Page 21 of Necessary Time

Letting out a breath, I fixed my hair, blinked myself awake, then went to the living room. I’d just put on socks and sneakers when there was a demandingly certain knock at my door. I grabbed my wallet, keys, and phone, then met Wesley at the front door. He greeted me with another of his golden retriever grins, his short brown hair gelled and coiffed like a magazine cover model. He was shorter than me, and he tipped his chin up like he was squinting to see me. It was endearing and adorable all at once, but the expression gave him a level of surety that I didn’t think he realized.

“Did you know we can bet on the turtles?” he said, in lieu of hello.

“Isn’t gambling illegal here?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think anyone is really making it big on the turtles.”

Wesley stepped back into the hallway and I followed after him, pulling the front door closed and popping my key into the top lock.

“No tour?” he asked.

“Just a boring bachelor pad,” I said.

“That’s what Grayson and I have,” he countered. “Can I see yours? For comparison?”

“Thought you wanted to gamble on turtles,” I muttered.

“After I see where you live.”

“Fine.” I turned the key so the deadbolt unlocked and shoved the door open. “Be my guest.”

Wesley stepped into my apartment, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. I studied the back of his head while he studied my home, and I bit back the immediate urge to ask him what he thought. He made a lap of the living room and the kitchen, peered out onto the balcony, then looped around to the short hallway. He peeked into my bathroom, flipping on the light. He didn’t look inside the medicine cabinet, which was fine. There wasn’t anything incriminating or interesting in there besides the tube of silicone lubricant I’d bought once and only ever used for jerking off. He hesitated in front of the threshold to my bedroom, but much like the rest of my apartment, there wasn’t much to be seen.

“You can look,” I called out to him.

I heard the switch flip, and Wesley made a thoughtful sound. His footfalls against the carpet grew quieter, then louder again. He returned with the tie I’d worn to work hanging loose over his first finger.

“This blue?” he asked.

The silk dripped from his hand like honey, the tips brushing against his bare elbow as he gave the strip of satin a gentle wave.

“That’s the one.”

“It’s boring,” he said. He made slow work of running the fabric between his fingers, drawing the tie out to its full length before letting it fall. He gave me an inquisitive look I couldn’t make sense of, then went back into my bedroom. The switch flipped again, and he was back. I wasn’t breathing, I realized, and I tried to catch a breath without making it obvious I’d forgotten to do the most basic of things in his presence.

“It’s just navy,” I said to him.

“There’s a thousand different, better, shades of blue.”

Wesley followed me back out into the hallway, this time letting me lock up. He stood stock-still as I turned toward him, ready to counter his assertion about my boring choice in blues.

“Like your eyes?” I asked.

The words were out before I could draw them back in, and Wesley’s bright blue eyes went wide, brows arching up toward his hairline.

“You think I have pretty eyes, Colin?”

The only thing I could hear was the sound of my heart, battering like mad against my ears, in my throat, in my hands. I’d been reduced to my pulse and my breath, and a dangerously new, undeniable feeling.

Want.

CHAPTERSEVEN

Wesley

“They’re not navy,”Colin answered.

I blinked, scanning his face for any hint of sarcasm or tease, but all I found was a sincerity that sat tight and heavy in the lowest part of my stomach.