Page 57 of Structure of Love

Asher’s birthday party had been a blast. I’d met even more of Gage’s friends, including Zar’s work partner and siblings, which mostly rounded out Gage’s main circle. I found them to be cool people. Not to mention fun as hell. Zar had invited me to join in on gym day with him and Gage, and you bet I snapped up his offer right quick.

Last night, Gage hadn’t wanted to let go of me, even though he’d been more than tipsy. Somehow, in trying to talk him into going to bed, he’d somehow agreed to come and help me do the final push to get Erin’s room ready. Erin moved in four weeks from now, and I was not at all prepared. I was a hair doubtful Gage would show up this morning, what with a possible hangover and late night, but he’d texted this morning confirming he was still coming.

People would often make you a promise to help, and probably even mean it in the moment, but their help just never materialized. Gage was not cut from that cloth. Either that or he liked spending time with me and capitalized on any chance he got.

I was okay with either option.

The result was him at my house on a Sunday morning. I’d cleared out the last of the stuff in my spare bedroom and had prepped the room for paint with the exception of the armoire and the chest. Because those be heavy motherfuckers.

Gage showed up in holey jeans, a T-shirt with paint splotches on it, and tennis shoes I was pretty sure he’d had for twenty years, considering one seam had busted out. He was dressed to work. Somehow—and I was still trying to figure out how—he wasn’t anything less than gorgeous. The saying “Clothing makes the man” really didn’t apply to Gage. He could show up in a towel and be damn impressive. More than once I’d wanted to get my hands on him, but today was especially going to test my control. He looked more touchable, somehow, softer. Maybe it was the lack of any product in his hair, leaving it soft and tempting. Maybe it was because the more I knew him, the more ready I was to fall for him.

I’d promised him I wouldn’t push, and I’d do my best to hold to that. The last thing I wanted was to push us too fast and in the wrong direction.

I greeted him with a kiss because he was kissable.

Gage laughed a little and kissed me back. “Really happy I came here to paint, eh?”

“That too. I’m just always happy to see you.”

“You’re too charming for your own good.” Shaking his head, Gage came all the way in.

Something felt different, there. I couldn’t put my finger on what, but the feeling between us had shifted. Not in a bad way. It felt…more energetic? Or maybe it was wishful thinking.

Gage paused and looked about curiously.

Now, unlike him, I wasn’t friends with an interior designer, but I thought I’d done okay. The house had been in good shape when I bought it, just outdated. A two-bed, one-bath bungalow,it wasn’t very big—only about a thousand square feet—and the perfect size for a bachelor. The oak floors were polished, if a little worn, and I’d removed the god-awful seventies paneling before painting the house a variety of creams and light greens, though my bedroom was a soft blue.

“Cute house,” Gage commented.

I preened. As a pro, his compliment meant a lot. “Thanks.”

“You’re not a messy guy, are you?”

“Letting it get messy means I have to put more effort into cleaning it, and that’s not how I like to spend my time.”

“Preach. So where are we painting?”

“This room.” I led him toward the end of the hall. The house was laid out so there was a bedroom to the left, a bathroom at the end of the hallway, and another bedroom to the right. It meant there was basically no hallway, just three feet of walking space. Smart layout, in my opinion.

Erin’s bedroom was the one on the right.

“As a warning, the two things still in place against the walls are heavy as fuck. Grandma donated to the cause, which was sweet and all, but that’s antique furniture.”

“So solid wood, feels like it’s made from lead bricks?”

“I see you know antique furniture.”

“I have quite a bit of it in my house, for that matter. Mostly because Asher finds pieces at estate sales for killer deals and I can’t say no.” Gage walked around the plastic-covered furniture in the center of the room to get a good grip on the armoire. “Lez get ’er done.”

“That was a terrible Southern accent.”

He laughed.

I hefted one side, he hefted the other, and we kind of walked it away from the wall. I’d left a pocket to put it into, so we had room to work behind it. Phew, god almighty, this reminded meof the day I’d brought this piece inside from my grandmother’s house. It nearly broke my back then, too.

The chest was a breeze in comparison, and we hefted it onto the bed. I loved how well we coordinated with each other. We barely had to do more than a one, two, three before lifting, and it was smooth as silk.

Gage pulled the plastic tarp over the bed again, asking, “So which do you prefer to do, roll or cut in?”