Page 27 of Brett and Rowdy
“Cool. Do you wanna go back to the house?”
“I really do.” He took a deep breath and then let it out. “I kind of want to touch you the same way I’ve been touching your art.”
Was that weird? Forward? Maybe, but what did he care? He was in town for a class reunion.
Hookups with old flames were the whole fucking idea, if you asked him.
Brett touched his cheek with rough, callused fingers. “Only kind of?”
“Oh, now, I don’t want to sound too needy either, do I?”
“In this case, you can sound as needy as you want. I don’t mind a bit.” Brett took him back out of the workshop, not the way they’d come but around the side, and they headed to the house, the dogs bounding along next to them.
Rowdy thought they were getting along great, the two pups, because there had not been even a single snarl or bark, just lots of panting and jumping and running.
They made it inside the kitchen—at least he supposed it was the kitchen ’cause it smelled like spices and tomatoes and bread.
“What’s funny?”
“I smell tomatoes and jalapenos.” It was a little like home.
“I was making salsa earlier today.”
He leaned into Brett a little, letting the man feel his weight. “You do realize they may not let you stay in South Carolina if you make salsa. That’s like a Southwestern thing.”
Brett’s chuckle shook him. “Shut up. You know I like my spice. I was so disappointed in the food at the thing. I wanted goofy Southern food, not fancy weird-assed I don’t even know what.”
Rowdy shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Fancy people, man.”
He might have money, but fancy just wasn’t in his job description.
“Yeah, I hear you. Yeah. I wanted fried macaroni and cheese balls and some pimento cheese.”
“More cheese. There needed to be more cheese.” Rowdy reached up, curled his fingers around Brett’s nape and eased him down.
The chemistry as soon as their lips touched was absolutely perfect. That was what he needed. That part hadn’t changed.
Rowdy opened up, humming deep in his chest, and Brett immediately wrapped those big, callused hands around his hips and drew him right in.
No question, no deep comments, just two guys who needed a little stress relief after a really long fucking day.
Maybe it had been a really long fucking couple of years.
Brett tasted of hops and barley, and that summoned up a deep well of memories.
Kissing this man after a stolen beer on the riverbank.
Crazy fumblings in the back of the truck.
Behind the barn.
Behind the bleachers.
But this was even better. There was no fumbling. Touching, sure. And slow, long, deep kisses. Ones that left him panting. They were both grown-ups now.
And it showed.
Jesus fuck, Brett made his knees weak, and he could only imagine how fucking hard it was for Brett, given that the man was so tall. “Can we sit somewhere?”
