Nick ran a hand down the scar on his thigh where they’d cut him open to screw his leg back together.
“It’s not so bad.” He smiled, feeling warm and sleepy. The orgasm was making him dopey, and words were hard to find.
Oliver seemed to take the hint that they didn’t need to talk about it more. Instead, he held out his hand. “I’m going to clean up a bit. Want a shower before you go?”
Reality snapped back down on Nick like a board cracking.
Go. He had to go. Work, life, and Anya and Hayden were all waiting for him outside Oliver’s front door. For a moment, he’d forgotten, and now guilt tried to swamp him for it.
He shifted. The backs of his thighs, still sweaty from his exertions, stuck to the couch, like Oliver had warned. He tried not to let Oliver see the disappointment on his face as he stood. Nick didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. Even though he shouldn’t have gotten distracted enough to forget about the rest of his obligations, he already knew he wanted to do this again with Oliver, and soon.
“Thanks.” He picked up his discarded clothes off the floor. “Just give me a towel and I’ll be out of here in ten minutes.”
9
Oliver woke up the next day with an angry red line on his spine from his carpet and a hickey on his chest. His grin was stupid and delicious as he stretched under the covers. Nick had been exactly what Oliver needed, and he already couldn’t wait to see him again.
First, though, he had to get to work. The shop was quiet, as usual, and he spent most of the morning with his laptop set up on the front counter, writing a blog post for his website and searching for new networking opportunities in the area. He’d reached out to a lot of the local businesses, and also some in neighboring towns and cities, to see if he could talk to their staff about wellness. His former office had done that occasionally, brought in someone to talk about mental health, ergonomics, or general well-being. Lawyers tended to fall into two categories: chain-smoking workaholics and marathon runners. Whether these guest speakers had any impact on their target audience had always been a bit hazy, since he’d generally skipped them in favor of working another eighteen-hour day, but surely at least a few businesses in Seacroft wanted to wave the work-life balance flag at their staff from time to time.
Except midmorning rolled into lunchtime, and then past it, and not a single customer came into the shop. After his workshop the night before, he'd hoped for word of mouth or a return customer or two. Only around midafternoon, when he was in the back, still fine-tuning his hibiscus immunity booster, did the front door open and a tornado with red hair burst through it.
“No, no, that’s okay. I know.” Avery had a cellphone pressed to his ear. “Yeah, I’ll get the changes to you by tomorrow. No problem.”
Oliver waited patiently for clarification on why his newest client had decided the best place to make his phone call was inside the shop.
“Good afternoon,” Oliver said, once Avery was off the phone. His eyes went wide, and his mouth gaped open, like he hadn’t expected anyone else to be there.
“Hey. Hi! I mean, hi! Sorry.” He waggled the phone and then nearly dropped it. “Client. I didn’t mean—he was very insistent that we had to talk right away.”
“No problem. What kind of client was it?”
“It’s Mr. Graves who owns the equipment rental company.”
“And what kind of work do you do for him?”
“I’m an accountant.”
That was not the answer Oliver had been expecting. Everything about Avery was young millennial-hip. If he’d had to guess, Oliver might have said graphic designer, copywriter, maybe even a YouTube star.
“An accountant?”
“Yeah.” Avery glanced away as he stuffed his phone back in his pocket. “My uncle has a firm in town. We do a lot of personal taxes and stuff like that, and he has me helping a couple of the local businesses too. Hey!” His eyes widened again. “Do you need help with your bookkeeping? I could get my uncle to give you a good price if you did!”
Oliver laughed. “I’m good.”
Avery’s smile fell. “Oh. Sure. No problem.” He looked so defeated, but laughing at him would be poor salesmanship on Oliver’s part.
“So what can I do for you today?”
“Oh!” The smile returned brighter than before. “Yeah! Juice. I need more juice.”
Oliver barely resisted an ill-advised joke about not being his dealer.
“More? Sure!” He went to the fridge. “What kind?”
“The same as last night! They were awesome!”
Oliver paused with a bottle of his parsley, carrot, and date blend in his hand. “You drank them all?” He’d sold Avery three different kinds.
