“Hey, how was the drive?”
“Long.” He sighs, sliding off his tie and draping it over the back of the couch.
He always looks so good in the clothes he wears to the games. It’s nothing more exciting than a button-up shirt and slacks, but I love the way the clothes hug his tall, lanky form. Swallowing, I watch as he begins unbuttoning the top of theshirt, and remember Parker’s suggestion that I sleep in his bed.If only,I think, as I get a glimpse of tan throat when the shirt collar opens.
“Parker asleep?” he asks, once more gracing me with another smile.
“Yeah.” I’d checked on him a little bit ago, before I apparently fell asleep myself. Rubbing the ache in my neck, I stand up and stretch, yawning. Desmond touches my shoulder, walking toward the hallway.
“I’m going to go check on him, okay? Be right back.” He waves a hand back at the couch, nonverbally telling me to relax once more.
I watch the back of him as he disappears down the hallway, unable to hold back a jaw-cracking yawn as I sit back down. My book is on the floor, having apparently been dropped when I fell asleep. Picking it up, I straighten the pages that got crinkled, listening to the soft rumble of Desmond talking to Parker. When he steps back into the hall, carefully closing the door behind him, he flashes me a thumbs up.
“I woke him up,” he confirms, flopping down next to me and leaning back with a small groan. The buttons of his shirt are opened even further down, now, the white undershirt beneath drawing my eye. I’m jealous of the tan he’s been able to maintain since moving here. I also kind of wonder what it might feel like to lick it.
“Was he okay?” I ask, voice sounding strangely hoarse, as though my mouth is dry. As though I actuallywaslicking his chest.
“Yeah. Dead-ass asleep until I woke him up, so I’d say there is a pretty good chance he doesn’t remember that in the morning.”
“Sorry again,” I apologize, still worried that I’ve failed my trial run as a real adult, and will no longer be allowed to watch Parker alone. He puts a hand on my knee, squeezing gently. It’s a platonic touch. More platonic, in fact, than the way Nate sometimes touches me. Even so, my heart rate picks up a little bit and I wonder what would happen if I putmyhand on top of his.
“No need to be sorry, Jacko. That kid is unpredictable—we had a much better chance of him being fine than him being sad with me gone. I’m glad I was able to talk to him, so don’t worry.”
He slides his hand off my knee and back to his lap, which is depressing, but expected. I yawn, and he groans before doing the same.
“Damnit, Jack,” he complains, making me huff a soft laugh. Head resting on the back of the couch, he tilts his face to look at me, brown eyes dark in the dim room and smile soft. “Tired?”
“Yeah. It’s weird, because we didn’t evendoanything. I’ve played an entire hockey game, gone back to my dorm to read all night, and still wasn’t as tired as this.”
Desmond snorts. “I think kids just magically suck all your energy. I’ve been perma-exhausted since that first day I picked him up.”
“Was the game okay?” I ask suddenly, reminded of the reason he was gone in the first place. He shrugs a little bit, shoulders hindered slightly by the way he’s slumped against the couch. He props his feet up on the coffee table, fingers linked across his flat tummy. I look away so my thoughts don’t stray back into dangerous licking territory. My fantasies about Desmond only seem to get more vivid by the day.
“Not great, but not terrible.” He glances over at me. “We miss you.”
Blushing, I look down and play with the pages of my book. It’s a mass-market paperback I got from the thrift store; a thriller, and the last thing I remember before falling asleep was the random and incongruous appearance of a python. When I chance a look back over at Desmond, he’s watching me.
“Good book?” he asks.
“Yeah. Not good enough to keep me fully awake, though, I suppose.”
He chuckles, leaning forward and heaving himself up off the couch. It puts his butt directly in my point of view, which is super great for me.
“We should go to sleep,” he prompts, unaware of the inner turmoil his existence causes me.
Fighting another yawn, I nod and rest my book on the side table. I’m just starting to ponder whether I should curl up on the couch or if sleeping on the floor is the better option when Desmond approaches, sheets and a pillow in his arms. I stand up, watching as he shakes open the blanket and drapes it over the cushions. I flush again, somehow finding intimacy in the act of him making a bed for me.
“Thanks,” I whisper, looking away from the brown forearms dusted with dark hair, peeking out from the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt. Desmond glances up from where he’d been positioning the pillow.
“This is for me, bud. You’re taking the bed.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his bedroom, and I very nearly melt into the floor. I really want to smell his fucking pillow.
“Uhm.” My voice comes out strange—rough andsomewhat strangled, like it’s been days since I’ve spoken. “I can’t…I shouldn’t…I’ll just sleep here.”
“You’re a guest,” he says firmly. “Bed is yours.”
I stare at him mutely, warring with the desire to invite him to join me and the even stronger desire to hide. I wish I could be the kind of person to openly flirt; the kind of person bold enough to make the obvious move in this situation. But I’m just not. I’m the guy who is more likely to walk straight into oncoming traffic than proposition another man. The guy who spent his first date sweating and anxious and wishing time would move a little faster so he could go home.
“Well—” I start, but Desmond shakes his head and points down the hallway.
