Linc chuckled, his chin resting on top of Wyatt’s head. “What did you use for soap?”
He made a helpless gesture, foam flying from his fingers and landing on his cheek. “I’m not stupid, I used dish soap.” He snagged the bottle of viscous purple liquid and pointed to the words “dish soap” before looking over his shoulder at Linc. “See?”
Linc’s breath punched out of him at the desperation in Wyatt’s eyes. He wanted Linc’s approval, his validation, even for something as simple as this. Linc was playing with fire, but fuck it was a heady feeling. “Dish soap is for washing dishes in the sink. The detergent goes in the dishwasher,” Linc said gently.
The light died in Wyatt’s gaze, his perfect mouth turning down at the corners as he pushed away from Linc. He should have let him go but he held firm. “It was an honest mistake. It was a good effort.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” Wyatt said, dropping his gaze back to the bottle.
God, this kid was so raw, so fragile. Linc laced his fingers through Wyatt’s curls, tugging his head back, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Hey, don’t do that.”
Linc’s cock stood at attention as Wyatt trembled against him, his lips falling open. Linc dipped his head.
A sound rang out like some unseen hand banging a gong somewhere near the vicinity of the door, and then suddenly a girl with a riot of chestnut curls flounced into the living room with an enormous bag over one arm and her phone in the other. “Wyatt! I need you. My day has been a full-on five-alarm dumpster fi…re?” She trailed off, stopping short as she took in the two of them.
Linc dropped his arms, taking two steps back. The girl raised both brows, smirking. “Oh. Well, hi there.”
Linc cleared his throat. “I think it’s okay now. Why don’t you visit with your friend and I’ll… I’ll take care of this mess. The dishwasher will be out of commission for a while.”
Wyatt swallowed hard, giving Linc one last longing look before turning to the girl. “What did I tell you about barging in here?”
She scrunched up her face. “Fuck if I know. Was I sober?”
He scoffed, grabbing her by the arm and tugging her down the hall. “Are you ever?”
“True.”
Linc turned back to the mess at his feet. That was close. That girl might have just saved his life.
Wyatt dragged Charlemagne Hastings down the hall with far more speed and aggression than a girl wobbling on five-inch heels was probably used to, but he needed to put some distance between him and GI Joe back in the kitchen. Some small part of Wyatt felt guilty for leaving the man to clean up his mess, but another part of him was still thinking about said soldier’s erection pressing against his back.
Wyatt would have bet his entire trust fund Linc had been two seconds away from kissing him before Charlie had barged in there like the hot sloppy mess she was, and Wyatt was one hundred percent sure he would have let him and seventy-five percent sure it would have been the worst idea ever. God, what would Wyatt even do with Linc? The man was married, with a kid. Even if he was gay, he wasn’t available, and Wyatt was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a homewrecker.
At least he never had been.
Once they entered his room, he locked his door. For one insane moment, he even contemplated sliding a chair under the handle. He took a deep breath and let it out, trying to calm his frayed nerves. But then a thought formed, making itself at home in his brain. He and Linc were stuck together for the next six months, six fucking months of whatever the fuck just happened in the kitchen, or almost happened, or whatever. How was Wyatt supposed to deal with that? He wasn’t strong enough to say no.
Wyatt didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry. This particular problem could never have crossed his father’s mind when he’d hired Linc. His old man couldn’t imagine a world where somebody like Linc would ever look at someone like Wyatt as anything but weak and pathetic. Wyatt couldn’t really imagine it either, but he hadn’t imagined Linc’s fingers digging into his flesh or his breath against his neck or his rock-hard cock pressed snugly against the small of Wyatt’s back.
Charlie turned on him out of nowhere, knocking him out of his thoughts before he had to deal with his own inconvenient boner.
She poked one pointy plum-colored nail into his chest. “Okay, babyface. Talk to me. What is going on with you and Mr. Sex-on-a-Stick out there? He looked like he was about to mount you on the kitchen counter.”
“Shut up,” he said, but there was no bite to his words.
“He’s kinda old though, right?”
He didn’t answer her, just rolled his eyes. Yesterday, he would’ve called Linc old, but today he thought he was just old enough. Wyatt glanced down at his damp joggers and t-shirt and briefly considered changing but dismissed the idea. Maybe the cold, clinging fabric would keep him uncomfortable enough to stop reliving the last fifteen minutes in his kitchen.
“Come on, you gotta give me something. Were you two about to christen your mother’s precious marble countertops?”
Wyatt sighed. He had no idea what would’ve happened had Charlie not barged in, and he honestly wasn’t sure he wanted to know. There was something about the way Linc looked at him, like he could see through him somehow. It left Wyatt jittery and unsettled. If Linc looking at him made him breathless and shaky, what the fuck would happen if he kissed him… or something more? Wyatt wasn’t exactly a virgin, but Linc made him feel like one.
“Seriously, boo-boo. What’s up with you and the stranger in your kitchen? I thought your dad still had you stuffed in his closet. If I missed your coming-out party, I’m gonna be pissed.”
Wyatt’s stomach plummeted and bitterness filled his tone. “You’ve missed nothing. I’m still a closet case, promise.”
Charlie dropped her suitcase-sized handbag on his bed and walked toward the tall chair sitting in front of his vanity. She flounced onto the black leather seat, crossing her legs and smoothing her white t-shirt dress down over long tanned legs. “That’s too bad. Old Man River out there definitely wants to fuck you six ways from Sunday.”
