He wanted to try the hot tub, too, and he thought Ryder had been willing to hang last night, but the bed had been calling his name.
He was pretty sure he’d slept like eleven hours, although he wasn’t sure what time it was that he finally fell asleep. He had been too tired to have any concept of time.
He wet his hair and ran his hands through so it wasn’t all sticking straight up. Then he washed his face and then dressed in sweatshirt and jeans before padding downstairs in his bare feet.
The temptation to simply find a sunbeam and crash again was huge.
When he got down to the big combo family room, dining area, and kitchen, he stopped, blinking hard. There was an amazing sunbeam, for sure, and Ryder was in it.
He lay sprawled across the huge sectional couch, legs wide, one foot on the floor. Snoring. Wearing nothing but a pair of clingy boxer briefs with his ripped belly, wide, muscled chest and huge thighs just… hanging out.
Nolan wanted to go snuggle on Ryder’s chest, settle on the gold curls that dusted the skin there, and snore.
He should not be looking.
This was not his to look at.
He had not been invited to look.
He wassolooking.
Looking and drooling.
It was time to go make eggs and stop drooling and staring. Nolan backed away, his gaze trapped by Ryder like an ant in honey.
Oh…honey. He wondered if Ryder had any. He could put it on toast. Or in tea. If Ryder had tea…
He backed right into a console table, knocking over a little metal sculpture of a wolf and making a huge clatter.
“Hnnn?” Ryder sat up immediately, blinking at him.
“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Nolan righted the statue, his cheeks on fire. “I came down to make breakfast or tea. Or both. Do you like tea? Do you have tea or honey or toast oreggs? Maybe smoked salmon?” He was babbling, and it probably wasn’t a good optic.
He was about a hundred percent sure he was babbling, but look at that belly—how could anybody not babble? He was fairly sure babble was the only possible response to that particular eight-pack.
Ryder chuckled softly, voice deep as he met Nolan’s panicked gaze. “Shhh. Breathe with me. In.”
They both inhaled.
“And out.”
They exhaled together.
“Let’s do it again. In-out-in-out. Better?”
He was a little lightheaded, but yes, better. “Yeah, sorry.”
Ryder chuckled again and stood, pulling on a robe that had been underneath him. “No worries, not at all. I have tea and eggs and bread for toast and honey. Also, I have some amazing smoked salmon, so we could have toast with salmon. I’ve even got a gorgeous boysenberry jam to go on the toast.”
Nolan was gonna die.
There was no other possible response except death—immediate, explosive, glorious death. This man, this beautiful bear, was not only well more than half naked under that robe, but he was talking about boysenberries.
There had never been a better fantasy ever.
“I know how to make eggs and toast.” That was safe right? He wasn’t drooling?
“Excellent. How are you with a teapot?”
