His coat.
His shirt.
His pants.
He’s beautiful. Perfectly proportioned. Taut stomach and strong, long legs. The smattering of dark hair on his chest is a shade darker than the hair on his head. He looks at me just as I look at him, and I have to turn away before I keel over. The effect this man has on me…
“Right.” I clear my throat. His nipples pucker from the cold air. They beg for the wet heat of my mouth. “Basically, we’ll be washing cars throughout the day. We have a break for lunch later. If the customer pays for it, they can request to take pictures with us.”
“Pictures,” he deadpans.
“Yeah. Of... this.” I gesture vaguely to my half-naked self, and Kellan’s eyes follow. They drift across my stomach, down to my crotch. The only reason I don’t get hard immediately is because I’m biting the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood. “I thought you liked the attention.”
His focus returns to my face. “Right. Of course I do. That’s me. Kellan Dumont. Attention whore.” Jaw clenched, he looks away.
Oookay. Something’s up.
Part of me wants to give him space. The other part wants to help him get over whatever hurdle he’s facing.
I decide on the latter.
“Hey.” I wait until he acknowledges me. “You know if you want to talk about something, I’m here. I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listener.”
The first car pulls into the lot. One of the freshmen stands at the entrance, handling the cash. After giving the woman change, he directs her to the first station. There are six stations total, five guys at each station with buckets, rags, and the willingness to work hard and raise as much money as we can.
“You are a good listener,” Kellan says. “But it’s not something I want to talk about right now.”
Fair enough, but I can’t help but think his avoidance is related to the kiss we never addressed. It fills up the space between us. A thread pulling tighter and tighter the longer time goes on without discussing the issue. Will we talk about it—ever? I feel that we should, eventually.
“Where do you want me?” he says.
In my bed.
“You can work with group four.” I point to where Jason and three underclassmen stand, already flicking soapy water at each other. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
We go our separate ways, and it’s probably for the best. Kellan is a distraction. The best kind, but still a distraction.
For a time, I focus solely on washing cars. Each guy in my group has a job. I’m the window washer. George does the wheels. Ashton handles the hose. Kyle and Chad clean everything else.
I lose track of the number of customers that come through. Half of my mind is on cleaning, while the other half is cursing the frigid air. We complete ten or fifteen vehicles before a sleek gray car pulls up and a pretty young woman sticks her head out the window, eyeing us without a shred of embarrassment. “Well, well. Look what we have here.”
The guys stare at her. She’s beautiful. I’m guessing she’s a Notre Dame student, like most of the of customers so far. She laughs, lowers her eyelashes.
“Where can I get a good car wash around here?”
Ashton’s mouth gapes like a fish. He stands holding a soapy washcloth, which drips all over his bare legs. “Uh.”
Smooth.
She says, “I’d like to get a picture with a few of you.” She points to my group. “Also, that guy.”
She points to Kellan, who scrubs the windshield of a particularly filthy Jeep. I’m staring and I don’t care. Water has soaked his underwear, and as he bends over to clean one of the corners, I see his ass cheeks press against the fabric, the curve of his lower back, the working of his back muscles as he scrapes away the grime. My dick begins to stir. I need to turn away before someone notices my indiscretion.
“If this wasn’t incentive enough,” she says, passing over a check.
Ten grand.
