A/N: Hey, folks. Just a reminder. If you like this story and want me to write a series about the boarders living in this apartment building, leave me a review and let me know. In this chapter, you'll meet the rest of the single men who I could write stories about. And if you want ot tell me which one you want me to write about first, that'd be cool too -DL
Chapter 2
He was still stewing twenty minutes later, when the front door crashed open and the first of his renters returned home. A whirlwind of energy descended on the kitchen, greeting Damian with a sprightly: “Hey, Damian! I’m home!”
He conjured up a smile. “Hi, Brandon.”
Brandon sniffed the air. “Something smells good! When do we eat?!” he crowed happily.
“When everybody else arrives, which will be soon, I’m sure. Why don't you help me set the table to give yourself something to do while we wait?”
Brandon sniffed. “You want me to work?! After I’ve worked my fingers to the bone today to pay my rent?” he waggled his fingers theatrically at Damian, who grinned.
“They don't look like they’ve been worked to the bone,” he said, studying the slender fingers that Brandon was holding up.
“Looks can be deceiving. Do you KNOW how many divas I’ve had to put up with today? Just because I can’t make them look like movie stars, even with MY magic fingers! There’s only so much that even I can do. I'm not a miracle worker, just a hairdresser.”
“You’re a really good hairdresser,” Damian pointed out.
“That’s very true. All right, I'll help you set the table. For a discount on my meal,” he added insouciantly.
Damian shook his head, his lips twitching. “Okay. Five-per-cent, not a penny more. I have to make a living, too, you know.”
Brandon looked satisfied. “Let's get the plates,” he said, bouncing over to the cupboard. When he reached up to open the ones where they were kept, his shiny shirt rose up and gave a display of his white back. His pants were too tight to slide down his hips, or otherwise Damian would have been able to see his round little ass, too. Not that Brandon would have cared. He was always showing off what he had for anyone who wanted to look.
Damian went over to help him reach the plates, and to take enough of them from him so that he wouldn’t end up dropping them. Brandon was slender and not terribly strong. He took the stack of plates and told Brandon: “Why don’t you get the silverware?”
A nod of the platinum-blonde dyed head. Brandon rummaged in the silverware drawer to get enough forks, knives, and spoons for eighteen place settings. “Grab one more than normal,” Damian remarked.
"Why?” Brandon asked curiously.
“Our new housekeeper will probably want to eat with us.”
Brandon’s eyebrows shot up. “We have a new housekeeper?! Is he cute?”
Damian decided to tease him. “Actually, SHE’S a middle-aged woman,” he told Brandon, his eyes gleaming. “She’ll probably try to mother you.”
Brandon looked disgusted. “You couldn't have hired some eye candy, Damian?” he pouted.
He couldn't help himself. He started to laugh heartily, which made Brandon stare at him. “I’m just pulling your leg, Brandon,” he said when he could talk again. “Our new housekeeper is a gay guy. His name is Rahul. He’s Indian.”
“Ooo! Cool! Is he cute?” Brandon asked eagerly.
Damian refused to answer this question. “You’ll have to decide for yourself,” he replied.
“Hey! No fair!” Brandon protested as Damian carried the stack of plates into the dining room.
“You’ll live. He’s coming back with his stuff in a few hours.”
“Poo. You suck.” Brandon groused as he followed Damian into the dining room.
Damian chuckled. He began to set plates at each place at the long table, while Brandon set down a knife, fork, and spoon beside each plate. Before they were finished, the front door opened and closed again. There were footsteps in the hall, and a tall form appeared in the archway. "Good evening, Damian, Brandon," a quiet, polite voice said.
"Hey, Bill!" crowed Brandon, waving. "How was school today? Did the horrible teenagers drive you crazy?"
"No more than usual," Bill Kern replied wryly. He taught high school science, a job that often left him stressed and tired-out at the end of the day. His long, rather homely face was drawn with tiredness, and the lids of his kind eyes were drooping a bit. "What's for dinner?" he asked, seeing that they were setting the table.
"Pot roast, with roasted red potatoes and steamed veggies," Damian replied promptly.
"Sounds good. I'll just go and change my clothes. See you in a bit," Bill said, lifting a hand, before he walked away toward the staircase.
"Poor guy. I don't envy him," Brandon remarked with a grimace. "Teenagers are awful."
"They can be, yes," Damian conceded. "But I think that Bill likes to teach, even though his students must drive him crazy sometimes."
Brandon shrugged over such madness, setting the last of the silverware down on the table. Before he could say anything else, though, the front door crashed open and banged closed again. Quick, near running steps in the hall, and a tall, lean, rangy young form filled the archway. "Hey, guys!" a voice said. "When do we eat?"
"Soon, Isaiah," Damian said. "Are you hungry?"
"Starving!" the young athlete replied. "Coach worked our asses off today."
"Doesn't look like it to me," Brandon said with a leer, as he eyed Isaiah’s nice, round butt appreciatively.
A laugh. "Good to know. Gonna take a quick shower, wash this sweat off of me," Isaiah loped away like a gazelle, leaving them alone in the dining room again.
"Brandon, might I remind you that Isaiah is only eighteen?" Damian said as sternly as he could manage.
A shrug. "So? That’s legal," Brandon pointed out.
Damian sighed, shaking his head. "Aww, come on. I only want to try him once. You know I love chocolate," Brandon purred like a cat in heat.
"I know you love just about every flavor," Damian replied in fond exasperation.
Brandon nodded. "That I do. I've always wanted to get it on with a black guy. See if all of the rumors are true. And do you KNOW how hard it is to find an 'out' black guy? Isaiah is a gift from God."
"Yes, he is. And he's also very brave. It's hard for athletes to come out of the closet, especially at such a young age. I admire him."
"I'd like to admire him, too," Brandon said, licking his lips. "Naked."
Damian rolled his eyes as he went to fetch glasses from the cupboard and put one at every place. But Brandon was always like this. He didn't mean any harm. He was just a total slut, a cheerful letch who'd never been serious about a guy in his whole life. Maybe one day he might be, but for now he went from man-to-man like a sex butterfly.
A few more of his tenants arrived almost together after that, and most of them went upstairs to change their clothes or take showers before dinner. Damian finished with the table and greeted Tran, a lithe young Vietnamese man, who'd just come in the building and was setting his backpack by the door. Like many of his renters, Tran was a college student. "Evening, Damian," he said as he straightened up.
"Evening, Tran. It's almost dinnertime. We're just waiting on a few more people."
"Great. I'm hungry," Tran said in approval. "What are we eating?"
"Pot roast."
"Yummy. I'll just go wash up," he headed for the back bathroom, his steps light and quick.
The front door opened again, and a red-headed giant strolled into the apartment building. Caleb McMillan looked like he could toss a caber with only one hand, and his wild mane of red hair only made him look even more like one of his Highland ancestors. Damian knew that many people were shocked to learn that Caleb was gay, since most straight people had these clichéd stereotypes in their head of what a gay man should look like. And Caleb DEFINITELY didn't fall into any of those stereotypes.
"Hey, Damian," Caleb rumbled.
"Hey, Caleb. How was your day?"
"Pretty good. We dropped a new transmission into a sweet ‘67 Mustang," Caleb told him.
Damian whistled appreciatively. Caleb was a mechanic who worked for a garage that specialized in the restoration and maintenance of classic cars.
"Wish I could have seen it," he remarked.
Caleb dragged his cell phone out of his pocket and held it out. "Take a look," he said.
Damian took the phone and looked at the picture that Caleb had snapped of a cherry-red Mustang. "Beautiful," he said reverently.
"Yeah," Caleb took the phone back and pocketed it again. "Dinner almost ready?" he asked hopefully.
Damon grinned. Like Isaiah, Caleb required a lot of food to keep his large frame going. "Yep. The table's set. We're just waiting on a couple more people, then we'll eat. Why don’t you go get washed up?"
A nod, and Caleb strolled away. As he did so, the front door was pushed open, and the last of his single renters came walking through. Damian had six couples and six single people living in his apartments. Josh Tremble was a writer like him, though Josh wrote fiction novels about a gay spy that sold pretty well on-line but were never going to make him rich. "Evening, Josh," he said, greeting the other writer.
"Evening, Damian," Josh grunted. He sounded like he might be in a bad mood.
"Bad day?" he asked tactfully.
A sigh. "You could say that. I went to the university to do some research in their library, and the traffic was brutal. And I've got a headache from peering at microfiche. Also, the kids all treated me like I was an elderly person who'd taken a wrong turn somewhere," he scowled. "I'm only thirty-five. They made me feel like I was ninety-five."
Damian's lips twitched. "Kids," he said in fond wryness.
"Indeed," Josh said. "I'm really tired. I just want to eat and go to bed."
"Dinner's on in a minute. Oh, and we have a new housekeeper. I hired him earlier. He's gone to get his stuff."
"Great news. Will he clean my apartment if I pay him?" Josh asked hopefully. He was a lazy slob, and he hated to clean his own apartment.
"I think so. I told him about that service, and he didn't object. You can ask him later."
"I will. Thanks," Josh left, probably to go get cleaned up like everybody else was doing.
Damian went back into the dining room, finding Brandon in there chatting with one of the couples, Frank and Don. All three called greetings to Damian as he came in. Frank said: “Brandon says you hired a new housekeeper."
“Yep. He'll be coming back with his stuff soon.”
“What’s he like?” Don asked curiously.
Gorgeous. Edible. A young god. But Damian didn’t say any of that out loud. Instead he said: “He seems nice. Hopefully he’ll be a good housekeeper. He said that he’s already worked as a housekeeper for a wealthy couple, so there’s hope.”
“Sounds good,” Frank remarked.
Damian nodded. “Hey, Brandon, why don't you help me start bringing the food out to the table? Everybody else will be down soon.”
“I guess. Have to earn my five-per-cent,” Brandon swished away toward the kitchen, with Damian following. Damian pulled the pot roast out of the oven, while Brandon put the roasted red potatoes into a serving dish and carried them into the dining room. Damian put the roast on a platter and took it out as well, while Brandon darted back to put the steamed vegetables in a bowl and stick a large spoon in them. Damian piled home-made rolls in a basket and set them on the table. By then, most of the residents of the apartment building were at the table, greeting each other.
Brandon took his favorite chair, third down on the right side of the table next to Isaiah. He flirted relentlessly with the young student, with not much effect. Isaiah was kind to him, but he never returned the interest. Damian hid a smile as Brandon leaned over and practically batted his eyelashes at Isaiah, giving it his all. Damian took his own seat, at the head of the table.
The housekeeper always sat at the foot, which is why the chair there was empty. It was like Damian was the ‘father’ of this family of people who all lived in the same building, and the housekeeper was the ‘mother’. He wondered if Rahul would be a good mother-figure. Only time would tell...
Everybody in the building was well-practiced at eating meals together by now. The person closest to the pot roast cut sliced off of it with a knife, and people began to pass him their plates one at a time. After he’d deftly put some roast on a plate, he handed it along to the guy closest to the potatoes, who served a portion onto the plates next to the meat. Then, onward to the veggies and the rolls, until finally the loaded plate ended up back in the hands of hits owner. This went on until everybody had a full plate, and then they all sat down to eat.
Conversation ceased for about ten minutes while the main part of the food was consumed, then everybody started chatting together about their days. Being smart, they talked only with their immediate neighbors and didn’t try to yell down the table. When dessert was over, they could always adjourn to the sitting room to have a more general conversation, which is what they did almost every night. Their bellies were pleasantly full of good food, their day at work(or day at school - or, in Bill’s case, his day at both together) were done, and they could relax and enjoy themselves.
Damian loved this time of day. He really did feel like these guys were more than his renters - they were his family. Kindred spirits, brothers. For the most part, they all got along well together. The few troublemakers had been weeded out over the years, leaving a tightly-knit group who were often closer to each other than they were to their own families.
Dessert, a lovely torte that Damian had picked up at a bakery while running errands today, began to circulate around the table. All conversation ceased while they enjoyed its rich, chocolaty goodness. Even Josh relaxed and smiled, the tension draining out of his body.
A person appeared in the archway. Damian's heart jumped when he saw that it was Rahul, returned with several suitcases and bags. "Hello," he said. "I let myself in."
"Hey, Rahul. Everybody, this is our new housekeeper," Damian said to his renters.
Appreciative glances from many pairs of eyes, and Brandon pursed his lips and let forth a loud wolf whistle. Rahul's cheeks bloomed with faint color, and he dropped his eyes. Shy, oh God. Gorgeous and shy. Damian's heart was threatening to stop altogether.
He gave Brandon a stern look as he rose to his feet. "I'll take you to your room, Rahul. After you've unpacked, I'll introduce you to everybody."
A nod. Rahul glanced at the men sitting at the table, before he followed Damian out into the hallway. "Don't let Brandon get to you," Damian said soothingly. "He's always like that, but he's harmless."
"It's okay. I was actually kind of flattered," Rahul replied softly. "I've never been whistled at by another guy before."
Damian laughed. "Ah, that first time," he said teasingly. “There’s nothing else like it, is there?”
Go to Next Chapter
Chapter 2
He was still stewing twenty minutes later, when the front door crashed open and the first of his renters returned home. A whirlwind of energy descended on the kitchen, greeting Damian with a sprightly: “Hey, Damian! I’m home!”
He conjured up a smile. “Hi, Brandon.”
Brandon sniffed the air. “Something smells good! When do we eat?!” he crowed happily.
“When everybody else arrives, which will be soon, I’m sure. Why don't you help me set the table to give yourself something to do while we wait?”
Brandon sniffed. “You want me to work?! After I’ve worked my fingers to the bone today to pay my rent?” he waggled his fingers theatrically at Damian, who grinned.
“They don't look like they’ve been worked to the bone,” he said, studying the slender fingers that Brandon was holding up.
“Looks can be deceiving. Do you KNOW how many divas I’ve had to put up with today? Just because I can’t make them look like movie stars, even with MY magic fingers! There’s only so much that even I can do. I'm not a miracle worker, just a hairdresser.”
“You’re a really good hairdresser,” Damian pointed out.
“That’s very true. All right, I'll help you set the table. For a discount on my meal,” he added insouciantly.
Damian shook his head, his lips twitching. “Okay. Five-per-cent, not a penny more. I have to make a living, too, you know.”
Brandon looked satisfied. “Let's get the plates,” he said, bouncing over to the cupboard. When he reached up to open the ones where they were kept, his shiny shirt rose up and gave a display of his white back. His pants were too tight to slide down his hips, or otherwise Damian would have been able to see his round little ass, too. Not that Brandon would have cared. He was always showing off what he had for anyone who wanted to look.
Damian went over to help him reach the plates, and to take enough of them from him so that he wouldn’t end up dropping them. Brandon was slender and not terribly strong. He took the stack of plates and told Brandon: “Why don’t you get the silverware?”
A nod of the platinum-blonde dyed head. Brandon rummaged in the silverware drawer to get enough forks, knives, and spoons for eighteen place settings. “Grab one more than normal,” Damian remarked.
"Why?” Brandon asked curiously.
“Our new housekeeper will probably want to eat with us.”
Brandon’s eyebrows shot up. “We have a new housekeeper?! Is he cute?”
Damian decided to tease him. “Actually, SHE’S a middle-aged woman,” he told Brandon, his eyes gleaming. “She’ll probably try to mother you.”
Brandon looked disgusted. “You couldn't have hired some eye candy, Damian?” he pouted.
He couldn't help himself. He started to laugh heartily, which made Brandon stare at him. “I’m just pulling your leg, Brandon,” he said when he could talk again. “Our new housekeeper is a gay guy. His name is Rahul. He’s Indian.”
“Ooo! Cool! Is he cute?” Brandon asked eagerly.
Damian refused to answer this question. “You’ll have to decide for yourself,” he replied.
“Hey! No fair!” Brandon protested as Damian carried the stack of plates into the dining room.
“You’ll live. He’s coming back with his stuff in a few hours.”
“Poo. You suck.” Brandon groused as he followed Damian into the dining room.
Damian chuckled. He began to set plates at each place at the long table, while Brandon set down a knife, fork, and spoon beside each plate. Before they were finished, the front door opened and closed again. There were footsteps in the hall, and a tall form appeared in the archway. "Good evening, Damian, Brandon," a quiet, polite voice said.
"Hey, Bill!" crowed Brandon, waving. "How was school today? Did the horrible teenagers drive you crazy?"
"No more than usual," Bill Kern replied wryly. He taught high school science, a job that often left him stressed and tired-out at the end of the day. His long, rather homely face was drawn with tiredness, and the lids of his kind eyes were drooping a bit. "What's for dinner?" he asked, seeing that they were setting the table.
"Pot roast, with roasted red potatoes and steamed veggies," Damian replied promptly.
"Sounds good. I'll just go and change my clothes. See you in a bit," Bill said, lifting a hand, before he walked away toward the staircase.
"Poor guy. I don't envy him," Brandon remarked with a grimace. "Teenagers are awful."
"They can be, yes," Damian conceded. "But I think that Bill likes to teach, even though his students must drive him crazy sometimes."
Brandon shrugged over such madness, setting the last of the silverware down on the table. Before he could say anything else, though, the front door crashed open and banged closed again. Quick, near running steps in the hall, and a tall, lean, rangy young form filled the archway. "Hey, guys!" a voice said. "When do we eat?"
"Soon, Isaiah," Damian said. "Are you hungry?"
"Starving!" the young athlete replied. "Coach worked our asses off today."
"Doesn't look like it to me," Brandon said with a leer, as he eyed Isaiah’s nice, round butt appreciatively.
A laugh. "Good to know. Gonna take a quick shower, wash this sweat off of me," Isaiah loped away like a gazelle, leaving them alone in the dining room again.
"Brandon, might I remind you that Isaiah is only eighteen?" Damian said as sternly as he could manage.
A shrug. "So? That’s legal," Brandon pointed out.
Damian sighed, shaking his head. "Aww, come on. I only want to try him once. You know I love chocolate," Brandon purred like a cat in heat.
"I know you love just about every flavor," Damian replied in fond exasperation.
Brandon nodded. "That I do. I've always wanted to get it on with a black guy. See if all of the rumors are true. And do you KNOW how hard it is to find an 'out' black guy? Isaiah is a gift from God."
"Yes, he is. And he's also very brave. It's hard for athletes to come out of the closet, especially at such a young age. I admire him."
"I'd like to admire him, too," Brandon said, licking his lips. "Naked."
Damian rolled his eyes as he went to fetch glasses from the cupboard and put one at every place. But Brandon was always like this. He didn't mean any harm. He was just a total slut, a cheerful letch who'd never been serious about a guy in his whole life. Maybe one day he might be, but for now he went from man-to-man like a sex butterfly.
A few more of his tenants arrived almost together after that, and most of them went upstairs to change their clothes or take showers before dinner. Damian finished with the table and greeted Tran, a lithe young Vietnamese man, who'd just come in the building and was setting his backpack by the door. Like many of his renters, Tran was a college student. "Evening, Damian," he said as he straightened up.
"Evening, Tran. It's almost dinnertime. We're just waiting on a few more people."
"Great. I'm hungry," Tran said in approval. "What are we eating?"
"Pot roast."
"Yummy. I'll just go wash up," he headed for the back bathroom, his steps light and quick.
The front door opened again, and a red-headed giant strolled into the apartment building. Caleb McMillan looked like he could toss a caber with only one hand, and his wild mane of red hair only made him look even more like one of his Highland ancestors. Damian knew that many people were shocked to learn that Caleb was gay, since most straight people had these clichéd stereotypes in their head of what a gay man should look like. And Caleb DEFINITELY didn't fall into any of those stereotypes.
"Hey, Damian," Caleb rumbled.
"Hey, Caleb. How was your day?"
"Pretty good. We dropped a new transmission into a sweet ‘67 Mustang," Caleb told him.
Damian whistled appreciatively. Caleb was a mechanic who worked for a garage that specialized in the restoration and maintenance of classic cars.
"Wish I could have seen it," he remarked.
Caleb dragged his cell phone out of his pocket and held it out. "Take a look," he said.
Damian took the phone and looked at the picture that Caleb had snapped of a cherry-red Mustang. "Beautiful," he said reverently.
"Yeah," Caleb took the phone back and pocketed it again. "Dinner almost ready?" he asked hopefully.
Damon grinned. Like Isaiah, Caleb required a lot of food to keep his large frame going. "Yep. The table's set. We're just waiting on a couple more people, then we'll eat. Why don’t you go get washed up?"
A nod, and Caleb strolled away. As he did so, the front door was pushed open, and the last of his single renters came walking through. Damian had six couples and six single people living in his apartments. Josh Tremble was a writer like him, though Josh wrote fiction novels about a gay spy that sold pretty well on-line but were never going to make him rich. "Evening, Josh," he said, greeting the other writer.
"Evening, Damian," Josh grunted. He sounded like he might be in a bad mood.
"Bad day?" he asked tactfully.
A sigh. "You could say that. I went to the university to do some research in their library, and the traffic was brutal. And I've got a headache from peering at microfiche. Also, the kids all treated me like I was an elderly person who'd taken a wrong turn somewhere," he scowled. "I'm only thirty-five. They made me feel like I was ninety-five."
Damian's lips twitched. "Kids," he said in fond wryness.
"Indeed," Josh said. "I'm really tired. I just want to eat and go to bed."
"Dinner's on in a minute. Oh, and we have a new housekeeper. I hired him earlier. He's gone to get his stuff."
"Great news. Will he clean my apartment if I pay him?" Josh asked hopefully. He was a lazy slob, and he hated to clean his own apartment.
"I think so. I told him about that service, and he didn't object. You can ask him later."
"I will. Thanks," Josh left, probably to go get cleaned up like everybody else was doing.
Damian went back into the dining room, finding Brandon in there chatting with one of the couples, Frank and Don. All three called greetings to Damian as he came in. Frank said: “Brandon says you hired a new housekeeper."
“Yep. He'll be coming back with his stuff soon.”
“What’s he like?” Don asked curiously.
Gorgeous. Edible. A young god. But Damian didn’t say any of that out loud. Instead he said: “He seems nice. Hopefully he’ll be a good housekeeper. He said that he’s already worked as a housekeeper for a wealthy couple, so there’s hope.”
“Sounds good,” Frank remarked.
Damian nodded. “Hey, Brandon, why don't you help me start bringing the food out to the table? Everybody else will be down soon.”
“I guess. Have to earn my five-per-cent,” Brandon swished away toward the kitchen, with Damian following. Damian pulled the pot roast out of the oven, while Brandon put the roasted red potatoes into a serving dish and carried them into the dining room. Damian put the roast on a platter and took it out as well, while Brandon darted back to put the steamed vegetables in a bowl and stick a large spoon in them. Damian piled home-made rolls in a basket and set them on the table. By then, most of the residents of the apartment building were at the table, greeting each other.
Brandon took his favorite chair, third down on the right side of the table next to Isaiah. He flirted relentlessly with the young student, with not much effect. Isaiah was kind to him, but he never returned the interest. Damian hid a smile as Brandon leaned over and practically batted his eyelashes at Isaiah, giving it his all. Damian took his own seat, at the head of the table.
The housekeeper always sat at the foot, which is why the chair there was empty. It was like Damian was the ‘father’ of this family of people who all lived in the same building, and the housekeeper was the ‘mother’. He wondered if Rahul would be a good mother-figure. Only time would tell...
Everybody in the building was well-practiced at eating meals together by now. The person closest to the pot roast cut sliced off of it with a knife, and people began to pass him their plates one at a time. After he’d deftly put some roast on a plate, he handed it along to the guy closest to the potatoes, who served a portion onto the plates next to the meat. Then, onward to the veggies and the rolls, until finally the loaded plate ended up back in the hands of hits owner. This went on until everybody had a full plate, and then they all sat down to eat.
Conversation ceased for about ten minutes while the main part of the food was consumed, then everybody started chatting together about their days. Being smart, they talked only with their immediate neighbors and didn’t try to yell down the table. When dessert was over, they could always adjourn to the sitting room to have a more general conversation, which is what they did almost every night. Their bellies were pleasantly full of good food, their day at work(or day at school - or, in Bill’s case, his day at both together) were done, and they could relax and enjoy themselves.
Damian loved this time of day. He really did feel like these guys were more than his renters - they were his family. Kindred spirits, brothers. For the most part, they all got along well together. The few troublemakers had been weeded out over the years, leaving a tightly-knit group who were often closer to each other than they were to their own families.
Dessert, a lovely torte that Damian had picked up at a bakery while running errands today, began to circulate around the table. All conversation ceased while they enjoyed its rich, chocolaty goodness. Even Josh relaxed and smiled, the tension draining out of his body.
A person appeared in the archway. Damian's heart jumped when he saw that it was Rahul, returned with several suitcases and bags. "Hello," he said. "I let myself in."
"Hey, Rahul. Everybody, this is our new housekeeper," Damian said to his renters.
Appreciative glances from many pairs of eyes, and Brandon pursed his lips and let forth a loud wolf whistle. Rahul's cheeks bloomed with faint color, and he dropped his eyes. Shy, oh God. Gorgeous and shy. Damian's heart was threatening to stop altogether.
He gave Brandon a stern look as he rose to his feet. "I'll take you to your room, Rahul. After you've unpacked, I'll introduce you to everybody."
A nod. Rahul glanced at the men sitting at the table, before he followed Damian out into the hallway. "Don't let Brandon get to you," Damian said soothingly. "He's always like that, but he's harmless."
"It's okay. I was actually kind of flattered," Rahul replied softly. "I've never been whistled at by another guy before."
Damian laughed. "Ah, that first time," he said teasingly. “There’s nothing else like it, is there?”
Go to Next Chapter
