Page 3 of Filthy and the Beast

Sweat dripping down his face, the man grunts, struggling to move ahead.

“Is your staff around, at least?”

“No staff. Fired,” he grumbles. “I’m fine.”

“Oh no.” Reggie puts his hands up. “Absolutely not. You can’t even lift your arms!” He wiggles his fingers to demonstrate. “You don’t know how to do shit without them, man.”

I turn slowly on the stool, watching them inch by. One thing about the night shift: it’s rarely boring.

The Sledgehammer slams his hand on the desk, scaring the shit out of me. He winces hard, throws his head back, and grabs his spine. “Fuck! This hurts!”

“Then let me get you a damn chair!”

“Not your job,” the Sledgehammer grumbles. “To take care of me.” He manages tiny steps forward. “I’ll order takeout. I’ll rest. I’ll be fucking fine.”

“What about your dogs? Bathing yourself? Hell, what if you fall down? You at least need someone at hand for an emergency.”

The two jocks stand directly beside me at the desk. The Sledgehammer pauses, huffing and sweating and hurt. Pain clouds over his face, and when he takes another step forward, he throws his head back again. “Fuck!”

“See?” Reggie says. “Don’t be an asshole about it. Get some damn help, man. You have way too much money to be living like this.”

The Sledgehammer turns to Reggie. He wrestles with the idea, then spits out his words. “Fine. You have a recommendation?”

Reggie turns to me. The Sledgehammer follows his gaze.

I lift the tray of cupcakes. “Something sweet?”

CHAPTERTWO

DAMIAN

“You’re movingin with a man namedSledgehammer?” my best friend Nico yelps. “Have you thought this through, Damian?”

We’re at the loft Nico shares with his boyfriend Shadow, a converted industrial space filled with old pinball machines, shelves stacked with pulpy sci-fi novels, and assorted musical equipment. In the guest room, I’m packing my bags. Shadow lounges on the couch, noodling his guitar, and Nico perches beside him, back straight. Shadow sports a threadbare old rock T-shirt and a scruffy beard, but Nico is dressed in his standard, neat outfit, a button-up white shirt.

“It’s not like Sledge and I are sharing a bed,” I explain. “He’s got a massive house on the edge of the city, and I’ll have my own guest quarters. I’ll just be around to help him out while he recovers from his injury. The pay is good, better than I’m getting at the gym, and I won’t have rent or other expenses. It’s the practical thing to do while I get my life back together.”

Nico frowns, pursing his lips. “Sledge?”

I wave my hand in the air. “That’s just my nickname for him. I guess his real name is Enzo.” I shrug. “Kind of hot, if you say it enough times. Enzo, Enzo, Enzo.”

He and his boyfriend share a concerned look. Sitting up, Shadow sets his guitar aside, and they both turn to me and talk at once.

“You don’t have to pay rent here, either,” Nico points out, while his boyfriend stresses, “If money is an issue…”

“It’s not about the money.” I toss a peach-scented candle into the suitcase, then dump in my collection of multi-sided dice. “I’m twenty-six, guys. I should be supporting myself now.”

Hell, my moms wish I would let them give me cash on occasion. Except they need it for my younger siblings and their own retirement, so I won’t accept the help.

Shadow tightens his brow. “Is this about that joke I made the other day? Nico and I don’t literally need twelve hours a day to fuck.”

I add stray socks and books to the suitcase. From the slight alarm on Nico’s face, my packing has taken a turn for the worse.

“I just want to do this,” I argue. “Even if it’s not fun, it could be good for me. Pulling myself up by my sneaker-straps.”

“Why can’t we help you pull up your sneakers?” Shadow asks, deadpan.

Nico grabs his boyfriend’s hand. “He means that whole bootstrap idea is problematic at best. There’s nothing wrong with needing other people. It’s a good thing! Anyway, doesn’t this new attitude conflict with your life philosophy?”

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