Page 1 of Burn It Down

Chapter 1

Jake

“Sir, can I help you find something?”

I turn my attention from the chaos of the shelves to the sales girl, whose name is Janene, according to the crooked name tag on her vest. She can’t be more than sixteen. Her bouncy ponytail and doe-like eyes almost make me comfortable enough to ask where the tampons are, but I decide against it.

That’s not a conversation this barely-adolescent girl wants to have with an awkward grown man in a suit.

“Just browsing. Thank you.” I mentally berate myself as soon as the words leave my mouth.

Just browsing?What pretentious douchebagjust browsesin a discount grocery store, for God’s sake? The only reason I’m here at all is because I’m on my way to meet Cora and she asked if I could make an emergency stop for tampons. Dave’s Discount Mart is the only convenience store on my route.

Janene continues stocking the shelves after giving me a slow, condescending head nod as I move around her. Thankfully, I find what I came for one aisle over. Unfortunately, I also manage to find a wad of gum on the floor, which is now stuck to the bottom of my wingtip.

“Fabulous,” I mutter to myself. A quick check of my pockets reveals I have nothing that could be used to clean the mess up. Frustrated and growing more pissed by the second, I look up and down the aisle before trying to scrape off as much of the gum as I can on the metal lip of the bottom shelf.

Not my finest moment, but I haven’t been sleeping well and my fuse is much shorter these days.

Overwhelmed by all the choices of tampons in front of me, I grab a box that saysmultipackand quickly take them, and the chocolate bars in my other hand, to the self-checkout lanes, ready to get the hell out of here.

While waiting in the obnoxiously long line, my resentment grows. Not toward Cora, of course. She’s a pawn in a game she doesn’t even know is being played. No, my resentment is growing over the lack of control I have over my own life.

For today’s example, why am I buying feminine products on my way to meet my girlfriend for lunch when I don’t even want a girlfriend because I’m not attracted to women?

No matter how many times I ask the question, the answer remains the same: my father and my future.

Three days ago, I came across a wedding in the park on my run. When I saw there were two grooms, my chest seized and I couldn’t catch my breath. I stayed and watched until the couple kissed, simultaneously happy for them and empty because I’ll never experience that with a man I love.

The pressure behind my sternum begins to rise again just at the memory and I pop the top button on my shirt and run a hand across my tight chest.Fuck, at this rate it won’t matter because I’ll be dead by forty.

Lost in my thoughts, I almost miss that the next register has become available. I step up quickly and try to discreetly scan the items and shove them in a bag. Only, one of them doesn’t scan correctly and sets off an alarm on my machine, making it barkfor employee assistance. The noise causes thirty pairs of eyes to swing my direction.

Embarrassment flames my cheeks as I desperately scan the crowd of shoppers for my rescuer, my disdain for the situation growing with each passing blink of the red light above me.

That’s when I see him.

Farther back in the line for the staffed check-out counter, the sexiest guy I have ever seen stands with an overflowing basket of groceries in the crook of his elbow. The weight of the basket causes his biceps to flex and the sight alone makes my anger abate in favor of other emotions. Like lust. He’s the kind of man I see in my dreams, but would never in a million years be allowed to pursue.

His skin is just past tan — that beautiful color that only those born of two races are blessed with. His eyebrows are dark, like the stubble on his face. His backwards hat prevents me from seeing anything more than a tendril of dark hair on his forehead, but the curl has my blood beginning to pool in my cock.

I’m visually tracing the outline of the tattoos on his arm when he looks over at me with narrowed eyes.Piercing bluenarrowed eyes.No way those are real.Quickly scanning the rest of his facial features, I realize the look he’s giving me clearly readswhy are you staring at me, psycho?

I quickly shake my head, giving a tight, apologetic smile — thankful my hand is no longer caressing my chest — before pulling my attention back to my own problems, when none other than Janene, comes over and corrects my mistake, allowing me to continue checking out.

I swipe my black AMEX, grab my bag, and head for the exit, desperately wanting another glance at the man in line. Ultimately, I decide I’ve humiliated myself enough for one trip to the grocery store and keep my eyes firmly on the slidingglass door ahead, thankful to escape the stuffy building and the overwhelming scent of cheap disinfectant.

My dress shoes click like a woman’s heels on the pavement as I race across the parking lot. The door to my sports car unlocks automatically as I approach due to the sensor in my pocket and I hastily throw Cora’s stuff in the passenger seat. Following the bag inside, I let out a harsh sigh and grip the steering wheel, placing my forehead on my hands, allowing my despair to pull me under its spell for a brief moment.

My parents know I’m gay, yet the ultimatum they gave me — including the relationship they’ve forced me into — causes me to live a lie every single day. Most days I stay so busy with work that I can play the role just fine, but between the wedding in the park and the man in line, I’m shaken to my core.

And now, need pulses through me as if the dark-haired god just awakened a dormant beast.

I felt his presence, and his stare, in the marrow of my bones. I was drawn to him in a way I haven’t ever experienced before. Attraction, desire, and passion all course through my veins like the blue flames of his irises, burning everything in their wake.

I’m drawn to him in a way I can’t ignore. And thanks to my hand-cut suit and tie, he probably thinks I was judging him instead of lusting after him.

The thought makes me sick.

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