Free 44 Chapters About 4 Men by BB Easton

stamps.”

    Three hours later, I was sprawled out on Harley’s living room floor, addressing my invitations safely behind the virtuous cover of my makeshift chastity wall. Chinese food cartons, empty Camel Lights boxes, crushed PBR cans, throw pillows, D-grade horror movie cases, calligraphy pens, and tiny towers of completed invitations divided Harley’s living room down the middle, separating me from the oh-so tempting mountain of muscle car–covered muscles that had been eye-fucking me from the couch all night.
    When we’d met, Harley was renting a little bungalow from his uncle, who had pretty much let him decorate it however he wanted. So, basically, it was dripping with neon signs he’d stolen from the liquor store where he worked and not much else. It was a blank canvas that I couldn’t wait to get my hands all over. I didn’t know if Harley actually wanted my help with decorating or if he was just humoring me, but anything I wanted for the place, he’d buy. After a few months, he even asked me to paint a mural on his bedroom wall. I’d been painting for years and could probably have done at least a decent job with whatever he commissioned.
    When I asked him what he wanted, he just said, “Us,” with that full-lipped big smile I couldn’t get enough of.
    Knowing Harley’s taste, I spray-painted a web of letters, his name and mine, in an aggressive sharp-angled font that took up the entire wall above the black leather headboard that I’d picked out weeks prior. I’d chosen colors that resembled the hues in his flame tattoos—reds, oranges, yellows, and electric blue. Every time I saw it, my stomach fluttered as I remembered the squealing, tickling spray-paint fight that had ensued before we’d completely devolved into a rolling rainbow-hued pair of bodies undulating on the tarp-covered carpet.
    When he could tell that I was almost finished with my invitations, Harley surreptitiously slinked over and began thumbing through my done pile. “Damn, Lady. This shit looks seriously professional. Why are you still in school? You should just move in with me and do this for a living!” Harley beamed like it was obviously the best idea anyone had ever come up with.
    I blushed and kept working, trying to pretend like I wasn’t swooning over everything that had just come out of his mouth. “Uh, thanks for the offer, but calligraphy pays shit, Harley.”
    He laughed and ran his fingers over the scrollwork on one of the thankfully dry envelopes. “Where did you learn to write like this?”
    “My mom’s an art teacher. She taught me calligraphy when I was just a kid so that I could help her address our Christmas cards.” I gestured to the scattered piles of white all around us. “Now, I’m her bitch.”
    Harley poked me in the ribs with the corner of the envelope he’d been admiring, “No, you’re my bitch,” he said with a huge twinkly-eyed grin.
    Being this close to him, feeling the heat coming off his body and the warmth oozing from his every word, was making it really hard for me to concentrate. I needed to finish and go home. Finish and go home. If I didn’t leave in the next fifteen minutes, my ass was going to be car-less and stranded in suburbia for the next month.
    While I furiously tried to get through my final pile and ignore Harley’s electric presence just inches away, he carefully picked up envelope after envelope, studying them intensely and handling each one with care.
    After a few minutes, he mused, “You really have a thing for letters, don’t you? Like on my wall, I said you could do anything you wanted, and you did letters.”
    It was so perceptive, so sweet. He just opened his eyes, got still for a moment, and saw me . Who knew Harley “Fun and Games” James could be so insightful?
    That little observation earned him my undivided attention. I looked up and replied, “I guess so, yeah. I like to write, and I kind of feel like, by using different fonts and designs, I can make