...Vic knew his boss was worried by the absences. Whenever he clocked in, he couldn’t help but pick up on Mr. Morrison’s thoughts—the old man suspected Vic was job hunting, which was ridiculous, really. In this economy, why would he leave a job he’d held for years only to jump ship now? To assuage his boss’s fears, Vic had agreed to the reduced hours, working thirty hours a week and shaving ten hours off his vacation. When summer started and some of the other drivers took their own time off, Vic would still get overtime by working a double shift. And he’d have plenty of time to take off in September, when Matt had a week off from the gym.

Still, a six-hour shift would take some getting used to. After the late lunch Vic usually ate, he was surprised to find he had less than two hours before he had to head back to the garage. It felt strange turning off his sign and driving past the bus stop crowded with commuters, and the traffic on the interstate was a little heavier than he anticipated. It’d been quite a while since he had sat behind the wheel of his own car at this hour of the day—the sunlight was all wrong, reflecting off the duct tape that held his steering wheel together, and night didn’t descend as he drove home.

At the curb in front of his apartment building, he had a panicky moment when his heart stuttered in his chest because Matt’s black Jaguar wasn’t there. But it wasn’t even six thirty yet, and Vic didn’t know how long it usually took his lover to get home. Had he worked late? Did he manage to pick up Sadie before the daycare closed?

Another scary thought struck. Was the dog all right?

Vic shook his head as he climbed out of the car. Matt was fine, the dog, too. It was Vic who was thrown off with this wacky new schedule. And, as if to prove it, a sleek Jag slid into the spot behind Vic’s battered old Corolla before he even made it to the front steps. Pounding hip hop music blared from the stereo, vibrating the very air around Vic. He stopped, turned, and saw Sadie lunge out at him through the passenger side window, her mouth open to bark but the sound lost in Matt’s music. When Matt cut off the car, silencing the beat, she barked again, happy to see Vic. The moment Matt unbuckled her seat belt, she scrambled through the open window.

“Watch the paint!” Matt cried.

Sadie ignored him. Racing across the sidewalk, she launched herself at Vic’s legs, tongue lolling as she snuffled into his palm. When she found he held no treats, she worked her way under his hand, forcing him to pet her ears. Her tail slapped against the steps, Vic’s legs, the azaleas Mrs. K had planted in front of the building. The dog wasn’t just pleased to see him—she was ecstatic, as if it hadn’t been this morning when he dropped her off at daycare but years ago, and she’d been pining away for him ever since.

When Vic heard Matt set the alarm on his car, he looked up to find his lover struggling to carry a large bag of dog food in both arms. Plastic bags swung from his wrists, each marked PetSmart. So they’d been shopping, had they? And from the looks of those bags, Sadie had made out like a bandit. “A little help here,” Matt muttered from behind the bag of dog food.

With little effort, Vic plucked the bag from Matt’s embrace and tucked it under one arm. Fifty pounds of kibble was nothing compared to the thousand pounds of steel and iron he lifted on a daily basis. Matt stepped up, eyes closed, mouth puckered. “Kiss me,” he demanded.