Page 20 of Jace 4Ever
Jace
The brownstone was gorgeous.
It was elegant, both understated and powerful at the same time, just like Nelson. I stared up and briefly gave into my Cinder-fella fantasy. Me, walking up the stairs with my own key, and a hearty welcome kiss from Nelson once we closed the door.
I shook it off. Wasn’t real. I just couldn’t afford to think like that. It would just distract me from the reality I had to live in.
Walking up the front stairs, I rang the first floor bell, which was simply labeledPowers. I could see the inner door swing open and Nelson walk out.
His gray sweats were hung low on his hips, and he was wearing a white T-shirt. The shirt was slightly dampened by his head of wet hair and droplets left from the shower.
I had the urge to fall to my knees and just devour his cock, right there, as soon as he opened the door.
The massive outer door swung open and he was smiling at me.
“Hey, Jace. Come on in.” He stepped back out of the way and I walked into a gorgeous tiled hall with stairs to the right and gorgeous cherry wood paneling. There was an understated chandelier, a red and gold runner up the stairs. There were seven mailboxes with call buttons and hooks underneath where seven neat golf umbrellas hung. There was a dark cherry server with flowers and a mirror above it.
There was nothing not to like about it.
Nelson led me back to a door with “One” on it, and while it looked like wood, it sounded like metal. He pushed it open, and I stepped into a beautiful, casual dining area.
“So, I have some tenants upstairs, and you might hear them once in a while. They’re all allowed to use my weight room within reasonable hours.”
“Did you just finish working out?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I do about an hour every day, whenever I can. Price of fame.”
“I’m not complaining.” My eyes went wide and I turned red. “I mean…”
He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me in. Studying me for just a moment, he leaned in and dropped a kiss on my lips. It wasn’t demanding or filthy or suggestive. The only word I could come up with was appreciative.
“Hi.” He grinned.
“Hi,” I answered.
“I hope you like Italian.”
“I thought you were Icelandic?”
He threw his head back and laughed, hard. “I am, but dinner is not.”
I giggled. “Oh. Yes, I like Italian. For the record, I also like Icelandic.”
“Mjög gott.” He grinned. “Let’s eat. Then I can show you the script and we can work on it.”
Letting go of my waist, he walked into the clean, small, but well-appointed kitchen. I watched him for a moment, and then followed him to the table in the back.
“You’re really serious about this?” I pulled out a chair as he put a wine glass in front of me. “You want me to help you with Xavier four?”
“Yep.” He grabbed the potholders off the wall and pulled the oven door open. “I just need someone to bounce ideas off of, but if you want to help with this rewrite, that would be amazing.” He pulled out the dish and the aroma of the meal filled the room.
“I just… I’m a lighting guy,” I said. “I’m not a good writer.”
Placing the baking dish on the stove, he glanced at me. “Do you mean you aren’t good at actually writing, or you hate it, or someone told you that you can’t write?”
“A and C,” I said. “Mostly C.”
“That why you’re a key grip?”
