Page 9 of Burn It Down

“What the he—”

“Get down!” he yells, covering me with his body.

Less than a second later the window shatters, spraying glass shards everywhere. Jake’s torso is wrapped around my back, his arms covering my head and neck as the brick lands next to us on the floor.

He stays on top of me for a solid minute, until he’s sure nothing else is coming through the window.

“Jesus,fuck! What thehell?” he yells, finally jumping up and running into the parking lot, no doubt looking for the people responsible.

“They’re long gone,” I call, slowly getting to my feet and making my way outside to stand next to him, staring down the empty street.

He turns to me, assessing my body for damage. His gaze makes my skin heat everywhere it lands.

“Are you alright? Christ, that brick could have smashed your fucking skull. Are you cut?”

His concern takes me aback, but I check my arms and come up clean. “No, I’m fine. Thanks to your reaction time,” I joke dryly, so tired of this shit. The past couple of weeks have been more of the same, but the brick is a whole new level and it makes my teeth grind in angry frustration.

“Is this the first time that’s happened?” Jake asks.

“The window’s new. The attack isn’t. The incidents are getting more frequent though. At least the window is an easier fix than scrubbing dried animal blood off our bay doors…well, Ihopeit was animal blood,” I add as a disturbing afterthought.

“What the actual fuck? Why are people doing this?”

He’s used the wordfuckthree times in the last minute and a half. I’m not sure why I notice other than it seems strangecoming out of his mouth. He’s so clean-cut, the word sounds too vulgar for him. Like a dirty edge to an otherwise clean blade.

I like it a little too much.

“Who knows?” I finally answer. “We’ve never really had problems until about six months ago.”

“Anything change? Piss anyone off?” Jake asks, following me back inside, our shoes crunching on the glass littering the floor.

“Not that I can recall. We’ve always kept our heads down and our hands clean.” It isn’t until I turn back from the supply closet with the broom in my hand that I realizehe’sbleeding. “Oh, shit. It looks like some of that glass gotyou.”

He looks down at his in-tact suit jacket then back at me with confusion on his face. I point to my neck, mirroring where he’s cut. “Bathroom’s this way.”

The bathroom is small, but not obnoxiously so, allowing enough room for me to stand in the doorway in case blood isn’t really his thing and he ends up passing out. But he does just fine.

He shrugs out of his jacket, placing it next to the sink and it’s impossible to miss how broad his shoulders are. It’s like he purposely has his suits cut to hide his frame. The sleeves of his dress shirt are tight around his biceps and I’m rendered speechless.How does he hide all of this? Whydoes he hide all of this?

His tie comes off next, making me a little warm, and by the time he pops the top two buttons on his dress shirt, I push off the doorframe needing a little space and a helluva lot more air.

“I’m going to go check and see if we have some boards I can use to cover that window.”

His dark eyes meet mine in the mirror and he nods.

“I’m happy to help once I know I’m not going to bleed all over my clothes. People at the office might have questions and be overly concerned about my dry-cleaning bill.” The smile he flashes shouldn’t make my knees weak, but it definitely does.

I also can’t help the way my stomach rolls. People at his office would see his blood and be more concerned about the laundry than what happened to him? I couldn’t live like that.

“Take your time.” My voice comes out more gruffly than I intend.

I have a type. And Jacob Ellington isn’t it.

My last three boyfriends were all muscle-bound dickheads whose cocks were bigger than their brains. Finding overly-masculine gay guys can be a challenge, especially if your city isn’t big on the lifestyle.

Even more especially if your culture — and your Mexican grandfather — has ingrained a sense ofmachismoin you, making you an unyielding top. Assuming any submissive role is completely unappealing to me. As a gay, biracial man, already being part of two minority groups makes the need to dominate my partners overwhelming for my sense of self-worth.

And while I don’t invest in the cultural principle entirely — I don’t abuse my partners in any way nor do I try to control them outside the bedroom — I buy in to it enough that I’ve never gotten on my knees for one either.

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