“What the fuck, Kit?” The rhythm thumping wildly in my chest doesn’t feel right until his hazel eyes find mine from the floor.
They’re wide as they take me in. “Why are you always wet and naked?” he asks. Well, yells because he still has headphones over his ears.
Rolling my eyes, I crouch, holding the towel in place around my waist with one hand and use the other to move the headphones off his head. My heart is pumping double time.
“Stop screaming. What are you doing?”
“Trying to reach the light bulbs,” he says, cheeks red. He spends a stretched-out moment staring at my chest before he looks up at the top shelf and points. “Why are they so high up? Dad always kept them on the bottom shelf. Did you know the shelves are just…sitting there? They’re not even anchored in. Just sitting on the little ridges.”
“Did you try to climb my shelves?”
“They were mine first,” he grumbles, then melts onto his back on the floor. “Just leave me here, Boe. The wave has come and gone. I was going to be helpful, but all the helpfulness was knocked out of me.”
Boe.I swallow roughly and rub my chest.
I like him on his back.
His hair falls away from his face.
“Want me to cover you with a washcloth?”
“Is it the one you’re wearing?”
“It’s not a washcloth,” I say, standing and quirking a brow down at him. He looks like he’s posing for a chalk outline.
Death by towel avalanche.
The joke falls flat, even in my own head. Don’t like joking about that.
“Are you sure? Looks a little small,” he teases. His eyes are somewhere in the vicinity of my dick, and his smile is bitten away by his teeth in his bottom lip. God, he’s so fucking obvious.
I turn on my heel. “You’re small.”
Nice comeback, moron.
So much for him wilting away on the floor—Kit follows me into my bedroom. “What are you doing today? Ya know, besides grumbling and size shaming me.”
The closet door creaks when I push it open. I desperately need to do laundry. I snatch whatever my hand touches first, then grab what I need from my dresser. “I’ve got shit to do.” I shrug into a t-shirt and step intoblack boxers without taking the towel off. When the goods are covered, I grab the towel and toss it to Kit. He holds it with both hands, looking down at it with a perplexed look. “The hamper, Kit.”
“Right.”
“There’s supposed to be a storm rolling in tonight. I want to make sure the gutters around back are cleared out.”
“Oh? Can I help?”
An image of Kit and his two left feet climbing a ladder is enough to give me fucking indigestion.
“Fuck, no.”
“Rude. Why are you so rude?” He tosses the towel into the hamper. It slides off the mountain of clothes and plops onto the floor. He shoots me a disgruntled look that he perfected as a child, then drags the hamper out of the bedroom door and into the hallway. “I think that raccoon moved his family into Fiona. I saw one of them this morning at the end of a trail of garbage. I will absolutely clean it all up, by the way. I can’t believe….”
I watch him talk, but my ears are whooshing too loud for me to hear him. All I can do is watch as he talks with his hands between adding articles of clothes to the washer. My clothes. He laughs at something he says, tossing in detergent pods he has to reach for on the shelf. A sliver of pale skin peeks out the bottom of his shirt above the waistband of his shorts.
I think they get shorter every day.
“Bowen?”
“Yeah?”
