Nate pulled into the trailer park and nearly lost his entire truck to the pothole that really should be classified as a sinkhole. He had just fixed the suspension on his goddamn truck and there was no way he was about to put it back into the shop. Thankfully, he remembered at the last second and managed to swerve around without too much trouble.

Other than the terrible road maintenance, the place was kept up pretty well. Now, in the light of day, he could see that people seemed to keep their trailers and yards in pretty good condition. A few dogs barked as he drove by, either from the windows or from leads tied to front porch railings.

Some kids were running around in the grassy area beside the leasing office and mailboxes, blowing bubbles. A woman sat at the picnic table in the grass, keeping an eye on them. She turned to watch the truck amble over a speed bump and Nate gave her a friendly wave, which she returned.

He eased his way through the narrow roads, over the abrupt speed bumps and around a few more daunting potholes. The driveway gravel crunched under his tires as he pulled up at Bailey’s trailer, making enough sound to announce his arrival.

After a final check of his pockets and locking up the truck, he hopped up the porch steps. Two fold-up lawn chairs, the kind where the seat was woven together and would give out if it got too old or was left out in the sun, and a table with an ash tray populated the small porch. A single fern swung from the overhanging roof, looking lush and green like someone made sure to water it all the time. He recognized that kind of fern as one that his parents always scorned for being dramatic and giving up the ghost after only a couple days of neglect.

Bailey answered immediately when Nate knocked, somehow managing to catch him off-guard so that he ended up fumbling with his hands and saying, “Hey, mind if I come in?” instead of any of the other smooth openers he’d tried to think up on the drive over.

Going to Bailey Alexander’s place was catching him off-guard in general. He felt like he needed to keep asking for permission over and over again. Like maybe he had misunderstood something, and Bailey was going to change his mind and laugh in his face.

Banging at the bar had been spontaneous. This was pre-meditated. Nate had enough time to stew in his anxiety before coming over.

But Bailey stood in the door with a big, dopey grin, his posture soft and inviting as he stepped out of the way to gesture for Nate to come in. He was shirtless, all tattoos and nipple piercings and miles of glowing skin down to where his sweatpants were slung low on his hips. Thin sweatpants, too.

Nate gulped. When he stepped inside, Bailey crowded into his space to close the door. The warmth of his closeness dragged a flush up Nate’s cheeks. Which only grew hotter when the door snicked shut, and Bailey turned to step even closer. Nate glanced down between them, startled since Bailey had not even said a word to him yet.

Then again, Bailey had dragged him into the bathroom at the bar without saying much at all, so maybe this was his modus operandi.

His bare feet slotted snugly between Nate’s boots. Arousal pooled in Nate’s gut at the sight of Bailey’s small, vulnerable toes bracketed by his thick, steel-toed work boots. It began to melt in his veins and spread through his body as Bailey picked up his hands and pressed them to his waist.

“Miss me?” Bailey murmured, glancing up and biting his lip.

Ah, this was too much. He was going to combust. Fingers twisted in his shirt, right over his abdomen. He leaned down to slide one hand over Bailey’s ass to cup and squeeze it, then teased, “I missed this ass.”

The anxiety pulled tight in his chest eased when Bailey laughed and wiggled his ass in response. Then he drew back and gestured for Nate to come further into the house as he went through the living room to the kitchen. The rooms were separated only by a counter. Afghan blankets were thrown over the long couch in the living room. Across from it sat a large entertainment station with a TV and a billion DVDs lined up on shelves. Lamps on either side of the couch lit the space, giving it a warm, cozy feeling.

Nate watched Bailey wander away as he stooped to untie his boots. In the brighter light of the kitchen, he opened one of the cabinets and rummaged around. “Do you want a snack?”

“I’m good,” Nate told him, “Had dinner before I came over.”

Bailey shrugged and pulled down a crinkly bag of pretzels and a jar of Nutella. It occurred to Nate that the house smelled like weed—a little skunky but mostly comfortable and settling. When he joined Bailey in the kitchen, he could see beneath the better lighting that his eyes were red and glossy.

Nate leaned against the counter, crossing one ankle over the other as he watched Bailey set the snacks on the wooden dining room table and then blink owlishly around the kitchen. He threaded his fingers together in front of him and frowned like he had forgotten what he wanted to do next. Nate’s thumbs tapped against the edge of the counter where the formica was a bit loose.

“Oh!” Bailey rose onto his tip-toes, then settled back down and shuffled to the fridge. “Do you want something to drink?”

Jesus Christ. He was fucking cute. The world around Nate paused as he realized he had just thought Bailey was cute. Then his heart thudded into overdrive just because he was allowed to see Bailey Alexander when he was all sweet, not just an irritating brat.

“We have orange juice…and that’s about it.” Bailey stood back from the fridge, one arm still braced on the door, and frowned into the bright coolness wafting out of it. “I’m not at his house all the time so I don’t keep a lot of perishable stuff. And I don’t drink soda…” he turned a thoughtful gaze toward one of the cabinets above the stove. “I could whip up some iced tea?”

“Just a glass of water is fine with me,” Nate said.

Bailey shrugged, then poured water from a fancy filter pitcher in the fridge. He handed it to Nate, poured himself a glass, gathered his snacks, and waltzed past towards the little hallway on the other side of the living room. Nate turned to follow him, wincing and adjusting his jeans over his crotch. He’d been half up since stepping through the door, and a soft, hospitable Bailey only made matters worse.

The little shit noticed and giggled at him.

“Don’t worry,” he sang, disappearing into one of the bedrooms, “the snacks are for after we fuck.”

Nate rolled his eyes and followed him.

The lighting was subtle in the bedroom too, coming only from a string of soft blue lights along the edges of the ceiling. Between the bed, the dresser, and a set of bookshelves, there was very little floor space. A quilt was spread over the bed, also in pretty tones of blue and white.

“Wanna smoke?”

Nate looked down. Bailey sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over a glass bong in his lap. The blue light made his skin glow, and his hair turned a shade of purple rather than pink. His fingers worked smoothly to pack the bowl. When Nate did not answer, he glanced up with one brow cocked.

Nate had never been a big smoker. He got randomly drug tested all through high school because of the boxing program and never really picked it up in trade school, despite its overwhelming abundance, mostly because he knew that he would face random drug tests again once he got a job in the trade. In that line of thought, he turned Bailey down again. “I can’t smoke because I’ve got to start looking for a job this fall.”

“Oh shit,” Bailey nodded seriously, “No, yeah, I get that. Do you want me to, like, not?”

Nate cracked a smile at his earnest expression. Feeling emboldened by the comfortable setting, he whipped out his favorite endearment. “No, go ahead, darling.”

Bailey’s cheeks pinked, and he ducked his head. That reaction was just as satisfying as the way his eyes flashed when Nate called him an annoying brat. His hair fell in front of his face as he pressed his lips to the glass. Gentle bubbling filled the room.

He brought the flame of his lighter to the bowl, but just before he lit it, he took his thumb off the striker and glanced over his shoulder. He set the piece on his bedside table, twisted his torso to reach for the window, and wedged it open a few difficult inches.

“It won’t bother you if I smoke before we bang, right?” he asked, voice strained as he pushed on the window.

“No,” Nate’s eyes flicked back up from Bailey’s ass to his face when he turned around again. On the contrary, he was delighted to see Bailey so loose and comfortable.

But Bailey had already moved onto a whole different thought, cheeks burning red. “That is assuming you are here to bang. I keep assuming, but maybe you’re not. Which is fine. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

There he sat on his bed in his cute little mood-lit room into which he had lured Nate with a stunning smile and gorgeous ass, getting flustered over being presumptuous about sex. He was totally different when he wasn’t snapping at Nate’s throat. Or dragging Nate into the bathroom at the bar and begging him to fuck him up against the wall. Had he not felt Nate’s hands on his ass less than five minutes ago?

It seemed distinctly out of character for him to be shy, but maybe he was feeling off-kilter because of the pre-meditated nature of this encounter, like Nate was. He had gotten excited about it and was now trying to reign that in.

“Bay,” Nate sat beside him and pressed a hand to the small of his back, “I’m here to fuck you stupid. If you wanna smoke first, be my guest.”