Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 42882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 214(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
He gave me a pitying smile. “That’s not how it works in the Thicket, Doc. Everybody here knows everybody else. And that’s a wonderful thing because it means everyone looks out for each other and really cares. But even a CIA agent couldn’t keep a secret here.”
Buttercup the dog let out a sigh that echoed my own.
I shook it off and managed to focus—or, more accurately, tried to fake it and failed—for the rest of the day.
When it was finally time to go home, I decided to stop by the new noodle restaurant in town, Hot Noods, and pick up dinner for Jay to pay him back for the pasta.
When I pulled into the driveway, I saw a pair of sawhorses set up by the garage with several two-by-fours on them. Next to the lumber was a chop saw and a haphazard pile of tools. It was clear Jay had moved the peacocks out into the backyard, as we’d discussed, and that he was working on their habitat, even though it was mostly dark and pretty cold out.
As I got out of the car, grabbing the takeout bag, Jay stepped into the open door of the garage and peered out. He reached up, bracing his hands on the overhang of the garage in a way that seemed deliberately designed to make the biceps popping out of his sleeveless shirt ripple and a mouthwatering slice of abs appear above the waistband of his jeans. He gave me a deliberate up-down look that made my mouth water and my cock plump behind my scrub pants.
“Well. Howdy, neighbor,” he said, injecting his voice with more of a sleepy drawl than usual.
I sucked in a breath and nearly choked on my own spit.
“H-hi,” I said, then scowled at my own ridiculousness.
I was a thirty-mumble-year-old man who’d had sex with many people. Like, many. There was no reason for me to feel like a middle schooler with his first crush just because Jaybird and I had hooked up.
We’d said casual, for God’s sake.
I cleared my throat. “I, uh… picked up some noodles. For… dinner?” I lifted the bag slightly.
Jay’s gaze dropped to the bag, and his forehead creased. “Oh.” His arms dropped, and he nodded. “Sure. Yeah. I won’t hold you up. Their wontons are the best, but you can’t eat ’em cold.”
I blinked. “No, Jay, I meant I got noodles for both of us. In case you wanted to, you know… come up and eat with me?”
My breathy voice managed to turn the simple invitation into the world’s silliest innuendo.
Smooth, Lane. Stop talking.
But the way Jay stared at me, still frowning, made me think maybe I needed to talk even more.
“I just… I thought… I can’t cook for shit, but I know you love their stuff, and I wanted to do something nice for you, so…” I pressed my lips together, stopping my babble.
For a person trying to keep things casual, I was sounding the exact opposite, damn it.
“You got me dinner?” Jay said, sounding as thrilled and befuddled as if I’d offered him a billion dollars, tax-free.
Now, it was my turn to look confused. “Well, yeah. You’ve been feeding me for, like, six months,” I teased. “It’s about time, right?”
Jay grinned and walked toward me slowly like I was an animal he didn’t want to startle. He didn’t seem to realize that I was more likely to sprout wings and fly than I was to walk away when he was looking at me with heat and appreciation in his eyes.
He took the bag from my hand, and slowly, leaving me plenty of time to move away, he pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “Thanks, Lane. And… just so I understand… will there be a dessert component to dinner?”
“Yeah.” I started to say there were cookies in the bag when I realized that “dessert” actually was an innuendo.
Jesus.
I immediately shut my mouth and flushed hot all over. “I mean, yes. I… I had a lot of fun last night. There’s no reason we can’t do that again, right? Casually, I mean?”
“Casually,” he repeated. He stepped closer so that our chests were pressed together, dipped his face to my neck, inhaled deeply, and groaned. “Fuck, you smell good. Can we eat dessert first?”
I couldn’t imagine how that was true, given the day I’d had, but I didn’t argue. Instead, I grabbed his hand and towed him, laughing, up the stairs to my apartment.
Two nights in a row didn’t make a casual thing not-casual, I told myself firmly. It was simply enjoying a thing while it lasted.
A sentiment I repeated to myself for the next couple of months.
Chapter Four
Jay
Every once in a while, as I was going through my regular life in the Thicket—like while I was giving a Corolla a particularly fine wax or helping Grandma Emmaline with her latest artistic endeavor (a larger-than-life mural of her husband, Amos, clothed only in a loincloth)—it would hit me that I, plain old Jaybird Proud, was keeping time with gorgeous, funny, supremely talented Lane Desmond.