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Charles Darwin Millsworth, Chaz to one and all since infancy, has no wish to live up to the grandeur of his name. Fortunately, his Southern belle mama isn’t at all inclined to push her son into a career that won’t make him happy. She thinks he needs to loosen up and enjoy life. After all, that’s the whole point of being independently wealthy, isn’t it?

Chaz can see her point, but his father died in his forties as did his father before him. As far as Chaz is concerned, he has limited time on this earth to make his dreams come true. And he refuses to leave anyone weeping over a wasted life.

Sprocket Moretti is a simple guy. He loves his job, enjoys college, lives in his beloved childhood home—why worry about the little things when the big stuff looks so good. Unfortunately one of the little things he tries not to stress over is a broken friendship with a very hot and bewildering sous chef. They were pals, hung out and had fun. But one night they stepped over that invisible line, and the next morning Chaz kicked Sprocket out of his bed and his life.

Now, no matter how much Sprocket tries to charm Chaz, the guy has no desire to return to their pre-sex playful bantering ways. And if Sprocket stays true to his motto, this little thing—Chaz—should be written off and never worried about again.

If Sprocket had known one night of reality altering orgasms would endanger their easygoing friendship… How do you finish that sentence when all your mind wants is its friend back and all your body wants is another taste?

Excerpt:

Sprocket grabbed the grande hot chocolates—with a dash of his favorite flavoring, pecan—and reached the gazebo with five minutes to spare, per the clock tower.

He set the drinks on the bench of the gazebo so he could spread the blanket across the floor.

“Wow, that’s a huge blanket,” Chaz stated as he took the three step up to stand at the edge of it.

“Never took you for a size queen.” Sprocket winked as he handed him a cup of steaming goodness. “So, what’s for lunch?”

“Oh, well…” Chaz held the basket close to his chest as he slipped off his shoes and situated himself in the middle of the blanket. “Not much.” He pulled a thermos from the basket. “I made homemade tomato soup and chicken salad sandwiches.” He set the thermos down and pulled out wrapped sandwiches, a bag of croutons, a plastic bowl with a translucent red lid, and a small stack of china dishes in rapid succession.

“My grandma used to make me tomato soup and grilled cheese all the time. Except she’d actually grill the cheese before putting it on the sourdough toast. I tried to make it once…didn’t end so well.” He laughed as he shook his head, settling down next to Chaz on the blanket.

“But I’ve heard you and Mason talk; you cook most of the time between the two of you.”

Sprocket accepted the sandwich handed to him and nodded. “Yep. Well you know, we both can cook, but neither of us gets much fun out of it.” He unwrapped the sandwich and picked up half, biting into it. He couldn’t suppress his moan. Damn that was good, and Chaz put nuts in it for crunch, walnuts and pecans. How did he know pecans were Sprocket’s favorite? A part of him wanted to believe maybe Chaz had asked around. Anyone in Craft Time would know and Prudence did too.

Not that it mattered either way. Nothing strange about a friend—and only a friend—knowing something as mundane as that. He quickly chewed and swallowed. “And we definitely don’t do fancy. Unless you count roast, but even then I sprinkle the seasoning on it and throw it in the oven. No fuss, no muss.”

With his next bite, something popped in his mouth, making him want to gag. He held it back, and while Chaz gazed out over the park at the kids running in the playground Sprocket lifted the toast to see what he bit into. Grapes. He grimaced as he quickly plucked the halved grapes out of the salad and dropped them on the napkin by his leg.

“You don’t like grapes?”

Sprocket jumped. Fuck…busted. “I like them fine. I like them right off the vine, frozen, even mashed up as wine…don’t like them so much with seeds, though.”

“Or in a sandwich, apparently.” Chaz noted, gesturing to the evidence on the blanket between them.

“Well…” Sprocket jammed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and chewed slowly, biding himself some time. While he was trying to break down the enormous amount of food in his mouth, he grabbed the other half of the sandwich and proceeded to pick the grapes out of that also.

Chaz raised an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged. He’d already been caught, no use faking it up now.

Reaching over, Chaz snatched Sprocket’s wrist and guided it to his mouth. Sprocket gulped the food in his mouth down, his stomach somersaulting either from the partially chewed lump it just received or because of the man sitting across from him on the blanket.

This wasn’t what friends did. Friends didn’t use their friend’s fingers as utensils. Still, he probably could’ve gotten past this moment if there hadn’t been a smidge of mayonnaise on the tip of his nail. Chaz spotted it, and while staring Sprocket in the eye, he put that spot right in front of his mouth. They sat like that for an eternity. Sprocket could feel his heart pounding fast, wondered if his pulse alerted Chaz to his extreme interest in the man’s next move.

He wanted to shout at Chaz to lick him. Do it now. Put him out of his misery. There was nothing Sprocket wanted more than to experience the wetness of Chaz’s tongue as it cleaned the white stuff from his finger. That was a lie. Sprocket wanted them to make more white stuff that had to be cleaned off, the kind you couldn’t purchase in a store. Well, maybe you could purchase it…but he really didn’t want his brain to go off on that tangent.

Finally—finally!—Chaz licked the condiment off. Before he could move back and call an end to this little episode, Sprocket broke free of his grip and hooked his hand behind the other man’s neck, holding him there, unable to move away.

When their lips met, it wasn’t gentle and coaxing. Sprocket wasn’t in that kind of mood. He wanted bad and he wanted now. Fuck friends. That whole concept was overrated if it kept him up all night in need. Anyway, this wasn’t his fault. Chaz started this shit; Sprocket would finish it.

And this time, he’d be better prepared. When Chaz kicked him the fuck out of his life, it wouldn’t tear him apart. Because no matter what, he’d make sure there wasn’t a spot in his heart for Chaz. Sprocket willingly would give up half his bed for the man, but nothing more.

While diving his tongue in Chaz’s mouth—reaching far enough back he could say with great certainty Chaz no longer had tonsils—Sprocket damn near convinced himself that he could do that, too.

Then Chaz whimpered, his hand pressing against Sprocket’s chest, right over his heart, and Sprocket knew he was a goner.

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