Books by Brad Saunders
MEN I MIGHT HAVE KNOWN
HARD AT WORK
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Hard at Work
Brad Saunders
KENSINGTON BOOKS
Contents
Introduction
The Mover’s Son
Riley the Realtor
Pierre the Pâtissier
Samuel the Barrel Master
Twin Trickery
Smooth Sailing
My Naked Neighbor
Trivia Night Threesome
Interview with the Porn Star
Subject to Interpretation
The Casting Session
Louis in the Library
Henry the Hotelier
Simon the Sommelier
Diego the Designer
Introduction
Missed connections occur all the time. Sometimes they spark between single people in search of love. Sometimes they develop between people who are in relationships with others and cannot act upon their feelings. And sometimes they happen in situations where the two would-be lovers cannot declare their feelings—whether because of time constraints or social restrictions.
As in the first installment of Men I Might Have Known, this edition is about missed connections. But this time, they will be with men of various occupations. One of the places in real life where people find connections is at work. We spend most of our waking hours on the job, and we form relationships with those around us. In my line of work as a writer, I have come across people in all sorts of interesting fields, and more than a few have sparked my interest romantically, as well as professionally. My theory is, if they are interesting enough to interview, they are interesting enough to go on a date with. Plus, is there anything sexier than seeing someone doing something they’re good at?
Unfortunately, for decorum’s sake and for the sake of professionalism, we cannot act upon these feelings, and so these connections remain unfulfilled…until now. The stories to follow are based on true-life encounters I have had in my various careers, and though nothing ever came of them in real life, as fantasies they live on. That is the beauty of these stories—there are no messy breakups, fights, or what-ifs. However, there is at least a measure of truth to each of them, which is what makes them so scintillating…at least to me. I hope you’ll find them so as well.
The Mover’s Son
In the midst of finals during my freshman year of college, I got a phone call from my parents informing me that they were moving back to my native California in a few weeks, and that they would need my help before I set out for a summer in Europe. I hastily agreed to do whatever they needed and got off the phone as quickly as possible since I was pressed for time, and stressed about an imminent linguistics paper deadline.
I didn’t give the move too much thought since I still had all my finals to take, and my parents would only need my help unpacking everything in the new house in California. I would fly straight there after the school year ended, spend a couple weeks helping get the house in order, and then take off for an internship in Paris. I could hardly wait to get to Europe; so even through the drudgery of unpacking, at least I had that trip to look forward to after all the hassle of moving.
When the dust from finals and the subsequent year-end parties finally settled a couple weeks later, I packed for home and tried to overcome my raging hangover on the flight from the East Coast back to California. I may have been a young, fit eighteen-year-old, but I felt burned out and gross after all my studying and partying, so I was looking forward to a few weeks of good, hard, physical work to clear my mind.
My parents picked me up at the airport late that night and drove me to our new house by the beach. It was a huge, beautiful place, but completely barren except for a couple mattresses on the floor and some fast-food containers in the fridge. My parents explained we were still waiting for the moving trucks to show up, and that they were expected the next day. Then the work would begin.
I wished my folks good night, then fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, anticipating the heavy lifting to come.
Early the next morning, I was awoken by a huge truck pulling into the driveway. The movers had arrived. I watched from my upstairs bedroom window as my parents went out to talk to the driver, then pulled on some shorts and a tank top, and went downstairs myself.
I grabbed a cup of coffee, hoping that would perk me up, and went outside to survey the situation. What a view I got.
The moving truck was owned and operated by a father-son team. From what my mother said, I learned the father’s name was Matt. He was a handsome, grizzled guy in his mid-forties, with a mop of graying black hair. He looked tanned and tired, and was opening up the back of the truck for my parents to take a look. What really caught my attention, though, was Matt’s son. He was still standing by the truck’s cab, getting some equipment out of the front. He looked like he was barely out of high school (and I later found out that he had just turned eighteen and graduated a week earlier), with a young face, an olive complexion, a mop of thick black curls, golden brown eyes, and a sinewy body of long, toned muscles. His back was strong from lifting boxes all day, and his ass was as round as a globe, leading down to some of the most muscular legs I’d ever seen.
I walked up to him and extended my hand, asking his name. When he turned to look at me, he smiled shyly and took my hand, telling me his name was Ty.
“I’m Brad,” I told him, smiling back. “Nice to meet you. Let me know if you need any help.” Ty blushed and thanked me before turning back to his work. I saw his eyes shift back toward me one last time, though, and I took that as a good sign.
The rest of the day was a blur of bustle, activity, and heat. All I wanted to do was go to the beach and surf all day, but instead I was stuck lugging furniture into the new house and trying to find my boxes mixed in with everything else.
Every time I passed Ty, he looked sexier and sexier, as a healthy, ruddy glow spread all over his body, and the exertion of moving my belongings brought out a sheen of moisture on his skin. A couple drops of sweat even sprung up on his upper lip, and I had a barely resistible urge to kiss them away.
But I controlled myself and channeled my sexual frustration into lugging and hauling and lifting. Finally, it was time for lunch, and I was put in charge of a McDonald’s run. I got some cash from my folks and took everyone’s orders. I was amazed by the amount of food Ty and his father ordered, but then again, they did manual labor every day of their lives, so they could eat whatever they wanted.
I was about to take off in my mom’s convertible when Matt suggested Ty take a little break from the work and go with me to help. My heart leapt up into my throat, but I kept calm as I nonchalantly shrugged, “Sure.”
Ty looked anxiously from his father to me, then followed me out to the car. I could tell he was nervous, but I didn’t know why. I wasn’t just going to jump him! At least, not if I could help it…
As I shifted into gear, my arm brushed against his on the armrest. He started to move it, but then he left it where it was, so I left mine there, too, and we stayed like that—sweaty arms touching, but nothing else.
We drove in awkward silence until I turned on