Page 28 of Finding Michael

“I’d rather have privacy.”

“Smart.”

“Your food is probably cold. We should get moving.” Michael didn’t move from Tristan’s embrace. “Right?”

“Molly packed it in these crocheted things. I doubt there’s any heat loss.” Tristan pressed a kiss to Michael’s lips. “Unless you mean in me. I’m burning up.”

“You’re corny.” Michael held his keys tight. “If you follow me to the house, I’ll help you carry the food in. Then you can kiss me all you want.” All Tristan wanted—fuck, Michael wanted to be kissed senseless. To be consumed and adored.

“I like that deal.” Tristan wriggled his eyebrows, then kissed Michael once more. “I’m a horrible thief.”

“I can tell.”

Tristan abandoned him beside his vehicle and climbed behind the wheel of the truck. If Michael thought Tristan looked sexyonthe truck, he looked even betterinit. Michael shivered. A thought crossed his mind. He’d love to stretch Tristan out across the front of the truck. Christ, the fucking they could do against that vehicle.

Michael adjusted his pants to relieve the pressure on his erection, then forced himself to settle behind the wheel of his car. He drove home and along the way he kept checking that Tristan was behind him.Fuck.Would Tristan stretch out naked on the truck? If they had privacy he might. Michael tried to focus on the road, but the idea of Tristan naked in any way possible corrupted his thoughts. Tristan seemed way too cozy in the truck and Sullavan.

Would he stick around?

Michael pressed the button to open his garage, then turned onto his meager driveway. He parked in the bay, then waited for Tristan. For a moment, he swore Tristan had abandoned him. Michael left his car and hefted his bag onto his shoulder. He froze. Did he want Tristan to see his house? Christ. He had a tiny house. Tristan was used to big places and luxury.

Tristan left the truck. “This is your place?” He smiled. “I like it. It’s quaint.”

“Tiny.” Michael strode up to him. “What do you need from the truck?”

“If you grab my bag and the basket, I’ll get the dish and the bottle of wine.” Tristan offered up a messenger bag and a wicker basket. “I can heft the rest. Molly said we needed everything she packed. I haven’t looked so I don’t know what’s there.”

“She’s thorough.” He carried his bag plus the extra things into the house. Tristan kept up behind Michael until everything was in the kitchen. Michael pointed to the main door leading to the garage. “Lock your truck. The neighborhood isn’t bad, but the kids get…silly every so often. If there’s anything in there they want and it’s unlocked, they’ll snatch.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Tristan walked out of the kitchen and disappeared into the garage. Moments later, he returned. “This button closes the main door?”

“Garage?” Michael asked. “Yes.”

“Then I’m locked up and so is your garage. We’re safe.” Tristan closed the main door. “Now, about dinner.”

“What’d she make?” Michael unfastened the ties on the cover. Whatever Molly had packed, it smelled wonderful. “Pasta?”

“Stuffed shells with a special sauce. I can’t remember what she called it.” Tristan settled beside Michael. “She says you’re a sucker for pasta. I am, too.”

“Nice to know.” He patted his belly. “I shouldn’t have the carbs. I haven’t had much time to run.” Not since Tristan had come to town. He pulled two plates from the cupboard.

“You’re a runner?” Tristan took the plates from Michael. “I am, too. I used to run marathons. I used the time to work out plot points. People thought I loved running. I do, but it’s a great time to think.” He dished two of the large shells onto the first plate. “Lately, my running has taken place on the treadmill. Is there anywhere around here to run? Sidewalks?”

“We’ve got nice trails at the metro parks. There are two-, three- and four-mile paths. A few hills, but some is flat and it’s all gravel. I prefer running there instead of on the sidewalks.” Michael accepted the plate. “Did you want wine with dinner?”

“One glass.” Tristan walked his dinner to the dinette set. “Unless you have beer. I’m more of a beer guy.”

“You’re in luck. I’ve got four beers left.”

Tristan took Michael’s plate from him. “Perfect.” He kissed Michael’s cheek. “She sent rolls and butter, too. I don’t know why she didn’t think you’d have butter.”

“I do. Just bought the tub.” He opened the amber bottles then carried them to the table. “But I’m glad she cared. I’m a horrible cook.”

Tristan stood by the table. “Where is the silver? We need forks.”

“Shit. In the middle drawer.” He’d forgotten all about silverware. He watched Tristan move around his kitchen. Granted, the space wasn’t large, but he seemed at ease. When he returned to the table, he sat opposite Michael.

“She thinks the world of you.” Tristan shook out a napkin. “I bet she goes out of her way for her guests, but this is pretty over the top.”

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