Page 43 of Sass

When I was positive there was nothing left south of my oesophagus but the fiery bowels of hell, I dragged myself in front of the mirror and groaned.Good god. Leon was right. Not only did I smell like a dumpster, but I looked like one as well.

I frowned and leaned forward for a closer look. Was that paint? Ugh. I teased a few splodges from my hair before laying eyes on a rag and bottle of turps sitting quietly beside the faucet. Because of course there was.

Leon.

Damn the man. Clean clothes, toothbrush, coffee, and then this. I’d fallen down the rabbit hole and somehow landed in a full-service fucking fairy tale. Or nightmare. Take your pick. Goldilocks and the tattooed bear. My snort sent a sobering dagger of pain through my head.

Well, I didn’t need looking after. I did fine all by myself. I ignored the throbbing ache in my head that tended to disagree, and for a brief moment warred with the idea of simply refusing to use the stuff. The last thing I wanted was to provide any positive reinforcement for the man’s thoughtfulness.

A second look in the mirror saw all my good intentions shot to hell and I grabbed the bottle. Twenty-five minutes later, one heavenly shower, a deep clean of my teeth, a sneaky spritz from one of Alec’s colognes that happened to be sitting on the vanity, and a head of hair that smelled vaguely like a paint factory, and I felt a whole lot better. My stomach still wasn’t keen on any company, but my headache was clearing nicely, and my legs felt less like jelly and more like workable appendages. Almost.

I sat on the toilet to pull on my briefs and jeans, because, hello, arse-kicking hangover, and then slipped Leon’s shirt over my head. It still carried a hint of the musky cologne he favoured, and I had zero shame lifting it to my nose. All wood and talc and bristling testosterone. The man was huge, hot, and hairy, in the best possible way, and I was holding out hope he was hung that way as well.

I froze halfway through a smile.Hung.

Oh god.My chin hit my chest and I groaned as the memory of joking with Leon about me being hung like a horse hit me like a Mack truck. Oh god, kill me now.I really, really had to lay off drinking to excess. Because obviously, I wasn’t. Hung, that was. Not even close. It wasn’t the size but what you did with it, right? But if Leon thought me a bad bet before, I was pretty sure I’d nailed the coffin shut on any chance I might have had with him.

A knock startled me from my musings.

“You okay in there?” Leon sounded concerned.

“Fine,” I answered, reaching for my trousers. “Be there in a sec. Unless you’ve changed your mind about joining me?” Hope, thy name is Kip.

He laughed but said nothing.

Of course. Everything about Leon screamed steadfast and reliable, while everything about me screamed... well, neither of those things. Leon wanted to settle down and start a family. I shuddered at the very thought. I might covet his glorious arse, but once it was mine, I’d move on to somebody else’s. And I ignored the way that thought sat less easily in my brain than it usually did. Hungover, right?

I pulled my trousers up my legs and another memory hit me. Leon’s sad eyes on my thighs.Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I was never drinking again.

Had he asked about them? Had I... answered?Shit.No. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have done that, not even drunk. It wasn’t that I hid them, but the guys I fucked were in and out of my life too quickly to care, most not interested in anything more than sliding tab A into slot B. And for the one or two that did ask, I shut them down. No one got to know that stuff about me. No. One. Especially not Mister Nice Guy.

Leon was right. Weweretoo explosive together. Too risky. Maybe it was time for me to shelve the idea of us getting down and dirty as well.

I finished dressing and went straight to where my socks and shoes were placedoh so neatlybeside the couch. Leon turned as I came out, then carried a plate of buttered toast across to where I sat staring at my feet with my socks in my hand. He put the plate on the coffee table in front but didn’t move away. “Leaving already?”

“Yes.” I didn’t look up.

Leon said nothing but I could picture his concerned frown in my mind clear as day.

I kicked myself for being rude. It wasn’t Leon’s fault I’d broken too damn many of my own rules and was backtracking fast. I softened my tone and unbundled my socks. “Thanks for helping me out last night, and I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but I’ve got things to do today. Clean up downstairs, for a start.” I hesitated. “And thanks for the other stuff, the turps... and cleaning up the bucket... and everything.” I really needed bullet points.

“You’re welcome.” His voice carried a thick morning rasp and my skin prickled under his intense scrutiny. “You feeling any better?” His naked feet sat just centimetres from my own, peeking out from another pair of soft faded jeans that I just wanted to rip off his body.

“Yeah, surprisingly,” I admitted, still staring at his feet, unwilling to meet his gaze because... lots of reasons. We were so very different he and I, in ways that seemed reflected in our two pair of feet. Mine—slender, pale, with two crooked toes broken in a trampoline fall and slightly knobbly at the joints. They railed at constraint, walked a fickle path, and ached in bad weather. Leon’s feet were wide to support all that towering height, olive toned with a sprinkling of dark hair, and a glimpse of a thick inked tribal band around one ankle. They were solid on the earth, just like him. Strong in the face of stormy winds. They knew where they were heading. Unlike mine.

“Then at least eat something before you go.” He pushed the plate closer.

I finished with my socks and shoes and then stared at the toast, the slices perfectly buttered all the way to their neatly trimmed edges. I couldn’t stop my smile. It was so Leon. “You cut off my crusts?” I finally looked up and found his cheeks pink.

“Oh.” A nervous smile graced his lips and he shrugged. “Habit... I guess. I um, like it that way.”

“Of course you do.” I reached for a slice and took a bite, not believing him for a second. The buttered toast tasted like sour ash in my mouth, but I forced it down as I got to my feet. “I’ll get the T-shirt washed and back to you tomorrow.”

“There’s no rush.” He followed me to the door and opened it before I could say a word.

I wanted to hate him for it, but it was kind of hard when all I really felt was just how fucking nice it was to be considered in that way.

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