Page 6 of Light Me Up

But relationships? I have no desire to date. I've been perfectly content with my own company, and my hand has suited me just fine every morning in the shower.

It has to be the stress of having someone like him—someone that takes upso muchspace with his big personality and cocky attitude—inmyspace when I'm so used to my own company. If I'm honest with myself, I'm a little jealous he gets to spend so much time with Michael. And he pisses me off so much.

I must have just needed to take it out on him, and he caught me in a rare moment of weakness. I haven't been sleeping well since he got here, and I very pointedly did not jerk off in the shower this morning after seeing him in his ridiculous Speedo. So it was just a fluke, brought on by stress, lack of sleep, and a need for physical release. That's all.

My eyes open, and I stare at the ceiling for a while. It's still dark out, which means it's probably still very early. When I turn my heavy head to look at the clock on the nightstand, I confirm that it's not quite five. An anguished sigh heaves from my chest, and I give up pretending that I'm likely to get any more sleep. I've dozed a little in between bouts of panic, where I wake up sweaty and erect, aching for something that I need to put far, far from my mind.

Resolved to run the restless energy off, because being exhausted is better than being worked up over Ian, I lurch out of bed and get dressed for a run. The moment my shoes hit the pavement, I start to relax. And by the time I pass my fifth mile, which is more than double my typical daily run, my lungs and legs are burning enough to give me some blessed peace of mind. I run until I can't think of anything but the pain, and the sun has risen past the point it normally does when I end my daily runs. I plan on avoiding my usual routine so I don't have to run into Ian, opting to take a few walking laps around my neighborhood before heading straight upstairs for a shower. Despite not wanting to jerk off in the shower thinking about Ian's hot mouth, I think it's best not to leave myself on edge. It's inevitable that I'll have to see him today. The last thing I need is to start the day hard and wanting.

Despite soaping myself up and painting the tile with more force than usual, my dick doesn't seem to want to deflate to anything less than half-mast. I leave my button-up shirt untucked and wear one of my darker pairs of jeans to try to disguise it.

Straightening my spine, I head into the kitchen where Michael and Ian are loading their breakfast dishes into the dishwasher and pour my coffee into a travel mug.

"Morning Dad," Michael says with a strange expression. "Long night?"

"Nope, all good. Ready to go?"

"Yeah, we're ready. Are you?" he says, and motions to his shirt like I'm missing something obvious.

I startle, finally noticing what's right in front of me. Michael, and I'm sure Ian, whom I'm avoiding looking at, is wearing a crisp,black button up shirt with a gorgeous logo printed on the breast. It has The Sunrise Bar and Grille written in light blue, sloped font. Behind and over the text is a stunning gradient of colors that seem to grow off the blue of the letters, and a large orange sun. A perfect sunrise.

"What is this?" I exclaim. "Michael, did you make this? It's amazing!"

"Actually, Ian did. I gave him the idea, and he did the artwork. We had them printed on iron-on patches, so all the employees can put them on their existing shirts. If you like it, that is. I was thinking that, since you already have all the staff wear black shirts, this would be an easy way to incorporate a logo. We can make adjustments or do something completely different if you'd like."

As much as I don't want to give Ian credit for anything, it's a beautiful logo. "I love it, son. Truly." I even cut my eyes up to Ian briefly. "Thank you both. I can't wait to show them off."

"Well, in that case, you should wear yours. Take your shirt off and I can iron your patch on real quick. It'll only take a second."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Strip, Mr. B," Ian says, his voice sounding hoarse.

I stare blankly at my son, pointedly avoiding thinking about the sound of Ian's voice.

"Take off your shirt so I can put your logo patch on. Who better to show it off than the boss, right?"

"Oh. Right. Of course." Not wanting Michael to think I'm not excited about the new logo, I start unbuttoning my shirt. I'm wearing a white undershirt underneath, but I still feel weirdlyexposed. I hand my shirt to Michael, and they place it on the tabletop ironing board I hadn't noticed when I entered.

I overhear Michael talking to Ian while they attach the logo. "Dude, you sure you're feeling okay? You sound rough."

"Oh yeah, I'm fine. Just a sore throat."

"If you're not feeling well, maybe you should stay back," I suggest hopefully, before I can think better of it.

"It's nothing I can't handle. Just not used to using it as much as I have recently."

I cough. Michael, thankfully not picking up on any of the innuendo, laughs."I've literally never witnessed you shut up," he says to Ian before patting me on the back. "You alright there, old man? I feel like I should drink some extra vitamin C if both of you might be coming down with something."

"That's a good idea," Ian says, bringing my shirt over and holding it out for me to slip my arms into. I want to tell him off, snatch my shirt back and inform him that I can dress myself, but I don't want Michael to catch on to any unusual tension. Ian slips the fabric over my shoulders, his fingers lightly brushing against the back of my neck, raising chill bumps. I raise my shoulders to suppressa shiver and move away. "You know what though, I heard vitamin D is just as important for the immune system."

The smug bastard has the gall to wink at me behind Michael's back.

By the end of the lunch rush, I'm so tired that I could almost believe I am actually coming down with something. On top of my exhaustion, I definitely overdid it on my run this morning. I spend most of the day sitting in the office, which only serves to make things worse. Not only am I fraught with tension over being in a relatively small space with Ian, but I don't spend enough time moving my muscles. By the time closing rolls around, I'm so stiff I can barely hide how sore I am.

"You know what you need?" Michael says.

"A younger body?" I reply, pretending I don't notice Ian looking me up and down appreciatively.

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