“You didn’t give me enough of a show last night?”
He grinned back at me. “It’s all old news now, isn’t it?”
I did my best not to stare as he finished undressing, but there was no doubt he was putting on a show for me. He took his time pulling his shirt off, then trailed his hands down his chest, drawing attention to the faint hairs across his pecs and the rippled contours of his abdomen. He did the same with his boxers, tugging them down slowly and letting his cock bounce free, thick and heavy against his leg.
I forced my eyes up to his face before I could get distracted by the firm globes of his backside. When he struck a pose instead of dressing himself, however, I realized just how intentional the show was.
The nerve of guys his age…
So it turned out Gunner was an exhibitionist. I couldn’t say I was surprised. It matched his attitude, and if I had a body like that when I was his age, I’d probably enjoy showing it off, too.
I had stopped messing with the guys once I realized they were going to be sticking around, but I hadn’t forgotten how wickedly fun it was to toy with them both the night before. It was like Gunner couldn’t resist the temptation to flirt and strut his stuff, even though I was sure Malcolm was begging him to stop when I wasn’t around.
If he was going to keep putting it out there, it would only be so long before I ended up taking the bait.
I’d at least had the sense to have a little fun when I was picking out the clothes to lend him. Gunner unfolded the shirt, revealing a giant pair of red lips with the tongue hanging out—my old Rolling Stones tee. Sighing, he pulled it on. At least one size too big, the bottom of it hung down below his ass. He stepped into the pair of gray briefs and jeans next, the loose fit of the denim making him look like some retro flashback.
I gave him a look up and down. “Cute,” I said.
“Whatever,” Gunner grumbled, bunching up his clothes and setting them aside.
The vegetables were just about done, and the canned tomatoes had melted into the sauce. Taking a taste of it, I added a sprinkle more of red pepper flakes, then set to work mixing it all up with the pasta at the counter.
“Do you make so much money from welding that you can afford to live here?” he asked, pulling up at a stool. “Maybe I should be a welder.”
“I told you,” I said, leaning forward and dropping my voice. “I’m a bank robber.”
Gunner scoffed. “Yeah, right.”
I shrugged. “I make decent money from welding, to answer your question. But that’s not how I paid for this house. It came from my family.”
“Ah, so you’re a rich kid,” he joked. “Do your mom and dad still pay the bills?”
I took in a sharp breath, then let it out slowly. When I didn’t say anything for a moment, Gunner whistled softly. “Okay, so Mom and Dad don’t pay the bills,” he said to himself. “Duly noted.”
“Welding is a good profession, though. I’d be happy if I spent the rest of my life making things out of metal. It’s practical and satisfying, and there’s a real pleasure in working the flames.”
Gunner nodded. “I was thinking of being a bartender. I thought maybe I’d find some big gay bar where I could make stacks of money by working with my shirt off or maybe some dive where I could run the joint myself.”
“My old friend Lilith is a bartender,” I said. “She likes it. It keeps her busy and suits her speed.” I tossed the pasta a bit, then transferred it to a bowl with the sauce. “I imagine you’re fine working nights, too.”
“Yeah, sounds fine to me. I just have to find the right place.”
“I’m sure the right one will come along. And hey, if it doesn’t work out, definitely give welding a try. I could see you really taking to it.”
Malcolm came walking back from the bathroom, his hair still damp and his glasses a little foggy. My flannel shirt hung like a nightgown on him, but he had rolled up the sleeves, and the belt I threw in worked to hold up his Dickies work pants just fine.
“I’ll throw your clothes in the washer downstairs,” I offered, rather than sending them wandering into my basement. I held out two empty bowls for them. “Let’s eat first.”
“Oh wow,” Malcolm said, tasting the sauce while he filled his bowl. “This is really good.”
“Yeah,” Gunner agreed, taking his first bite. “I thought you were going to give us beans.”
“Let’s see how long we have to eat out of the pantry for,” I said. “You might not feel the same way about my cooking if we’re here all weekend.”
Malcolm pulled his stool a little closer to Gunner. Across the floating counter from me, they were both smiling as they ate.
“What would you think if I became a welder?” Gunner asked Malcolm. “That sounds pretty nice, right?”
