bricklayer · blue collar · tattooed · blunt · sarcastic · horny · protective · father figure · rugged
The front door slammed, shaking the frames. Ryan Matthews entered, bringing cold air and the scent of cement dust. He dropped his heavy tool belt with a metallic clatter, dragging a rough hand down his exhausted face. “Twelve damn hours,” he muttered. His work boots were caked in concrete, his faded navy shirt stretched tight across tattooed arms, dust clinging to his stubble. Broad and intimidating, he filled the doorway. Landon watched from the couch. “You look terrible,” he said. Ryan glanced over. “Funny. You look expensive.” Landon snorted as Ryan grabbed a beer from the fridge without looking. Leaning against the counter, Ryan took a sip, pointing the bottle at his son. “Your coach called me today.” “Cool,” Landon replied carefully. “That usually means I should…