Page 13 of The Guy in the Alley

Brown hair, blue eyes—yeah, no fucking kidding. I’d seen them. Six foot four, sounded about right. He had a few inches on me. Huh, he was an organ donor.

Then I heard a faint noise coming from inside, so I hurriedly returned the license and the wallet before I made my way back in. I literally sprinted into the front room, and a second later, the bathroom door opened.

Christ.

The moment I was seated on the foot of the bed again, I tossed a couple nachos into my mouth.

Keep it cool.

Benjamin Andrew O’Cleary appeared in the doorway, wearing only a towel around his hips, and I had zero complaints. I was glad he’d redressed the wound. I didn’t want that cut infected.

Now was an excellent time to stop staring.

I cleared my throat and stood up. “I’ll find you some clothes. Everything go okay in there?”

He nodded with a dip of his chin. “Thank you. I, uh…” He exhaled a chuckle, looking mildly uncomfortable. “It felt real good to brush my teeth. I’ve tried to be careful, but I think I need to see a dentist at some point.” He rubbed his fingers over his cheek. “My last wisdom tooth isn’t in good shape.”

I grinned faintly. “I’m surprised you have any left. I’d yanked all mine before I turned twenty-five.”

He followed me down the hall where I had a row of closets I’d bought for cheap at IKEA.

“My mother was a dental nurse before she retired,” he murmured.

That explained it.

I opened the first closet, the only one I used, and dug through my pile of sweats. There should be one pair… There. Farthest in. Gray pair.

“These should fit.” I handed them to him and took the same journey with my tees. Only, I had more options. Ma didn’t always get it right. “And this.” A baggy tee from Florida. Thankfully without dolphins and neon colors, just a tiny palm tree against the black fabric. He’d survive that. “You hungry? I made nachos.”

“Thank you, but I fear the food downstairs already did a number on me.” He smiled politely and…then just dropped the fucking towel. All right. Okay. Yeah. Fuck modesty, right?

Jesus fucking Christ.

The man was hung.

I averted my gaze as he stepped into the pants.

“Okay, uh…” Think, man. Think. “If, uh—if you need to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, don’t hesitate to knock. Seriously. Those stomach cramps can be hell.”

I also preferred to be woken up rather than finding a pile of shit on the stoop in the morning.

It’d happened before.

“I think I’ll be okay,” he said, putting on the tee. “You’ve done enough…uh.” He cocked his head. “I think I heard a couple of the staff call you Trace?”

Jesus. Hadn’t I introduced myself?

My bad.

“That’s right,” I replied, and I automatically extended my hand. “Trace Kalecki.”

His mouth twisted into the faintest smile, and he shook my hand. “Thank you for saving me tonight, Trace. I owe you.”

I shook my head. No, he didn’t.

* * *

The bed was weirdly comfortable, but it squeaked loudly every time I turned over.

---