Page 25 of A Little More Hope

It’d taken me ages to fall asleep last night, my mind continually going over the part where I’d fed him a spoonful of the sauce. The way his lips had covered the edge of the spoon and closed around the rest had all but made me groan. After swallowing the contents, he ran his tongue over his lips, leaving them glistening and making my stomach flip over a hundred times.

My overactive imagination taunted me with how those lips would feel against mine if I kissed him. How they’d taste, how’d he’d react to my touch. Thank goodness for a bubbling-over pan or I may have acted on my impulse to try to find out.

I licked my own lips, following the same route as Ash, gliding my tongue along the sensitive flesh from one side to the other. Mine were firm, cool and dry, and slightly cracked by the sun and sea, but I bet Ash’s were hot and silky smooth.

He kept pulling me toward him, more and more, and I had a hard time fathoming why. Getting close to people, trusting them, letting them know me was not easy for me to do. Outside of my family, there were only a handful of people I’d placed my complete trust in, and I worked alongside three of them.

But Ash had somehow managed to burrow under my armor and settle himself in, make himself comfortable. Odd, too, how I didn’t mind him being there one bit. But trust? I wasn’t so sure…

Glancing at the clock on the kitchen wall, I checked the time. A few minutes after seven thirty. I’d already exercised in the basement home gym and, being Thursday, had eaten my hot oatmeal with cinnamon, honey, banana, and blueberries for my breakfast.

I checked the clock again. Was it too early to go next door?

To hell with waiting any longer. What’s the worst that could happen? Ash may well be in bed and wouldn’t answer when I knocked, or he might tell me to return later at a more sociable hour.

The fluttering in my belly returned in anticipation of seeing him again. He’d quickly become my new favorite obsession, which was crazy. When had I begun acting more like a teenager than a fully grown man? Shaking my head, I sat on the edge of the sofa, then pulled on and laced up my tatty old sneakers. I should be wearing my work boots and a hard hat, but as I hadn’t been expecting to work or go to a construction site while I recuperated here, sneakers would have to do.

I crossed the short distance to Ash’s house, the morning sun already warm on my face. Shielding my eyes with my hands on either side of my head, I peered through the salt-encrusted glass. On first glance, I didn’t see anyone inside until a movement from the rear of the hallway caught my attention.

Ash walked into the room, wearing nothing but a pair of exceedingly snug, exceedingly fitted, white boxer briefs and nothing else. Okay, I’d seen him naked through the bathroom mirror yesterday, and yes, the scene was indelibly inked into my brain. But him in underwear, in only underwear, I found more intimate and sexier for some reason. I’d ogled his naked butt, for Christ’s sake, so this should be nothing. But as my focus dropped to the bulge hugged by the thin fabric, it was everything, and I had to swallow hard and bite my cheek to prevent moaning out loud.

He disappeared into the kitchen, thankfully not seeing me gawping at him through the window, so I took that as my cue and rapped a few times on the doorframe. A couple of seconds later, his head popped out from behind the wall, a surprised look crossing his face when he recognized me. Then his grin appeared, lighting up the room.

He made his way across the living area, apparently not embarrassed in the least at wearing next to nothing. I adamantly kept my gaze on his face, though not peeking near killed me to do so. Since I’d acknowledged my newfound attraction to him, every gesture or move he made registered in my awareness, no matter how small, my mind cataloguing every aspect of him and committing him to memory.

He unlocked the door and pulled it open, the bottom sticking a bit as he did so. The distinctive smell of lavender wafted out and answered my question as to why the fragrance always lingered around him.

“Wow,” he said, grinning wider. “Someone’s keen to get started.” I relaxed somewhat; glad he didn’t think I was too much of a weirdo for turning up so early.

I smiled back. “Did no one tell you demo day is the best day of any renovation?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yep,” I replied. “I mean, come on. Who doesn’t like knocking down walls with a sledgehammer? You get to be a kid all over again.”

Ash laughed, easy and relaxed. “You better come in, then.” He moved to the side and gestured for me to enter. I did, inhaling deeply as I walked past him. In addition to the ever-present lavender, he also smelled of sleep and the faint scent of my almond body wash.

In other words, he smelled really good.

By virtue of the snooping I’d done when I’d first arrived at Gabe’s, I already had an impression of what his place looked like, but getting to see inside was interesting, to say the least. As well as dried lavender, the place also smelled musty, so we’d need to check for damp and mold. I also smelled fresh coffee brewing, which he must have started when he went into the kitchen a few minutes ago. The house looked like no one lived there for a while, and I’d correctly assessed an older person had owned the property, as the evidence was all over the place.

“Sorry about the mess,” he apologized. “I’ve not done much since I arrived, apart from sorting out the cupboards and drawers. You wouldn’t believe how much stuff one person can accumulate.”

“I know what you mean,” I agreed. “A good few of our houses were foreclosures, and the amount of garbage people left behind continually amazed me.”

Scanning the place, I took it all in. An ancient wood burner filled the fireplace to my left, and perpendicular to that sat a large sofa. The red corduroy velvet faded to a washed-out pink in places, the upholstery bleached by the strong summer sun. A large patchwork quilt was draped casually over one end. A couple of striped deck chairs sat on the opposite side.

In the area to my right, an imitation-wood built-in shelving unit stretched along the whole wall, and a cheap dining set filled the rest of the space. Despite how dated and in need of help the place looked, it had managed to retain a nice homey feel. His aunt had more than loved her time living here.

“Interesting decor,” I stated when I’d finished my visual sweep.

“You don’t think it’s too over the top?”

“Nah,” I smirked. “‘Old style lived-in’ is so this season.”

He laughed, and I enjoyed how his response made me feel. I wasn't known for my sense of humor, so I liked that he appreciated my attempts to be funny.

“Glad to see I’m on trend,” he replied.

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