Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 302(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Grayson’s glass tipped over, ice and water rushing across the table and into Poppy’s lap, causing Poppy to squeal and jerk to his feet.
He flicked water off himself and glared at Grayson, then his glare steadied into something contemplative. “Huh.” He smiled suddenly. “Never mind. Pants are removable.”
Carl’s gaze sank to Poppy’s soaked lap, and suddenly Grayson was whirling Carl out of his chair and into the kitchen. “We’ll clean up and help with dessert.”
Grayson snapped on rubber gloves and started piling boards and knives and wooden spoons into the sink. Carl found a tea towel and dried things as they came out coated in suds.
“Why’d you decide to come to dinner?”
“I shouldn’t have. I told myself not to.”
“You told yourself not to?”
Grayson turned on the taps again. It took him a while before he answered. “Ah, because I have so much on.” He prodded the mass of bubbles. “But I couldn’t help it—Sage and Leo are always so much fun to hang with.”
Carl stepped closer and was about to ask Grayson’s thoughts on the Leo situation when Poppy came through with a stack of bowls.
“Let me help.”
He took the tea towel from Carl and inserted himself between them. No chance of a private word with Grayson after that. Not during dessert, not before or after Leo went to bed, not while they capped the evening off with a brandy.
“Sage,” Poppy murmured from the couch where he reclined comfortably in shorts borrowed from Sage. “Do you mind me crashing here tonight?”
“Course not.”
Poppy’s gaze cut to Carl. “Maybe I’ll see you around tomorrow morning?”
Grayson pushed out of his armchair, thanking Sage for dinner. “Time to head off.” He looked at Carl. “Shall we leave our host to it?”
At the door, Carl put all his layers back on, and outside—door shut behind them—Grayson added his scarf. “That’s how puffed up you should’ve come.”
“What’s with you tonight? You’re acting . . . off.”
Grayson marched through the gate, turned down the footpath and threw Carl a look. “He kept ogling you.”
“Ogling me.”
“That t-shirt’s very clingy and your jeans are outrageous.”
“What’s wrong with them? Other than the pinching.”
“You looked like you wanted to be ravished there and then.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“What’s the problem if I did look . . . ravishing?”
“You wanted to boost Carl’s confidence. Not Jason’s.”
“Is that why you were weird all evening?”
Grayson jerked his head away; his throat jutted with a deep swallow. “Didn’t we agree to be friends? A good friend would look out for you. The real you.”
The real him.
In the quiet of the night, under the soft glow of a streetlamp, those words fluttered in Carl’s stomach.
He stepped forwards and Grayson’s body tightened, but he moved his head to fix a gut-punching gaze on Carl. Deep, thoughtful—and as he claimed, protective.
Air shifted and leaves rustled, and abruptly, Grayson stepped back. “I’m surfing tomorrow. Early.” He narrowed his eyes at Sage’s house and then looked over at Carl. “Did you want to come?”
Carl didn’t have much experience surfing—and neither did Jason, judging by the lack of wetsuit in his wardrobe. Despite not having gear, Carl was strangely eager to go.
He shook off little electrical zaps, putting them firmly away in the ‘Ignore’ column of his brain, and focused on the nature, the fresh air, and the early morning.
He jumped into Grayson’s idling ute and handed over a travel cup of steaming coffee. “I love that we’re early birds.”
Grayson took the offered cup with a glance at Carl’s lap and a raised brow. “Because of catching worms?”
Heat flooded Carl’s cheeks and he groaned. “You’re going to hold that untimely fall against me forever, aren’t you?”
Grayson laughed. “My groupies go to such lengths, the least I can do is appreciate their efforts.”
Carl swatted Grayson’s arm. “Take that back.”
“I really don’t want to.”
“It’s a wonder your head isn’t twice as big.”
They were the first to arrive at Houghton Bay, and the cool sand beneath Carl’s bare feet sent happy shivers through him. Dawn painted the sky in strong strokes of rippling pink, and beyond the ragged, rocky coastline was a stunning view across Cook Strait to the South Island’s mountainous peaks.
Stripped down to his wetsuit, Grayson hefted his surfboard under one arm and admired the view. “The day you lost your bike, a pod of dolphins visited the bay. Saw orcas here once too.”
“At home we’ve got tiger snakes and giant huntsman spiders.”
“Really selling it, Carl. Take me there right now.”
Carl laughed. “Actually it’s alright. A lot of Victorian architecture—quaint cottages and colourful gardens. The town square has a fountain and a historic clock that’s always malfunctioning. There’s a public park and a walkway that winds around the town, a police station I’m overly familiar with, and the best wee convenience store around. Every morning the scent of fresh donuts has the locals streaming in for their filter coffee and a good ol’ chat. It’s the heart of all the gossip, and I’m pretty much at the centre of it.”