Page 25 of Under Construction

Dennis should say no. Should grab his tablet and leave.

Should definitely not notice how Chris's other hand has settled on his hip, warm and solid like it had been this morning when he steadied Dennis after Dennis nearly tripped over his own feet watching Chris demonstrate proper lifting technique.

"Fine," Dennis says. "One drink."

Chris's whole face lights up. "Yeah?"

"Don't make me change my mind."

"Wouldn't dream of it, princess." Chris releases the tablet. Doesn't move his other hand. Instead, he steps forward, his free hand finding Dennis’s other hip, pressing until Dennis steps back.

One smooth turn and Dennis’s spine meets concrete, Chris's hands steady on his waist. "Let me go grab my stuff."

Then he's gone, disappearing into the site office.

Dennis stays where Chris left him, back against cool concrete, trying to get his breathing under control.

One drink.

What could possibly go wrong?

His phone buzzes.

Dad.

Dennis cancels the call. Sends it to voicemail like he has every other call this evening. Doesn’t matter how happy the investors are,he’snever happy, and after today, Dennis has earned a break from being a massive disappointment.

"Ready?" Chris is back, keys jangling.

"Your car?" Dennis raises an eyebrow. "What happened to one drink and the six-pack with my name on it?" His eyes drop to Chris's abs, now safely under his T-shirt—not the kindof six-pack he meant, but hey. He snaps his gaze back up before Chris can catch him looking. Again.

"Changed my mind." Chris grins. "Figure we should celebrate properly."

"Celebrate what?"

"Our rebellion." Chris waves his arm at the partially-constructed building around them. "Your vision. My excellent construction skills—"

"Your what now?"

"—and the fact you haven't punched me in almost two weeks."

"Don't tempt me."

"But you hit so pretty." Chris works his jaw side to side, wincing at the memory. "Still hurts, by the way.” He cradles it with his hand. Pouts. “You should be nice to me.”

Dennis rolls his eyes so hard his whole head follows, tongue pressing into his cheek to stop from smirking.

Then Chris holds out his arm in invitation. Dennis pushes off the wall with the heel of his shoe, and suddenly Chris's hand is at the small of his back, guiding him forward.

Dennis pretends the heat from that touch isn't sinking through his shirt. That it isn't spreading across his skin like wildfire.

They make their way through the darkened site, their footsteps echoing in the empty space. The night air hits them as they push through the main doors, cooler now than during the afternoon's investor circus.

Chris leads them across the empty lot to where his Lexus sits under a streetlight. He opens the passenger door with a flourish. "After you, your highness."

"I hate you," Dennis says, but he gets in anyway.

"No you don't." Chris closes the door. Walks around to the driver's side. "You just think you do."

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