Page 42 of A Stealthy Situation

Once he’s done, he wipes his dirty hands off on his gym shorts, sending his back muscles rippling. I’m too busy watching them flex under his skin to notice the little old woman approach.

They exchange a few words, and she squeezes his arm in what looks like gratitude. Harrison must say something about me because they both turn at the same time, and she gives me this adorable little finger wave.

Dammit. Of course she’s a cute old lady.

I really am a dick.

I muster up a smile and wave back before she walks inside, and Harrison packs his shit away in the truck.

He climbs in beside me, wiping his face off with his shirt before pulling his cap back down. There’s dirt smeared on his cheek, his neck, his shoulder … and when I look down, I’m not much better.

I’m still sore.

I’m still sweaty.

But then I think of that cute little wave, and I grudgingly—so fucking grudgingly—have to admit that I’m sort of maybe just a tiny bit glad that I came today.

“So, your old lady looked sweet,” I admit.

“Told you.”

“Still bet she’s got a basement full of dead puppies or something.”

Then Harrison does something that stops all my thoughts in their tracks. He pats my thigh.

My bare thigh. His big hand. Making warm, sweaty contact.

“Your outlook on the world will never cease to amaze me.”

I don’t know what to say to that and don’t trust myself with words anyway, so I stay silent on the whole drive to his house.

“Want me to drop you home to shower first?” he asks as we drive through the college district.

“It’s out of the way. I could borrow something of yours.”

“We could try.” His eyes leave the road for a second to study my waist. “Marshall and Felix definitely won’t have anything to fit you, but I’ve got some elastic gym shorts we can try.”

“Sounds good.”

So instead of taking the turnoff to DIK and having to explain to him why he can’t wait in my room, we head for his place instead.

I’m expecting the house to have gardens and greenery everywhere, but it’s a tiny cottage like we’ve just come from, with red stones covering the strip between the road and the house.

“I would never have picked this place to be yours,” I say as we pull up out the front.

“Why’s that?”

“Where are all your plants?”

He winks. “You’ll see. Besides, this was the best the three of us could afford, so we love her anyway.”

Of course he does. Harrison is just a happy guy, with whatever life throws at him. Maybe our friendship was never meant to be about shared orgasms, and instead, it’s all about me finding some fucking perspective in life.

A well-rounded Dalton? That Dalton being me?

Nah, sounds false.

He’ll make me a good person when I’m dead.

---