Chapter Seventeen
Maddox
The guys spent the afternoon laying around and making out in the backyard, which gave me plenty of time to get settled back in. Every now and then I’d head over to the window and enjoy a moment of watching them together. I couldn’t remember the last time I actually just relaxed with a guy, my no-strings-attached hookup always ending the second we shot our loads. Maybe that kind of carefree fun was in my past, but it did warm me to see them together.
The house just felt nice, with guys like Malcolm and Gunner enjoying it.
By the time they came back in, I had a pot of pasta bubbling away on the stove. I’d rummaged some canned tomatoes, pasta sauce, and mushrooms from the cupboard, throwing them together with a handful of dried garlic to finish off the meal. It wasn’t much, but after seeing how tough and overgrown all the garden vegetables were, it would have to do.
Anyway, I’d found an emergency bottle of red wine in the back of the cupboard. Pouring myself a glass and pushing the vegetables around in the pan, I was finally settling back in at home.
“Hi,” Malcolm said, stepping through the door hesitantly. “Can we come in?”
“Sure,” I answered, waving them forward. “I’m just getting some food together. How’s the property treating you?”
“Nice place,” Gunner said, kicking his boots off. “I might build myself one like it one day.”
I hid my smile, thinking about how much work it would take to actually build that place. For all I knew, though, he had the skills to pull it off.
“Do you have any vinegar?” Malcolm asked, joining me in the kitchen.
“Under the sink.”
He rummaged around until he pulled the bottle out, then set it on the table and removed his sweater. As I watched out of the corner of my eye, he mixed some vinegar and water together in a bowl and set his sweater in the liquid to soak.
I cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Grass stains on the sweater,” he said. “It’s much easier to get out if you treat it right away.”
“I’m sure,” I agreed.
Seeing them stand there in their T-shirts, I realized they’d been wearing the same clothes for at least a couple of days. I pushed the vegetables around once more, then pulled the pasta off the stove, draining it into a colander I had waiting in the sink. “You want to borrow some clothes?” I asked, turning to face them both again. “We could throw yours in the washer.”
“We don’t want to put you out anymore,” Malcolm said quickly. “Gunner has some old work clothes in his truck. He was just about to go grab them.”
“They clean?” I asked.
Malcolm looked at his friend, and Gunner shook his head quickly. “Just some dirty coveralls, but they’ll work.”
“Nonsense,” I said, heading over to the downstairs closet. “I have plenty of clothes to lend you both. Let me just grab something quick.”
I poked around in the closet, checking out some old boxes and trying to think of what would fit the two of them. Gunner’s build was a little closer to mine, but I knew most of my clothing would fall off of each of them. As I fished out an old concert shirt and a flannel, a part of me wondered why I was being so pushy. Did they even want an old guy trying to take care of them? Between Malcolm’s serious maturity and Gunner’s cocky confidence, it wasn’t like they were struggling to take care of themselves.
“These should make do,” I said, tossing them the clothes. Gunner looked like he was about to reject the offer, but Malcolm grabbed his arm first.
“Thanks,” he said. “Do I have time to jump in the shower before we eat?”
I glanced at the vegetables, which were just about cooked enough to add to the sauce. “It should be ready in five or ten minutes,” I said. “Go right ahead.”
“Thanks,” he said, grabbing the clothes and hurrying away. Gunner started to follow, but Malcolm paused, placing his hand on his friend’s chest to stop him. “We only have five minutes,” he said quietly.
“So what?” Gunner asked.
“If you join me, we won’t be done in time for dinner,” he whispered, almost like it was a secret.
I chuckled despite myself. Gunner shrugged, pretending to blow it off, although I could tell he didn’t love the rejection. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll be right here.”
I turned back to the food, tending to a couple of things before flipping the heat down to low and covering the pan. When I turned back around, Gunner was undressing himself in the middle of the living room, tugging off his clothes and throwing them to the couch.
