Page 23 of Muscle Cub

I would have never guessed that physical affection was the thing he was after, but considering the kind of attention others presumed to give him, it made sense. I also would never have predicted he would stay the night, but I couldn’t say any of that without sounding like an asshole.

“Then I’m also sorry”—I had to clear my throat—“you can’t stay.”

“I guess I could quit my job, but being a no-show’s not my style.”

“Don’t do that.”

He tapped my phone and the time flashed on the screen. “I was supposed to be at the lodge about ten minutes ago. I still need to run by the bunkhouse and grab some work clothes.”

“Wait. You’re gonna walk up the trail to the lodge shirtless and barefoot?”

He looked at Gunner’s boots and twisted his lips. “Trust me, going barefoot will hurt less.”

“What size are you?”

“Twelve-and-a-half.”

I arched a brow. “Well, this is your lucky day.”

He smiled. “For so many reasons.”

I reached into the corner where I’d organized my clothes and pulled out the largest item I’d brought, a threadbare University of Georgia sweatshirt.

“Your alma mater.” I tossed it to him. “I don’t know where or when I got that, and”—I held up a finger—“before you even think about it, it’s way too fucking early for a Go Dawgs cheer. ’K?”

He pouted. “You’re grouchy in the morning.” He pulled the faded red sweatshirt over his head, and holding the collar to his nose, inhaled deeply. “Mm. It smells like you.”

His doing that, his saying it—and the thought of him wearing my scent—made my pulse race more than when he’d grabbed my cock.

“Oh, look.” I shoved a pair of red Nikes at him. “Shoes to match.”

“Aww, Prof. I can’t take your shoes.”

“They’re my shitty work in the yard shoes. I brought them as an extra pair in case it gets muddy.”

Austin slipped them on. “Nice. They’re all broken in and comfortable. I can feel the shape of your foot.” He was killing me with all this clothing intimacy. “It’s kinda like wearing your boyfriend’s jacket in high school.”

“Did you ever do that?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Nah. I wish. Never had the chance.” He tied the laces. “Red shoes, huh? How very Dorothy of you.”

“I got them on clearance. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve found red sneakers on clearance. I guess it’s the least desirable color.”

“I used to wear red shoes on purpose all the time. On days when I needed to feel a little more magical. Brave. Special. Whatever.”

“Did you click them together?”

“Maybe. I wish I could click them together right now and be at the lodge and not getting fired.”

“Go.” I looked away, releasing him.

“Come find me,” he said.

If you’d asked me this time yesterday, I would’ve said I’d probably stay the night and leave in the morning. My sabbatical from teaching was ending soon, and I needed to get home and get some writing done. Last night, lying in his arms, I would’ve given myself till this afternoon—enough time to have breakfast with the guys, hang out at the pool for a bit, maybe talk to Austin again, at least to say goodbye.

Now I dreaded leaving.

He leaned in for another sweet, simple kiss.