Page 42 of Daily Grind
A crack in that hard line, then it crumpled into a soft smile. “All right.”
Victory. He didn’t mind being wined and dined, but he didn’t want Rob paying for everything, even if the card Rob pulled out was as gold as his watch.
He divided up the leftovers into two boxes, Rob signed the check, and they headed out to the car. A few minutes later, they were back in Squirrel Hill and in front of Brian’s apartment.
“Are you one of those Lycra shorts-wearing bikers?” A good part of Brian hoped the answer was yes.
As if Rob could hear the thoughts rolling through Brian’s head, he raised a brow. “I have been. I could be if you’re wearing something similar.”
He preferred the padded and wicking clothes for longer rides. “You just want to check out my ass.”
“I’ve seen your arse. It’s quite lovely, as is your front. But you know what they say about fair play, Bri.”
“I’ll be at your place in a half-hour or so. You can see how I’m dressed then.” He unbelted and grabbed his food. “I guess I need your address.”
“I guess you do.” Rob grabbed his phone and typed something in. A moment later, Brian’s buzzed in his back pocket. “There.”
“Trunk?”
“Boot.” Rob pressed a button and the latch popped. “I’ll teach you proper English yet.”
“Eh, we won the war.” He grinned and closed the door on a huff from Rob. He grabbed his camera bag from thetrunkbefore closing it.
After a wave, Rob drove off and Brian climbed the stairs to his apartment. It wasn’t until after he’d stowed the leftovers and his camera gear that he took out his phone and read the address Rob had texted him.
He slapped a hand over his mouth to keep the horrified laughter in. Oh, this address he knew well. Same street as his parents’ house, but a couple blocks away. Rob now owned the house of his former babysitter.
Welcome to the neighborhood, indeed.
* * *
Brian changedinto his biking gear, grabbed his helmet, stuffed a change of clothes into his backpack, got his bike, and headed down to the street. He made sure his repair kit was in his bike bag, and headed out.
The direct route, the path he’d have taken driving, was more dangerous on a bike, so he took one with wider shoulders until he got to the bike lanes in Bloomfield, then turned onto Rob’s street. He zoomed around a parklet and down the street until he came to the house that used to belong to Mrs. Kaminski, the babysitter forallof the Keppler kids.
The old Victorian house had changed. Rather than the drab beige and brown, the house was now dark blue, with teal and white accents. Decorative scrollwork had been added.
Shit, the place looked good. High-class.Gourmet.He walked the bike onto the porch. At least Rob had kept the stained-glass window transoms—though a clear pane had been added in front, probably to protect the older glass.
He rang the bell.
Moments later, Rob opened the door, his trim body encased in dark biking pants and a bright yellow and white top that clung to his chest like a second skin. Rob looked Brian up and down. “Nice.”
That smile knocked Brian off his feet every time.
“Should I come in or—”
“Why don’t we save the tour until after, if you don’t mind? We’ll have more time to… linger.” Rob’s gaze raked over Brian’s body again.
Yeah, that was true. “Plan.” He handed his backpack to Rob. “Mind stowing this for me?”
“Not at all.” Rob vanished for a moment, then rolled his bike out the door before locking it behind him.
As they headed down the stairs to the street, Brian spoke. “I already know my way around this house.”
Rob’s eyebrows hit his hair. “You do?”
A tingle of delight in surprising Rob. “Yeah. My folks live on the other side of the parklet”—he gestured down the street—“and the lady who lived here was the aunt of my mom’s best friend, so she’d babysit us sometimes.” He climbed onto his bike.
