Theo catches my reaction and reaches behind us to grab my favorite blue cuddle blanket off the back of the couch.
“You cold?” he asks, handing me the bundle of downy-softness.
I love this blanket. It’s old and familiar, containing hundreds of memories within every fiber of the fabric. I pull it up to my chin trying to hide my reaction to being so close to him. Which is stupid, really. It’s one-sided. Kind of like the crush I had on Mr. Anderson in the eleventh grade.
Woody jumps up on my lap, aligns his little hotdog sized furriness into the crevice between my legs and lays his head down with a little sigh of contentment.
Theo just looks at me with wide-eyed awe. Or jealousy, whichever.
“How do you do that?”
I lift my shoulders and stroke the little radiator on my lap.
“I’ve known Woody for a while. We’re buds. Speaking of which, I’m curious why you’re watching him while Patrick’s gone. He normally asks me.”
In fact, when I talk to Pat next I’m going to give him hell for skipping out before telling me about any of this.
Theo shifts uncomfortably, picking at his thumbnail, his hands between his lean, jeans-covered thighs.And goodness gracious, his hands are perfect for man-hand porn.Theo has thick veins that run down his forearm and into the bed of his knuckles.
Strong. Masculine. Virile.
When he looks over to me, I try to disguise my thoughts but notice a sadness in his expression. It doesn’t distract from his handsome face, but there’s a story there.
“Ah, good question. I guess he did it more as a favor to me. I needed a place to live for a while.”
And now I know there’s more to Theo than meets the eye.
