Page 3 of Misconduct Zone

“Lucky’s being a demanding asshole,” Ace yells to Grayson with a laugh.

This past year, my nickname has felt like a curse, but it’s not like I can get away from it. It’s my literal last name. Calling me Lucky is redundant since that’s the translation of Felix. I am certainly not Lucky Lucky.

“Fuck off. See ya soon.” The call ends, and I’m still laughing.

There’s no point in being dramatic and hopping on a flight to Sweden when I have great friends asking me to come over. I can face my demons another day.

My eyes scan the apartment, searching for the man who left, and I remind myself he’s coming back, ignoring the cavern of loneliness threatening to open up. I shouldn’t already miss my best friend, but I do.

Chapter 3

Lars

The silence in the apartment takes me off guard. I did not expect a welcome home party, but Dylon’s exuberance usually fills the space. It’s been sixteen days and seven-ish hours, but who is counting. His ball cap on the kitchen island makes me smile. I’ve teased him so many times about not putting his sweaty, disgusting hat where we make our food.

After turning on the sound system with Dylon’s favorite playlist, I wheel my luggage through the living room, where his T-shirt dangles off the couch. There are permanent indentations in the cushions where we always sit. Tension bleeds out of my body, and my shoulders drop. Even though he’s not here to greet me, his presence fills the ache I have had since I left. An ache that shouldn’t exist but does.

My usual summer trip to Sweden didn’t feel like goinghomethis year. Home is this apartment with Dylon—as wrong as that might be. Although I loved seeing my parents and speaking my native language, a constant restlessness—brought on by being away from him—plagued me, as if I was not fully myself without him. A misguided part of me to fix before he figures it out.

The shower running in the hallway bathroom explains his silence.

My heart pines with the need to see him, but I bury it. The trip home was a good reminder of the consequences of falling for your straight friend. Some damage can never be undone, and I cannot lose Dylon.

He sings loudly, and I picture him shimmying to the beat in his head. Then I remember he’s naked, and it is not safe for my mind to go there. In the locker room, I have seen him naked countless times and know his body well enough that my dick reacts. The 3D four-leaf clover tattoo on his chest comes to mind. I have spent countless hours imagining touching it.

I busy myself with putting my things away and consider making us dinner, which is a hard task since I don’t know what we have in the fridge. We texted while I was gone, but it was difficult not knowing if he was taking care of himself. I have too much respect for him to insinuate he’s incapable by asking.

On my way to the kitchen, Dylon steps out of the bathroom in a towel, and we bump into each other. I suck in a breath at the contact.

“Hey, you’re back.” He wraps his arms around me, and I inhale the citrus scent of his body wash. Then he grips the towel to hold it in place, and my eyes focus on his hand, not his chest or his tattoo.

“Hej, hej,” I say, raising my eyes so I do not fixate on his body.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” His chuckle eases my nerves as his warm palm cups my shoulder.

“Funny.” Whenever I slip into Swedish, he calls it dirty talk. With anyone else, I might interpret his teasing and touches as flirting, but he acts the same around everyone. I am not special. “What do you want for dinner?” The food will take my mind off of his sculpted torso.

“You’re not cooking after an international flight. We’re going to Metropolitan Cuts tonight.” The dimple on his right cheek winks at me. It’s only visible when he grins. “We’re celebrating your return by feasting before we start our suck-the-fun-out-of-life diet for the upcoming season. We can gorge on red meat, and you can order as many desserts as you can eat.”

“Excellent.” Although I am not in the mood to go out, it is my favorite steakhouse, and the deciding factor is dessert. I should be sick of sweets with the tons I ate in Sweden. But I am starved for his attention, and being in public will help me mask my desire.

“Should we invite the guys or make it a roomie night out?” He sidesteps me to open his bedroom door.

“A roomie night out sounds great. It was a long flight.” Although that is the truth, I would rather not share him with our friends. If I believed in hell, I would have a permanent reservation. Dylon is not mine to covet.

“Someone missed me,” he sings with a heart-stopping smile, then shuts the door.

Despite the jetlag, it only takes me a few minutes to change, and I am ready to leave.

Dylon has arranged a car for us, and we are seated immediately upon our arrival at the restaurant since not only are we regulars but our fame ensures a private table.

“So Von’s doing well?” Dylon glances up from his filet mignon.

“He can visit again in November, but he misses Alec.” My childhood friend moved here to become a sculptor and, against his better judgment, fell in love with an American. I sympathize with him.

“The entire situation is bonkers.” He shakes his head.

Von loves Alec and has forgiven him, but I cannot excuse the pain he caused my friend. “The distance is difficult, but they’re making it work.”

---