Page 43 of A Stealthy Situation

13

HARRISON

Benny’s eyes have been on me all day.

I know because mine have been on him just as much.

Shirtless, tan, all those muscles glistening. His thick blond hair strangled by a hair tie even as a chunk flicks forward past his ear over and over.

Hell, if I tuned out his constant stream of profanities, I almost had a peaceful day. I really, really like spending time with him.

I also really, really like the look of him. And the smell, apparently, because every time we got close or were both in the cab, all I could smell was his deodorant mixed with his sweat, and something about that combo really got my dick moving. It was both a relief and made me nervous as fuck because if the sleeping tiger is getting on board, I really have nothing holding me back.

From making a move.

On Benny.

And possibly fucking our very new, very welcome friendship up.

“Come on,” I say when we jump out of my truck. “We’ll put dinner on and then shower.”

“Why can’t we shower first?”

“If we do, we won’t be eating until late. I’ve got a chicken and some vegetables there with our names on it.”

The promise of good food must spur him on because he follows me into the cool house without complaint.

“Marshall? Fe?”

There’s no answer, so they must be out. That’s another reason Fe is good for Marshall; before they got together, Marshall hardly did anything. He’s still not the most social guy, but at least now he doesn’t dread parties and meeting people for drinks.

I can’t stop myself from throwing a wink over my shoulder at Benny. “Looks like dinner is all ours.”

“House too.” He opens his mouth, and I wait for something over-the-top flirty to come out, but then … nothing. He changes his mind, swipes his tongue over his lip, and nods toward the kitchen instead. “Let’s do this.”

That was weird. But then again, it’s been a long day, and he’s probably getting hangry.

We wash our hands at the sink, standing side by side, that same scent from earlier filling my nose. Dammit. Maybe we should have showered first.

I move away from him and head toward the fridge.

“Can you grab me the measuring spoons?” I ask without looking at him. “We’ll need the tablespoon and the quarter-size one.”

The chicken is probably too big for us both to eat, but Felix and Marshall will be happy with any leftovers we leave them. I grab all the seasonings from the cupboard and then text Marshall to find out when he’ll be home.

It’s ridiculous how much I’m mentally crossing my fingers that the answer is late. Very, very late. Tomorrow morning, late.

He texts straight back.

Marshall:

Tenish. Why?

Me:

No reason. Just have Benny here for dinner. Thought I might … test your theory out.

Marshall:

---