Page 6 of The Token Yank

Chapter 2

Rafe

Rafe stayed by the door for a second, not sure about what he heard, still fighting out of his sleep. He reached in his suitcase for something to defend himself with and plucked out a rain boot. It was heavy enough. It couldwork.

He crept out of his room clutching his rain boot, not knowing what he was doing or what he would find, but finding the bravery to keep going. He heard another crash and someone cursing in the kitchen. He pressed his hand to the swinging door, clutched his rain boot, took a deep breath, and ventured to his potentialdeath.

But there was no crime scene. Just some pots and pans on the floor, a broken glass bowl, and a guy crouched over it, surveying the mess. The back of his sweater lifted up and flashed Rafe a sliver of skin and the waistband of hisunderwear.

“Bloody hell!” The guy jumped back upon seeing Rafe. “You scared the shit out ofme.”

It wasn’t until the guy stood up and Rafe was able to get a good look at him that he realized he was talking to the most attractive guy he’d ever seen. He had light skin and rusty brown hair with the slightest curl that flopped perfectly on his head. But those were only the first degree of his hotness. He had these blazing blue eyes, the kind that could challenge the sky for textbook definition of the color. And then there was the scruff, immaculately sprinkled over his chiseled jaw. Rafe positioned his rain boot over his crotch, just incase.

“I’m sorry. I heard…” Rafe pointed to the fracas at the guy’sfeet.

“Were you the wanker who stacked the pots, pans, and bowls in the cabinet? I was trying to make myself a cup of tea. I opened the door,” he slapped the cabinet. “and everything fell out. Now we got some fucking glass on thefloor.”

His accent had a hard, raspy edge to it, basically the auditory equivalent to a quick and dirty fuck in the bathroom of a divebar.

Rafe found the broom and dustpan next to the fridge. He got to work sweeping up the brokenglass.

“You don’t have to do that, mate.” He plucked the broom from Rafe’s hands. “This is mymess.”

“I can hold the dustpan.” Rafe crouched down as his flatmate swept up thedetritus.

“Louisa is going to kill me. This is all hershit.”

“I’msorry.”

“Why? It’s not yourfault.”

Rafe agreed, but he was at a loss to say anything else. When he was in the presence of really attractive men, he either got super chatty or super quiet. He didn’t know which Rafe was better. His flatmate put back all the pots and pans and shut thecabinet.

“Thanks for the help. I’m Eamonn.” He pronounced it “aim on.” He shook Rafe’s hand, and Rafe savored the warmth of hisskin.

“Rafe. I just got here. I’m still working off thejetlag.”

“You’re American?” Eamonn’s lips quirked up into a funny smile, as if Rafe was as exotic to him as he was to Rafe. Which was not at all equivalent. Nothing about America was exotic. “Where are youfrom?”

“Arlington,Virginia.”

“EastCoast.”

“Technically, but East Coasters are mainly New Englanders, and New York and New Jersey. Virginia is mid-Atlantic, so we’re more Southern, though not too Southern.” And here was super chatty Rafe, just in time. “How do you know about the term EastCoast?”

“Because I don’t live in a bloody cave. We get all your movies and TV shows here. Did you dig your way here?” Eamonn nodded at Rafe’s dirt-stainedclothes.

Great. Nice first impression,Rafe.

He cut his eyes to the dining table, where it looked like Eamonn was in the middle of rolling ajoint.

“There’s no smoking in here. I just had a whole presentation on it. Is pot legalhere?”

“It’s not a spliff. I roll my own cigarettes, and I’m well aware of these buggers.” Eamonn pointed up to the smoke detectors. “I almost burned down my hall lastyear.”

Rafe should’ve hated that Eamonn smoked, but the whiff of cigarette smoke on him was like it’s own cologne, only adding to hisattraction.

“So are you here for the whole year?” Eamonn’s eyes were in a perpetual squint, like he was always on the verge of callingbullshit.