3. Henry
CHAPTER 3
HENRY
I'm really glad that Michael has a friend. I'm even glad that he has a friend that is outgoing and boisterous. Lord knows Michael needs someone to soften his hard edges. The kid is too damn serious for his own good. But did it have to be this guy ?
I've seen more of his body than I see of my own on a regular basis, and it's starting to make me itch. Every time he walks by, I swear he loses another article of clothing, and honestly, it's hard not to stare. Anyone would, if only for the sheer ridiculousness of it.
Just this morning, the cocky little shit came traipsing through the house in the tiniest swimsuit I've ever seen. If you can even call it that. And when he caught me gaping at him, he had the fucking gall to wink at me.
"Where the fuck are your pants?" I asked him, my voice easily an octave higher than usual.
"It's a Speedo," he said nonchalantly. When I didn't respond, because I was still waiting for a better explanation for why he was nearly naked in my kitchen at seven o'clock in the morning, he let that signature cocky grin spread across his face. "For swimming. I was going to do some laps before we head to work today."
To work . At my restaurant. With me.
Fuck my life.
"Gotta keep my girlish figure with all the good food you've been feeding us," he said, running his hands over his impossible washboard abs.
I had to roll my eyes to the ceiling to avoid following his hand down his torso. Seriously, who the fuck even looks like that? He's tall and lanky, but also somehow completely shredded. Every inch of his body is muscle, down to the ridiculously carved V that leads right down to his barely concealed- nope. Not going there.
He needs to put it away. And not bring it out again.
I can't even enjoy my morning coffee. I'm a meticulous guy. I have a routine. Every morning, I get up and go for a run, then come back and have a shower before I sit down and enjoy a quiet cup of coffee, scrolling through the news on my phone. It's how I mentally prepare for the day. But not today. No , I had to suffer through the distraction of watching Ian's back muscles flex through the butterfly stroke. Even worse, he caught me watching and fucking winked at me again.
The summer hasn't even truly begun, and I'm already at my wit's end. Michael tried to talk me down, saying I'll get used to Ian's unrestrained personality, but I don't want to get used to him. He even gave me the whole sob story about how he's got such a big personality because he's been ignored and caged in most of his life.
"I could understand why someone would want to put him in a cage," was my response to that.
Aside from putting me off my routine, the rest of the day has gone smoothly so far. Our Sunday regulars were happy to see Michael, and Ian managed to entertain them rather than chase them away. It helps that he has to wear clothes to work. Although if I have to overhear one more waitress mention his ass in those jeans, I might be looking at a staffing change.
It's towards the end of a long, but mostly pleasant, day. I'm sitting at the end of the bar, going through some ledgers, when Ian huddles down next to me. He's a little too close for comfort. I move away, but he leans further in, talking quietly against the shell of my ear in a way that sends gooseflesh down my spine.
"Look at that," he says, nudging his chin across the room.
I follow his line of sight to see Michael, leaning against the host stand, talking animatedly to a young woman. I can't make out her features from this angle. All I can see is her shoulder-length, mousy brown hair, light blue flowy blouse, and white shorts. She's cute, I can tell that much, and when she laughs at whatever Michael is saying to her, she throws back her head and laughs for real. He seems delighted to have entertained her so much, and there's a twinkle in his eye that I haven't seen since before.
"Who is that?" I ask, forgetting to be annoyed at Ian's proximity.
"Her name is Chloe. She went to school with us."
"Oh, really?" I’m the tiniest bit jealous that I don’t know anything about her.
"Yeah, I've been trying to talk him into getting the balls to ask her out."
I ignore the jab at Michael. "She seems interested."
He looks at me knowingly. "She totally is. He's just too busy being a fucking pussy—" He says the last few words loudly enough that anyone close by could hear. That's when I notice that Michael has walked up to us. He punches Ian in the shoulder before giving him the biggest, toothiest grin I think I've ever seen on him.
"I did it," he tells Ian.
"Hell yeah, man!" Ian says excitedly, patting my boy on the back.
"Aren't you going to ask what she said?" Michael asks, looking back and forth between me and Ian.
I shake my head, picking up my glass of iced tea to cover my smile.
Ian holds a hand to Michael's shoulder. "Mikey. My man. We don't have to ask, because we know. And you know what else I know?"
"What's that?" he asks, laughing.
"I know… that I fucking told you so." He taps Michael in the stomach, and they start play boxing like a pair of idiot kids. I can't help the grin on my face.
"Hey, Erin? Let's have a round of drinks for the bar, yeah?"
I stand up and clap both boys on the shoulder before heading back to the office. "Don't celebrate too hard, yeah? We've got real work in the morning."
I head back to my office to finish up my paperwork, and I spend a little while staring at the frame photograph of me and Michael when he was eight years old. It was taken the day I bought the restaurant from the original owner. Michael is sitting on my shoulders, hands raised to show off the sign behind us. He’s all grown up.
I'm surprised to see that both Michael and Ian have left by the time I come out of the office. I say goodnight to the closers for the evening, since they'll be here for another few hours.
It's a quick drive home, and all the lights are off when I arrive. It's only just now ten o'clock, so it's not very late at all by restaurant standards. But they both must have went to bed, because the house is quiet.
Or at least, I thought they’d both gone to bed.
The hallway bathroom door opens, and a cloud of steam follows Ian as he steps in to the hallway. I try to give him a friendly, casual nod and avert my eyes as I walk up the last two stairs, but I end up stopping dead in my tracks.
Ian removes the towel from around his waist and saunters down the hallway, butt naked, casually rubbing the towel over his hair. I'm frozen to the spot, my eyes glued to the long, corded muscles of his thighs and his round, muscular ass. There isn't an inch of him that isn't sheer physical perfection.
He stops just before he reaches his door and turns to face me. Blinking rapidly, I pull my eyes away from his long cock, jutting proudly from between his legs. He's almost hairless, and for some reason that short circuits my brain. I barely process the cocky grin on his face, or the way he bites his lip and runs his eyes up and down my body before walking into his bedroom and closing the door behind him.
I stand in the dark hallway, breathing in the sweet coconut scent of his body wash, for far too long before I realize what I'm doing and rush into my own room.
My back hits the door, and I let out a heavy breath. Pressure on my crotch has me looking down, and I realize that I’m cupping myself through my jeans, trying to ease the ache of the unwanted erection that is tormenting me. I push against it, hard, punishing it for daring to have a mind of its own.
Why him? Of all people?
I’m less upset about my newfound attraction to a man than I am the object of that attraction. That’s something I can unpack later, maybe chalk it up to the fact that it’s been a very, very long time since I so much as went on a date. And I have to admit that Ian is… well, he’s pretty . He’s got all that smooth skin and almost feminine features, high cheekbones, skin that looks airbrushed, and full, pouty lips. Something about that softness, combined with all those hard planes of lean muscle…
I let out a quiet groan as my cock throbs in my jeans. I shouldn’t give it any attention, shouldn’t encourage this unwanted reaction, but it hurts.
I force myself not to enjoy the stroke of my hand as I reposition my cock in the waistband of my jeans, just readjusting, so I’m not so uncomfortable. I’m still standing there with my hand in my pants when there’s a soft knock at the door.
Swallowing down my fear and mortification, I crack open the door just enough to see who it is. It could be Michael, needing something or wanting to talk.
But of course it isn’t Michael.
I instinctively take a step back before realizing my mistake and stiffening my posture. Ian’s body leans into the doorway, one arm braced against the top of the doorframe, the other resting against the door as if to prevent me from slamming it in his face.
At least he’s put on a pair of pajama pants.
He pushes the door open wide enough to rake his hooded eyes over me, smirking knowingly at the prominent bulge in my jeans.
Without a word, Ian steps into my room and closes the door behind him.