Page 17 of Finders Keepers
“I can prepare this meal in my sleep. You sleep upright like I suggested?”
Wesley nodded and appreciated the way Nate’s glutes filled out his shorts as he passed by.
“Good. Your face does seem less swollen. Another cool shower ought to help.”
Nate peered into the fridge, the fabric stretching across his ass as he bent over.
It took a deep quiet breath for Wesley to drag his gaze away from the sight. What had Nate said? Another shower. Even though Wesley hadn’t done anything but sleep since the last one, another sounded refreshing, and his hair was a mess from sleeping on it towel-dried damp. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”
Nate rolled his eyes and set eggs, bacon, and juice on the counter. “You wouldn’t be here if I minded.” He set a skillet on the stove. “How do you like your eggs?”
“Any way is fine except runny or slimy.”
“Slimy?” Nate raised a brow at Wesley.
“Yes, s-slimy—when people don’t cook s-scrambled eggs all the way?”
“Gotcha.” Nate set a bowl on the counter. “Not-slimy eggs coming up.”
This was a very different Nate from the one he’d met and interacted with at the club. Wesley liked this version much better. Relaxed. Playful. Affable.
A buzz emanated from Nate’s shorts pocket. He ignored it. “Bacon? Sausage?”
“Either is fine.”
“Okay. Fifteen minutes?” Several dings floated from his pocket.
“Do you need to check that? Is your team trying to get hold of you?”
Nate shook his head and grinned. “My sister. I’ll call her again later.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Well, I’ll be out in fifteen then.”
* * * * *
Wesley found another clean tee shirt and pair of drawstring shorts when he returned to his room wrapped in a huge, soft, cocoa-colored towel. Hummingbird wings thrummed low in his belly, soft and uncertain. The simple kindness of it—Nate remembering his need for clean clothes, even without being asked—sent a warmth spreading through him.
He picked up the clothes and held them to his nose, breathing deeply. There was no lingering scent, and the absence made his heart crack—Wesley had always equated scent with being cared for, even if it was just caring for yourself. Nate had thought to see to his needs, but not to his own, and that quiet neglect ached in Wesley’s chest.
His stomach growled again, louder this time, urging him toward the savory, smoky smell of bacon that permeated the air. With care and some unavoidable twinges and the accompanying winces and slight gasps, Wesley pulled on the shorts and tied the drawstring. He hugged the tee shirt to him and headed for the living room, determined to do something to make his host’s life just a little more enjoyable.
Nate was setting plates on the dining room table when Wesley appeared. Nate took his seat and gestured to the plate across from him.
Wesley tottered toward the table and looked from Nate’s bare chest to the shirt in his hand. Screw it. The shirt was more trouble than it was worth at the moment, and he was suddenly ravenous, the scent of food turning his hunger into full-on famished. He draped the shirt over the back of his chair and sat.
Wesley eyed Nate’s plate piled high with scrambled eggs. Bacon, sausage, and toast filled another. “You gonna eat all that?”
Nate glanced at his breakfast. “Yup. You need more eggs?”
“Nooo,” Wesley said with a chuckle, ignoring the twinge in his chest. “I don’t know if I can eat all of this.” There must have been three, four eggs on his own plate, not to mention his own serving of bacon, sausage, and toast.
A sheepish expression crossed Nate’s face and he huffed. “I guess I’m used to feeding hockey players.”
“Thanks, though. Looks delicious.”
“Sure. Yeah.”
For a while, the only sounds were the clink of forks against plates and the occasional satisfied sigh.
