Page 30 of The Guy in the Alley

I smiled. “Not a Cleveland fan, I take it?”

“Who the fuck is, Trace?”

He had a point.

Fuck Cleveland.

Also, fuck the teams the Sox faced. I cared more about the Cubs’ rivalries.

I could go on. Fuck him for not turning around when he washed his junk.

Fuck the Sox.

Fuck me. I finally got a glimpse and?—

“All right, I’m clean.”

“You sure?” Fuck, the words left me before I could stop them.

In my defense, he was plenty dirty from where I was sitting.

“Zestfully so. Your turn.”

Zest what?

“By the way, you should get one of those shower-glass wipers,” he told me, opening the shower door. “The longer you let limescale and calcium buildup stick to the glass, the harder it is to clean off.”

I scratched my forehead. He sounded like Ma now. She was always bitching about hard water.

“I’ll get right on that.” I jumped off the counter and hauled my tee over my head. I threw it into the laundry basket before I shed my socks, jeans, and boxer briefs too.

He side-eyed me as he wrapped a towel around his hips but was way quicker to avert his gaze when I came closer. Me, on the other hand—I was done looking away.

I closed the glass door and turned on the water again.

The hot water loosened some tension in my shoulders, and I hung my head and just relaxed.

Ben started brushing his teeth and retrieved the first aid kit, presumably to redress his wound.

My brain kept shouting at me—the man was more focused on the future and his situation than anything else, but I was past the point of no return. I couldn’t shut off the selfish, greedy, horny little fucker in me who only wanted to know if he was watching me in the mirror.

I took a step back from the rush of hot water and began lathering up. But even when I let the selfish part of me take the wheel, I wondered if there was anything else I could do for him. I’d been clear that he was welcome to stay; we always needed help for the soup kitchen, and that wasn’t reserved just for serving and cleaning up. I always had flyers that came in handy, usually polite pleas that I took to grocery stores and whatnot. Please don’t throw away food. Donate it to us. Shit like that. And maybe Ben could help me hand some out. I had to do a grocery run tomorrow anyway.

He had extra clothes now too, since we’d dragged out the donation boxes at today’s service. We’d found a new coat for him, a shorter parka with an insulated hood. Spare socks and underwear, and a toiletry kit with the basics. I’d given him an old gym bag too, with straps long enough if he wanted to use it as a backpack.

Now he only needed to agree to stay.

As I soaped up my cock, I glanced over at him to ask bluntly if he could stay for a while, but that thought flew right out the window when I caught him staring in the mirror. He was still brushing his teeth, but yeah, he was enjoying the view. And I acted on instinct before he could look away; I smirked in acknowledgment.

Come on. You want it. I fucking need it.

His jaw ticked with tension, and he dropped his stare to the sink and spat out toothpaste. Then he shook his head to himself, an insignificant response that confirmed the implication. It was enough to raise the temperature in the shower, and lust flooded my senses.

“Don’t start something you’ll regret, bright spot.”

Oh good, so we’d started.

Why the fuck would I regret anything that had to do with him?

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