“You rebel.” I knock my shoulder against his. “When was this album released?”
“1999.” He studies it, getting lost in some memory.
I tug on his hand. “That was a good year.”
He glances at me. “Yeah?”
I smile innocently. “It’s the year I learned to walk.”
He groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “God, I’m old.”
Laughing, I squeeze his hand. “Come on, old man. Let’s get you home before you get too tired out.”
“I’m fine.”
I wiggle my brows. “I was thinking a nap is in order.”
We check out and make it to his house in record time. I’ve been to Brad’s house before, mostly on the weekends when Harper is at work. Today, she’s working a double shift.
But instead of going into the house, Brad leads me out to the garage. He’s turned it into a shop with a workbench and everything. Tools of all kinds line the wall, along with various things he’s made, including several old saws he’s painted or repurposed. It’s not just one type of thing either. Shelves are filled with things he’s made or repurposed. Carved signs. Old railroad ties. Brass school bells.
I trace my fingers over the shelves. “Did you make these too?”
“Some I made. Others I found and refinished. I love working with my hands.”
“I remember.” And before he can take it the wrong way, I add, “Shop— I mean, Industrial Arts.”
“You struggled in my class.”
I don’t want to talk about that. “True. But you’re good at it.” I bring his hand to my mouth and kiss his knuckles. “So hot.”
He laughs and wraps me in his arms. This kiss promises more. I cup his face and trace the lines around his eyes. “I love a man who knows how to use his hands.”
“Tour’s over.” He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the house. “I have another room to show you.”
“Better than the shop?” I ask. Once we’re inside, he guides me through his living room and hallway. “I think I’ve seen this room.”
He pulls me into his bedroom, closes the door, and presses me against it so I can feel his erection poking my hip. “It might be worth your time to see it again.”
“Hmm. I’m not sure.” I wrap my hand around his huge cock, loving the sounds spilling from his mouth. “But you have all night to convince me.”
And I’m not surprised at all that Brad is up to the task.
Saturday, February 7th
The renovations are coming along, but we’re a bit behind schedule. Not much, but one setback could really hurt us. Doing renovations in the wintertime isn’t ideal, but we’ve accounted for that and added a cushion for weather in our calculations. It’s Saturday, so the majority of our volunteers will be here today at some point.
Last night we went back to my place, and Brad stayed over. We enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, which included Brad on his knees for me. Then we had to rush to get ready. Of course, we drove separately to the site.
I could get used to waking up in Brad’s arms every day. But I’m not sure that’s what Brad wants. He told me up front he wasn’t really a relationship guy. And how would my parents react? My dad? Tomorrow’s the Super Bowl, and Mom and Dad always have a party. I hate hiding this from them, but why ruin a twenty-five-year-old friendship if this is only temporary? A fling.
Many of the rooms downstairs have to be gutted. I’m amazed at the volunteers we have. People are willing to work their asses off for no pay during their time off from their actual jobs. I stop and chat with Kim and Mike. They’ve been married for twentyyears, and they volunteer together. Relationship goals. The kitchen cabinets are in good shape, so they’re removing those and setting them aside to be sanded later. We want to save as much of the house as we can.
As I check on progress, I save the area Brad is working in for last. Am I torturing myself or rewarding myself for my restraint? He’s taken off the flannel shirt he put on this morning, and his white T-shirt is soaked in sweat. Damn. Who knew removing baseboards could be so sexy? He pulls up the last one in the room, his muscles working very hard. And then he adds the boards to the pile. Those will be picked over to see what can be salvaged. He wipes his face with the end of his shirt, exposing his stomach. He’s muscled with a little padding around the belly that I love. Gray hair mixes with black. It’s not fair that older men are so damn hot.
“Hey, Chas?” Gary’s voice jerks me out of my inappropriate thoughts. I turn toward him, ignoring Brad’s snort. Thankfully, my project supervisor doesn’t notice my drooling. “Are we pulling up the carpets in the back bedroom today?”
“Yeah, let’s do it.” We have another week or so of demo, then we can start rebuilding. We’ve had volunteers drop out here and there, but the crew we have now has been somewhat stable. Except for Pete. He’s supposed to be here today and isn’t. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. He’s always been disrespectful. Rude. But lately, his work has been sloppy. I’d be fine with him voluntarily dropping out.
