Page 106 of The Lineman

We’d only known each other a month or so, and half that time we’d been hundreds of miles apart. I almost expected to forget about him when I crossed the border . . . or more likely, for him to forget about me. For some reason the universe had yet to explain, the opposite happened.

I’d never been the kind of guy to linger on someone, not like this. A hookup was a hookup. A few good nights together didn’t mean anything in the long run. I was used to passing through people’s lives, used to packing up and moving on before anything could stick.

But this—this was different.

I wasn’t the kind of guy who made lists in my head. I didn’t sit around analyzing my feelings, didn’t waste time picking apart every damn thought I had about a person.

But Mike—

Mike had a way of creeping in, settling into my bones, carving out space in my mind like he belonged there. And maybe he did.

So, fine.

If I had to make a list, if I had to figure out why the hell he was getting under my skin, why I was craving him the way I was—this was it.

Number One: His hair shouldn’t do it for me, but it did.

I’d never looked twice at a redhead before.

It just wasn’t a thing for me.

And yet—

Mike’s hair was something else entirely. It was this deep auburn in some lights, a copper blaze in others. It was the kind of color that made me notice it even when I wasn’t trying to.

I’d caught myself staring more than once, watching the way the sunlight caught in the strands, making them glow like embers. It was obnoxiously soft-looking, too, the kind of hair that begged to be touched.

The first time I did touch it, I’d expected something coarse, wiry. But it wasn’t. It was fine and thick, a little unruly when he didn’t try to tame it.

And fuck, it suited him.

It made his already-pale skin stand out even more, made the freckles across his nose more pronounced. He burned too damn easily, always complaining about needing SPF 50 just to walk to his car, but I liked that about him.

And no, the carpet did not match the drapes. Hell, the carpet was a whole new color of flame, one that might be seen from space, while the drapes (and every other part of his body) held the color of a burned sunset. There was something about the, I don’t know, variety? That was stupid, I know, but it was part of it. Every time I thought I’d seen all of him, something new (like fiery pubes) would present itself.

And it drove me crazy.

He drove me crazy.

And I liked how unapologeticallyhimhe was. Moreso, I liked that I was the one who got to see him like this, up close, my fingers tangled in his hair, his breath hot against my skin.

So, yeah.

I guess I did have a thing for redheads.

Or maybe I just had a thing for him.

Number Two: He made me laugh when I least expected it.

I wasn’t someone who laughed easily. Not the kind of real, deep, uncontrollable laughter that takes you by surprise. Most people I worked with didn’t expect much humor from me, and I never gave them any reason to.

But Mike?

Mike had a sharp tongue and an even sharper wit, and he wielded both like weapons, the kind that cut through my defenses before I even knew I had them up. And it wasn’t just what he said—it was the way he said it. That deadpan delivery. That raised eyebrow, like he knewexactlyhow to press my buttons and enjoyed every second of it.

He wasn’t afraid to call me on my bullshit, either, which was definitely something new. Most guys took one look at my height and build and were scared to say what they really thought. Mike had no fear.

We’d been sprawled out on his couch, my feet kicked up on the coffee table, his knee pressed against mine. Some dumb movie played in the background, something I wasn’t even half watching because all I could focus on was the warmth of him.

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