By three in the afternoon I'd had enough. Told Sarah I was cutting out early, grabbed my shit, and headed home before I could talk myself into staying longer. Before I could admit that going home felt more dangerous than staying here.
The drive back felt too short. I wasn't ready to be in that house with Troy, wasn't ready to navigate whatever tension was waiting for me. But I pulled into the driveway anyway, killed the engine, and sat there for a minute trying to get my head straight.
A motorcycle I didn't recognize was parked next to my truck. Matte black sport bike, expensive-looking, still ticking as the engine cooled.
Troy had gotten a bike.
The realization settled in my chest in a way I didn't want to examine. At least now I'd know when he was home. At least now he had his own transportation instead of disappearing on foot and leaving me to wonder where he was, who he was with, whether he was safe.
Inside, the house was quiet.
I closed the door behind me and set my keys on the counter. That's when I saw that his clothes were everywhere.
His jacket was thrown over the back of the couch. His shirt was on the floor near the stairs. Boots were kicked off in the middle of the hallway like he couldn't be bothered to put them by the door.
The trail led upstairs.
I stood there staring at the mess. This was exactly the shit he'd pulled as a teenager. Coming home and leaving destruction in his wake, expecting me to clean up after him because he couldn't be bothered to act like an adult.
I grabbed the jacket, the shirt, the boots. Followed the trail upstairs, muttering under my breath about manners and respect and the fact that I wasn't his fucking maid. Trying to ignore the way my hands tightened on the fabric.
More clothes were in the hallway. Jeans were pooled outside his door. A sock was halfway down the hall like it had fallen and he hadn't noticed or cared.
I gathered everything, arms full of fabric that smelled like him. Leather and sweat and exhaust from the bike. Cedar from the cologne he wore.
His door was closed. I knocked once, loud enough to wake him if he was sleeping.
Snoring answered me before I opened the door.
The room was dim. The curtains were drawn, and the late afternoon light filtered through the fabric in a way that turned everything soft and golden. Troy was sprawled across the bed face-down, one arm hanging off the side, the other tucked under his pillow.
He was wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs.
My brain stopped working.
The blankets were tangled around his legs that was kicked off at some point, leaving him exposed. I could see the definition in his back, the way his muscles shifted with each breath, the ink that disappeared beneath the waistband of those tight black briefs.
And he was hard.
I could see the outline of his cock straining against the fabric of his underwear, could see the wet spot where he hadbeen leaking, could see everything I had absolutely no business looking at.
Then I saw the bruise. It was forming along his left side, just above his hip. I didn't know where or how he had gotten it.
It should have been enough to kill whatever the hell was happening in my body. But it wasn't enough.
Because even as I stared at that bruise, even as I felt the familiar twist of worry and anger in my chest, I was still noticing everything else. The curve of his ass. The flex of his shoulders. The way his hair was messy against the pillow. The fact that he was lying there hard and vulnerable and so goddamn beautiful it hurt to look at him.
My own cock stirred. Thickened. Started getting hard despite the guilt twisting in my gut.
I forced myself to look away. I grabbed the clothes off his bedroom floor, adding them to the pile already in my arms, and got the hell out of there before I did anything stupider than I already had.
The door closed behind me with a soft click that sounded too loud in the quiet hallway.
I stood there for a second, breathing too hard, trying to get my pulse under control. Trying to convince myself that what I'd just felt was normal. Explainable. The response that happened when you saw anyone attractive and half-naked.
Except it wasn't anyone.
It was Troy.
