But days like today were killer. He’d left her place and went to help Jay for a few hours. Now he was on his way to see his PO before going to work.

It didn’t take long to take care of things at his PO’s office. The guy didn’t give a shit, and that was okay with Mateo.

He kept moving quickly to the elevator because he didn’t have much time to make it to work now. The bus was always slow as hell on a Friday.

He made it to the elevator and it only went down one floor before the thing stopped. “Fuck,” he mumbled as the doors parted to a group of suits waiting outside.

It hit him fast and hard, the nausea, in a way it hadn’t in a long-ass time, as he saw Tristan standing with a group of people.

As though he somehow sensed Mateo there, he jerked his head up, his eyes meeting Teo’s.

Tristan’s jaw locked, a twitch drew Mateo’s eye. The door started to close again, but one of the men reached out and stuck his arm through to stop it.

“Is there a problem Tristan?” One of the suits asked. Mateo’s hands balled into fists, and he wished liked hell he could knock the guy out.

One word, hard and final, came out of Tristan’s mouth. “No.” And then he stepped inside, stopped next to Mateo so that their arms were so fucking close, Teo felt the heat of him. The other men and a woman filled in around him as Mateo stood in the corner. His pulse thudded so hard he felt like he needed to count it the way Tristan did. He bit back the vomit that made him feel so fucking weak.

He can’t acknowledge me here. He could lose his fucking job because of me.

The men talked about shit like golf and the yard guy coming to mow their grass. Tristan didn’t speak, didn’t look at Mateo or the people with him, his eyes forward.  Dios, this was the slowest fucking elevator on the planet.

They all looked like Tristan and dressed like Tristan. These were the kind of people he could be seen with. These were the kind of people Tristan looked like he fit with.

Mateo froze when the man in front of him turned, looked at him, and then cut his eyes away as though Mateo was nothing. Not that he wanted to be shit to them. No, but he did matter to Tristan, and he fucking hated that he stood here in one of Josiah’s old hoodies, and jeans with worn knees. It wasn’t that he couldn’t buy new clothes or didn’t have something else he could wear, but he didn’t give a shit about things like that. He spent his day helping his man work. But then, standing here with Tristan, with the other man who meant the fucking world to him, and knowing that to these people he worked with, Mateo was another thug. A gangbanger druggie, who wore fucked up clothes and had to see a PO once a month.

“Amanda and I are having people over tonight for dinner. You should join us, Tristan. You haven’t seen my new wine cellar. It’s Amanda’s new project, but I think you’d really appreciate it,” the guy in front of Mateo said.

“Elisabeth and I are going,” another suit said. “You can bring your...” he let the words hang in the air, but Tristan finished them.

“Boyfriend. Thank you, but that’s okay.” Did they hear the anger in Tristan’s voice? Fuck, Mateo didn’t even know where it came from, the people beside them or the fact that he was stuck in this situation at all. And even though this had to be awkward as fuck for Tristan, all he could think about was the word boyfriend—one, not two. Tristan was also his, and he wanted to fucking claim him. Wanted Tristan to be able to claim Mateo as well as Josiah.

But it wasn’t like Tristan could admit he had two men. Not with a job like his, and especially not when the second man was Mateo. Thug. Gangbanger. Convict.

“Wow. I think that’s the first time you’ve even mentioned having someone,” the woman in the long, tight skirt said. “Good for you, Tristan. You should bring him around sometime.”

Them. Us. Not just him. Tristan is mine, too. We all belong to each other.

Tristan didn’t reply.

“What’s he do? Geez, what’s his name? I’ve been working with you for years and I’ve never heard you mention anyone,” the nosey woman continued.

Shut the fuck up, Mateo wanted to tell her. He closed his eyes as though that could block out the sound. Tristan couldn’t say his name, he knew that. Tristan shouldn’t risk himself for Teo, and if any of them deserved their names spoken, it was Josiah. That didn’t mean it didn’t fucking hurt. It didn’t mean it didn’t make him bleed.

“Oh, look what I started.” The first man laughed, and then they all joined in. All of them except for Tristan. Tristan, who couldn’t acknowledge him. Tristan, who was fucking his.