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I clear my throat, looking around like Rowan might manifest beside me to explain why a strange, mostly naked man is standing in the garage.

“No, no,” the woman says. “I’m sorry. Rowan is normally out on one of his morning runs by now.” She hefts the laundry basket up on the washer before extending her arm toward me, face alight with a cheery, pearly grin. “You’re Tommy, right? I’m Xiamara.”

“Uh, y—yeah. Nice to meet you.” I uncover myself with one arm to shake her hand.

If Xiamara is Rowan’s mom, it would explain his dark hair and lean build, but she would have to have been really young when Rowan came along. Could explain why he doesn’t talk about his family. Ma had Erica when she was young, and Erica always says it made things between them off, like Erica was more of an annoying baby sister to Ma than a daughter. But all that resentment went by the wayside after Erica’s diagnosis.

“Do me a favor and let Rowan know I’m about to start on breakfast. I want both of you at the table in twenty minutes, alright?”

I say the first thing that will get me out of the conversation and back into Rowan’s room. “Sure thing.”

As soon as I’m back in Rowan’s room, I remember how warm it is in here. Careful not to step on the sleepy head, I climb onto the mattress and fiddle with the window unit until it’s humming a cool breeze.

Rowan’s body shifts between my feet. I look down, and he’s on his back, blinking a confounded expression at me. “Are you about to shit on me?”

I laugh and wink. “Want me to?”

“Please don’t,” he groans before rubbing his eyes and letting out an adorable yawn. “What time is it?”

Lowering to my ass, I stick my back to the wall and drape my legs across Rowan’s. “Almost eight-thirty.” I skate my palm across his torso and swirl my fingers through his body hair.

“How did you sleep?” His eyes drift shut as his hand comes to lie upon mine, stilling it above his navel.

“Good. I think I held you all night.”

“It’s okay,” he says, like I had apologized for it.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Surprised I slept at all with your horse cock stabbing at my ass all night.”

“That’s completely out of my control,” I chuckle.

Peaking his eyelids open, Rowan pushes my hand down his body until the comforter lowers and I’m palming his hot, swollen cock. “That’s in your control,” he murmurs.

My chuckle turns breathy as my dick perks to life in these tight boxers. “Rowan Hughes giving up control?”

“Happens more often than you think.” He props himself up on his elbows and sets his drowsy gaze on what my hand is doing to his cock. “Do you mind I’m uncut?”

“No.” In a gentle grip, I make his foreskin move over his crown and back down. “I like it, actually. It’s like I’m playing peek-a-boo with your boner.”

“Fuck off,” Rowan laughs, snatching my hand off his dick and pulling me over him.

I nestle myself halfway on top of him, hugging his waist and draping my leg over his hip. The best part is when Rowan curls his arms around me and hugs me back, then when he nuzzles his nose against my forehead before kissing it. His guard is down, even after how I acted last night. After how I put a look of genuine fear on his face.

“Am I crushing you?” I murmur.

“Huh uh. Feels nice. Heavy, but nice. I guess, now we know for sure which one of us would win in a fight. I’m not too proud to concede.”

“I’m sorry.” I hug him tighter, turn my face and bury my nose under his arm, smelling one part musk and one part Pert.

“Shh. You have no reason to be sorry.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, I don’t want it. Besides, I’m the dumbass who tackled you to the ground. Guess I forgot why I quit football in pee wees.”

“Thank you.” I lift my head to look him in the eyes, and I hope he doesn’t mind I’m pouting.