Page 176 of Worthy

Chapter four

Dean

I definitely shouldn’t have told him to wear the skirt. Oh, fuck, those legs.

My head knocks against the hood of a car and Ford glances over at me, probably wondering what the hell is wrong with me. I don’t know, man. I’m just distracted by my employee who lives with me…and wears my clothes to sleep.

I wonder what’s under the skirt he’s wearing. Last night, I knew he was naked under that jersey. I could feel it—could feel his bare ass cheeks in my hands.

Why the hell is he so tempting? I’ve never wanted a man before.

But fuck, Avery is so…he’s so alluring.

That hair and the shape of his body, all lithe and soft. He’s so damn pretty. All the goddamn time.

“Just tired,” I say because I am. I barely slept last night, my dick aching between my legs. But I refused to touch it, to jack off to thoughts of him.

How damn inappropriate would that be? He’s my son’s age. He’s vulnerable and homeless at the moment. He just opened up to me and shared how he was assaulted, and there I was, trying not to tug on my dick like a horny teen.

“Is it ’cause Avery is wearing that skirt?” Ford asks softly, his dark eyes meeting mine.

My best fucking friend looks so damn confused. Well, welcome to the club. I am too.

“He likes what he likes,” I say, and Ford shrugs.

“It’s cool. He looks good in it.”

My brows meet and I glower at him. “Don’t be lookin’ at him, man.”

Ford frowns and then cocks his head. “Oh…oh shit. Damn, I didn’t know, Dean…”

My cheeks flush, and I set my tools down, moving away from him so quickly that I knock my hand against the fender. Shit, that hurts. I’ll end up dead by the end of the day if I keep this up.

“Better figure this out before you end up killing yourself,” Ford says very unhelpfully, and I glower at him. But then Ford is forgotten when Avery walks out, that fucking skirt skimming his thighs, those boots on up to his ankles, that tight crop top.

Fuck, he’s so damn…hot. I mean, he was before all of this when he wore baggy pants and overalls, but now, with those smooth legs showing and that midriff…

It’s all a little too much.

I can’t fucking concentrate.

“Uh, Dean, I have like an angry customer on the phone. Wanna come save the day, big man?”

I clear my throat as I nod, following him up the stairs—which was a total mistake because that ass is right in front of me, looking far too good.

I wonder if I slip the fabric up, what I’ll find underneath. Does he wear lacy panties too? What color are they?

I nearly run into the doorjamb, and then fumble so badly with the phone that I actually hang up on the customer in the process.

“What is wrong with you?” Avery asks, his face concerned.

“Nothin’,” I say, and Avery takes a step toward me. He always smells so damn good. I noticed this about him even before I noticed his legs. He always smells like cake. Like fucking dessert.

It’s one of the reasons I hired him in the first place. He was great at organizing my work life and he smelled ridiculously good.

I needed a little dessert in my life at the time, I suppose.

“Are you having a stroke or some kind of medical emergency? Because Cash just told me you have been running into shit downstairs and almost killing yourself. Plus, you just hung up on grumpy, old Morton.”

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