a larger one, outgrowing its space. If he removed the lilac and planted a… Rose of Sharon… yes, that would look lovely. He could even keep the same color scheme. Besides, lilacs made him sneeze. Arden would be sure to have Basil replant it in a sunny spot well away from the mansion and greenhouse. Maybe down by the stream…

Donning his work gloves and with a hand rake firmly in his grip, Arden knelt in front of the budding lilac. Truly, it wasn’t the best time to move the shrub, but he’d have his assistant give it plenty of TLC once it was re-homed. He loosened the dirt around the base of the bush with the rake while inspecting the area for other plants or bulbs that might also be affected by the move.

An odd clunking sound stopped him cold. What was that? Arden cocked his head, listening, but when he didn’t hear the noise repeated, he dug his rake into the moist soil and pulled. A round disc of metal tumbled from the rake to lie at his knees. What’s this?

Putting his rake down, he lifted the disc, discovering a tail of thin chain ending in a clasp. He brushed away the dirt clinging to its surface, finding a push button at the top. A pocket watch… but how did it end up in his garden? Had the gnomes stolen it and buried it like pirate treasure? It sounded like something Clem and Heath might do. The front had an intricate design etched on it, but Arden couldn’t make out more than the general idea of a tree.

He thought about engaging the mechanism to see the interior but decided against it. It would be better to clean the outside before he attempted to open it, thereby keeping any more dirt from getting on the watch’s face. For the moment, he stuck the watch into his pants’ pocket, picked up his hand rake and continued on preparing the area.

Transplanting the lilac took most of the day, and it wasn’t until early evening, when he was washing his hands, that he felt the weight of the watch and remembered. He procured a small brush and several towels and placed them on his workbench before fishing the watch from his pocket. Though the sun still shone brightly, it was getting low on the horizon, so Arden retrieved a small oil lamp and lit it.

He started by gently wiping off as much dirt as he could, then used the brush to flick away any specks in the cracks and crevices of the watch. Much of the darkened exterior had a green patina coating it, marking the metal as probably brass with a copper coating. His own brass and copper pocket watch required weekly cleaning to keep it in pristine condition.

Satisfied the watch was as free from dirt as he could make it, Arden pulled out a magnifying glass and examined the front design. It wasn’t anything unusual, a Celtic Tree of Life with its twisted roots and branches touching at the corners. In fact… He pulled out his watch and laughed, for the design was one and the same. Tucking the antique into the palm of his hand, he placed his thumb on the crown before slowly depressing the latch and disengaging the locking mechanism. The cover popped open, revealing a typical glass-fronted watch face. The hands were frozen at just a minute past five. Again, Arden laughed at the coincidence. Only a minute to go.

Quickly, yet carefully, he wound the watch, lifting and turning the crown several times to wind it. The moment their times matched, he pushed the crown down to start it, praying that nothing was wrong with the interior because, while he knew flowers, watch repair was beyond him.

For a few seconds nothing happened, but then the second hand clicked forward once, twice, then in a steady tick, tick, tick.

“Finally.”

The breathed word hadn’t come from Arden. He spun to stare at the place where the statue had been, only now the lifelike stone had become blood, bone, and pale flesh with a mop of dark hair and a frown where there had always been a smile.   

Green eyes turned to gaze at Arden and that tiny smirk reappeared. “Hello, Arden.” Angry chittering arose from the ground, and the gardener looked down at his feet at Mister and Missus. “Hello, friends. Sorry to disturb you, but as you can see, Arden has broken the spell.”

“Spell?” Arden whispered. “Oh no.”

Bella was the first through the door, followed by Johan, Devan, and Kestral. They stopped and stared at the man who only moments ago had been a stone-cold mystery. 

Lucian sauntered in last… “Hello, Jacek. Welcome back.”

“Jacek?!” Arden glared at Lucian. “How do you know his name? I asked, and no one knew.”

“Well, I’m assuming it’s Jacek. My grands told me all about how the estate gardener disappeared one day, leaving only a statue of himself in the corner of the greenhouse. You know I never come out here, and” —he peered at Arden— “you never asked me.”

“It is,” Jacek confirmed. “I’m unfortunately tied to an enchantment, a spell put on my pocket watch. As long as it’s ticking, I’m alive, but the moment it stops… statue. It fell out of my pocket one day, and now, thanks to Arden, I know where. When I realized I’d lost it that day so long ago, I discovered I wouldn’t have time to try to find it, so I placed myself in the corner where I’d be undisturbed and likely to be left alone until the day someone found my watch and restarted it.”

Again, that bright green gaze fell on Arden. “Thank you.” He took three long strides forward to stand in front of Arden. Slowly, he raised his hands and gently gripped Arden’s forearms. “Thank you for freeing me from the enchantment. I’ve watched you for so many years, and—I know this will sound strange—but I’ve fallen in love with you. Seeing you daily kept me from despair, for I knew, deep in my soul, that one day you’d find my watch and bring me back to life.”

“Love?” Arden whispered. Sure, he’d harbored a nonsensical lust for the stone gardener. He’d always brushed aside those feelings, knowing they could never be real. And yet, hadn’t he felt jealous just that morning, spying Basil kneeling at the statue’s feet? Did they have some mystical connection? Had Fate kept Jacek locked away until Arden came to work at the estate? It seemed… fantastical. Absurd. Insane.

Preposterous. And yet, it could be true. The gods were funny that way. Devan and Lucian had seemed perfect together, but then Kestral had been thrown in their path and now the three were inseparable.

“I…” Arden wasn’t sure what to say. He should turn Jacek down gently. He couldn’t automatically love someone. And yet, his mouth refused to form the words. He couldn’t say “I love you, too,” but he couldn’t refute the claim, either. Something deep inside him wouldn’t allow him to turn Jacek away.

He took one of Jacek’s hands in both of his, turning it so the gardener’s palm faced up. Drawing his fingertips along the exposed wrist and roughened palm, he knew this hand, like his own work-toughened skin.

“We were born of different times,” he finally managed to say, peeking up from beneath hooded lids at the sharp cheekbones, pinked full lips, and soft green eyes.

“Different, yet similar,” Jacek countered. “I tended to this garden for decades, then watched as you did the same.”

“I’ve changed it, though,” Arden murmured, ducking his head, nervous that Jacek might hate what he’d done.

Jacek tilted Arden’s chin up and peered into his eyes. “For the better. I sense your apprehension, and you needn’t worry. I didn’t expect for you to return my love, I was, after all, only a statue until…” He picked up his pocket watch, checked the time, gave the crown a couple more twists, and then snapped the lid shut before tucking it into his vest pocket. “... fifteen minutes ago.”

Arden nodded mutely, unsure what to say. And yet, the words practically tripped over themselves in his brain. Yes. Please. Love me. I’m yours. Forever.

Again, that tiny smirk graced the corners of Jacek’s lush mouth, almost as if he’d heard what had gone unsaid. When Jacek turned toward the others, Arden felt the loss of Jacek’s attention keenly.

“Master Devan, I realize that my appearance is a surprise, but I was wondering if you might have accommodations that I could use until—”

“No,” Arden all but shouted. Fear gripped him. He couldn’t let this man out of his sight. He’d brought him back; responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders, but also need. Want.

Desire.

He wanted to feel Jacek’s lips against his, feel those rough fingertips drag along his skin. Those strong hands would wrap easily around the girth of his cock, biceps tightening with each stroke.

Arden wanted to remove the gardener’s clothing, piece by piece, like the petals of a flower opening to showcase the stiff pistil hidden inside. He could already imagine the pale porcelain flesh in juxtaposition to his tanned hands and arms. He’d kneel as he’d wanted, gazing up at the masculine visage, grip those thick thighs, open his mouth—

“Sweet eaglet,” Jacek’s thumb teased Arden’s lower lip, pulling it free from between his teeth. He hadn’t even known he’d done so. “Needy. Greedy. I like it.”

Arden attempted to step back, only to be stopped by his workbench. He scanned the greenhouse, searching for help from his friends, and discovering they’d drifted away while he’d been lost in thought… Don’t kid yourself. Those were erotic daydreams. You want this… so why are you fighting it?

The rhetorical question bounced around his brain while his body responded with quickening breaths, a rising heart rate, a hard length trapped in the confines of fabric, and a clench low in his gut. His fingers itched to touch, his tongue to taste, his ears to hear each breathless moan.

Why was he denying himself his heart's desire? Foolish, that’s what he was. And yet, sometimes it was the foolish risks one took that earned the biggest rewards. Raw determination steeled his spine. He met Jacek’s sparkling green gaze… and leapt.

“I don’t want you to stay with Master Devan and his mates. The mansion isn’t the place for you.”

“Oh?” Jacek’s eyes widened, his lips turning down slightly at the corners. “Where should I stay then?”

“With me,” Arden answered with a firm nod. “Stay with me?”

Jacek’s mouth curled upward, and Arden was lost to that brilliant smile, bright gaze, and deep laugh. “Yes. Of course, yes.” He pushed into Arden’s space, hugging him tightly for a moment before leaning back, then dipping down to catch Arden’s lips with his own.

Wrapped in Jacek’s embrace, reveling in the taste and feel of the man he’d dreamed about for so long, all the tension in Arden’s frame faded. A sense of peace and calm suffused him, not unlike standing in the middle of the garden as the sun crested the horizon at dawn or dipped below in a blaze of majestic glory at sunset.

And as if he’d waved a magic wand, the evening’s sunlight streaked through the glass ceiling of their greenhouse, surrounding them in its fiery hue. Fitting, as they burned for each other, now and forevermore.