tool compartment built into the back of his truck, his jeans hitting low on his hips and his bare back exposed to the mid-morning sun. 43
Katie Allen
He forced his feet to walk, to skirt the hole in the porch and the stacked boards and bring him within six feet of Pete. That was the best he could do. Any closer and Trevor was going to hurl himself on the other man, rip off those raggedy-ass jeans and fuck him silly.
Jamming his hands in his pockets, Trevor tried to look casual. “Thought today’s first project was going to be the porch hole.”
Pete looked around and grinned. “When you say ‘porch hole’, it sounds dirty.” He focused on the toolbox again and pulled out a small chain saw. “Nope, tree first, porch later.”
Trevor grunted. “Showing off for the neighbors?”
“What?”
Nodding toward Pete’s bare chest, Trevor elaborated, “Thought maybe you were hoping to get on the ‘Honeysuckle Studs’ calendar this year.”
“There’s a Honeysuckle Studs…?” Pete flushed as he trailed off. “Ha ha. Very funny. It’s hot out, okay?” He stalked off toward the rickety garage. Falling in next to Pete, Trevor noticed they were being watched. “You managed to draw a crowd. I think your nomination for Mr. July is pretty much in the bag.”
“Fuck off,” Pete said under his breath. “Shit, everyone is watching, aren’t they?”
They were. The lawn-mowing man from the previous day was washing his car and shooting regular glances toward them. Marsha was back at her hedges, still trimming nothing but air. Next door on the other side, an older couple fussed with the potted geraniums lining their porch.
“Maybe I’m paranoid because someone wants to kill me,” Trevor muttered, “but I’m kind of creeped out by this. You?”
“Definitely,” Pete agreed, ducking into the rickety garage through the side door. It was a fairly large structure but mostly full of junk left by the previous owners, stacks of pallets and a stack of scrap wood. Even if Pete had wanted to park his truck in the garage, it wouldn’t have fit without some major cleanup. Instead, they’d stored the new ladder and some of the other supplies they’d picked up the day before in the garage. It would at least keep the rain off. Handing the chain saw to Trevor, Pete maneuvered the ladder out the door and carried it over to the tree their spying visitor had used the previous night.
Trevor followed, muttering, “At least we can hide from the neighbors back here. Fucking small town.”
Snorting a laugh, Pete set the ladder beneath the branch stretching toward the window.
“You know,” Trevor said, examining the tree, “no one could actually reach the window from either of those branches. See?” He pointed. “They get too narrow. You’d have to be Fluffy the Two-Pound Fairy to not break the branch if you’re sitting on it.”
44
Hide Out
Pete just grunted and climbed up a few rungs. “No one needs to be looking in at you, even if it was just a kid or Fluffy the Fairy. I’m not taking a chance.”
“Fine.” Trevor handed him the chain saw. “Need me to help or should I go far away before you drop a branch on my head?”
Before Pete could answer, a shout went up next door. Trevor whipped around and saw the neighbor couple hurrying across the lawn toward them. His shoulders lowered as he relaxed, feeling like an idiot for jumping at the least commotion.
“Wait!” the man puffed as he approached, his wife close behind. “Wait!”
“Wait? We’re not going anywhere,” Trevor said under his breath. Pete must have heard because he laughed as he descended the ladder with the chain saw gripped in one hand.
“Get away from that tree!” the woman ordered when she got close. Catching Pete’s equally confused glance, Trevor asked, “Why?”
“You can’t cut it down,” the man insisted. “That would be a crime.”
“A crime?” Pete repeated.
“That tree is over eighty years old,” she told them,
Katie Allen
He forced his feet to walk, to skirt the hole in the porch and the stacked boards and bring him within six feet of Pete. That was the best he could do. Any closer and Trevor was going to hurl himself on the other man, rip off those raggedy-ass jeans and fuck him silly.
Jamming his hands in his pockets, Trevor tried to look casual. “Thought today’s first project was going to be the porch hole.”
Pete looked around and grinned. “When you say ‘porch hole’, it sounds dirty.” He focused on the toolbox again and pulled out a small chain saw. “Nope, tree first, porch later.”
Trevor grunted. “Showing off for the neighbors?”
“What?”
Nodding toward Pete’s bare chest, Trevor elaborated, “Thought maybe you were hoping to get on the ‘Honeysuckle Studs’ calendar this year.”
“There’s a Honeysuckle Studs…?” Pete flushed as he trailed off. “Ha ha. Very funny. It’s hot out, okay?” He stalked off toward the rickety garage. Falling in next to Pete, Trevor noticed they were being watched. “You managed to draw a crowd. I think your nomination for Mr. July is pretty much in the bag.”
“Fuck off,” Pete said under his breath. “Shit, everyone is watching, aren’t they?”
They were. The lawn-mowing man from the previous day was washing his car and shooting regular glances toward them. Marsha was back at her hedges, still trimming nothing but air. Next door on the other side, an older couple fussed with the potted geraniums lining their porch.
“Maybe I’m paranoid because someone wants to kill me,” Trevor muttered, “but I’m kind of creeped out by this. You?”
“Definitely,” Pete agreed, ducking into the rickety garage through the side door. It was a fairly large structure but mostly full of junk left by the previous owners, stacks of pallets and a stack of scrap wood. Even if Pete had wanted to park his truck in the garage, it wouldn’t have fit without some major cleanup. Instead, they’d stored the new ladder and some of the other supplies they’d picked up the day before in the garage. It would at least keep the rain off. Handing the chain saw to Trevor, Pete maneuvered the ladder out the door and carried it over to the tree their spying visitor had used the previous night.
Trevor followed, muttering, “At least we can hide from the neighbors back here. Fucking small town.”
Snorting a laugh, Pete set the ladder beneath the branch stretching toward the window.
“You know,” Trevor said, examining the tree, “no one could actually reach the window from either of those branches. See?” He pointed. “They get too narrow. You’d have to be Fluffy the Two-Pound Fairy to not break the branch if you’re sitting on it.”
44
Hide Out
Pete just grunted and climbed up a few rungs. “No one needs to be looking in at you, even if it was just a kid or Fluffy the Fairy. I’m not taking a chance.”
“Fine.” Trevor handed him the chain saw. “Need me to help or should I go far away before you drop a branch on my head?”
Before Pete could answer, a shout went up next door. Trevor whipped around and saw the neighbor couple hurrying across the lawn toward them. His shoulders lowered as he relaxed, feeling like an idiot for jumping at the least commotion.
“Wait!” the man puffed as he approached, his wife close behind. “Wait!”
“Wait? We’re not going anywhere,” Trevor said under his breath. Pete must have heard because he laughed as he descended the ladder with the chain saw gripped in one hand.
“Get away from that tree!” the woman ordered when she got close. Catching Pete’s equally confused glance, Trevor asked, “Why?”
“You can’t cut it down,” the man insisted. “That would be a crime.”
“A crime?” Pete repeated.
“That tree is over eighty years old,” she told them,
Similar Books
