Page 30 of Home Grown Talent
Like her house, the garden had been designed to tick all the right boxes: home gym with glass wall at the garden’s far end, two-storey timber treehouse for the kids, green slate patio with luxury furniture, and, of course, a wood-burning pizza oven. A golf-course-perfect lawn and uniform rows of depressingly manicured plants were the only concessions to nature. It could have been out of a magazine. All very aspirational but, in Owen’s opinion, the antithesis of what a garden should be. Like someone had tried to bring the indoors outside.
Misty was standing in the middle of the lawn having a heated discussion with a grim-faced man holding a long pole with something huge and furry on the end.
“It’s a dead cat,” Mason said quietly.
“What?”
Mason chuckled, eyes sparkling. In the afternoon sunlight, they were a gorgeous mossy green. “The fuzzy cover on the boom mic is called a ‘dead cat’. The fur stops the wind hitting the microphone and screwing up the sound.”
“…don’t care if it’s her birthday. We need it tomorrow, so you’ll just have to get it finished tonight.” Misty turned away from the guy holding the microphone, who glared at her back. Her expression shifted into a bright smile when she caught sight of Mason and Owen. “Ah, here they are!” She hurried over and gave Mason a stagey kiss on each cheek, which he reciprocated politely.
“You look gorgeous!” she exclaimed. “As always. Loved your post on Insta this morning. That’s exactly the content we’re looking for—wholesome but a little naughty.”
“Yeah, it got some traction.” Mason threw a quick look at Owen. Was he expecting Owen to have seen it? He hadn’t. He didn’t waste time on social media. Owen had Facebook and Instagram pages for the business, and he rarely even looked at those.
“Owen.” Misty turned to him, leaning in for the same mwah-mwah.
“Misty,” he said, aware he sounded, and probably looked, stiff. This, all of it, was really not his scene. Lewis or Aaron, or even Tag—maybe especially Tag—would be far more comfortable here.
“Don’t you look handsome?” she said happily. “Very rugged.”
When she looked down at her phone, scrolling with her thumb, Owen glanced over at Mason to roll his eyes. Mason gave a funny little half-smile and looked away.
“Now, let's get you changed,” Misty said, looking up again. She turned her head and yelled, “Naomi, bring the outfits over!” before turning back to Owen. “I’d love a gilet, ideally with one of those tattersall shirts—you know, the checked shirts countryside people wear? With your colouring, I’m thinking blues and browns…”
“I really don’t think—”
But there was no arguing with her, and a few moments later, Naomi appeared looking flustered and carrying an armful of clothes.
“Welcome to my life,” Mason murmured, grinning as, without a hint of self-consciousness, he started unbuttoning his own shirt.
Owen flashed back to Mason’s bedroom that night, his face heating, watching helplessly as Mason stripped the shirt off and took the t-shirt Naomi held out to him. Owen caught his breath. He couldn’t help it because Mason’s body was… Well, he was gorgeous. Of course he was gorgeous. Lean, lightly muscled with pale skin, his chest was smooth—waxed, a dizzy part of his brain suggested—with dark pink nipples that pebbled in the cool spring air.
Mouth dry, heart pounding, Owen tore his eyes away, his cock thickening in instinctive, powerful desire. Shit, had anyone noticed him staring? He swallowed, but his throat felt dry as a bone, and he cleared it, trying to be quiet.
“...no, no. The blue one,” Misty snapped. “I said blue. Are you colourblind?”
“Sorry,” Naomi said, rummaging through her armful of clothes. “Here, try this.”
Owen, still hyper-aware of Mason pulling on clothes in his peripheral vision, yanked off his own sweatshirt. He had never been shy about his body, but now, he felt weirdly self-conscious, perhaps because it was only him and Mason getting undressed while everyone else just watched them.
Or perhaps it was because Mason was watching, and Mason—as a model—would be used to seeing beautiful, perfect bodies all day long…
Fuck.
Owen determinedly shoved that thought aside and quickly shrugged into the shirt Naomi handed him, trying to appear unconcerned as he fastened the buttons.
“Mmm,” Misty hummed, tipping her head from side to side as she studied him. “Sleeves rolled up, I think. Show off those glorious forearms.”
Naomi moved hesitantly forward, reaching for Owen’s cuff.
“It’s okay,” he said quickly. He undid the buttons and turned up the sleeves to expose his forearms.
“Yes, good. Very nice,” Misty purred. She glanced at Mason, who was now wearing a tight-fitting violet t-shirt with a prancing cartoon unicorn on the front and a V-neck that exposed the hollow at the base of his throat.
Owen had a sudden, powerful vision of himself licking into that little hollow. Of kissing Mason there. He could almost taste the salt on Mason’s warm, smooth skin…
“Okay, you’ll do,” Misty decided. “We’ll lose the light if we don’t start now.” She clapped her hands. “All right everyone, let’s begin.”