Page 23 of Rules to Love By

“Not until now.” Eli pointed to one of the bigger boxes. “And just for that, you get the heavy one.”

Marcus shrugged. “Legit.” He hefted it and headed back up.

After that, the dusty, sweaty task of lugging twenty-seven billion boxes out of the cupboard and up the stairs took most of their energy.

Not so much Marcus failed to notice that, as soft and rounded as Eli might appear on the outside, he was steel underneath. He carried three boxes for every two Marcus managed, tossing them up on his shoulders and taking the stairs with ease.

Marcus couldn’t complain about the view whenever he found himself below Eli on the stairs, either.

They worked until past noon, and not once did Eli pull the son-of-the-boss card. He worked as hard as Marcus, until the cupboard was bare and his father’s living room was stacked with inventory, discarded tools of the trade, and paraphernalia that probably dated back to the barber’s first years in business.

“Did your family ever throw anything away?” Marcus asked, surveying it all.

“Seems not.”

“This is going to take years.”

Eli nodded silently, hands on his hips. “I’m going downstairs to kill Ambrose.”

“Can I have his boots?”

Eli’s head snapped around. “What?”

“For Tris. He’d rock them.”

“Oh. I thought…” His gaze drifted down Marcus’s body, and it was hard to say if the heat in his eyes was left over from the exertion or came from something else.

“That you could peel me out of them?” Deliberately, Marcus swung a hip out and curled his mouth into a smile most men drooled over.

Eli’s gaze came up, still hot, eyes glinting of the steel under the surface. He tilted his head, speculative, but said nothing.

Marcus squirmed. “Sorry. That was slu—”

“Don’t.” A smile softened all the fire and severity. “Don’t ever apologize for being who you are.”

For being a slut?Marcus swallowed hard. “You don’t really know who I am, though.”

“I will.”

The certainty behind the declaration made Marcus squirm again, but this time, less with shame and more from sudden anticipation. Only he had no idea what he anticipated happening.

“Boys?” Mr. Benson called up the stairs.

Marcus jumped and a small sound squeaked out of him.

Eli grinned.

Stomach turning over, Marcus remembered his lost butterfly. The one that kept fluttering in Eli’s grasp despite Marcus’s best efforts to get it back. Usually his flirting kept the ball in his court, but not with Eli.

Mr. Benson’s head appeared at the top of the stairs, pulling him fully back to the present. “I’m sending Ambrose down to the deli for sandwiches. You boys want something?”

“Sure, Dad. My usual?”

“Of course. Marcus?”

“I’d love something, but I have no cash. I can go back to the B and B for—”

“Nonsense.” Mr. Benson waved that off. “I’m buying. What’ll you have?”

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