Page 105 of Daily Grind
Rob’s house. Rob’s bed. Always a refuge from the world.
He was sore in every right way. Achy and stretched—inside and out. He reached out his legs and his arms to their fullest, luxuriating in the huge bed, opened his eyes, and sat up.
God, it was almost ten in the morning. He’d managed to sleep another two hours after Rob had fucked him into blissful oblivion.
Rob wasn’t in the room, but that wasn’t a surprise. He wasn’t overworked and underslept. The shop. God… Brian scrubbed a hand over his face and tried to quell the rising panic in his throat. Relax,relax!
He wasn’t at the shop because he didn’tneedto be at the shop today. Mark was there. Then Miranda. Everything would be fine. They would have called if there’d been an issue.
Call…fuck! Was his cell even in the room?
Fear rammed a spike through his chest and he scrambled off the bed to hunt for his clothes. His jeans were in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed… and yes. There was his phone.
No messages. No missed calls.
He sat down on the bed, too aware of how hard his heart beat. His hands shook.
Holy shit.
Good thing Rob was downstairs. That little stint would have earned him a frown and a creased brow—and he’d have to watch the weight of worry press down on Rob. Again.
Like it had onto Anita.
He owed Rob for putting up with him. Not giving up. But damn, he didn’t need to push it by acting like this. Once he could breathe again, he found his overnight bag, hopped in the shower, and threw on a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
When he made it to the kitchen, he poured himself a cup of coffee and headed out onto the back porch. Rob’s hair glinted copper in the sunlight and he sipped coffee while tapping away on his computer.
Brian let the screen door close behind him with a not-so-subtle bang. That was something that hadn’t changed about the house in all those years. “Are you working?”
Rob’s cheeks tinged and he closed his laptop. “God, no. Just piddling around on the Internet.” He leaned back in his chair. “Feeling better?”
Brian took a seat across the table. “Yeah. I haven’t slept like that in weeks.” Not since the last time he’d spent more than a few fleeting hours in bed with Rob. “Kind of feels like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
Rob’s smile was soft. “You haven’t. Not really.”
Couldn’t help the cringe. “I know. The shop…” They’d fucked a few times, quick tumbles in bed. Nothing quality. Not doing this… sitting and talking.
Rob waved his hand, then glanced at his laptop. “I just wish there were some way I could help you. Lift the burden.”
Not a chance, there. For one, Rob had no clue. For another, Brian didn’t need help—he needed things to stop being shitty. He sipped his coffee. “I’ll be fine.”
He heard the argument in Rob’s inhale. Saw it in the furrow of Rob’s brow.
“Bri, you’re not fine now.” Rob’s shoulders dropped. “You’re not eating. You’re not sleeping…”
“You’re not my mother.” It came out snappish and whiplike. Brian set down his mug and looked away.
A sigh. “I’m not. Though, I bet your mother would say the same thing, for the same reason.” A clink of Rob’s mug against the metal patio table. “I’m worried about you.”
Shewouldsay the same, and yes, for the same reason. Brian folded his hands and leaned his elbows on his thighs. “I’m—” But he wasn’t fine.
Brian looked up to find Rob watching him, that long face made even longer and thinner by the intensity of worry.
Rob shifted in his chair. “I told you, I can be a workaholic, too. I’m familiar with the effects.” Dry words.
“Ever burn out?”
Rob shifted his gaze to the yard. “Yes.”
