Discovering Ed didn’t have some bloke in his bed had made him giddy with relief and his mouth had taken over. Ed had looked like he needed taking care of and Oliver just wanted to help. And hangover aside, Ed in low-slung boxer briefs that hugged his morning semi, coupled with delightful bed hair, wasn’t something he could easily turn and walk away from.
So he’d stayed, cooked him breakfast, talked, and possibly developed a crush.
Who was he kidding? There was no possibly about it.
Ed was both attractive and a genuinely nice guy.
He blew out a breath and straightened.
Stick to flirting, Oliver.
Aim for friendship.
He fetched the dust sheets from the garage and laid them out in the hall, then collected the paint, brushes, and rollers. He’d help get this done, then go home and leave Ed to his Saturday evening. He probably had plans for all Oliver knew.
Ed’s bedroom door opened, and Oliver silently groaned. Freshly showered was a good look on him too.
“Ready?” Oliver handed him a roller when he nodded. “I’ll do the cutting in; you do the rest. Yeah?”
“Sounds good.” Ed took the roller from him, clasping his fingers around Oliver’s before he could retreat to a safe distance. “I know I’ve already said it, but thank you. For coming round and for staying and helping me feel half-decent again.” His warm smile and sincere gaze had Oliver stuttering out an “Anytime” while inside his stomach fluttered and his heart raced.
Bollocks.
THEY WORKED in silence for a while.
Oliver had worn his ripped jeans again. Initially disappointed that they didn’t have the same effect on Ed as they had the time before, he was almost regretting wearing them now. Bent over the skirting boards, Oliver felt Ed’s eyes on him. His skin prickled and a shiver ran down his spine, delicious and exciting.
Ed cleared his throat, muttering something Oliver didn’t catch, but when he glanced up, Ed was holding the roller, a fat smear of paint covering one thigh.
Oliver deliberately looked at Ed’s thigh, then back to meet his gaze, unable to keep a straight face. “Bored of painting the walls?”
Ed grinned, eyes darting to Oliver’s arse again. “I got a little distracted.” He set his roller down in the paint tray and wiped his hands on his jeans, avoiding the wet paint already there.
Oliver tracked his hands—his strong capable-looking hands—and swallowed down the stir of desire inside him. What would they feel like—
“I don’t know about you, but I need a break.”
Ed’s voice sounded huskier than that sentence warranted. Tension crackled between them, and Oliver’s chest felt tight, like someone had sucked all the air out of the hallway. “Yeah,” he managed, setting his brush down and standing. “Sounds good.”
Cold, bracing fresh air was what he needed, and Ed seemed to be of the same mind because he flicked the kettle on and then opened the back door.
“Paint fumes were getting to me,” he offered, stepping out onto the patio.
Oliver followed. “Same.”
The garden had been tidied up, not as neat and tidy as Betty’s but ready for someone to come and stamp their mark on it.
Someone who isn’t Ed, he reminded himself for what seemed like the millionth time.
Ed fidgeted next to him, giving the impression he had something he wanted to say and was building up to it. Oliver was both nervous and curious to hear what it was. Would he acknowledge the growing attraction between them? Did he want him too?
Leaning against the wall, Ed turned to face him, hazel eyes intense and searching. “I like you,” Ed began.
So apparently yes, and yes.
Oliver felt rooted to the spot; the brisk December air was no match for the heat that one look sparked in him. And seeing as though they were being brutally honest here...“I like you too.”
Ed’s mouth curved up at the edges. “I feel like there’s a but...?”
