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“Might as well give me the keys.” I send him a grin, then go to reach for the nearest bucket when Orson’s hand lands on my arm.
“Hey, I …”
I straighten at his serious tone. “You what?”
“Should we talk about it?”
Nerves—fucking nerves—spring to life in my gut. Deep, winged little fuckers making me all shivery. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know.”
And somehow, I know that’s an honest answer, not one simply to blow the conversation off. “Well, let me know when you do, then.”
“Don’t you want to talk about it?”
I shrug. “What’s to talk about? I’m so irresistible I make even the straightest guys thirsty.”
“Ford.” His cheeks pinken. “I’m … I’m not sure—”
I press my fingers to his mouth because if his brain is going wild, it’s all going to fall out of his mouth. When we have this conversation, I want it to be purposeful. “You don’t need to be sure of anything, sweetheart. We’re friends. That’s important to me. The rest I won’t say no to, but I’m never gonna push, and if there are things going on in your mind that you need to work through, then work through them. There’s no time limit. And there are no rules that you have to be one way or the other.”
His mouth closes under my touch, and I draw my hand away. “I hate you.”
“I get that a lot.”
“You’re very smart.”
My laugh echoes off the walls of the cool room. “That’s one Idon’tget a lot.”
I’m about to turn and start grabbing the flowers again when Orson grabs my arm and hauls me into a hug. I freeze at first, caught off guard, because while we wrestle and invade each other’s personal space often, and he literally rubbed up all over my cock the other night, we’ve never just … hugged. Embraced. It’s a whole different dynamic to what I’m used to with him, but before he can freak out and pull away, I swamp him in my arms.
His chin tucks over my shoulder, arms around my back, chest flush with mine. And fucking hell, it’snice. My nerves are back, along with this happiness radiating out into my limbs and making them all light. It’s a new feeling. One I could get addicted to. Crave. The high from sex I can get anywhere, butthis. This is so rare I can’t remember if I’ve ever felt it before. All I know is it’s worth sticking around and seeing where this goes.
“As much as I love being pressed up against you, my cock can’t even rally for the occasion it’s so cold in here.”
He steps back, and it’s like looking at another person. No more awkwardness or doubt, just Orson exactly the way he normally is. “Okay, let’s get this loaded up. I still can’t believe you’re wasting your Saturday morning doing this, but you’re saving my ass.”
“Happy to. I like your ass.”
“That definitely hasn’t escaped my notice.”
We work together to load up the van; then Orson gives me the address and directions on what to do once I get there. He’s precise with every detail to the point I’m sure I can pull this off.
Right before I’m about to leave, he grabs my hand and drags me back inside.
“Wear this,” he says, grabbing an apron. He steps forward to loop it around my neck, and then his arms wrap around me as he ties it behind my back. “Now you’ll look like you belong.”
If this wedding planner is anything like the anal-retentive prissy mess I’m expecting, I can guarantee my full sleeves and neck tattoos won’t give that impression. “Admit it. You wanted to feel me up, didn’t you?”
He tilts his head, hazel eyes catching the light as the lines in the corners of them deepen. He leans in, closer and closer again. Our lips don’t touch, but he’s so close I can taste his mint-scented words. “You know what? Maybe I did.”
15
Orson
It’s been ten days.Ten days since we had sex. Ten days since I felt his body against mine. Ten days since I saw his nipple piercing, and now, I’m hungry to taste it.
The wedding delivery went off without a hitch, and then the next day, Ford showed up to help at the market as well. I helped out with the soapbox cars again, we got our gelato, and we’ve had dinner together twice.
