Page 4 of Filthy and the Beast

I sit on the edge of the guest bed. “The pleasure imperative is still in place. It’s just been tempered and refined by the advice of my practically minded bestie.”

This is one of our longest ongoing conversations, started while first hanging at the gamer café where I worked. Like all geeks, I embrace the things that bring me joy, regardless of how other people view them. No matter how dorky, illogical, frivolous, retro, or time-consuming, if an activity brings one pleasure and satisfaction (and doesn’t hurt anyone else), then it’s a worthwhile pursuit.

Over the years, watching other people my age devote themselves to crushing careers, overworking themselves until they’re sick, abandoning their friends and family and passions—it all solidified my opinion. My obsession with board games and classes at the community center isn’t merely having fun. My choices are about resisting a way of life I don’t want for myself.

And I still believe so, every bit as much as when I first met Nico. He’s just helped me realize the real world has a way of intruding. To pull it off, one needs at least a pinch of stability and reason.

Practicality supports the pleasure imperative, and avoidable disasters are no fun.

Nico offers me a lopsided smile. “Don’t forget you've influenced your practical-minded bestie just as much."

Shadow pulls his boyfriend onto his lap. “Thank god for the pleasure imperative.” Nico laughs, his cheeks round.

“This is temporary,” I tell them. “I’ll pocket some savings, hang out in an old mansion, and all I have to do is grab stuff from the high shelves for a grunty, grumpy boxer who retired from his career years ago. He doesn’t scare me. My gut says he’s a big old teddy bear.”

Shadow squints. “I thought his career ended when he went berserk in a match?”

“Yeah,” Nico agrees. “He lost the fight and then kept punching the other guy, right? That doesn’t sound like teddy-bear behavior.”

“But Reggie knows him,” I point out. “And who am I supposed to believe? Some sensational articles in sports magazines twenty years ago, or Reggie and my gut?” I tap my belly. “Because this old thing has never led me wrong.”

Nico appears skeptical but brushes it off. “I guess so. Just promise you aren’t on a self-confidence spiral. I love who you are, Damian. Mr. Pearson closing down the gamer café shook you up, but him deciding he wanted something different doesn’t mean you need to radically alter your life course.”

“I promise. I might be seeking stability, but I fully intend to keep up with my passions. And I’ll never let old Sledge interfere with my recreational sex life. I fully intend to leavethatpleasure imperative as firmly in place as a quality butt plug.”

CHAPTERTHREE

ENZO

“Arrrgghh-FUCK!”

I bellow as a jolt of pain shoots up my back, locking my body in place. I’ve managed to inch my way to the foyer, the damn doorbell ringing the whole time. Sweat drips down my face. I’ve put my body through the most grueling training routines imaginable, but answering the door will do me in.

The bell chimes out again. “I’m almost fucking there!” I holler.

Reggie’s muffled chuckle echoes on the other side. “Glad you’re in a good mood today!”

Frowning, I lean against the wall. I don’t know why I agreed to this.

Not like I really need someone to take care of me. Moving hurts, but I barely have to move. I’ve been lying on the hardwood floor for a full day eating pasta I had delivered. Seems fine to me.

With a grimace, I haul my ass the rest of the way and pull the double doors open. It’s sunny outside, and I squint to adjust as Reggie wraps an arm around my side, supporting me.

I try to shake him off, but the man is persistent.

“You remember Damian?” he asks with a smile. “Your new assistant?”

Grinning, Damian steps out from behind my personal trainer. “Hi!”

Pain flames up my back, but I try to focus on Damian, a short guy with black hair, a little curly and floppy. He’s got high cheekbones, dark eyes he hides behind blocky purple glasses, and golden brown skin. But I know him best for his smile, from the front desk at the gym. Plump lips part wide to show his straight teeth.

No one ever smiles at me. It’s distracting.

I tear my eyes away from his lips.

He’s wearing a pink T-shirt with a cartoon animal printed on the front and a pair of tight jeans. Effortlessly holding a suitcase in each hand, he’s slim but strong.

Right. He’s moving in.

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