Ten!
Grand!
Must be Daddy’s money. The girl drives a BMW.
“I’ll get him,” I say, unable to hide my excitement.
Jogging over to his station, I wait until he glances up, startled at the way his eyes widen slightly as he takes me in. My cock likes it, and decides to give an inconvenient twitch. Not helping, cock.
“Hey, so one of the customers wants you in one of the pictures.”
Kellan looks over at the woman, who now stands surrounded by the members of my station wearing a thick winter coat while the rest of the guys freeze their asses off.
“Kind of busy at the moment.”
“Yeah, about that. You don’t really have a choice. She’s paying ten grand for the picture.”
“Are you serious?”
I shrug. “It won’t take long.”
With a look of regret, Kellan drops his sponge into the bucket and heads over to where the guys gather, huddling close to keep warm. Meanwhile, Ms. BMW is directing.
“You with the blond hair, yes, hold the hose. And you pass a washcloth to him. Great. Put your hand on his shoulder.” She turns as Kellan and I approach, and her face lights up, eyes sparkling. Ashton hasn’t closed his mouth since she arrived at the parking lot. “And you two. Stand over there. Can you put your hand on his waist?” she asks, gesturing to me.
Happy to oblige, I curve my palm around Kellan’s lower waist. We’re squished in the middle, slightly behind the others, so no one can see my hand as it strokes a tentative line across the warmth of his skin.
Kellan trembles under my touch, caught like a cornered hare. I increase the pressure of my fingertips, drawing a line down his back to the waistband of his underwear. A huff of air puffs from his mouth. I look down.
He’s sporting a semi.
Kellan lifts his gaze to mine. Heat blows through me at the clash, the knowledge that his body’s reaction is due to my touch.
The girl finally finishes taking her pictures. “Great! Thank you everyone.” She beams and gets back into her car for us to finish washing it. The guys disperse, but Kellan and I haven’t move and I’m still touching him. The unspoken kiss lays heavy between us.
Someone honks to the guy holding the sign on the street corner, cutting off my train of thought. With one last heated glance, I return to my station, and Kellan returns to his.
But I swear when my back is turned I feel his eyes on me.
The hours pass. Cars line up. They get washed. Pictures are taken with plenty of willing women ready to plaster themselves against soaking wet soccer players. There are even some men, and I don’t miss the appreciative glances tossed Kellan’s way. Sometimes even mine.
Who wouldn’t want to look at Kellan Dumont?
When the last customer drives away happily, the team’s treasury that much fuller than it was, everyone starts breaking down the area. Jason, being the man-child that he is, grabs the hose and decides to hose everyone down, until Javier dumps the dirty water bucket over his head. “Fuck!” he shouts, spitting it out of his mouth. Javier cackles and darts away.
While everyone is distracted, I head over to Kellan. “Can I talk to you in private?”
He looks up from emptying buckets of water onto the pavement. Damp hair curls over the back of his neck. His deep brown eyes take me in with what I think is appreciation, but what might be polite interest. I can never tell with him. It takes all my effort to keep my eyes on his face. What I really want is to stare at his damp chest, the droplets trailing into the waistband of his black boxer briefs. I’ve seen Kellan naked before, of course, but there’s something so tantalizing about a nice pair of briefs. Makes me want to peel them away, reveal the goods beneath.
He nods, though warily. I gesture to a nearby wooded area, which will give us more privacy. We move down one of the trails until we find a spot mostly cleared of snow.
“So.” There’s no easy way to talk about the kiss. It was awkward then, it’s awkward now. But getting it off my chest will help me move forward, whatever direction that may be. I just hope it’s toward Kellan and not away from him. “I wanted to apologize about the other night.”
He’s gone still.
Never a good sign, I guess, but no choice except to move on. “When I was leaning in, it was to kiss your cheek. Just a friendly thing. I do it to my other friends sometimes too. But then you moved your head and I didn’t realize it and—”
“We kissed.” His voice is lower than usual. He’s not looking at me.
