Page 86 of Men in Shorts

Evan could never tell the world that story. Only his supervisors and psychiatrists knew what had happened in Belfast.

Maybe one day he could tell Ben. Not everything, as that would be illegal. But maybe Ben could learn as much as Evan’s family knew, the vague outline proving he’d not only left Fergus against his own will, but had nearly lost his life in the process.

Firstly, Ben would have to be vetted. The simplest background check could take weeks, and if there were issues…

Would Ben forget Evan in the meantime? Would he be so pissed off at Evan’s delay in contact that he’d refuse to speak to him? By following protocol, was Evan missing the chance to be with the first man he’d connected with since losing Fergus?

It was a risk he would have to take, for the sake of his job. For the sake of the realm.

* * *

Ben lay alonein his titanic bed. He was bone-tired, but a restless energy snapped over his skin like static electricity.

He picked up his phone to check the time—a quarter past six. Clive had mentioned something about coffee, tea, and pastries at six-thirty for those feeling peckish. But at the moment, Ben hungered for much more than croissants.

He brought up his Grindr app, limiting the search radius to the Dunleven Castle estate. He recognized a few faces from the Warriors but had no interest despite their cuteness.

The only Warrior he wanted wasn’t on the hookup app, which didn’t surprise him. Evan seemed too cautious for Grindr—and with a face and body like that, he’d be plagued with nonstop requests.

So Ben brought up a more conventional social network.Aha!Evan Hollister wasn’t a total hermit.

There wasn’t much to see on the public-facing version of Evan’s Facebook profile. He was friends with Duncan and Katie from the Warriors, as well as their manager, Charlotte. His likes included several indie/alternative bands, along with Inverness Caledonian Thistle Football Club. Alas, no TV programs, but nobody was perfect.

The header picture was a Warriors team photo. Evan’s face held a strained look, and his shoulders were slightly turned from his teammates, as though he expected to be shoved out of frame before the shot was taken.

Ben scrolled down to Evan’s feed.

Oh.

The most recent photo, posted on Christmas from Kirkwall, Orkney, was a stark contrast to the header pic. In it, Evan posed with several other men in their mid-twenties, all of them bruised and breathless like him.

The caption read,Mates forever, win or lose (but especially win, like today).

Ben realized this must have been taken after the annual street-rugby/testosterone-fest known as the Kirkwall Ba. He’d seen it only in videos, but it seemed to him like the Running of the Bulls without the bulls.

Evan’s smile was wide and exuberant, despite the smear of blood on his forehead and the rips in the knees of his soaking-wet jeans.

Before he could stop himself, Ben tapped to send a friend request. Then he stared at the photo, wishing he could glimpse this open, unwary man in person.

What would it take—apart from extreme sporting madness like the Ba—for Evan to lower his guard? What could make those ice-blue eyes glaze over in pleasure? What sounds would emanate from that secretive mouth? Maybe Evan was the subdued-orgasm sort, the type of lad who came with nothing more than a sigh and a slightly furrowed brow.

Ben liked to imagine he wasn’t.

His boxer briefs were getting uncomfortably tight, so he slid them off and tossed them onto the floor. When he straightened his legs again, the duvet settled against his bare cock, its silky cover making him groan.

First he mentally inserted Evan into videos of the Kirkwall Ba he’d seen in the past. He imagined Evan’s body pushing against those of dozens of men, straining for the ball and trying to shove the entire crowd up the street toward their target zone or whatever.

But as much as Ben adored a fit body, violent sports had never really done it for him. After getting to know Evan tonight, Ben would put his athletic prowess at the bottom of the list of things that made him irresistible.

So he started over. He imagined Evan arriving at his door right here in the castle, imagined pulling him inside and helping him strip off his clothes, their fingers trembling with need and the chilly air.

They’d hurry into the duvet’s cocoon, still warm from Ben’s body. They’d press chest to chest and wrap limbs round limbs. Their mouths would mesh—perhaps clumsily at first from the force of desire, but soon with assurance, tasting every inch their tongues could reach yet still craving more.

“Ah…” Ben’s cock stiffened now as he stroked it with just his palm. He would press his shaft against Evan’s belly, into the valley between his sculpted abs. Evan would take the hint, would reach down and grasp them both together.

Ben shuddered at the imaginary feel of Evan’s cock against his own. Evan would stroke them slowly, sliding their foreskins up and down, sending ripples of pleasure throughout Ben’s body.

He drew his knees up now, heels digging into the soft mattress. Yes, they would make it last.

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