Page 20 of The Long Game

Grady winked at him in the mirror before bending over the sink and spitting out a gob of toothpaste. The perfectly practical and not-at-all sexy act was great for helping Jack get his feet back under him.

He snorted a laugh and shook his head.

When Grady stood again, his mouth clear of toothpaste and water clinging to his stubble where he’d splashed his face, he met Jack’s eyes in the mirror.

“Let me help. Please. You had a crappy day yesterday and I know you want to get this done before turning your attention to the clinic.”

Jack hesitated, his better instincts warring with what he wanted. Desire won out. “Okay. Thank you. That would be great.”

Grady smiled brightly, which confirmed this was still a terrible idea.

But Jack was doing it anyway.

The moment Jackclosed the bathroom door, Grady threw off his borrowed sleep clothes and yanked on his jeans, taking the moment of privacy to talk his dick down.

His dick refused to listen.

The good news was that his jeans were snug enough to hold that particular problem in check. The bad news was that his body was interpreting signals all wrong after waking up plastered to Jack. He was embarrassed that he’d apparently spooned the poor man in his sleep. Jack must have rolled away from him at some point, and he’d followed, his subconscious doing what he was constantly consciously battling the urge to do—follow Jack anywhere.

At least Jack didn’t seem upset and was willing to let Grady ride along this morning. Of course, Grady had pushed a little,which wasn’t like him. Usually he gave Jack space—for his own sanity, if nothing else—but after last night, after hearing Jack’s story and then holding him, just walking out the door this morning hadn’t felt right.

Also, he was wildly curious about Jack’s mom. Jack never talked about her or anyone else in his family.

He paused before pulling on his shirt, frowning at the fitted button-up. While the jeans would work, his date shirt wasn’t ideal for mowing lawns and lifting heavy stuff.

The bathroom door popped open and Jack took two steps into the room. Then froze.

Grady suppressed the urge to cover his chest like a prudish co-ed in a cheesy nineties rom-com.

“Sorry, uh…” Jack said, his eyes darting from Grady’s chest to the floor and back again like he couldn’t resist another look. His throat clicked when he swallowed.

Grady absolutely did not flex anything. Much.

“No, I’m sorry. I was just thinking this shirt will suck for what we have planned today. Can I borrow a t-shirt?”

“Sure. Yeah. Of course,” Jack said, almost babbling as he spun back to his dresser. He yanked out yet another Ice Cats shirt and offered it to Grady.

“You have an unlimited supply of these, don’t you?” Grady asked as he pulled it on over his head.

Jack appeared dazed, staring at Grady’s mid-section. “Mm-hmm,” he murmured absently.

“You do?” Grady asked. He’d been kidding.

“What? Oh, no. I mean, I get a discount.” Jack turned back toward the dresser. “Let me get changed and we can head out.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Grady grabbed his date shirt and went to wait in the living room. Jack came out, ready to go, a few minutes later.

They grabbed breakfast sandwiches and coffee from Timmy’s on the way to the garden center to purchase a couple of flats of petunias, then hit the grocery store and bought everything on a list Jack kept on his phone. A final two stops for a case of wine and a carton of Virginia Slims Menthol 100s and they were on their way to Jack’s mother’s house.

They pulled up in front of a small, pristine, white clapboard single-story home, a pretty wreath of spring flowers on the front door offering a pop of color. The lawn was vibrant green and the short driveway had recently been resurfaced. Similar homes lined the street, though none so meticulously maintained. Then again, it would be hard to keep up with Jack’s mother. The flower beds looked like they’d been edged with a laser.

Once they’d parked, they opened the back of the truck where they’d stored the purchases alongside the unbelievable amount of stuff Jack carted around. Grady had teased Jack, more than once, about how he didn’t go anywhere without enough tools and supplies to open his own hardware store, and unlike Jack’s tidy and clutter-free apartment, it was all jammed into random boxes and toolkits that made no sense to anyone but Jack.

Grady tucked a large, lightweight box under one arm, grabbed a grocery sack in the other hand, and followed Jack to the front door. They barely fit together on the small stoop while Jack rang the bell and waited, a frown on his face.

The door popped open and let out a puff of cigarette smoke, revealing a tall, beautiful, older woman with a scowl so fierce it made Jack’s frown seem friendly. “I was about to call around to the hospitals, see if you were dead.”

“Hello, Mother. Sorry I’m late,” Jack said with almost no inflection in his voice.

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