Chapter Ten
JOE WOKE to predawn light and to the stomach-wrenching, blood-warming sight of Austin in his bed.
Austin lay curled on his side, tucked into the fetal position, the blankets snug around his shoulders. He lay facing Joe, his hair spilling enticingly across the pillow.
Joe wanted to crawl into that cocoon, kiss Austin awake, and then really mess up those curls. Or maybe crawl under the blankets and see if he couldn’t use his mouth to get Austin to unbend from that protective pose.
Joe knew a sleep pose could just be a sleep pose, but somehow it felt meaningful that Austin was curled up in his sleep, as if protecting his vulnerable parts or trying to take up less space.
Of course, Joe couldn’t do any of those sexy things, and not just because Ozzy had migrated to settle into the space between Austin’s neck, chest, and arms. At least they’d both definitely been warm last night.
His blood pumping with thoughts of the company in his bed, Joe gave up on getting any more sleep, eased his way out from under his comforter, and tiptoed out of the room.
He couldn’t claim surprise when Pepa didn’t follow—their girl liked her sleep and had a clear favorite—or when Walker perked up with a soft mew and padded eagerly after Joe.
Once in the kitchen, Walker sank his claws into Joe’s sweats in an attempt to climb—a trick that only really worked with jeans—and Joe sighed and bent to rescue his calves and his kitten.
“You are pure trouble,” he said softly. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed what a nosy busybody you are.
Your name is totally apt. Wandering around sticking your nose in everyone else’s business.
God, you’ll probably be the boss once you’re all grown.
” Already there were signs that all mischief could be sourced back to Walker, no matter which cat was actually caught mid-mess.
Unperturbed by Joe’s aspersions on his character, Walker snuggled in and purred in Joe’s ear. Soon he’d be too big for this, and Joe would miss having the soft warm weight pressed in close.
With his preferred energy outlet off the table—or bed—Joe channeled his restlessness into something more productive and started prepping the dining room to paint.
This wasn’t the first time he’d had an inconvenient crush, or a dry spell for that matter, since he’d never been fond of one-nighters.
He could ignore the pressure from his libido.
It wasn’t as if Austin would keep sleeping in his bed.
Joe would be able to work out some of his frustrations solo later, and they could go back to their easy platonic cohabitation.
Well, maybe not fully easy. But they’d done an acceptable job of ignoring the sexual tension so far. They could keep it up, Joe was sure.
But he was also pretty sure he wasn’t alone—that Austin felt it too. He’d caught Austin looking once or twice.
But looking wasn’t touching, and touching was definitely a bad thing right now. It would make everything even more messy. Joe had learned his lesson about getting involved with someone when you had business entanglements. Therefore no mess. Right?
Joe put a second coat of paint on the dining room walls. At least that kind of mess, he could clean up.
Then, figuring it was late enough that he no longer had to worry about disturbing Austin’s beauty sleep, he headed to the kitchen for coffee and pancakes, a perfectly normal, not morning-after, breakfast choice.
Whether it was the hour, the smell of coffee, or the sound of Joe in the kitchen, Pepa hopped into the room as the skillet was warming, Dallas riding on her back and Ozzy following a pace behind, uttering anxious mews like his mom might leave him behind or forget to feed him.
“Good morning,” Joe murmured.
Pepa answered with a happy rumble and a press of her face into his leg.
“Are you hungry, sweet girl?”
He stepped away from the stove to dish up breakfast for his three- and four-legged babies. Walker and Dallas abandoned their perches immediately and without grace as soon as Joe opened the can.
Joe had a plateful of pancakes warming in the oven by the time Austin shuffled into the kitchen, looking for all the world like Joe had made good on every fantasy he’d had this morning.
Which Joe definitely could not think about right now, as he stood in loose boxers and sweats.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Joe’s mouth said, apparently better at faking coherency than the rest of him.
“Morning,” Austin mumbled. He blinked at Joe and the skillet. “Did you make pancakes?”
“Yes, because cold nights deserve pancake mornings.” He took a plate from a cupboard and used the kitchen tongs he’d brought from his place to deposit some breakfast upon it. “And because I have big plans for the day.”
Joe remembered too late that they didn’t have any maple syrup, still dealing with a kitchen that had only recently become functional and thus an incomplete pantry, but this didn’t perturb Austin, who opened the fridge and withdrew a jar of homemade raspberry jam Linda had bequeathed him when he fixed the heater in her car the week before.
Austin rattled in the drawer behind Joe for a fork and knife. “Plans?”
Joe could feel the sleep warmth radiating off of him, caught the faint whiff of sweat, and immediately stuck his face back over the frying pan.
He was flying by the seat of his pants here, but he knew the old saying about idle hands.
He might not believe in the devil, but his hands or his eyes would definitely wander all over Austin if he left them idle.
He just needed to keep busy until he could get some time to himself and give his hands a more appropriate and helpful job to do.
“I figured we’ve been working pretty hard on the house, and it looks great.
Kitchen’s done, right? We’ve got some cleaning up to do, and we need to grab some more furniture, but we’re totally on track for hosting Christmas.
” He paused as he worked himself up to the point, suddenly realizing how perfect it was.
“So we should do a test run of the kitchen, make sure everything’s up to par. Call it a celebration dinner.”
Austin hopped up on the counter beside him. Joe wanted to scold him—Were you raised in a barn?—but he bit his tongue on it in time. The words sounded like his mother. Besides, that remark would’ve hit way too close to the truth.
It wasn’t like Joe even minded Austin sitting on the counter, except now he was looking at Austin’s bare feet tapping against the cupboards and feeling like a repressed Victorian.
Austin shoveled in a forkful of pancake and then spoke with his mouth full, which broke the spell before Joe could burn the latest batch. “We worked our asses off getting the house ready, so you want to work our asses off on a fancy dinner?”
“Shut up. I like cooking.” This would totally work. Joe downed half his cup of coffee. Caffeine was integral to this plan. “It’s like… relaxing. Not all the time, just sometimes.”
“Well, your pancakes pass the test, at least. I’m in.”
Joe tipped the last few onto a plate for himself, added a slathering of jam, and debated. He could go sit in the dining room like a civilized person.
He hopped up onto the counter next to Austin instead, then reached down and pulled open the cutlery drawer for his own fork. “Okay, let’s talk menu. You like Italian?”
Austin dragged a pancake through a smear of jam. “You mean like pasta?”
“I was thinking more like—veal parm? Or do you like seafood? I make a pretty good seafood linguine, but it can be tricky getting good-quality fresh ingredients. I’d definitely have to drive into Windsor for groceries.
I can probably get the veal at Schinkel’s in town, though.
Or I could do chicken marsala and a mushroom risotto—”
“I don’t know what half of this stuff is.”
Ah. Well, not everyone grew up in an Italian family that loved to cook. Joe awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “Are there foods you don’t like?”
Austin hopped off the counter and put his plate in the sink, plugged the drain, ran the hot water. “I’m not big on seafood. I think I could be, just never… had much.”
Translation—shrimp and mussels were expensive, not the kind of thing you’d make for yourself as a treat unless you already knew you liked it.
That was fine with Joe; he didn’t really want to drive all the way to Erie Street anyway. “Mushrooms are okay, though? Rice, butter, cream…?” A horrible thought occurred to him. “You’re not lactose intolerant, are you?”
Austin looked up from adding soap to the sink. “You’ve seen me eat pizza.”
Joe sagged in relief. “Okay. Good. I’ll make a shopping list, then. How do you feel about tiramisu?”
Austin blinked at him. “What’s tiramisu?”
It took everything in Joe not to gasp in horror.
Austin grinned. “I had you going, didn’t I?”
“Fuck off,” Joe laughed. “Tiramisu or biscotti? Or maybe cannoli?”
“Jesus, how many courses are you planning?”
Shopping took an hour and a half because Joe had to go to three grocery stores before he found fresh basil that met his standards.
When he got home, Austin had finished washing and putting away the breakfast dishes, and Joe could hear a load of laundry thumping around in the washing machine, but Austin and Pepa were nowhere to be found.
Out for her morning physiotherapy slash walk, then.
Joe could’ve taken the opportunity to jerk off in the shower, but if he wanted to cash the checks his mouth had written earlier, he needed to get a move on in the kitchen. He could shower while the biscotti baked.
The day passed in a parody of domestic bliss. Joe cooked, baked, and cleaned the kitchen (he hated leaving the mess until the end), while Austin passed in and out, moving through the house to work on various small jobs.
“I’ve been thinking,” Austin said during one of his visits to the kitchen for water and a snack, “that we should put a more permanent heat source in the breezeway.”