“Oh my gosh, I hurt myself all the time at work. You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” I say, keeping close behind him as he ascends the stairs slowly. I want to be there in case he gets unsteady on his feet again. It has nothing to do with the fact that it puts me at the perfect level to get a great look at his amazing ass. His poor, beat-up, bruised ass. Maybe he’ll require some kind of ass massage to help heal. I stifle a laugh as that thought crosses my mind.
When we reach the main floor, he gestures to the kitchen we’re standing in and turns to walk down the hall. “I’m just going to take a minute to wash my hands. Grab a drink if you like. I’ll be right back.”
He disappears down the hall, and I take a minute to look around his kitchen.
His house is stunning, and the neighborhood is fantastic. Real estate prices have shot up all over the Pacific Northwest in the past few years, which has resulted in a ton of new building but also in loads of people who don’t want to move out of the city to the newer developments but who do want a home with more modern amenities. That’s where Hot Dam Homes comes in, and we’ve been taking full advantage of helping homeowners make these charming homes comfortable for modern life while also keeping the original character people love.
The house is an old craftsman with loads of potential, but he wasn’t kidding when he said it’s a fixer-upper. It needs a shit-ton of work, and none of it will be cheap, but if it’s done right, it will be gorgeous and will be worth a mint of money.
“This place has great bones,” I say as he comes back into the kitchen. “Oh, and, uh, how are you feeling? No major injuries, I hope?”
He gives me a self-deprecating grin. “Nope, no major injuries. Just going to be sore for a few days. And, naturally, my pride has suffered a devastating blow.” He shrugs, still wearing a cheesy smile.
“Well, I hope both injuries heal quickly.” I smile at him and really want to make some kind of saucy comment about helping to heal his ass, but I don’t feel like that would be appropriate. The man’s basically a client, after all. Even if he is doing all kinds of unspeakable and delicious things to me in my imagination.
“So, do you plan to sell it after you renovate, or is this your ‘forever home’?” I ask as he gestures for me to follow him. Suddenly, I get a soft-focus picture in my head of this house, full of little kids who look like mini versions of Reed. Of course, there’s a beautiful wife hanging around the picture in my head too, and that image ties my stomach into one giant knot.
“When I bought the place, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with it,” he answers. “But this whole renovation project is turning into a lot more work than I expected. You probably hear that all the time, right?” He gives me a sheepish look. “Anyway, I don’t think I can afford to renovate it the way I had originally planned: using top-of-the-line everything and making it into a real showpiece. In my mind, after it was finished, I would choose whether to stay in it or to move on to somewhere else. But now, it’s costing me so much in both time and money that I think I’m going to have to just do a minimal update and then sell it. Hopefully I’ll be able to recoup my costs.”
“Right, that makes sense,” I say. “Would you mind if I took a look around the rest of the place?”
“Of course. Just follow me for the remainder of the grand tour.” He makes a sweeping gesture, directing me into the living room, a playful smile playing at the edges of his lips.
As he takes me through the house, stopping often to point out, with obvious pride, the many original details, I get a crazy idea. But it’s probably nothing more than that: just a crazy thought running through my mind.
My reaction to Reed Morrow is unfamiliar. Whenever I interact with people, I always walk away feeling like the interaction falls somewhere in the range of “mostly tolerable” to “completely insufferable.” I almost never find interactions with other humans I don’t know well to be enjoyable. There is only a tiny number of people I can actually relax with, and basically, those people consist of my family and a couple of the long-term employees at Hot Dam Homes. In general, though, interacting with people is a chore. It’s necessary for my business, but it’s draining.
The way I feel with Reed is totally different. I find myself offering up information about myself without being asked, something Ineverdo. I don’t know if it’s the way he listens so intently or some other reason, but whatever it is pushes me to open up to him. I like him. And I rarely like anyone—ever. He’s calm and easygoing, and he seems to appreciate the direct way I communicate. A lot of people get very uncomfortable with how direct I am, and many get frustrated when I take what they say too literally if they meant it a different way. Reed is so laid-back he seems to just accept me how I am. Being accepted that way is rare for me, but I love how it feels. The way he makes me feel. And that’s terrifying.
Chapter 9
REED
Dylanisprettymuchexactly what I would order up if I could build my perfect man. A little taller and broader than me but not huge like his giant-sized younger brother. His dark hair isn’t exactly curly, but it has a gentle wave to it. I bet it would be smooth as silk, free from annoying product. I wonder if he likes having his hair pulled during sex. Mmmm. I wonder if he prefers it rough or gentle, or maybe he likes it both ways, depending on his mood. Jesus Christ, I need to get it together.
We make our way through the house slowly, and when he gets down onto his hands and knees while trying to locate an outlet behind the guest bed, it’s all I can do not to lean over and take a bite of his gorgeous ass. Which, of course, reminds me of my own ass, which is definitely not going to be looking gorgeous or feeling great in a few hours. It hurts like a motherfucker, but I have no way of knowing how bad the bruising is. I can’t tell for certain, but after examining myself (at least as much as physically possible), I’m sure it’s not broken. But a bruised tailbone isn’t fun either. I only hope I’ll be okay to work my shift in a few days.
The whole “broken butt” situation isn’t helped by the fact that I’ve morphed into a clumsy fourteen-year-old boy. Not only is my dick getting hard against my will, but I’m bumping into shit and knocking stuff over at an alarming rate. The narrow hallways throughout the house mean Dylan and I are constantly bumping into each other, and the electricity I felt yesterday is still there.
As we walk into the kitchen after the rest of the house tour, our fingers brush together while we’re both reaching for the same light switch.
“Oh!” I bark out as we both snatch our hands back like we’ve been shocked.
“Yikes, sorry about that,” he says.
“It must be my electric personality,” I crack. It’s Dylan’s turn to roll his eyes at my dumb joke, and we both chuckle.
Looking around my sad kitchen, I let out a big sigh. This room is where I began this ill-fated renovation adventure. I tore out one wall of cabinets, but that’s about as far as I got. Not my proudest accomplishment.
Dylan takes a long look at the sad wall and then cocks an eyebrow at me. I shrug sheepishly.
“Yeah, I know,” I say. “Like I told you, it’s possible I may have gotten in over my head with this whole thing.”
His cocky eyebrow is replaced with an encouraging smile. “Nah,” he says, waving a hand. “You just need a little help, is all.”
I laugh, turning toward the fridge. “Can I get you something to drink?” I ask as Dylan looks down at his notes.
It takes him a few seconds to answer, so long that I’m about to repeat the question, thinking he didn’t hear me, when he looks up. “Sure, water would be great.” He goes quiet again as I get us a couple of glasses of ice water. He’s obviously turning something over in his head.