Drilled by K.M. Neuhold
Chapter 3
APOLLO
My suitcase lays open on my bed, taunting me as Monday looms less than forty-eight hours away. I got the address from Cole, but I have yet to hammer out any travel details with Ridge. As of now, I’m assuming we’re driving up separately.
Without my permission, my mind conjures up memories of road trips Ridge and I took in a former life together. In our early twenties, we would pull out a map almost every weekend and randomly point to a spot on it. Then we would drive there. Straight through, more often than not, fueled by too much caffeine and the thrill of the adventure. More than once, we ended up in the middle of damn nowhere, camping out of the car and eating nothing but beef jerky for two days.
Those were the best days of my life.
A fresh wave of resentment washes over me at the fact that he threw it all away. A growl of frustration rises in my throat, and I force myself to push all thoughts of Ridge out of my mind. Fuck knows I’ll be seeing enough of him soon. Tonight I can at least try to give Porter some of my attention, even if I’m not interested in him the way we both wish I could be.
Ridge is Monday morning’s problem. Right now, I have a whole different set of issues. I curse under my breath at the sight of myself in a button-up shirt. I look like I’m going to a funeral. I grumble to myself and strip out of the shirt, crumpling it and tossing it vaguely in the direction of my closet. I grab a white T-shirt and tug it over my head. I look damn good in a plain white T-shirt, so why fuck with a system that’s working? Besides, it’s not like this is an actual date anyway. It’s to get the guys off my back and show Porter firsthand that I’m not someone he should waste time crushing on. And maybe a little bit because even a grouchy asshole like me wants company for dinner every so often.
I amble into my bathroom and grab my beard oil. While I run my slicked hands through my beard, making it soft and shiny, I try to remember when the last time I got laid was. Six months ago? Shit, no, it’s already nearing the end of the summer, so it had to be about nine months ago. The fucked-up thing is, I barely even care. My hand gets me by just fine, without all the fuss of finding someone to get off with.
I’ve never been much of a dater. I spent a lot of time chasing all kinds of guys around in my twenties, but the shine wore off quickly. It felt like every guy I gave a chance to assumed that my gruff, standoffish presentation was just an act or a layer of the onion that would inevitably fall away. They were charmed by the idea that they might be the only one to see some imaginary soft interior I was keeping hidden from the world. When they realized I’m just kind of a quiet, grumpy asshole on the inside too…well, maybe I don’t actually blame them all for bolting.
Ridge was the only one who never seemed to be scared away by my bullshit. I growl to myself at that damn intrusive thought, shuffling out of the bathroom and flicking off lights as I go. I spent a decade and a half not thinking about him, and now that he’s in my face every damn day, I can’t seem to stop thinking about him.
Porter and I agreed to meet at the restaurant, and when I pull up, I see him waiting just outside the door. I look at him for a second before I get out of the car. He really is pretty cute. I wish like hell he was my type, that anyone was my type anymore. My heart is as stubborn as I am, and sometimes, I think it got set on one person and has refused to consider any alternatives in all these years.
I get out of my car, and he perks up as soon as he spots me, smiling too wide and then shutting it down quickly as if he’s giving himself a mental pep talk not to come on too strong. I push a breath through my nose, an almost-laugh.
“Hey,” I say gruffly when I reach him.
“Hey,” he matches my tone, keeping his face neutral even as he vibrates like an excited puppy.
I’m unsure what else to say, so I stride over to the door and pull it open, gesturing him to go ahead.
Guilt gnaws at me as the hostess leads us to our table, Porter continuing to shoot me hopeful looks as his hand brushes against mine. By the time we’re seated, I’m resolved to let him down gently now before his hopes get too high.
As soon as the hostess walks away with a promise that the waiter will be right with us, I clear my throat and shift in my seat, putting my elbows on the table and then remembering that shit isn’t polite and awkwardly sitting back.
“Listen…”
Porter’s shoulder’s sag. “Well, that was quick,” he says, tacking a self-deprecating chuckle on the end. “I think it might be a record, actually.”
I frown at him. “What might be?”
“You’re about to give me the let’s just be friends speech, and we haven’t even ordered drinks yet.”
“I—” I feel like I should reassure him that’s not what’s happening, except it kind of is. I snap my mouth closed and give him an apologetic look. I helplessly glance over my shoulder, desperately hoping that the server is going to be here any second to interrupt this uncomfortable moment. I don’t spot the server, but I do see someone else.
My frown deepens and a low, rumbling noise escapes me without my meaning it to. Ridge is seated a few tables away with some guy, who’s looking at him like…like it’s a date? But that can’t be right.
“Ex-boyfriend?” Porter guesses, and I turn my attention back to him to find him looking in Ridge’s direction too. “No, wait, he’s the Four Bears’ newest hire, isn’t he?”
I huff a sound that could pass for a laugh. “Ex-best friend is more like,” I correct. “And yeah, he took a job with the Bears. I’m starting to think just to torture me.”
The server shows up and takes our order, but I find myself glancing in Ridge’s direction every few seconds. Who is that guy he’s with anyway?
“Well, I feel a little better about the quick rejection now, at least,” Porter says, drawing my attention back away from Ridge and the mystery man. “I thought maybe I chose the wrong shirt or something, but if you’re just in love with someone else already, it definitely takes the sting out.”
“I’m not in love with anyone.” My jaw ticks with irritation, and I resist the urge to glance back in Ridge’s direction for the tenth time in five minutes. “Besides, he’s straight.”
Both of Porter’s eyebrows go up, and he looks over at the other table and then back at me. “If you say so.”
“It isn’t about Ridge or anyone else. I just don’t think I’m your type.” I take a sip of my water and put my damn elbows on the table.
He laughs, a light, airy sound. “Right.” He nods and reaches for one of the rolls in the center of the table, pulling a piece off and chewing it slowly. “You’re definitely right. Grumpy, growly, beastly men don’t do it for me at all.”
His tone is dripping with so much sarcasm that it actually does startle a laugh out of me this time. “Beastly?”
“Blame it on too much Disney as a kid,” he explains with a shrug. “Everyone else can keep their Prince Charming, I just want the Beast.”
I dust off the haze of such far-back childhood memories and my lips twitch again. “Me too, actually.”
We share an amused look, and by the time the waiter drops off our food, the discomfort from the start of the date has worn away. Maybe because we’re on the same page about this not being a date anymore. And actually, Porter is a pretty cool guy.
He shares a few animal-related stories with me. One of which is about a squirrel he was treating in the clinic that managed to get out of its cage and wreak havoc all around the clinic overnight. A few more surprising laughs fall from me, and by the end of the meal, I realize I actually had a pretty good time.
I’ve also resisted the urge to look toward Ridge’s table, but when we get up to leave, we have to walk right past them.
RIDGE
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, setting my drink down and giving my date a tight, apologetic smile.
“What?” he asks, making a move to look over his shoulder and see what just caused my shift in mood.
“Don’t look,” I hiss. “Listen, I’m not in the closet or anything, but there’s this one tiny exception where I kind of technically am, and it’s way too complicated to explain in the five seconds I have before…Apollo,” I say his name too cheerfully as he stops in front of the table.
He grunts and looks between Tallahassee and me while his date, the cute little veterinarian, sidles up beside him. “Hi, it’s Ridge, right?” he says, politely offering his hand.
“That’s right.” I shake his hand and dart a glance at my date to see if he’s going to be cool or not. He offers a diplomatic smile and shakes Porter’s hand as well while Apollo stands with his eyes narrowed, looking between the two of us. “Word to the wise. If you think this one is grumpy normally, I wouldn’t advise keeping him up past ten. He becomes a real beast,” I warn with a teasing grin.
Porter laughs. “Well, I don’t mind beasts.” He looks back at Apollo, who gives him an amused look like they’re sharing an inside joke.
My stomach twists. I guess the date went well. And goddamn, why is it harder for me to see the momentary flash of amusement cross Apollo’s face, directed at Porter, than it is to imagine him taking the man home and bending him over.
Maybe because I’ve seen him pick up tons of guys and heard more than a few hookups through our thin, shared walls, but in our twenty-five years of friendship, I never saw anyone make him smile.
Great. Maybe the two of them will get married and adopt a bunch of Corgis, buy a cute little cottage in the woods, and live happily fucking ever after.
Uncomfortable silence descends between the four of us, and I bite back an irritated sound when Apollo puts a hand on Porter’s back.
“Don’t forget to pack your sunscreen,” I call a parting shot because, apparently, I’m a petty bitch. “It’s going to be a long month out in the sun.”
I don’t get any response from Apollo as he walks away with Porter at his side. As soon as they’re gone, I slump in my chair and curse under my breath.
“So, what was all of that?” Tallahassee asks, picking up his glass of wine to finish off the last few sips, our plates already finished off.
Before Apollo made his surprise appearance, I was seconds away from inviting my date back to my place. After all, if I’m going to be in the woods without access to my M4M app for a full month, it’s just good sense to spend an epic night fucking and sucking with this beauty of a man.
Unfortunately, the idea has lost all appeal.
Goddamn Apollo.
I pick up my own wine glass and gulp down the last half of it. “Oh, you know, former best friend, responsible for my sexual awakening even though he doesn’t know it, unrequited love, hates my guts…tale as old as time.”
He chuckles. “Sure, I’ve heard that one a million times.”
I give him a lopsided smile. “How about some tiramisu?”
Dessert is the least I can do if the poor guy isn’t getting laid anymore. It’s me. I’m the poor guy.
Tallahassee seems to sense my shift in mood, walking me to my car at the end of our date without dropping any hints about coming back to my place.
“This was fun,” he says. “If you want to shoot me a text when you get back from Murder Camp, I’ll be around,” he offers, and I snort a laugh. He was obviously paying attention when I told him all about the campground project, and he is really hot. Not to mention, ever since Miller started dating Demetri, our friend groups have become a bit intertwined, so I’m sure I’ll see him again. But another date doesn’t feel like it’s in the cards.
I lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. I can smell a hint of grease and motor oil on him, covered by the scent of the wine and a hint of cologne.
“We should hang out again. As friends,” I agree, hoping he gets the hint.
“You got it,” he agrees. He takes a step back so I can get into my car.
I stick the key in the ignition and turn it…and nothing happens. I mutter another curse and try again. Tallahassee, still standing next to the car, frowns.
“Pop the hood, and let me take a quick look.”
I do as he says and then climb out of the car so I can use my phone flashlight for him to get a good look. It takes him two seconds to roll up the neat, white sleeves of his dress shirt, exposing the colorful tattoos underneath, and dive right in. He pokes around a bit, humming to himself and grunting a few times. When he pulls his hands back out, they’re streaked with black grease, which he wipes on his crisp, clean shirt without a care in the world.
Fuck, it’s kind of hot. Why am I friend-zoning him?
Oh right, unrequited love with a man who hates me.
“Your timing belt is shot.”
“Fuck,” I groan. “I heard the ticking last week, and I meant to bring it in, but it just slipped my mind.”
“I can tow it to the shop and fix it up for you, but it’ll probably take a few days to get the part in.”
A few days? I have to be up at the campsite tomorrow. That can only mean one thing…
“I’d appreciate it. Will you be able to keep it over at Big Bull for the rest of the month until I can get back to pick it up?” I ask.
“Yeah, that’s no problem. Let me give you a ride home, and I’ll hop in the tow truck first thing tomorrow morning and get it to the garage. What about getting up north though?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll figure that out.”
I follow Tallahassee over to his car and climb into the passenger side. While he drives, I take my car key off my key ring and put it in his cup holder so he’ll have it, then I pull out my phone again and send off a text.
RIDGE: My car is fucked. I’m going to need you to pick me up in the morning.
I’m not even positive if it’s still his phone number. I mean, what are the odds he’s kept the same one all this time? The message shows as read after only a few seconds before some dots pop up to show that someone is typing back.
APOLLO: This just keeps getting better and better.
