The books piqued my curiosity. Maybe it was just an art thing. I knew he worked in a creative field, though I wasn’t sure what.
But I had a tree to light, not time to ponder.
I used the small, white lights, reserving the big bulbs for hanging outside if Gregg had a ladder tall enough. Lord knew this step stool wouldn’t work. It was missing a grip on one foot, making it precarious.
“Gregg,” I shouted.
“Yeah?” And then footsteps, human and canine.
“Can you hold the step stool steady so I can get the lights hung up top?”
He appeared then, and it was a miracle I didn’t swoon. “Where do you want me?”
I gulped as my brain supplied Behind me. Inside me. Down my throat.
“Just hold it still so I don’t fall.”
And then he was behind me and I was standing on the top step, weaving the lights over and under branches, going ’round and ’round the tree, reaching, reaching, reaching too far.
“Careful,” he whispered as he palmed my hips. Then his warm hands slipped under my hoodie, under my tee, skimming over my skin, and I closed my eyes.
Gregg gripping my bare hips as he drove into me from behind, telling me I felt so good, kissing up my spine . . .
“Sawyer, be careful.”
I opened my eyes in time to reach for his offered hand and correct my precarious balance. I backed down the three steps, thankful that vision evaporated as my feet met solid ground.
“Thanks,” I managed, my voice wrecked. I faced him. Barely.
“You okay?” He sounded concerned. “Looked like you got dizzy, there.”
“I’m good, just . . .” My jeans pinched my cock, so I rearranged myself, not with as much discretion as I’d hoped based on the eyebrow that shot up as Gregg registered my movements.
“It’s been a while since a man touched me,” I mumbled. “Don’t take it personally.”
He gripped my shoulder then, and yeah, I sank into the touch. I couldn’t help it. “It happens. And you’re not alone in the touch-free department, my friend.”
“Friend?”
He tucked his hands deep in his front pockets. “Sure. We’re living together for the next few weeks, we’ll be celebrating the holidays with each other, sharing beers while we watch hockey. Sounds like friendship to me. What would you call it?”
“I guess friendship works.”
“What kind of beer do you like? There’s a game on tonight.”
I was so grateful he let my touch comment drop like a hot potato.
“Anything. I’m not picky.”
“See you in a bit then.”
I feigned interest in a box of ornaments, but I studied his every movement as he bent near the front door to slip his shoes on, as he gathered his coat and keys and wallet, as he squatted to tell Murphy he’d be back soon.
I even stepped to the back of the house to watch him take the path that led to the garage. I stayed there to study his profile—his strong jaw, his perfectly shaped nose—as he drove down the alley and away.
I watched until he was out of sight.
Murphy gazed up at me, then back to the spot where Gregg had disappeared, then up to me again, like he knew what I was feeling.
“You miss him already, huh? So do I, which makes no sense.” I stroked the silky fur between Murphy’s eyes, which closed in pure bliss. “You can’t always get what you want, Murph. And I certainly can’t.”
With a heavy sigh, I headed back to the study.
My mistake was guzzling my first beer on an empty stomach, and after not drinking a drop since last summer, it went straight to my head. Gregg had put a hotdish in the oven just as the hockey game started and . . .
Okay, so there may have been more than one mistake.
Because when he’d bent to slip the casserole dish in the oven, I permitted myself a moment to stare.
Boldly.
At his curved ass, his muscular thighs that revealed themselves as he squatted, at the small of his back, his trim waist.
What harm was there?
And then I’d been caught.
Nooooo.
He caught me staring at the way the fabric of his jeans made the perfect resting spot for his dick. Like he’d worn these jeans for a decade, gotten hard in them, stretched them out over and over, and maybe someone had rubbed him through the denim, wearing the fabric, fraying the fibers.
And now the denim was worn to light blue in some places, just where the ridge of his cockhead rested when he was hard.
So I could guesstimate how big he was.
And that got me hard.
It was Murphy who saved me, shouldering me out of the room.
I’d played it off, joking that Murphy wanted me to get his tug toy. And as I willed my cock into submission, I half-played tug-of-war with 120 pounds of dog.
Gregg hadn’t said a word, and I didn’t know if that was better or worse.
But now I was on my third beer when a sweet goal pulled me to my feet. “Beautiful! Did you see that?”
Gregg smiled up at me like I was adorable or something, but he said, “It was. And it looks like they’re headed into overtime.”
I sat back down on the sectional us guys were sharing. Murphy took the chaise-lounge on the end—his spot—which left me in the middle . . . beside Gregg. Cozy and close. And the warm room, topped up by the beer and the late hour, made me dozy.
“Not sure I’m gonna make it to the final, to be honest,” I admitted around a yawn.
“You had a tough week with finals, being outed, moving in here, not to mention putting the tree up by yourself. It looks amazing.” He shot me a smile that made me want to grip his jaw and pull him in for a kiss. “I love the blue and red combo.”
“Thanks.” I’d taken cues from the colors he seemed to gravitate toward.
“It hasn’t been this festive in years. Last year we couldn’t put the tree up because Mr. Murphy here was a puppy who chewed everything in sight. And the year before that, Paige spent the holiday with Heather, so I saw no point in decorating.” Another smile, but this time lined in resistance. “It’s nice to have this, so thank you. It puts me in the mood.”
My eyes widened.
“For Christmas,” he scrambled to add.
“I should be the one to thank you,” I said to reroute away from Pervert Lane. Gawd. “You came to my rescue.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
I nodded as he sighed in contentment.
“This is nice.” He held out his beer bottle, so I grabbed mine and clinked the necks together.
Crossed swords.
I’m the biggest pervert alive!
Gregg was oblivious to my drunken thoughts and kept on talking. “It’s been ages since I’ve had a hockey buddy. I lost all my friends in the divorce. Or . . .” He bit his bottom lip as his gaze drifted around the room. “Honestly, I’m sure all our friends were Heather’s. I can’t remember the last friend I had of my own.”
“I’ve never had much time for friends either. My family’s close-knit and very . . . together. Plus, we’re always working for Dad. And I brought that work ethic to college with me, so I’m sorta in the same boat.” Until I said it aloud, I’d never realized just how true that was.