When we get to Private Weston, it's still early, but Dolores has already opened the store. Dres parks in the back and we go in through the kitchen. I head into the employee room, changing into one of the spare shirts before clocking in.

     Dres is walking to the front of the store, where Dolores is manning the counter. "You two didn't have to come in today," she says, smiling at us.

     Dres doesn't respond. He's too busy, I think, making himself a coffee. I've never seen him drink coffee before. Was actually certain he was against caffeine because of the "health factors." I wonder if he didn't sleep well last night. We were up late and he got up early, so maybe it's more that than it is about sharing his bed with me.

     "I've got a shipment," Dres responds as he pours almond milk into his mug.

     Dolores places her hands on her hips. "And I could've signed for it."

     Dres grimaces. "The last time you put away everything, I spent the entire morning trying to find it all."

     I grin at them, moving to take over the register. Dres walks off with his coffee, disappearing into the kitchen where he'll be holed up for the rest of the day. Dolores glances back down at the newspaper she was reading.

     "Did you have a nice time on your trip?" she asks, distracted.

     "Yeah, it was great. I was surprised by how much I liked it. It's too bad it's so far away," I say with a shrug. Not that she's really paying attention.

     She makes a humming sound. "My daughter is just over the bridge and I still don't see her enough."

     I nod, enthusiastically. "Exactly. I probably would only come home for Christmas and the summer. Plane tickets are expensive. I'm not going to do that to my mom."

      "You're a thoughtful kid." She looks up as she folds her newspaper. Her eyes land on my neck and remain there before she grins, saying slowly, "Did you have a good night?"

     "Uh huh," I say avoiding her gaze, tugging on the neckline of my shirt self-consciously. Freaking hickeys.

     "Good," she says, winking at me as she walks away.

      Sundays are always pretty slow, so I spend most of the morning filtering in and out of the kitchen bothering Dres. I decide to take over the bluetooth and play some eighties pop to give me something to sing along to. I'm in the middle of belting Uptown Girl when a customer walks.

     "Hello," I exclaim with too much vigor. Eighties pop gets me pumped. "Welcome to Private Weston's."

     The lone customer is a young guy, good looking in a boy-next-door kind of way with his hands shoved into a leather bomber jacket. He looks up at the store and whistles. "Nice place. Gibson around?"

      "Dres?" I ask, surprised. No one has ever come to see Dres before. I'm stunted in shock.

     A small smile tugs at his lips and he brushes his hand across his nose with a laugh. "Right. Dres. Dresden Gibson. He's the owner, right?"

     I nod, suddenly disoriented. "Yeah, he is. He's in the back. I'll get—."

     "Well would ya' look what the cat dragged in," Dolores exclaims as she walks into the room. She drapes a rag over her shoulder and puts her hands on her hips, looking the man up and down.

     Who is this guy?

     "Dolores, you haven't aged a day," the guy says with a friendly smile as he walks over to her and pulls her into a hug.

     No seriously, who is this guy?

      "Dres!" Dolores calls. "Drezy, come out here, quick."

     Dres doesn't ever really rush to move, so it takes a moment before he stalks into the room. I'm waiting, eyes trained on the doorway, and I catch the exact moment he sees this man, can see the way his expression changes, opens like nothing I've ever seen before.

     The guy pulls away from Dolores. He stands right in front of Dres, both of them still as can be, and then the guy raises his hand to his forehead, and salutes Dres. "Sergeant Gibson."

     Dres is pink in the face, clearly embarrassed, but raises his hand and salutes him back. "Private," he says before a smile breaks out on his face and the two hug tightly, grasping at each other's backs. Private...Weston?

      When they break apart, they're still close and Dres grabs his friend's jaw, turning his head side to side. "What is all this?" he says with a laugh as he lets go. The guy rubs at the beard on his face, self-consciously.

      "You're one to talk. I think you need some more tattoos, man. I can still see your face."

     Dres throws his head back and laughs throatily. I feel like I just stepped into an alternate universe. Dolores looks at the two of them fondly. This has to be Private Weston.

     "When did you get back?" Dres asks. "Are you back for good?"

     "Ah, it's a long story," his friend says with a shake of his head. "Are you busy? You wanna' go grab a drink? I saw a bar down the street. Come on, you can go for a drink, right?"

     Dres hesitates and I wonder what he's going to say, practically leaning over the counter waiting for his response. "Yeah, okay, let me just grab my jacket." Dres turns around and basically skips out of the room. I remain glaring at the spot he was standing in, short of me throwing a full temper tantrum. I think of yesterday night. How Dres had so easily decided for me, "You don't want to understand it."

       The thing is I desperately wanted to understand this part of Dres's life. More than I could ever even explain. And seeing part of that life walk into the store only made me want it more.

       Dolores leans into the guy and says something, quietly. She nods her head my way though and the guy looks up and over at me. He's got this look like something suddenly makes sense, and then he's strolling towards me.

       I pull away from the counter and move to do something productive like clean the glass on the display. Yeah, that's super productive. Nonchalant, even. He stops in front of the register and props his arms on it, bending slightly so he's at eye level.

      "Hey there," he says.

      "Uhm," I respond eloquently.

      "I'm Jack." He throws his hand to me.

     I shake it, unsurely, thinking Jack Weston?

      "Calvin. Cas, really."

      He's still got this funny look I can't put my finger on. He goes, "We should grab drinks too sometime. Nonalcoholic ones, I guess. Or alcoholic ones. I won't tell if you won't." He winks.

     Is Dres's ex flirting with me? Wait, what if they're not broken up. What if Dres swings? No, it's not exactly swinging though. It's like polygamy.  But wait, are Dres and I even dating? I mean, I guess we are but obviously not exclusively.

     Dres returns then and Jack leans away from the counter, turning to grin widely at Dres. "I'll be back before closing," he says, nodding at me, as he passes. I nod back. That's all he's going to say on the matter? Are he and Jack having drinks like in the dating sense?

     Maybe it isn't fair to jump to conclusions. But I'm making leaps and bounds and I'm fuming.

     Dolores giggles. "Oh, I love that boy."

      Great, now I know where her vote stands.

     When Dres said he'd be back before closing, he really meant that down to the wire. He gets back just as Dolores is flipping the sign on the door. I'm in the middle of sweeping, having already wiped down and flipped the chairs. It was a very slow evening. I spent the whole of it anxiously waiting for Dres to return.

      Him and Jack come in the store loudly, talking animatedly with hand gestures and lots of laughter. Jack checks his phone and says, "Alright, I've gotta' head out. My rides here. Text me and let me know what you think." I watch them hug. I don't know if I'm bitter or jealous. Probably both. Mostly I'm just curious. Who is Jack?

      I should just ask Dres. There's no reason to jump to conclusions.

     He stalks out of the room silently after Jack leaves and I wait for Dolores to take the register to her office before I go after him. He's leaning against the island when I walk in. He looks up and smiles at me.

      Before he can even say anything, I go, "So I know I don't have any sort of claims to you because we aren't exclusive. And, really, by saying this, I'm overstepping, but I don't want to share you with anybody. And certainly not with your friend Jack. I get that you two have history –."

     Dres lets out a burst of laughter that seems to surprise him as much as me. I could actually say he was giggling and it'd be a pretty close description. He's grinning when he says, "You think Jack's gay? Oh, he's gonna' love that."

      I raise an eyebrow, feeling sort of stupid now. I'm also sort of affronted that a few hours with Jack and now he's all smiles all the time. It took me a month to get a smile out of him. "He's not?"

     Dres shakes his head. His expression turns smug. "No, he's not. But you can keep going on with your little speech. I was enjoying where it was going."

     I flush. "Yeah, no, never mind. Forget I said all that."

     "No, really, continue. It felt like you were going somewhere." He tries to maintain his smugness but smiles again, baring all his teeth. It's a lot of smiling for Dres.

     "Are you drunk? Cause you're doing a lot of smiling right now. It's making me uncomfortable." He tries to glare at me but he can't keep the straight face. "Aw, you're a little drunk huh?" Now I'm smiling.

     "Don't change the subject."

     "Do you even remember what I was saying?" I ask, teasing him.

     "Of course I do," he says, tone snippy.

     I make a disbelieving face, raising both my eyebrows. "Then what was I saying?"

     "I'm not drunk, Cas," he says pointedly.

     "Uh huh, likely story my little lightweight," I say, aiming mostly to get a rise out of him. "Then what was I just saying?"

     "You were saying you wanted me to be your boyfriend."

     I laugh but it comes out a lot more high pitched and nervous than I want. "That's not what I was saying."

     "There was something about being exclusive in your whole thing."

     "Do you always not listen to my speeches or is this a drunk thing?"

     "I'm not drunk," he says.

     Grinning, I say fondly, "Sure you aren't, drunkie."

     "Some people are able to have a few drinks without the risk of puking in someone's Sperrys."

    Oh how the turn tables...

   "Funny guy," I respond sarcastically. "You puke in some Sperrys once and suddenly you're the guy who pukes in people's Sperrys."

     Dres is laughing as he reaches out and grabs at my shirt, tugging me towards him. I let him pull me in, doing my best to mask my enjoyment.

     "You were saying that you don't have claims to me because we're not exclusive but you don't want to share me with anybody not even Jack, even though he's straight. Which was basically you asking me to be your boyfriend."

     I roll my eyes and we're close, heat bubbling between us like someone lit a match or a blowtorch. "Me basically asking you to be my boyfriend would've been more like hey, Dres, be my boyfriend."

     Dres looks up like he's thinking, and then goes, "Yeah, okay, I'll be your boyfriend."

     He opens his legs and I get between them so we're pressed up against each other, my mouth just short of his. "Yeah?" I repeat, coasting my breath over his lips. He goes to close the space but I pull back. "Yeah?" I say again, and just to tease him I lick my lips. Dres isn't having it, grabbing at my face and pulling me to him.

     He tastes strong and sweet. This kiss is different, quicker and more eager than I'm used to. He kisses along my face and neck before returning to my lips like he can't decide what he wants, hips grinding dirtily against mine. So this is what it's like to be Dres's boyfriend? Yeah, count me on board. Count me on board a thousand times over.

     I get an idea. Probably a bad one. The stores closed and Dolores will be in the office counting the register for at least an hour. So I go for it, holding Dres back with my hands against his chest as I pull away. He looks at me like he was not ready to stop, lips rosy and slightly parted.

     He turns his head slightly to the side, eyeing me and goes, "I don't like that look..." as I drop to my knees, slowly, dragging my hands down his chest, halting once I get to his jeans. "You don't have to," he starts to say but his words break off into a sharp gasp when I get handsy with him through his jeans.

      I'm not a stranger to oral sex, but I'm also not comfortable enough with it that my stomach doesn't immediately drop, tossing nervously. My fingers shake as they undo his jeans, slowly because it's the only pace I'm able to manage with any control. I'm nervous but I'm also excited.

     I'm about to see Dres's dick and I might actually pass out before that happens. It's probably perfect. It's probably going to ruin me. I'll never look at another dick, even my own, the same again. If I do, it'll only be to compare notes.

     I tug his jeans down first and he opens his legs for me, the sound of him breathing the only thing in my ears. I ruck up his shirt and kiss under his navel, lick a line to the band of his boxers and bite at the skin there before I hook my fingers on the sides and pull them down.

     Dres's dick is spectacular. It's not even fully hard, flushed, lying heavily between his legs. I get my hand around the shaft and give a soft, long tug, pulling it to a stance. Dres makes this sound that is so good, it hits me square in the chest. I'm close enough where I know he can feel my breath on him and I pant as I tug him to attention.

     Once he's hard, I look up, my mouth lingering right near the tip. Dres is staring down at me, looking wrecked, his pupils so big his eyes look completely black. I'm a nice guy, so I give in a little, pressing a close-mouthed kiss to the tip before I drag my tongue down the underside. He groans loudly, the sound broken and guttural.

      I want to tease him. To draw this out as long as I can. I'd spend my life here, between Dres's legs. I don't know what that says about me. That I am a man obsessed with Dres's body, perhaps.

     I alternate between shorts flicks of my tongue along the tip of his dick and licking down the underside, leaving kisses along his inner thighs. I do it long enough to tear Dres to pieces, till he's trying (but failing) not to buck his hips and is clutching at the island top. I wonder if it's at all possible to make him come without putting him in my mouth.

     When I do take him in my mouth, I'm slow, wrapping my lips along the swollen, slick head, letting my tongue swirl around the slit. I move further, taking more, letting him fill me up. Dres has given up on being quiet and is just a string of strained sounds.

     I get a flow going, taking his length slowly and pulling back with a hard suck. What I can't fit in my mouth, I wrap my hand around, synchronizing the motion to my mouth. There's a moment where I'm getting into it, have given up on teasing Dres, and am working his dick when it hits the back of my throat. I gag, but don't pull away, as my face goes hot.

     My mouth wants to pull air and I have to remind myself my nose is the only working route for oxygen intake at the moment. When I look up, Dres is looking down at me, mouth open and eyes wide like he's seeing God. Fuck, that's good. I tip my head back just enough to open my throat, taking his full length into my mouth. I slide my hands up his thighs, only stopping when I get to his hips so I can pin them to the island behind him.

     Dres makes these little noises in his throat, and mutters my name barely above a whisper when he finishes. I pull back just enough to swallow, sucking the orgasm from his bones. He's gasping for air he goes soft and I lick him clean, before I let him fall out of my mouth. I'm careful as I pull his briefs back up and then his jeans, rising to my feet as I zipper and button them.

     "Come here," he says, voice spent, as he grabs the back of my neck and pulls me to him, kissing me furiously, tongue scraping at my mouth. It's dirty and hot and amazing all at once, that Dres is basically tasting himself on my tongue.

     Dres's hands slide between us, marking a hot path down my chest, but I pull away and step back before I give in. He looks so good like this, sex punched and satiated. His eyes dart along my face, unsurely. "What're you doing?"

     "Heading back to the front," I say as I backpedal to the doorway. "So I can mop the floors. And we can get out of here."

     His eyebrows pinch together. "What about you?"

     Grinning, I use his line, "Wasn't about me."