And there it was back again.
“Over here, to paint,” he added, because obviously they needed that qualifier. He rolled his eyes, not surprised to feel his face heat.
Ed’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, and Oliver huffed. “Yeah, yeah laugh it up. Told you it could get more awkward.”
“At least it wasn’t me this time.”
No, this one was all Oliver. “So, tomorrow?” he asked, trying to regain some semblance of composure.
“Yeah, that’d be great if you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” He pointed at the bedrooms. “We could get started in there.”
They both glanced at the opened door to Ed’s bedroom, the corner of his rumpled bed sheets in view.
Ed’s “Yep” came out a bit strangled, and Oliver slapped a hand over his eyes. Jeez, what was wrong with him.
“Okay, right.” He reached for the door, yanking it open before anything else slipped out of his traitorous mouth. “See you tomorrow.”
Muffled laughter sounded as he hurriedly closed the door and hightailed it down the path.
Oliver chuckled to himself. What the hell was that? He was twenty-eight, not sixteen. Jesus.
Mild embarrassment aside, he’d not felt so alive in a long while, and by the time he reached Betty’s door, his grin was so wide it hurt his cheeks.
Betty peered over her glasses at him. “What’s got you impersonating the Cheshire cat?” She took in his paint spattered clothes and smiled. “Ahh.”
He glanced at her as he washed his hands in the sink. “What do you mean, “Ahh”?”
“I’m old, not stupid.” She huffed. “You’ve been round next door’s helping Ed. Doesn’t take a genius.” She returned her attention to her crossword, but Oliver still caught her muttered, “Especially when he happens to be rather good-looking and a lovely young man to boot.”
Yeah. Doesn’t take a genius.
But Oliver had no desire to discuss Ed—and whatever it was going on between them—with Betty. “I’m going to hop in the shower, then make dinner. What do you feel like eating?”
“Ooh.” Setting her glasses on the table, she sat back in her chair. “Do you think we could have fish and chips?” She shot him a hopeful look. “It was an answer to a crossword clue, and I really fancy some now.”
“Yeah, no problem.” His stomach rumbled, reminding him he’d missed lunch. After a quick check on his phone, he said, “The chippie opens in about half an hour, so I’ll nip out after my shower, all right?”
She beamed at him, and Oliver was struck with the realisation that he really didn’t want to find someone else to come help Betty with the house. Maybe that had been the initial plan, his moving in was only ever meant to be temporary, but she was his nan whether blood-related or not, and the thought of her here on her own tugged at his heart. He liked doing the gardening for her and helping her with the housework and cooking. Anyone they found to help her wouldn’t be live in. She’d still be on her own most of the time.
As much as Oliver wanted to have a place of his own, he didn’t want it to come at the expense of Betty’s well-being.
But that was a conversation to have with Rob, his mum, and Claire when they were all here.
For now he had another matter to take care of.
HIS SEMI HAD waned—thankfully—but as soon as he closed the bathroom door a tickle of heat stirred in his belly. Was Ed in his shower doing the same thing as Oliver was about to? Was he thinking about him while he did it? Not that it was conducive to their friends-only decision, but Oliver hoped he was. Hoped he wasn’t the only one affected like this.
He palmed himself through his jeans, cock stirring with the coaxing press of fingers. Closing his eyes, he imagined it was Ed’s hand gripping him, running his thumb over the head of his cock, teasing him until he strained against the zip of his jeans. With a frustrated sigh, Oliver shook his head to clear it a little and turned the shower on.
Leaving his paint-covered clothes in a pile on the floor, Oliver stepped under the water and let out a groan as the hot spray hit his shoulders. Tipping his head back, he closed his eyes and let it pour over him, enjoying the warm pressure on his aching muscles.
Knowing it was probably a bad idea—his crush on Ed needed no encouragement—Oliver soaped up his hands with shower gel and wrapped slippery fingers around his cock.
It felt good.
Living with Betty had put a bit of a damper on his wank sessions. The shower was his go-to venue these days, and he didn’t always have time. It’d been way too long, and having Ed next door made him hornier than usual.
