ADAM tossed his bag of sweaty workout clothes onto the sidewalk and ran a hand through his shower-damp hair, grateful for the short-lived cooling effects of evaporation. Even in the dead of autumn, afternoon temperatures in Las Vegas sweltered. If Bo weren’t so predictable and punctual, he would’ve taken advantage of the gym’s air-conditioning a while longer.
A soft, feminine throat-clearing drew Adam’s gaze to a middle-aged woman with gentle brown eyes and skin the same rich mahogany as Kyle’s. She scrunched her brow and offered a hesitant smile. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but you wouldn’t happen to be the Beast, would you?”
Instinct had Adam hardening his expression, and the woman took a step back. It wasn’t until she shifted that he spotted the small boy by her side. He couldn’t be more than eight years old. Probably closer to six or seven. The woman tucked the child closer and held up a palm in apology. “I know it must be terrible to have people invade your privacy like this. I’m so sorry. I never would’ve said anything except Trey and his father are big MMA fans. You’re their favorite fighter. He was so excited, and I just… didn’t think.”
On a normal day, Adam would’ve let the woman apologize and go on her merry way. He rarely, if ever, chatted with his fans. That was part of the persona. Not one he enjoyed, but one Kyle encouraged. He’d said it would make Adam more elusive and keep his name on the public’s lips. People wanted what they couldn’t have, after all.
Still, Adam often wished things were different. He yearned for a connection with his supporters. Something more emotionally satisfying than being a lumbering oaf that terrified them, at the very least. Something akin to the relationship his father had with his followers.
Bradford Littrell lived for his fans. He was a legend in the boxing world. A legend that overshadowed Adam’s every waking move, as it had since he was a child. There was no such thing as being good enough when his father was the best. Especially not when he chose to go into a “bastardized” version of fighting instead of following in his old man’s footsteps.
The woman gave her son’s shoulder a squeeze. She murmured another apology and led the little boy away. Adam shook his head to rid it of the heavy, irritating thoughts his father’s ever-present influence always brought to mind. His jaw relaxed and a smirk worked up his cheeks when a memory of Bo overtook that moment of darkness. How many times had Bo fussed at him about tabling his outer asshole in favor of being his true self?
“Wait.” Adam jogged toward the woman and her young son. They both turned, the mother’s brows lifted in surprise even as the boy’s face split into a grin. Adam crouched on the ground so he was eye level with the child. “Sorry for being grumpy. I’ve been studying a lot lately. It makes me kinda cranky sometimes. Are you in school, Trey?”
The little boy’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. He shot a look at his mother, who gave him an encouraging nod, then returned his big, blinking brown gaze to Adam. “Y-yes, mister. I’m in first grade.”
Adam spent the next fifteen minutes chatting with Trey and his mother, Elsa. He urged the boy to study hard, mind his parents, and not beat on his little brother. Then he listened to the kid stumble over his own words as he told Adam about his soccer team, his latest art project, and how his best friend Niles would never believe he’d met the Beast.
“Well, how about we give him some proof? Wanna take a selfie with me?”
Trey squealed and tugged at his mother’s sleeve. “Momma, can we? Can we, please?”
Elsa beamed with the soft, sweet, tolerant love of a mother as she nodded and removed her cell phone from the front pocket of her purse. They took at least a dozen different photos before Trey was satisfied. Then Adam signed the bill of his ball cap, ruffled his hair, and waved the little family on their way.
Adam shifted to face the entrance of the gym, his gaze catching on a familiar pair of twinkling green irises.
Bo stood several yards away, leaning against the sleek hood of Adam’s Maybach. His arms were folded, and a smug grin flashed his pearly whites.
Shaking his head and prepared for a razzing, Adam approached his cocky little friend. “Go ahead, do your worst.”
Arching a brow, Bo pushed away from the car. “That was precious and adorable. I’m proud of you.” Adam remained silent, waiting for the inevitable zinger, but Bo’s smirk slipped into a genuine smile instead. He snatched Adam’s gym bag off the sidewalk, grabbed his wrist, and tugged him toward the car. “We now have even more reason to celebrate. We’re official GED graduates, plus you made that little boy’s entire year. I’d say drinks are in order.”
Adam still couldn’t believe he’d survived the GED exam. Bo’s excitement after receiving their results had been all the reward Adam needed, but Bo deserved something more. Drinks, at the very least. But he’d have to think of something else. Something bigger.
He shook Bo loose at the passenger door and slipped into the driver’s side himself. Over the past few months, Bo’s anxiety about driving in the heavy Vegas traffic had lessened. Slightly. But whenever he could, Adam preferred to drive, if for no other reason than it allowed Bo to relax.
They decided on the same club that had booted Bo out on his ass six weeks prior. It’d become their standard haunt since then, one Bo allowed him to pay for only because Adam had damn near gotten on his knees and begged. It wasn’t until Adam pointed out the elite club provided high-end security—something Bo had grown to respect the importance of after spending over two months by Adam’s side—that he’d finally caved. The club’s prices were well out of Bo’s means, but for the sake of their security, he allowed Adam to foot the bill.
It wasn’t like they went out drinking on the regular, anyway. Alcohol wasn’t part of Adam’s approved diet, and Bo couldn’t hold his liquor to save himself.
A truth that became inherently obvious a few short hours later.
“You were so dang cute with that kid today.” Bo grinned, big and dopey. His words slurred ever so slightly, and his eyes were glassy behind the glare of his lenses. “I’m not sure you’ve ever been that stinkin’ adorable before. Like, not ever.”
Adam chuckled and sipped at the water he’d switched to after his first drink. He was all about celebrating, but getting shitfaced wasn’t his MO. Bo, on the other hand, needed exactly one drink to get him sloshed. And tonight he was cutting loose. Three drinks in and the poor guy was a sozzled mess.
“What do you say we head home?” Adam waved at the server for their private VIP lounge and pretended to sign the air, signaling for the check. The woman nodded and disappeared for the bar.
“Home.” Bo hummed and closed his eyes. “I like that. I like living in your home. My home. Our home.”
Damn. Adam straightened his shoulders. That sounded nice, didn’t it? Our home.
Bo’s glazed eyes drifted open and met Adam’s with bleary focus. “Would you fire me if I kissed you right now?”
“H’okay.” Adam hopped to his feet as a zing of bright hot lust arrowed straight into his groin. “It’s definitely time to get you home.”
“You wouldn’t, would you?” Bo frowned and swayed to a standing position, stumbling as soon as he was upright.
Adam caught him but was careful to keep distance between them. Bo’s frown deepened as he took a deliberate step forward. His slender body pressed flush against Adam’s, and for a brief pause, Adam allowed himself to press back.
“I’mma kiss you now.” Bo snaked his arms around Adam’s waist and lifted onto his toes. His soft, plump lips brushed Adam’s chin when his senses kicked back into gear at the last moment and he turned his head.
“Bo.” Adam gripped Bo’s shoulders and eased him away. The painful erection trapped behind the stiff fabric of his designer jeans throbbed in protest, but Adam forced the head with a brain to keep control. “You don’t want to do this.”
“Don’t I?” Bo lifted his brows. “Says who? You gonna fire me if I do? I don’t think so. You wouldn’t. You’re too squishy-hearted.”
Adam huffed out a laugh. “Squishy-hearted?”
“Yup.” Bo popped the p at the end with an exaggerated smack of his lips. “You’re a big ol’ softy who I wanna get very, very naked.”
“Fuck.” Adam groaned and held Bo firmly at arm’s distance. “You’re drunk. We can’t do this. I’m going to take you home and put you to bed.”
Bo’s brows waggled as he struggled to free himself from Adam’s grip. “Yes. Bed. Bed’s better than a bar for naked stuff.”
Have mercy. Adam closed his eyes and willed himself the strength to do what was right.
The server dropped off their check, and Adam had to free Bo to sign. He wrapped around Adam like a vine, the evidence of his drunken arousal pressing against Adam’s thigh.
“Kiss me.” Bo rocked his hips and clawed at Adam’s back. “Kiss me.”
Adam carefully extracted himself from Bo’s arms and once again held him at bay. “Bo, listen to me. You’ve had a lot to drink. I don’t want you waking up in the morning and regretting this. Let’s get you home and put you in your own bed.”
Bo’s brows furrowed as he yanked himself out of Adam’s hold. “I don’t care if I’m drunk. I know what I want.”
“Okay.” Adam drew out the word. He ran a hand through his hair to give himself a moment to think. “You know I want this too. Hell, I’ve wanted to kiss you since that first day you showed up on my front porch. But there are reasons we’ve kept our relationship platonic all this time. Rational, realistic reasons. We can’t let one night of lowered inhibitions get the better of us.”
“Fine.” Bo stomped his foot. Literally stomped his damn foot like a five-year-old throwing a temper tantrum. “I’ll be good for now. But you better brace yourself, ’cause it won’t be coffee I’mma use to wake you in the morning.”
With that, Bo turned on his heel and left.
It took Adam a full minute to get his wits about him as images of all the many, many ways he’d dreamed of Bo waking him danced through his mind. When he finally came back to earth, he cursed under his breath and hurried from the bar. He had a very drunk Bo to get safely home.