tight, boxer-briefed ass.
The detective laughed. “Welcome to the joys of homeownership. You’ll be dying to get back to your apartment after all this is over.”
“Probably,” Pete said, although he didn’t really mean it. This house was growing on him even more, now that he and Trevor were living in it together. He made a face at the sappy thought. Twenty-four hours and he was already dreaming of rainbows and puppies and lifelong relationships. He had to knock that shit off immediately.
“Well, hang in there,” McDonald told him. “It’ll be over before you know it. Call if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll check in with you in a couple days.”
“Sounds good.” After Pete hung up the phone, he glanced at Trevor’s empty sleeping bag. Disappointment trickled through him before he quickly clamped down that emotion.
Get moving, the logical side of his brain ordered. There’s no time for crawling back in bed for some morning delight anyway. He couldn’t help giving the mussed sleeping bags a final glance before heading for the bathroom.
It was occupied, of course. Pete hesitated, listening to the hiss and patter of the shower through the closed door. Unable to resist, he turned the doorknob and slipped into the steam-filled room.
Trevor had picked out a basic, clear shower curtain the day before to circle the ancient claw-foot tub that had been converted to a shower. Pete swallowed hard, 42
Hide Out
staring at Trevor’s body, which was barely blurred by the steam and rivulets of water coursing down the curtain.
A clear shower curtain is nice, Pete thought. He finally forced himself to rip his eyes away and turn toward the toilet. As he peed, he concentrated on slowing his breathing. If he was going to hyperventilate every time he even glanced at Trevor, he wouldn’t get anything done.
Without thinking, Pete reached over and flushed the toilet.
“Fuck!” Trevor bellowed from the shower, almost taking the brand new curtain down as he hurdled out of the tub.
“Shit, sorry,” Pete told him. “That’s ancient plumbing for you. Let’s add a flowcontrol valve to our list of things we need to install.”
A soaking wet Trevor just glared at him, dripping. His hair darkened to bronze when it was wet, Pete noticed, fascinated. He reached out to touch a strand draped over his shoulder, plastered against his skin.
“I love your hair,” Pete said and then pulled his hand away, a little startled he’d actually said his thought out loud.
“Don’t try to distract me with that flattery bullshit,” Trevor grumbled. Although he clung to his scowl, Pete noticed certain parts below the waist were very much affected by that “flattery bullshit”. “You tried to scald me like a lobster.”
Pete bit back a laugh. “That’s because you’d be delicious.” Leaning in, he nipped at Trevor’s neck. “Especially with butter. Better get back in there before all the hot water runs out and I try to freeze you like,” Pete thought but couldn’t come up with anything,
“a frozen lobster.”
“Fine.” Trevor watched him warily as he stepped back into the shower. “But I’ll know to look out when you come in here with a stick of butter and your lobster bib on.”
Pete laughed as he left the bathroom. At least he knew how to get Trevor out of the shower if he happened to be taking too long. If they were going to be roommates, it was good to know these things.
“Holy fuck,” Trevor muttered, turning his face up to the now-comfortable spray and closing his eyes. The teasing, rumpled Pete with bed-head and morning stubble was even more irresistible than his clean-cut, Boy Scout alter-ego. How was he going to manage not to completely lose his shit over this guy?
* * * * *
“Okay, that’s just not fucking fair.”
Trevor stopped dead. Never mind bed-head Pete or Boy Scout Pete or cop Pete or any other Pete so far—this, this Pete was going to bring him down. He was rummaging in the oversized
The detective laughed. “Welcome to the joys of homeownership. You’ll be dying to get back to your apartment after all this is over.”
“Probably,” Pete said, although he didn’t really mean it. This house was growing on him even more, now that he and Trevor were living in it together. He made a face at the sappy thought. Twenty-four hours and he was already dreaming of rainbows and puppies and lifelong relationships. He had to knock that shit off immediately.
“Well, hang in there,” McDonald told him. “It’ll be over before you know it. Call if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll check in with you in a couple days.”
“Sounds good.” After Pete hung up the phone, he glanced at Trevor’s empty sleeping bag. Disappointment trickled through him before he quickly clamped down that emotion.
Get moving, the logical side of his brain ordered. There’s no time for crawling back in bed for some morning delight anyway. He couldn’t help giving the mussed sleeping bags a final glance before heading for the bathroom.
It was occupied, of course. Pete hesitated, listening to the hiss and patter of the shower through the closed door. Unable to resist, he turned the doorknob and slipped into the steam-filled room.
Trevor had picked out a basic, clear shower curtain the day before to circle the ancient claw-foot tub that had been converted to a shower. Pete swallowed hard, 42
Hide Out
staring at Trevor’s body, which was barely blurred by the steam and rivulets of water coursing down the curtain.
A clear shower curtain is nice, Pete thought. He finally forced himself to rip his eyes away and turn toward the toilet. As he peed, he concentrated on slowing his breathing. If he was going to hyperventilate every time he even glanced at Trevor, he wouldn’t get anything done.
Without thinking, Pete reached over and flushed the toilet.
“Fuck!” Trevor bellowed from the shower, almost taking the brand new curtain down as he hurdled out of the tub.
“Shit, sorry,” Pete told him. “That’s ancient plumbing for you. Let’s add a flowcontrol valve to our list of things we need to install.”
A soaking wet Trevor just glared at him, dripping. His hair darkened to bronze when it was wet, Pete noticed, fascinated. He reached out to touch a strand draped over his shoulder, plastered against his skin.
“I love your hair,” Pete said and then pulled his hand away, a little startled he’d actually said his thought out loud.
“Don’t try to distract me with that flattery bullshit,” Trevor grumbled. Although he clung to his scowl, Pete noticed certain parts below the waist were very much affected by that “flattery bullshit”. “You tried to scald me like a lobster.”
Pete bit back a laugh. “That’s because you’d be delicious.” Leaning in, he nipped at Trevor’s neck. “Especially with butter. Better get back in there before all the hot water runs out and I try to freeze you like,” Pete thought but couldn’t come up with anything,
“a frozen lobster.”
“Fine.” Trevor watched him warily as he stepped back into the shower. “But I’ll know to look out when you come in here with a stick of butter and your lobster bib on.”
Pete laughed as he left the bathroom. At least he knew how to get Trevor out of the shower if he happened to be taking too long. If they were going to be roommates, it was good to know these things.
“Holy fuck,” Trevor muttered, turning his face up to the now-comfortable spray and closing his eyes. The teasing, rumpled Pete with bed-head and morning stubble was even more irresistible than his clean-cut, Boy Scout alter-ego. How was he going to manage not to completely lose his shit over this guy?
* * * * *
“Okay, that’s just not fucking fair.”
Trevor stopped dead. Never mind bed-head Pete or Boy Scout Pete or cop Pete or any other Pete so far—this, this Pete was going to bring him down. He was rummaging in the oversized
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