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Just…enough.
"Planning on making some improvements to the car?" Roman asks, his eyes darting between the hammer in my hands and the Tesla.
"Something like that."
He nods, like there's nothing wrong with my admission.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
Because yeah, seriously, whatishe doing here? How does he even know where I live?
A small line creases between his brows. "I was, uh, at a friend's house and I happened to be driving by when I saw you stomping toward the garage like a man on a mission."
"Oh. Okay."
Plausible enough, but I'm not sure I fully believe him.
He steps forward and takes the hammer from me. "What were youreallyplanning on doing?"
Our fingers brush for barely a second, but there's an electric zap between us. An actual electric zap.
"Sorry," Roman says, taking the hammer from me.
"It's fine." I hold his gaze for a moment longer before looking at the car. "I was planning on destroying the fucking thing," I confess, running my hand over the sleek top edge of the roof.
"Take it it's not your car?"
"Belongs to my ex."
"Same guy who packed your bags for you?"
A growl emanates from the back of my throat, and my fingertips buzz with thatI want to do smashy thingstingle again. "Yeah."
Roman steps in front of me, sizing up the car, smacking the hammer against his open palm, like he intends to pick up where I left off.
My cock shouldnotbe swelling in my briefs…but it is.
There's something dangerous about the heat flaring in Roman's eyes, the deliberatethwack thwacksound the hammer makes when he pounds it into his hand, the way his biceps flex with the movement.
Okay. Yep. Fully hard now.
And just when I thought getting interrupted by my vet friend's boyfriend's older straight brother right before taking out some long overdue frustrations on my douchebag ex's car couldn't get any weirder, my phone buzzes.
Thankfully, it's in my back pocket, which allows me to bypass the involuntary woody situation happening in the front and makes retrieving it a whole lot easier.
"Crap," I mutter when I read the message from Fulton. "I'm late."
"Late for what?"
I choke out anI give uplaugh because seriously, given how my afternoon has gone, it's the only thing left to do.
My cheating ex has changed the locks and packed my bags for me. Which means I have nowhere to live. Then I get caught trying to vandalize his car. And now I have an erection because of a straight dude.
My gaze drifts to Roman, who's looking at me like I'm the only thing in the world, which I probably shouldn't read too much into since it seems to be the default way he looks at everyone, and not just me. I'm assuming. I mean, why would he single me out? He's probably just an intense, broody dude.
I hold the phone up so he can read the text, and let out a deflated chuckle. "I'm late for my six-month divorce party."
ROMAN
