Hardwood Creek 🏨 | Part 5: Meeting The Coles (Patreon)

All characters are 18+ and this story is entirely fictional.Everything that happens is safe, sane, and consensual.

The motel lobby still smelled faintly of Noah’s sweat. Or maybe that was just in my head. Either way, stepping into reception the next morning felt like stepping into a spotlight I wasn’t ready for.

Milo was already behind the counter, perched on a stool with his usual smug smirk. He didn’t even say good morning. Instead, he lifted his brows like he’d been waiting all night for this exact moment.

“I heard some noises yesterday,” he sang, dragging the words out. “When our friendly handyman came by. Lot of moans. Lot of creaking hinges.” His grin widened, wicked. “Tell me, Jules did he fix those doors…or were you the one getting screwed?”

Heat shot up my neck. I tried for nonchalance, leaning against the counter as if I had nothing to hide. “He did what he came for.”

Milo’s gasp was dramatic enough to belong on stage. “Oh my god. You did.” He slapped the counter, practically bouncing in his seat. “Fuck. We really do have the same taste in men.”

My stomach tightened. “Wait,” I said slowly, “have you two…?”

That grin of his turned downright filthy. “Oh, honey. Me and Noah? We’ve fooled around plenty. Friends with benefits. Scratch-an-itch kind of thing. You call, he shows up, no questions asked. He’s good with his hands in more ways than one.” He made a crude gesture with his fist, winking.

I blinked, the ground shifting under me. Some part of me wanted to laugh it off, but another part bristled. I hadn’t exactly imagined myself falling head over heels for Noah, but knowing I was just another stop on his little maintenance circuit sat uncomfortably. I didn’t want to be part of some casual rotation.

I opened my mouth to reply, but the bell over the door jingled, saving me.

“Julian.”

The voice was warm, smooth, familiar. I turned to see Simon stepping inside, crisp shirt tucked neatly into tailored trousers. He looked out of place in the shabby little lobby, like a page from a city magazine had been torn out and pasted against peeling wallpaper.

Milo smirked at me knowingly, but Simon barely glanced his way. His eyes were on me.

“Hello,” he said, and the way the word wrapped around me made me stand up straighter.

“Simon,” I managed, trying not to sound like I’d just been caught in a compromising conversation. “What brings you here?”

He smiled politely. “The mayor was away last week, otherwise he’d have welcomed you sooner. He’s asked me to bring you by today.”

Milo leaned his chin into his palm, looking between us with faux innocence. “Simon, darling, you know phones exist, right? Could’ve just called.”

Simon’s smile curved, faintly amused. “And miss the chance to make a proper impression?” His eyes flicked to mine again. “I thought not.”

It was subtle, but it hit me all the same…flirtation, smooth as his pressed shirt.

“Shall we?” he asked, gesturing toward the door.

I followed him out into the sun, Milo’s smirk burning between my shoulder blades.

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Walking through town with Simon was a different kind of attention. Where Noah had pressed close, heat radiating off him, Simon skimmed; brushes of shoulders, the faintest touch at my elbow as he guided me across the street, a tilt of his head toward some landmark or another. His voice carried easy charm, pointing out shops, recounting little histories of the town.

I tried to keep my focus on the crooked streets and creaking porches, but my gaze kept slipping back to him. His stride was unhurried but certain, his shirt sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, showing just enough skin to suggest restraint rather than invitation. He smelled faintly of cedar and soap, understated but deliberate.

“Overdressed again,” he murmured as my shoes clicked against the uneven boards of the town hall steps.

I raised a brow. “Sorry, am I supposed to show up in mud-stained boots?”

His grin was soft but teasing. “Not supposed to. But it wouldn’t hurt.” He held the door for me, eyes glinting as I passed.

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The town hall was all polish and old weight. Wood-paneled walls, oil portraits of past mayors, the faint scent of lemon polish and paper. 

Simon moved like he belonged there. Which, I supposed, he did.

We were led into the mayor’s office, a wide space with sunlight pouring through tall windows. Behind a sturdy oak desk sat Mayor Richard Cole. He rose as we entered, tall, broad-shouldered, his handshake firm enough to make my knuckles ache.

“Julian,” he said in a voice that carried authority without effort. “Welcome. Sorry I wasn’t here sooner. Travel called me away.”

“Of course,” I said quickly. “I appreciate your time.”

He nodded once, assessing. “The motel has always been important to this town. My father stayed there, once or twice, back in its heyday. I hope you’ll find the people here…cooperative.”

There was an edge to it, as though the words carried weight beyond pleasantries.

“Yes, sir,” I said carefully.

Simon lingered nearby, watching the exchange with the faintest smile.

The mayor gestured toward the door, and a moment later a woman swept in: Lorraine Cole, pearls around her neck, hair perfectly set. She had that kind of polished warmth that came from years of hosting fundraisers and smiling through gossip.

“Oh, Julian,” she said, her hand cool and soft as she clasped mine. “We’re so glad you’re here. The motel is part of our town’s heart. You’ll take good care of it, won’t you?”

“I’ll do my best ma’am,” I promised.

Her smile brightened, though her eyes studied me just as keenly as her husband’s. Then she excused herself, murmuring something about a charity luncheon.

Mayor Cole and I spoke a little longer about the motel’s plumbing, the state of its roof, the history of its ownership. He asked sharp questions, and I answered as smoothly as I could, though sweat prickled under my collar.

By the time we were dismissed, my head was spinning.

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Outside the townhall, Simon fell into step beside me again, his stride easy, measured. The afternoon sun broke through the clouds, catching in his hair and lighting it almost gold.

“Well,” he said, a note of amusement in his voice, “that went smoother than most first meetings with the mayor. He didn’t even bring up tax ledgers or zoning ordinances.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, half laughing. “Was he supposed to?”

“Usually,” Simon replied, his eyes glinting as he glanced sideways at me. “Consider yourself one of the lucky few. Or maybe you just charmed him.”

The idea made me huff, though it warmed me too. “I doubt that.”

He tilted his head, lips curving. “Don’t. You hold yourself well. Even if your shoes did make the old floorboards sound like they were carrying the weight of sin itself.”

I rolled my eyes, but my mouth betrayed me with a tugging smile. “Noted. I’ll try to tone down the footwear.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Simon murmured. His voice carried the faintest undercurrent, like he wasn’t just talking about shoes at all.

There it was again… the thread of flirtation. Softer than Noah’s cocky, sweat-slicked heat, but no less dangerous for its restraint.

We’d reached the steps leading down to the square when he slowed, hands sliding into his pockets. He looked at me fully now, that polished composure giving way to something gentler.

“In this town, everyone knows everyone,” he said. “But you’re new. Which means you’re…an unknown. And unknowns tend to stir people up.” His smile softened, warmer now. “How about we even the field a little? Dinner. Tonight. Let’s get to know each other properly.”

Dinner. The word landed with a weight that felt bigger than he gave it. My mind tripped over itself… was that an invitation, or something more? He hadn’t said date. Just dinner. But the way his gaze lingered, steady and deliberate, made it hard to dismiss the thought.

I managed a nod, keeping my tone casual. “Sure. Dinner sounds good.”

Simon’s grin sharpened at the edges, satisfied. “Good. I’ll come by around seven, then.”

He turned back toward the hall, and I started toward the motel. It was only once I’d reached the edge of the square that it struck me… he hadn’t needed to walk with me at all. He could’ve gone straight back inside. But instead, he’d matched my steps, shoulder brushing mine, like he wanted me to notice.

I caught myself smiling, eyes dropping to the sidewalk. Dinner. With Simon. Just dinner…right?

And yet, as the motel came into view, I couldn’t shake the curl of heat in my stomach. Couldn’t stop replaying the way he’d said it, like he already knew the answer to my question.

────────────────I was perched behind the reception desk, pen idly tracing a line across some paperwork I hadn’t meant to finish, when the door creaked open. The soft scrape of boots on linoleum drew my attention before a familiar silhouette filled the doorway.

Ethan.

Olive green tank clinging to shoulders that looked carved from stone, black jeans tight enough to suggest every shift and turn of his body, and a layer of farm dust still clinging to him, catching the light from the motel window. My eyes immediately went to the straps of his tank, the way his arms flexed as he carried a box of supplies, forearms thick and veined, skin glinting with a mix of sweat and sunlight.

“Ah,” I said, forcing casualness into my tone as I straightened in the chair, “you’re… half-dressed, as usual.”

Ethan arched an eyebrow, cocky as ever. “Half-dressed? I call it practical. You city boys call it excessive.”

I smirked, leaning back slightly. “Practical, huh? And here I thought this town ran on mud and shirts that never cover the upper arms.”

He set the box down with a thump that made the floor vibrate, his hands brushing against it in a way that seemed deliberate, even casual. “You’d last five minutes on the farm with hands like yours.”

I tilted my chin, not letting him see that my pulse had kicked up a notch. “Delicate hands? Maybe. But I handle other things… just fine.”

He glanced at my hands, soft and manicured, and for a fleeting second, he actually reached out, brushing his fingers over the top of one. “You wouldn’t last a day,” he murmured, almost to himself, but loud enough that the edge of his tone promised both challenge and amusement.

I pulled the hand back, pretending to adjust a pen. “Is that your idea of flirting, then? Criticism?”

“Observation,” he said smoothly. “City boy trying to survive in the town. It’s… entertaining.”

There it was, the spark I hadn’t expected. He was cocky, impossible, and entirely infuriating. And yet, every time I glanced at him, there was a draw, a pull I didn’t want to resist.

“I don’t know,” I said, leaning forward, resting my elbows on the desk. “You make it sound so easy. Maybe I should try it. Go out to the barn, see what all the fuss is about.”

Ethan’s smirk turned wicked. “Oh? You think you’d last that long?” His eyes darkened, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a grin that was half challenge, half promise. “Come by sometime. I’ll show you what real work looks like. Might even be fun.”

Heat pooled low in my chest at the thought, my stomach tightening. The idea of being at that barn, close to him, hands brushing against him while he showed me, teaching me, laughing at my city-boy ineptitude… it made me want him in a way I wasn’t ready to admit.

“You think you’re the only one who gets to be in charge?” I shot back, letting my voice dip low, teasing. “I might surprise you.”

He laughed, the sound low and rumbling, like gravel and whiskey, eyes flicking down to my legs before darting back up to mine. “You? Surprising me? You’d probably faint before you lifted a hammer.”

“I might,” I said, smirk still in place, “but I’d look good doing it.”

He shook his head, mock exasperated, then leaned against the edge of the desk, one boot on the bottom rung, the other planted firmly. The olive tank clung to his chest, sweat accentuating the lines of his muscles. The smell of him; earthy, faintly sweet with work-worn grit wafted over me, teasing at the edges of my composure.

I had to fight the urge to straighten my shirt, smooth my hair, act like I wasn’t staring at the curve of his bicep or the slight dusting of dark hair disappearing under his waistband.

“I can see you staring,” he said suddenly, voice teasing, confident, almost smug. “You like what you see, city boy.”

I coughed, hoping my flush didn’t show. “Observational skills,” I said quickly, because that sounded plausible. But my cock was already pressing uncomfortably against the fabric of my trousers, betraying me with every shift.

Ethan’s grin widened. “Careful,” he murmured, stepping closer, the heat from his body brushing against mine, just enough to make my heart thump in my ears. “You might get used to seeing this a lot.”

I swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the thrum in my chest and the heat pooling lower. “I might be able to handle it,” I said, trying to keep the sarcasm alive.

“Oh, you might,” he echoed, eyes darkening in amusement. “We’ll see.”

He bent down to shift the box, and I couldn’t stop my gaze from following the taut line of his back, the curve of his ass, the way the black jeans clung as he lifted with ease. My stomach twisted in a delicious way I hadn’t felt in years.

“So…” I said, trying to push the conversation back into safer territory, though my words were thick with heat. “All these deliveries, all this work… you do this every day?”

“Every day keeps the delicate city folk like you in check,” he said, voice low and teasing. “You should try it. Might teach you something.”

“Teach me, huh?” I echoed, leaning forward again, fingertips brushing the edge of the desk. “Maybe I want to be taught.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling against my chest. “Careful, city boy. You’re dangerously close to sounding… interested.”

“I’m not,” I said quickly, though my eyes betrayed me, following his every move. “I’m just… curious. Observational.”

“Right,” he said, that smirk lifting the corner of his mouth again. “Curious.”

He straightened, walking toward the door, the box balanced effortlessly in one hand. “I’ll let you survive the rest of the afternoon, city boy. But I expect to see you at my barn soon. Don’t disappoint me.”

My chest ached at the casual authority in his tone, the way he made my pulse spike without touching me. “We’ll see,” I said, but the word was hollow, because I knew I wanted exactly what he’d promised.

As he stepped outside, the sunlight catching the dust on his skin, I felt my cock straining again, low and persistent, a physical reminder of just how much his presence had affected me.

I sank back in the chair, trying to gather some composure, pressing my palms to the desk as if that would ground me. But I couldn’t stop seeing the broad shoulders, the glint of sweat on his forearms, the cocky tilt of his jaw as he threw one last look over his shoulder at me.

Heat and frustration tangled in my chest, making me aware of how much I wanted him, how much I hated that I wanted him, and how clearly he knew it.

I glanced at the box of supplies left behind, thinking about the inevitable trips back to the barn, the “lessons” he’d hinted at, the way he had that dangerous, confident air that made me both cocky and cautious.

And yet… I couldn’t wait.

For the first time since arriving in Hardwood Creek, I felt like I might not be able to resist something, someone. The town’s rhythm, its small secrets, and that stubborn, impossibly attractive farm boy had already started to pull me in, teasing, dangerous, utterly irresistible.

I leaned back, eyes drifting over the dusty window, imagining Ethan leaning against the barn doorway, calling me out, challenging me, daring me, testing me. My cock hardened again just at the thought, and I caught myself grinning.

And yet, beneath the heat, another thought crept in, softer but no less insistent. Dinner. With Simon. tonight. His easy charm, the way he had brushed shoulders with me, his subtle teasing..all of it lingered in my mind. I couldn’t tell if it was harmless courtesy or something more, and that uncertainty made the anticipation twist in my stomach just as sharply as Ethan ever could.

There was a storm brewing in Hardwood Creek, and somehow, it had two very different kinds of pull. I didn’t know how messy it would get, didn’t know if I’d survive it, and I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to.

But one thing was clear: I wanted it all, and I was dangerously, hopelessly curious about which way the night would take me.

────────────────Hardwood Creek 🏨 | Part 6: Dinner with Simon Hale