Page 65 of Poetry On Ice

I like Ant Decker. I like him like crazy. I like him in a big, scary way that I know in my bones is a big deal. A big thing. The next big thing in my life.

He may not feel it yet. Hell, he may not even know what we are yet, but I do. I know things. I know feelings. And this thing between us is as real as anything I’ve ever felt.

He doesn’t say it back, but he doesn’t need to.

He doesn’t have to reply because my arm is still draped over his chest, my hand resting on the swell of his left pec. When I speak, his heart hears me. It reacts instantly. The slow, steady beat changes. It speeds up, doubling its pace and beating so hard and fast I feel the wild, hopeful clatter of it against the palm of my hand.

He doesn’t speak, but his heart hears the question and answers for him.

25

Ant Decker

I find my pantsfolded neatly and placed on the end of the bed. The curtains have been opened a crack and light is streaming into the room. It’s bright enough that I know it must be well past eight or nine.

I dress quickly and head downstairs. I can’t help noticing that McGuire’s been busy around the house since I was last here. The hardwood floors have been sanded and stained dark. The balustrade, ceilings, and skirting boards have been painted a bright powdery white. It looks much better than it did before.

I’m not sure how I managed to miss all the changes when I got here last night, but if pushed for an answer, I’d have to say it had something to do with the hottest, most incorrigible mouth I’ve ever put my dick in.

Either that, or it was his ass.

He’s left the yellow-and-blue floral wallpaper up, which is a surprise to me, and I’m not sure something Alessia would endorse, but he’s hung a lot of art since thelast time I was here, and it’s changed the space completely. There’s a gallery of moody photographs on either side of the hallway. Large, oversized images of men and women underwater. All naked, or half-naked at least, swathed in reams of flesh-toned silk that swirls around them and gives each piece a completely unique feeling.

If it turns out McGuire has an eye for design on top of everything else, it’s really, really going to piss me off.

“Morning,” he says brightly.

Of course he’s a morning person.

And, of course, he looks eye-wateringly pretty in a pair of cream sweats and a loose, long-sleeved T-shirt that’s been cropped to show the tiniest sliver of skin on his belly.

“What do you think?” he asks, gesturing to the hallway. “I was on the fence about keeping the wallpaper, but the longer I lived with it, the more it grew on me.”

“It looks fine.”

“I was thinking of getting a lamp for the hallway table. You know, one of those intricate, art deco style ones with a green glass shade.” I try not to look overly interested, but it’s hard because I know exactly what kind of lamp he’s talking about, and I happen to think it’s exactly what the space needs. “I’m not sure about it now though. After the workout that table got yesterday”—he gives me a sexually loaded smirk—“I’m not sure a lamp is the way to go. Too fragile, I think. Might get in the way.”

He approaches me slowly as if cornering an animal liable to bite. Before he can back me against the wall and do God knows what to me, I spin him around and steer him over to the hallway table.

“Get the lamp,” I say, pushing him forward so he’s forced to brace himself on the table with both hands. “You can put it over there.” I motion to the left side of the table as I kick his legs open. “See? There’s plenty of space for it there. I can bend you over like this here and give you shots from behind. As long as you stand still and take it like a good girl, the lamp will be just fine.” A gentle, sexy chuckle floods the hallway, rising from the floor all the way to the ceiling. “In fact, d’you know what I think you should do?” He shakes his head innocently. “I think you should get a mirror to hang over the table. A nice big arched one. Wanna know why?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So the next time I fuck you in this hallway, you’ll be forced to watch yourself take what I give you.”

He squirms out of my grip, laughing and pulling me in for a kiss. “Deal.”

Fuck. I wish McGuire didn’t have to beso much fun.

It’s been a weird day. A long, weird day. I had a long list of things I needed to get done, and I’ve done exactly none of them. My entire day got derailed by McGuire. And not by the feral head we gave each other on the kitchen floor but by the glass in the driver’s side window of my car, of all things.

By the time McGuire finally released me from his grasp this morning and let me take my leave, it was raining again. The windshield and windows frosted up as soon as I started the ignition and the heat came on. That in itself isn’t a problem. It’s completely normal for this time of year and this type of weather.

The problem was that as I pulled out of his driveway, I looked left and right to check for traffic, and when I did, I caught sight of a clear outline of a hand-drawn heart. A rudimentary outline, drawn with his finger, invisible except for when the car fogs up.

It’s invisible now. My car’s in the garage, and the weather has improved, so it’s hidden from view. But I know it’s there, and I know McGuire’s the one who drew it. He must have done it when he moved my carinto his garage last night. No one else has had access to my car.

He knew I’d see it. He meant for me to see it. He wanted me to see it.

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