Page 19 of Bull's Boy

And he was pretty sure he’d made some new friends. Dahlia hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d called Ollie a riot, and literally, the only thing that could have made his night better was if she and Becca could have been there with him. Even without her, he’d been welcomed and treated like an old friend. After he’d gotten past the shock of Ollie’s initial greeting, Malcolm had quickly relaxed and found he appreciated his—and the other men and women he’d met through him—straightforward approach to everything. Even if theirverypublic displays of affection had made him blush a few times.

The fact Ollie had wanted to know if Malcolm could verify Bull’s dick size had stuck with him though. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, no matter how hard he tried. Or the fact that when Bull had driven him home the week before and he’d asked if people called him Bull because of his size, he’d hedged on answering.

He had no business thinking so much about another man’s junk, but he kept glancing at Bull’s lap in the dark interior of the truck without meaning to. Guilt began to crowd out all the good feelings from the evening. Bull had been nothing but kind to him, and he’d helped Malcolm get out of his funk after his disaster of a date.

He deserved better than Malcolm trying to ogle him.

Bull slowed as they entered Knotting Pine, the town empty and desolate at nearly one in the morning. The man deserved a massive thank-you instead. He’d seen that Malcolm was struggling and reached out, offering him the perfect chance to get out of his own head. He wished he could afford to get him a huge bouquet of flowers or something. Maybe he could put it on his emergency credit card and then pick up an extra shift or two.

His rusty car still sat on the curb in front of Bull’s house, silently waiting for him so they could return to his place on the other side of town and the run-down house his apartment was in. Bull’s place—hell, all the houses on the street—was a sharp contrast, the lawn well manicured and siding fresh and clean with big windows that probably let in amazing amounts of natural light during the day.

Malcolm stared at the two-story house, curtains pulled over all the windows except one that he figured probably belonged to the kitchen. There was a faint glow of light visible, like Bull had accidentally left a light on.

Or maybe he’d left it like that on purpose. Maybe he was the kind of guy who didn’t like coming home to the dark. Malcolm liked the idea. He was always careful to turn everything off when he left because he couldn’t afford a higher electric bill, but on nights when he got home late from work or after hanging with Dahlia and Becca and the place was cold and dark and unwelcoming, it would be nice to be greeted by a cheery lamp instead.

“You okay driving home?” Bull asked, drawing Malcolm out of the thoughts that threatened to bring down his good mood.

He turned his head on the headrest, smiling. “I won’t fall asleep if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That and… I wasn’t sure how many drinks you had.” There was something in the way Bull said that, the careful way he chose his words, that made Malcolm think he might not be telling the truth.

That maybe he knew exactly how much Malcolm had had to drink because he’d been watching him all night.

Swallowing, Malcolm traced his eyes down Bull’s profile as he rubbed awkwardly at the back of his thick neck. There had been several times throughout the evening when he’d felt the weight of eyes on him, but he’d only caught Bull looking at him once. He’d been on his way to the bar with Ollie—and his friends Mason, CJ, and the birthday boy, Vinnie—having just let Mason teach him some dance move he swore made everyone look sexy, when he’d had that same sensation of being watched.

As subtly as he’d been able, he’d glanced over to where Bull had been sitting with some of his friends, chatting, and they’d locked eyes. It had probably only lasted a couple of seconds, but hisbreath had caught in his throat, his steps slowing, at the look on Bull’s face.

Open admiration.

Malcolm had shrugged it off, assuming he’d misread him or that Bull had been looking at someone else, and it only seemed like he was staring right at him.

But maybe he hadn’t been?

God, why did it even matter? He sat up straighter, giving his head a little shake. Maybe he’d drunk more than he’d thought, except he didn’t even feel buzzed anymore.

“I’m good,” he said, forcing a calm smile when Bull glanced at him. “Thank you again for inviting me to go with you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And for letting me co-opt some of your friends for the night,” Malcolm added, a more genuine grin growing at the thought of Ollie and the others.

Bull shrugged, one corner of his mouth lifting in a small smile. “They’re more my brother’s friends than mine, but I’m glad you had fun with them.”

Chuckling and rolling his eyes, Malcolm slapped at Bull’s shoulder as he unbuckled, his eyes widening as his hand slid down accidentally and he grazed Bull’s enormous bicep. Holy. Shit. He watched his fingers tighten, feeling completely disconnected from the limb, and nearly swallowed his tongue at how hard the muscle was.

“Jesus.” He didn’t realize he’d said that out loud until Bull made a choked sound, startling him. He jerked back, his cheeksburning almost as much as his fingertips. “I’m so sorry, I… I don’t know why I?—”

“It’s okay,” Bull interrupted, deep voice hoarse and thick. He turned toward the front of the truck, big hands curling around the steering wheel. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it. I won’t make it weird.”

Malcolm was nodding along until Bull got to the second part. “Wait, what? Make what weird?”

He cleared his throat but didn’t take his eyes off the windshield. “Work. I know you aren’t… You aren’t interested in me like that.”

Little pinpricks of heat began to bloom on his skin, and his palms were damp. Bull’s assurance kept spinning through his head, moving around the pieces he’d been ignoring and slotting everything into place, creating a picture he shouldn’t care about. It shouldn’t matter what Bull was implying because he was straight.

He licked his dry lips.

He was… pretty sure he was straight.

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