Page 16 of Finders Keepers
Except—he tapped a finger against his thigh—the bag he’d used last night wasn’t his club backpack. It was his school one. He’d loaned the “club” bag to Annie and Hank about a week ago for their trip.
But still. He’d cleaned that bag out before handing it over. Everything he carried in that backpack had been accounted for. That didn’t include a thumb drive.
Well then, Wesley had no freaking clue. This had to have been a case of mistaken identity, despite what that thug thought. And since Wesley wouldn’t be going back to the club for a while, there was no reason to worry about it. But that didn’t change the mess he was stuck in—dependent on a stranger for the kind of help that family or close friends usually provided. Neither of which he had.
An odd little gurgle-y squeal drifted to his ears, and his stomach turned over. Ah, yeah, it’d been quite a while since he’d eaten. What time was it anyway? He reached for his phone on the bedside table and flinched at the stretch of muscles that hadtaken a beating. He shivered at the wash of chilled air across his forearm and pulled his limb back into the cozy warmth of his little burrow then checked the time. A quarter to three. Almost twenty-four hours since he’d last eaten. Nate would be along shortly to wake him up again. May as well face the day, drumline in tow.
Chapter Seven
Wesley crossed the hall to the bathroom, huffing with each step on the cool flooring, Nate’s voice floating in from the living room. After taking care of his business, Wesley went in search of his host and came to a halt where the hallway opened into the airy living space.
To the right was a spacious u-shaped kitchen, separated from the dining area and living room only by counter space. On the kitchen side, the counter appeared to be standard height; on the dining area side, the counter was a good nine inches higher and served as an eating area with four barstools tucked underneath.
A dining room table with a light-colored stain and matching chairs all with a Scandinavian flair took up floor space between the kitchen and the living room area. An elongated wooden bowl with wavy edges sat in the center of the table. Items he couldn’t identify from this distance filled it.
To the left was the living room. Over-sized reddish-brown leather furniture was situated in a u-shape that mirrored the kitchen but didn’t overcrowd the space. The wall of windows also helped to make the room appear larger. A square coffee table with a glass surface sat in the center, adding to the open feel, and two tall lamps stood behind the matching end tables that flanked the couch.
Stacks of moving boxes lined the wall under the huge television that hung on the wall opposite the sofa. There were no decorations. No pictures. No personal touches. No plants.
To the left of the sofa, angled in the corner next to the windows, Nate lay sprawled in the recliner, eyes closed against the afternoon sun slanting across his face and chest. His righthand held his cell phone close to his ear as he chatted with someone; his left hand cradled the back of his head.
Wesley indulged in a thorough inventory. Observing Nate at home was entirely different from encountering him at the club. This wasn’t business, this wasn’t professional, this wasn’t—dumb as it sounded—formal. His perusal amounted to pure aesthetic appreciation by one gay man of another.
Nate’s wide shoulders, bulging biceps, and washboard abs were displayed above the waistband of his light gray shorts. His muscular thighs filled out the thin fleece, and the length of his legs left his feet to dangle over the edge of the footrest.
From personal experience, Wesley knew there was a pair of seriously high, round butt cheeks nestled into that chair. He’d seen them. Touched them. Nipped them with his teeth. Had slid his dick between the firm globes to breach the man’s puckered hole. And what a glorious experience that had been. Wesley’s dick quickened at the memory.
Down boy.
Aside from his farmer’s tan, Nate was as white as the sheets Wesley had slept in last night. His nose was a bit too large for his face and had been broken a time or two if the lump along the slope was anything to go by. The soft blue color of his eyes was the color of the early morning sky. His smile, when Wesley had witnessed it, was wide and infectious.
Wesley let his gaze linger on Nate’s form, each line of his body drawing him a picture of something solid and strong—something he could admire but never claim. It felt like a dream, a possibility just beyond his reach. He had no illusions, no expectations. This—whatever this was—could never turn into anything more.
Wroroeouw.
His stomach gurgled again. Not loud enough to catch Nate’s attention, as focused on his call as he was. Wesley hadn’tbeen invited to make himself at home, so he shambled into the living room, movements stiff, and knocked on the top of a cardboard box.
Nate’s eyes popped open at the dull thudding. “Hey there.”
“Who’s that?” The voice on the other end rose brightly, carrying past the phone.
“Hold on,” Nate said into the phone. To Wesley he said, “You all right?”
Wesley nodded and smoothed a hand down the loose tee and then rubbed a forearm. “Achy and shaken up, but also hungry. I was wondering if I could get a little s-something to eat. Have you got a protein bar or s-some fruit?”
Nate’s eyes widened, and he kicked the footrest back into position with a quick push. “Oh, yeah. Sure. Claire, I’ll call you back in a little bit.”
“Nate—do you have a man friend over?” Wesley heard from the phone, the woman’s tone seeming both pleased and incredulous. Gleeful almost.
Wesley swallowed against a smile. If only he was Nate’s “man friend.”
“No,” Nate said firmly. “I’ll call you back.” He hung up on her and stood. “Let’s do better than a protein bar, huh?”
Wesley’s heart gave a small lurch at the way Nate had shut down Claire’s assumption. He pushed aside the twinge of disappointment and followed his host to the kitchen. “You don’t have to go to any trouble on my account.”
“This level of fitness doesn’t come without some trouble. How does breakfast sound for an early dinner? Lots of protein.” Nate arched an eyebrow.
“Sure. What can I do to help?”
