Chapter 11
Marc
We were officially three weeks into what had turned into an absolute gut job of the flower shop.
Thank you rage-hole in the wall that revealed out-of-date wiring and fucking termite damage.
The only saving graces were that I’d planned to upgrade the wiring anyway to meet requirements for the new appliances I wanted to bring in–no, I was not giddy as a schoolgirl about the top-of-the-line flower refrigerator display or the drool-worthy walk-in flower cooler already in my cart—and the termite damage could have been way worse.
All of that aside, I was going to lose my damn mind if I had to start another day at the crack-ass of dawn by clearing rubbish, not that there was really all that much of it left.
We’d made good progress, and the way I saw it, we deserved a break.
Besides, I’d promised JD I’d show him the sights, and I was definitely not holding up my end of the bargain.
I walked out of the bedroom with several options in mind and wasn’t surprised to find JD already in the kitchen making coffee, and the sleeper sofa neatly made, waiting to be put away.
“Morning,” he said, in his sleep-rough voice as he passed me my coffee, like he did every morning.
Perfectly made, like it was every morning.
I nodded my thanks and took a swig of the piping hot nectar of life.
To my surprise, a massive yawn cracked his jaw.
He stretched his ridiculously long arms over his head, causing his sleep shirt to ride up and expose a strip of pale skin brushed with bright copper hair.
Yeah, I’d totally clocked that he’d started wearing a shirt to bed–and in the shop–after that first night when I’d basically dropped my eyeballs in his lap. It wasn’t like I was disappointed or anything. I wasn’t. Because that would be weird. Just saying that I’d noticed is all.
“Fuck,” he grumbled to himself, dropping his arms–and his shirt–back into place, then picked up his sugar-shock coffee. I quickly averted my gaze to somewhere safer. It was between the coffeemaker and his face. In retrospect, I should have gone with the coffeemaker.
“Shit, man. Are you alright?” I put my already empty cup down and gave him my full attention. I might finally be starting to think of us as actual friend-friends, but I was clearly a shit one if I didn’t immediately notice the fucking colossal circles under his eyes.
He waved away my concern–which wasn’t really a surprise, but still kinda hurt? “It’s nothing. Just the usual.”
Just the usual: code for nightmares about the truly horrific things we’d seen overseas.
Rather than offer him platitudes I knew he wouldn’t want to hear, because I knew I sure as fuck wouldn’t want to hear them, I took a different approach. “I was thinking of taking a day off from the shop, get out, you know?”
“Yeah?” He angled his head, both of his copper eyebrows lifting in curiosity. “What’d you have in mind?”
For some reason I would never understand, none of the options I’d been entertaining on my way out here were what fell out of my mouth.
“It’s been a minute since I went for a run.
With all this hauling stuff about, I feel like I’ve been skipping leg day.
What do you say? Wanna join me? There’s a great trail through Flying Creek Nature Preserve, and I doubt there will be many people, if anyone, there at this hour. ”
He chuckled, probably at the leg-day crack or maybe the ridiculous time of day reference, but when his eyes lit up at the prospect of a run, I knew that’s why I’d suggested it.
It wasn’t that I hated running; it just wasn’t my first—or fifth—choice of physical activity, but it was completely worth it to see that light in his eyes.
He huffed another laugh and ducked his head.
“That actually sounds perfect. Guess I should get changed.” He knocked back the rest of his coffee, then walked around the skinny island separating the kitchen from the living room.
It wasn’t until he straightened up from his duffel bag and looked at me questioningly that I realized I’d been standing there watching him.
“I’ll just, uh, get some waters together and meet you at the car,” I said, keeping my head down to hide my surge of embarrassment.
“You’re welcome to the restroom. I’m good as is.
” In a move I would come to regret, I gestured at what I was wearing.
I could feel JD’s gaze follow the same path my hand took, and it fucking burned.
I swallowed thickly and my dick gave a decisive twitch in my mercifully loose shorts which would do absolutely fuck all to hide my unfortunate reaction to what was undoubtedly an innocent look.
Thankfully, the island was obscuring the damning evidence, and I made sure to keep it between us as he took his change of clothes with him into the bedroom.
A few deep breaths later, at least one head seemed to be screwed on right, and I focused on grabbing the waters and some protein bars to eat on the way. I’d only been in the car maybe a minute before JD slid into the passenger seat, looking refreshed and significantly more awake.
“Alright, let’s get this party started,” he said enthusiastically, slapping his thighs for emphasis. I did a double take. His thick thighs. Fuck, he could crack a watermelon between those bad boys. And why did that suddenly sound really hot?
I tugged at my shirt collar to try to get some of the cooler air already blasting from the vents onto my skin while also trying to convince myself that the image of JD popping a watermelon between his monster thighs like a fucking grape wasn’t hot enough to get me banned from church on principle. Not that I went to church anymore.
“Something wrong with my shorts?” he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled, and I damn near swallowed my tongue because of course I was staring…again.
“Do they not make shorts long enough for giants? Dude, those things are tiny.” I put the car in gear and worked on getting us out onto the main thoroughfare to force myself to stop ogling his exposed thighs like some creeper.
His rich laugh filled the cabin, and something in me settled.
Or it did until he slapped a hand on my thigh just a little too close to my dick, which was being rebellious as fuck today.
I glanced over at him, instantly taken in by his megawatt smile.
“They’re called running shorts, Marc. Certainly better for a run than basketball shorts,” he teased, plucking at the loose fabric.
I willed my dick to stay at ease, running through rifle components for good measure.
“Besides, you have the legs for them,” he added, giving my thigh a firm squeeze before removing his hand.
I whipped my head around so fast to look at him it was a miracle we didn’t veer into the side of a building, but he was already looking out the passenger window.
Had he just… did he… No, I was reading too much into it.
He wasn’t complimenting my legs. They were running shorts.
They were for all legs, not specifically mine. That’s what he meant.
Geez, Marc. Get a grip.
We pulled into the parking lot for the nature preserve, and I finally felt like I could breathe.
At last, something familiar with fewer pitfalls.
Though I was careful not to look in his direction as we went through our respective warmups.
So naturally, I was woefully unprepared to come face-to-face with his absurdly juicy, hairy thighs—as well as his crotch—when he came over to ask if I was ready.
“Yep, totally. Let’s do this,” I said in a rush and hoped he mistook the red burning my face for exertion and excitement. He gave me another one of those dazzling smiles and started toward the nearest trail entrance.
“Try to keep up, shorty.”
“Hey! I’m not short! It’s not my fault you’re a freaking giant.
” His rumbling laughter, already farther ahead of me than I would like, pushed me to move faster.
Damn him and his long legs. Why the hell did I think running was a good idea?
Oh, right, because my friend was feeling down, and I wanted to make him happy.
Grumbling to myself about how much I hated being a good person, I continued to pick up my pace until I was running in step with JD.
I glared at him, but the smile he turned on me wasn’t teasing or mischievous. It was bright with joy.
“Thanks for suggesting this. It’s been a while since I’ve actually gotten to run with anyone.
I almost forgot how much I like this.” His enthusiasm was warmer than the air—which, to be fair, it was Fairhope and even at this hour, it was plenty warm—and I might have melted a bit.
And fuck. Now I knew every time he asked if I wanted to go for a run, I’d say yes.
Hell, I’d probably be the one to suggest it.
We fell into a groove, the steady sound of our footfalls on the ground and wooden plank bridges an easy beat to get lost in.
I wasn’t sure how long we continued like that, side-by-side, almost perfectly in sync despite our height difference, but it was long enough for me to remember the times when I hadn’t equated running with punishment or survival.
It was peaceful. All around us, the world continued to wake up.
The daytime insects picked up their cadence; sunlight filtered through heavy branches battling with invasive kudzu; even the frogs and fish in the shallow waterways we passed over seemed to move with more vigor.
The world was officially awake, which meant our quiet solitude was coming to an end.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one with that thought.
“Okay, quick break before we turn back,” JD panted as he slowed to a stop and braced himself on his knees.
“Sure thing, Sarge,” I said, returning his wide grin. Honestly, it was a little reassuring to see he was pouring just as much sweat as I was.