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As wonderful as Easton was, handy was not an adjective I’d use for him. His parents had been the sort to call a repairman rather than figure out something themselves, and we had a stack of receipts that proved his loyal adherence to that method.
I hadn’t exactly helped. In our first year of marriage, I became adept at picking up the phone, my credit card cheerfully in hand. Once he was dropped from the Marlins and our finances grew tight, I stopped making calls and we started to ignore issues. That had been a broken plan that had been saved by the last month of having Aaron as a houseguest. Suddenly dead light switches were working, my ice maker was back in business, and the noisy rattle of the bathroom vent was a quiet purr.
“You look pissed.” Easton raised a brow as I entered the kitchen. “Was it the ducks? Did they point and laugh at your shoes? I swear to God…”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be a douche.”
“What’s going on with your shoes?” Aaron tilted back the chair he was sitting in, trying to see me from his place at the kitchen table.
“Dude, they’re the ugliest things I’ve ever seen.” He took the leash from me and unclipped Wayland. The dog bounded through the hall and toward his water dish. “I swear, a dozen fashion designers got together and figured out the perfect way to kill an erection.”
“Hey—they’re comfortable.” Making my way over to a chair, I leaned over and unlaced my new tennis shoes that Easton had branded, upon first glance, as grandma shoes.
Granted, they did have a big velcro band across the top that vaguely resembled my grandma’s orthopedic walkers. But everyone was wearing these right now! And they were super light. The colors were a bit loud, a clash of neon pink and lime yellow.
But they felt like walking on clouds, and I liked to push E’s buttons by wearing them.
“They do look comfortable,” Aaron said, always willing to play Switzerland.
“Sure,” Easton agreed. “Comfortable and ugly.”
I tried to peel off the first shoe, which had an odd inner sock that got stuck on my heel. I tugged harder. “Do you want me to work on your shoulders or not? Because I’m going to need a lot more sucking up before my magic fingers do any heavy lifting.”
“I love the shoes,” Aaron offered. “Do they come in size 13? Especially that color. I love that color.”
“And… Aaron wins.” I used my still-shoed foot to pull the closest chair in front of me. “Take a seat and give me that sore neck.”
“Total bullshit,” Easton commented, leaning against the counter as he watched Aaron straddle the chair, facing away from me. “I’m the one who has to live with those things.” I pulled the other shoe off and flung it at him.
Aaron pulled his baseball cap off and rested it on his lap, tilting his head back as I ran my forefingers down the levator scapulae muscle in his neck. It was tight. Really tight. I thought of everything he’d been through and realized this was his second move in a month. Talk about upheaval. I found a trigger point and pressed on it. “How long do you think you’ll stay at Chelsea’s?”
“No clue.” He dropped this head forward, obeying the gentle manipulation I gave. “I guess I’ll see how it goes. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll grab one of those furnished units they have on 42nd.”
I met Easton’s eyes and made a face. The 42nd Street lofts were located between a closed Kmart and a gas station that specialized in homeless beggars. I pictured E helping him move that truckload in and wondered how they would get it all inside without the panhandlers helping themselves to the contents.
“It’ll work out.” I moved higher, kneading a tension knot at the base of his hair. “Chelsea’s pretty easy to live with. Plus, you’ll be in the guest house, right?”
“I guess. We didn’t discuss the logistics—she just said I wouldn’t be a bother.”
“That guest house is sweet.” Easton opened the fridge door and grabbed another bottle of water, tossing it in the direction of Aaron before getting his second. “It wouldn’t be a bad place to bring a girl.”
“Yeah, that’s not exactly the plan right now.” He groaned as the muscles crunched, the knot breaking. “I plan to lie low and lick my wounds.”
His tongue flicked hot and thick across my nipple before his mouth crushed over the spot, gentle yet needy.
I focused on a freckle on his left trap and fought the blush that worked its way up my neck. If E was watching me right now, he’d know. He’d know in an instant that my mind was wandering, my stomach was twisting, my need growing.
I rolled my own neck and tried to think about something else. Big saggy old lady nipples. Rotten pimento cheese. The smell of Easton’s locker room after a practice.
