“I’m the lucky one,” he whispered, eyes ablaze with passion. “I’m going to destroy your hole tonight, sweetheart. If he’s not too shy, I’ll show Logan how much Ineedyou.”
“Only if I can do it to you, too,” I replied, and we both grinned in excitement.
“Deal.”
6
Declan
By the timeseven came around, I had Jake in a pair of sweatpants, soft T-shirt, and a frilly pink apron I’d bought as a joke one Christmas. What I hadn’t expected when he’d opened the present was that he’d like it and actually wear it when he cooked. He looked fucking hot in the apron, though, so I usually ended up sitting at the kitchen table and watching him as he cooked his nonna’s famous Bolognese sauce and pasta.
He’d been through four pineapple screwdrivers already, and I’d started on my second beer. Jake didn’t have work tomorrow, so he could cut loose, but I did have practice in the morning. We could still relax and enjoy the moment, which would turn into something hot and heavy later tonight.
Jake’s quick glances to the clock on the wall over the doorway weren’t subtle, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. He flashed a grin over his shoulder at me.
“I’m excited.”
“I can tell, sweetheart. Did I get you a good present?”
He rolled his eyes and stepped back from the sink after he’d finished draining the pasta in the strainer. In a move I described as happy hips, he danced his way over to me and plopped onto my lap, his ass nudging my already excited cock in the most tempting way.
“Do you even have to ask, you sexy fucker?”
I laughed and slammed my mouth against his, enjoying the taste on his tongue of the Bolognese sauce he’d tested earlier. Cupping his face, I explored the warmth of his mouth until the sound of the doorbell made me groan in a mixture of disappointment, since I’d have to break off our make-out session, and excitement because Logan had finally arrived. While Jake enjoyed listening to the ASMR videos more than I did, I was just as enthusiastic as he was right now.
Jake rubbed himself against me, then tore away from my hold, making me curse him. He laughed as he bounded to the front door, and I stood, following him. I got there just as he nearly dragged Logan inside, and being the good sport he was, Logan grinned in amusement; although, I didn’t miss the nervousness flashing across his handsome face.
“How old are you?” Jake asked.
Logan smiled tentatively, clearly understanding where the question came from. I was stupid for not asking him the moment he contacted me, but I’d been so excited about actually hiring him for Jake that I forgot. “Twenty-four.”
Jake nodded in acceptance. “You have a young face.”
“I know.” Logan shrugged, and I liked how he was unapologetic about that. “How old areyou?” He smiled as he asked, and the teasing lilt of his voice made me chuckle.
“I’m thirty-one. My boy toy here is twenty-nine.” Jake winked at me and shifted closer to my side again, curling his arm around my waist and dragging me in closer. “Welcome to our home.”
“Thank you.” His gaze roamed the hallway, taking in the high ceilings and wall lights. There wasn’t anything special about this part of the house, except for artwork Jake had painted, which we’d placed in frames and hung on the walls. He was talented in all types of art, and he had an eye for decorating, too, though if anyone asked he’d deny it. Compliments about his creative talents were one thing, but he didn’t accept praise about other parts of his life.
We led Logan into the kitchen and let him sit at the table as Jake strode back over to the food, dumping pasta into the sauce he’d already cooked. I took a seat across from Logan because it was easier to stay out of Jake’s way. When he was making his nonna’s food, he was a man on a mission.
“How are you?” I asked Logan, carefully eyeing the dark rings under his pretty green eyes. Even though he was a nice guy, Jake and I agreed there was a heartsickness there, lingering deep inside him, that we couldn’t quite figure out. I doubted he’d tell us his problems since we were strangers, but it didn’t hurt to ask how he was doing. He seemed lighter tonight, though, like a heavy weight was temporarily gone.
He wore a pair of jeans and a charcoal cable-knit crew neck, with gray boots, and he looked good—comfortable. Smiling, he answered my question after a few moments with a nod. “All right. I went for a walk around the city. It’s nice here.”
“It’s home,” Jake said over his shoulder as he put the finishing touches on the pasta. “Why don’t you show Logan your car? I’m just finishing up here and won’t be long.”
“Sure.” I waved Logan to follow me out the back door and into the yard. We had a large garage to the right of the lawn, with a tool shed on the left, but the garage was much bigger to fit the classic cars I’d always planned to have. Right now, though, I only had time for one. When I retired from hockey, my goal was to buy more cars and focus on rebuilding them.
I unlocked the garage and swung open the door wide enough for Logan and me to step through. Hitting the light switch as soon as I entered lit up the darkness. My 1961 Chevy Impala sat to the left, toward the back, with a car cover over the top. I walked over to it, aware of Logan right behind me as I grabbed the cover and yanked it off. The Roman Red paint glittered under the lights, showing off the polish and shine.
He whistled. “That’s a beautiful car.”
I nodded. “Impala. ’61. Do you know much about cars?”
He shook his head as he walked around her, taking in the beauty. “Not really.”
“I’m a car fanatic. I take her to classic-car events when I don’t have practice or a game somewhere. It’s nice seeing all the cars in one place.”
