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After drying us both off, I hustled him back out to the bedroom and pulled back the blankets on his bed. “I’m going to say good night and let you drift off,” I said to the still-dazed man in my arms. He tried protesting, but I kissed the words from his lips. “Sweetheart, if I get in this bed with you, I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off you, and I don’t want to rush things, okay?”
“But—”
I kissed him again. He was so beautiful, so sweet and kind. He was careful and considerate, interesting and responsive. I wanted to know more of him, to touch more of him. But I really needed to take a breath here. Even though I felt like I knew him, I really didn’t. I knew enough to know he deserved to be treasured. He didn’t deserve someone flying through town, fucking him, and bolting back out of town a few days later.
And that was still my plan.
“I’ll come check on the fence tomorrow,” I said, pulling the covers over him and kissing his clean-smelling cheek. Obviously what I really meant was that I’d come check on him tomorrow, but I was trying to be at least a little circumspect. After all, there were plenty of things that needed fixing around this place, and I could always kill two birds with the same stone.
After grabbing my clothes, I headed toward the bedroom door.
“Sam?”
“Yeah, baby?” I asked, turning back around. His damp curls were flipped this way and that around his head, and he squinted to see me without his glasses.
“Thank you for everything.”
“I can’t tell you just how much it was my pleasure, Truman,” I said with a smile.
“No, I mean…” He sat up and rubbed his hands over his face like he was finally clearing his head from the orgasm. “You treated me like I was special, but you didn’t treat me like a baby. You didn’t treat me like a choirboy, like I was made of glass.”
I strode back over to him and took his face in my hands. “Researchers at Caltech have created a form of glass that’s stronger than steel,” I told him. “Even if you were made of glass, you’d be tough as nails. You know how I know?”
He looked up at me with hopeful eyes. “How?”
“You never give up. You don’t give up on your dreams, your friends, your family, or this town. You don’t give up hope even when things don’t go your way. You just keep being you. You’re one of the strongest people I know, Truman Sweet.” I leaned in and punctuated my words with a long, hungry kiss but then forced myself to pull away. “Sleep tight. See you tomorrow. I’ll turn the knob lock before I go, but if you get up, be sure to turn the bolt, too, okay?”
He nodded and gave me a goofy grin. “I’m not worried anymore since you fixed the gate. No more notes in the kitchen.”
I was busy pulling my clothes on when he said it, and it wasn’t until I was halfway back to Tiller and Mikey’s house before his words sunk in.
No more notes in the kitchen. What the hell did that mean?
I thought about texting him to ask, but I didn’t want to run the risk of waking him if he’d actually let himself drift off to sleep. We’d eaten fairly late, then stayed at the dinner table talking for a long time. By the time I snuck back into Rockley Lodge, it was close to midnight.
I went to the kitchen to pour a glass of water and caught Tiller watching SportsCenter on low in the kitchen’s sitting area.
“Hey,” he said, stretching. “How was it?”
“Good.” I moved over to the cabinet that held the glasses.
Tiller let out a surprised laugh and turned off the TV before joining me. He wore nothing but a pair of basketball shorts and his pro-football body was on full display. I’d always thought it was the height of irony that my best friend had ended up with a pro baller after spending a lifetime hating jocks.
Life was funny that way.
“Surely you’re going to tell me more than that,” he pressed. “You know Mikey’s going to give you a full interrogation over breakfast.”
He was right. Mikey was nosy as hell. We’d been friends for years, and we usually told each other everything. I wasn’t as much of a talker as he was, but I was still expected to share my shit with him.
Shit like dates and hookups.
I shrugged. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, to be honest. The man lives in Colorado. I live in Texas. I’m just here till my bike is fixed.”
Tiller slid onto a stool at the kitchen island and reached for an apple from the fruit bowl between us. “That right?”
