Page 2 of Cash

Wow, was this guy hot.

In addition to the rocking body, the man’s head was shaved and he had dark stubble giving him a gritty and rough appearance. His skin was a rich golden olive hue, his eyes dark, and he was quite attractive in a very “he could probably crush watermelons between his thighs” kind of way.

He was wearing a dark green shirt that clung to his big arms and stretched across his broad chest in the most delicious way, and Brick wished the damn railing wasn’t in the way so he could properly scope out the man’s lower half. He reminded Brick of every cool badass in every action movie combined—no, no, this guy could eat those guys for breakfast without breaking a sweat—and Brick could not stop gawking.

Of course, the man noticed.

Brick knew he’d been caught when the man leaned over the deck railing and stared right back at him.

Briefly regretting his decision to wear lime green monster feet slippers and a black bathrobe with hot pink flames, Brick forced himself to smile and wave.

Of course he was a total mess seeing his majorly hot and potentially new neighbor for the first time.

Great.

He was pleased when the man waved back at least—and with those huge meaty meat-like hands, oh God—and then Brick casually returned to drinking his coffee. He didn’t want to get caught checking the man out again, but he did steal one more quick glance and saw him looking over the yard. Brick couldn’t quite read the man’s expression, but he thought he might be smiling.

Taking that as a positive sign, Brick headed back inside to get ready to start work for the day. He wanted to look much more presentable if he happened to see Mr. Hopefully New Hot Neighbor later.

Just thinking about him and his big hands made Brick grunt out loud.

Woof, indeed.

The interior of Brick’s home had pocket glass-framed doors, ornate molding in the door frames and ceiling, and the floors were all original hardwood. Despite the very gay yard, the inside of his house was much more subdued. The walls had been painted a minty green, and he used that as a base for an earthy palette of other greens and some browns to decorate with.

Most of it was simple with a focus on comfort—like the plush chocolate-colored sofa with lots of green throw pillows—but he also had several pieces that were a nod to his Korean heritage. He had a pair of bandaji chests, traditionally used to store blankets, that now served as side tables in the living room. There was another set of bandaji chests in the master bedroom upstairs, flanking either side of his bed. In his office, he had a samch’ung jang, an elaborate cabinet that consisted of three stacked sections, each decorated with detailed pearl inlays of mountains, rivers, and boats.

There were plants crawling over the shelves and tables in nearly every room, such as pothos, monstera, and creeping fig. Keeping with the earthy theme, Brick had put up several fabric wall scrolls of plants and flowers painted in a traditional Korean style. There was also a large scroll hanging over his bed of two men that he’d commissioned from a Korean artist he’d found online, but it was much too erotic for public viewing.

Family photos were hung by the dozen all across the house, including Brick’s school portraits from pre-K on up to his high school graduation. There was a matching set of these school photos over at his parents’ house, and Brick had no idea why his mother had insisted that he needed them too. It was not uncommon for her to visit and bring more photographs, and he had learned to smile and help her find a place on the crowded wall to hang them.

Brick finished his coffee, put the mug in the sink, and then headed upstairs to the master bedroom. The ceiling was slanted here, and he had to duck his head as he came up the stairs to make it through the doorway without bonking his head. Although he was not as large as the man next door, Brick had certainly earned his nickname at six foot three and two-hundred and seventy pounds.

Coaches in high school had begged him to play football, and Brick had instead opted to join the cheer team. Those pictures were hanging up in the living room, portraits of him in his old cheer uniform. He’d been known to forgo the pants and borrow a skirt from one of the girls, and he still had one buried somewhere in his closet.

He wondered if the big man next door would enjoy that, and he chuckled to himself at the idea of going to weed his garden in a pleated skirt to show off.

There hadn’t been anyone in Brick’s life worth dressing up for in a few months. After a series of back-to-back hookups with near immediate breakups, he was enjoying being single and taking some time for himself. He’d had enough fast and freaky fun for a lifetime, and now he wanted to meet someone and work on building a relationship that would last—something with a future of adopting dogs and picking out curtains.

Thinking about the big man next door, however, made him want to reconsider and maybe just have a little bit more fun before he settled down.

The temptation of putting on the skirt returned, but only for a moment.

He decided to behave and put on some faded jeans that fit his thick thighs well with a pastel purple plaid short-sleeved button-up over a white T-shirt. He switched out the monster slippers for some plain tan house slippers, and then he headed back down the stairs to his office.

As much as Brick wanted to see what was going on next door with his big beefy neighbor, he had work to do.

He sat down at his desk, booted up the computer, and logged in so he could check his email. Before he got going on his current translation assignment, a very boring user manual for a TV remote, he had to go through his messages and see if he had anything new.

He had barely begun sorting through all the junk mail when there was a deafening crash outside.

Brick was immediately up on his feet, bolting to the door as fast as he could to see what had happened.

What he saw when he stepped out on his front porch was a giant moving truck that had backed up over the sidewalk and taken out his beloved flamingo and a good chunk of his lawn decor.

There was a man in coveralls shouting at the driver, and the driver was yelling back and pointing. The truck lurched forward, leaving behind a trail of rainbow destruction that made Brick want to scream. Months and months of arranging and collecting and rearranging were now smashed to smithereens.

He picked up the wrecked flamingo, trying to pop out the dented side where it had been run over. One of the legs fell off, and Brick snapped.

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