Page 7 of Finally
“No, Gray,” Jack sing-songed.
“You don’t want to run home, put on those gray sweats with the fleece lining, and hide under your duvet with a bag of salt and vinegar chips?”
Jack coughed into his hand and lowered his gaze. “I may have given it a fleeting thought earlier, but the chips were going to be those lime-flavored ones you got me.” He looked up at Gray from underneath his eyelashes. “And I’m glad I didn’t go home.”
Damn did that shy expression and those red-tinged cheeks do it for Gray. His lips tingled with the need to kiss Jack’s sweet mouth, and his breath quickened with the hope that, someday soon, he would finally have that opportunity.
“I'm glad too.” Gray winked at Jack. “But the night’s still young. The sweats and the chips are waiting for you at home.”
“Not that I’ll have room after this huge meal.” Jack looked down at their table.
“I’ll take one for the team and help you out,” Gray said. “I’ll come over after dinner. We can cuddle under a blanket and make a dent in the next episode of theGreat British Bakeoffwhile we regain our appetites.”
“Good plan.”
***
“Maybe I should learn to bake,” Jack mumbled, his feet curled under him, his body relaxed into the sofa, and his attention on the television where a man was kneading dough. “Then I’d have fresh bread and more developed muscles.” He leaned his head toward the television and squinted. “Really, really well-developed muscles.”
Next to him, Gray chuckled. “We’ve reached the time of night where you see thirst traps everywhere.”
“Didn’t mean to say that out loud.” He had known Gray for twenty years, and the last couple of years, when they weren’t working, they were together more often than not. Gray knew about his insecurities and had witnessed his failures, and none of them had scared him away or changed his demeanor. He trusted Gray implicitly, which meant he had no filter with him. “He does have great arms though, right?”
“You’re adorable.” Gray patted his leg and then rested his hand on Jack’s knee. “And he’s not my type.”
Jack wrapped his hand over Gray’s bicep. “My fingers can’t reach even halfway around your arm, and I’d have an easier time squeezing a rock but you’re telling me you aren’t into muscles?”
“I said the British baker isn’t my type. I enjoy lifting the same way you enjoy running.”
Growing up, Jack had run track and cross country. He had fallen away from it after college because life got too busy, but his post-breakup therapist had recommended exercise, so Jackbought treadmills for his house and his office. The endorphins really did help elevate his mood, and he managed to multitask by listening to industry podcasts or watching video pitches from his design teams while he jogged.
The man on the screen raised his right arm over his head and then tugged it with his left, the stretch causing his muscles to flex. “Um, if he isn’t your type, who is?” Jack asked. Their friends teased Gray about being a player, but Jack had never heard Gray mention a man let alone met anyone he had dated. Though to hear everyone tell it, Gray hooked up, but he didn’t date.
“He’s hot for sure, but I prefer a runner’s build.”
Sitting up, Jack looked at the screen appraisingly and said, “He’s too bulky to be a runner.”
“At this point, he’s probably more worried about being too careless to be a baker.”
“The plaited loaves are supposed to be fluffy, right?”
“Yep. And Mister Hotty’s loaf looks like flatbread.” Gray’s big hands curled over his shoulders and firm fingers pushed circles against his muscles. “I think the scenery isn’t going to be as enjoyable for you the rest of the season because he’s likely to get cut this episode.”
“You’re probably right.” Jack leaned back against the cushion and, finding himself now hip-to-hip with Gray, tipped his head to the side and rested it on Gray’s shoulder. “That’s okay. I’m in it for the bread and cake anyway.”
“Same.” Gray patted Jack’s knee. “I’m still full from dinner, but if that single mom from Essex offered me a chance, I’d eat her whole loaf.”
“She did a great job this challenge,” Jack agreed. “Imagine being able to make something that prettyanddelicious. I bet her house smells incredible all the time. Maybe I can find a candle with a fresh bread scent and then my house can at leastsmelllike a bakery.”
“Or we can take a baking class, and you can make real fresh bread.”
“A baking class?” Jack tilted his head up and looked at Gray.
“Uh huh. Maybe something that meets weekly where we learn tips and skills over time. We could both use a hobby.”
Jack’s instinct was to say he didn’t have that kind of time because work kept him too busy. As it was, he couldn’t accomplish everything he wanted for Snow Storm, and that was with him working seven days a week.
“That’s why you need the hobby.”
