Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

window.
    "We'll let you settle in," Bryan said. "When you're ready, just come downstairs and we'll chat some more about our ideas."
    "And yours," Marcus added hastily. "We want to hear what you think."
    I turned, ready to protest that I wasn't much of a designer, just a manual-labor type, but by then they'd beat a hasty retreat out of the room and down the hallway.
    ****
    It wasn't long before we'd decided on a direction to take the project. They hadn't balked at the cost, and had readily agreed with some of the practicalities I'd pointed out. They and the job continued to be too good to be true, but I decided to swallow my usual pessimism and enjoy the situation while it lasted.
    I had a real opportunity here. If this project went well I could start building a portfolio, and if Marcus and Bryan were happy, they'd make great references. I had a chance to do more work like this in the future. This town was full of folks looking to remodel and a handy man with a good reputation was hard to find.
    So it was with this mindset that I approached all my work on the house—wanting to make sure the finished product was something I could be proud of, and something Marcus and Bryan would crow about to their friends.
    I divided the work by area so not too much of the house would be off limits at a time. It was a big house, but not so big that Marcus and Bryan didn't notice when a room or three was off limits for a few days.
    Always one to wake up early, I was usually working and on my second cup of coffee by the time the other men stirred. Since they both worked from home most of the time, they kept their own hours and it wasn't unusual for one or both of them to check in with me in the morning wearing only pajama bottoms and T-shirts. Or, like today, pajama bottoms and no T-shirt.
    "How's it going this morning?" Bryan asked, startling me out of my contemplation of spackle consistency. I looked up to find Bryan standing over me, bare chested, sipping his morning coffee. Each day the two men seemed more comfortable with my presence in their house, and in turn each day I became more uncomfortable. I was trying my hardest to be professional. To do good work and make sure they were happy with me. But there was only so much I could take and the expanse of Bryan's smooth, tanned skin just might have been my breaking point. I couldn't help but let my eyes linger where they shouldn't.
    "Do you need warming up?" Bryan asked, and I nearly choked. I stared at him in alarm before realizing he was gesturing at my cup with a pot of coffee—he must have brought it up from the kitchen for this very purpose, but I'd yet to notice anything but his lightly muscled body.
    Swallowing my embarrassment, I answered, "That would be great, thanks. Guess I'm not as awake as I thought." I hoped this flimsy excuse would cover my lapse in decorum, but if Bryan was bothered by my staring, he didn't comment.
    "It's looking really good in here," Bryan said, turning a full circle to examine the room. This, of course, let me do my own examination. Bryan's back was as perfect as his front, and his pajama pants hugged his ass in a way the long T-shirts he usually wore with them disguised. He glanced at me briefly, then continued to turn, slow and deliberate, almost like—God, my heart clenched at the thought of it—almost like he wanted me to look.
    "Nice work," he said when he'd completed the rotation. I had to bite back the urge to say You too.
    "What's going on in here?" The lower rumble of Marcus' voice stirred us, and he came in, also in pajamas, looking sleep-rumpled and still halfway unconscious. Meeting my eyes briefly, he nodded and crossed the room to slide an arm around Bryan's waist from behind. He pressed a brief nuzzle into Bryan's neck—just on the safe side of too intimate for public consumption, but my mind was already in the gutter and I had to turn back to my painting quickly to avoid springing a boner. I had this image of Marcus' cock pressed half hard into Bryan's ass, and if I weren't here Bryan might just turn in his arms and then they'd be pulling off pajama pants and lying down right there on the floor, and God help me I would have just stood there and watched if they had.
    Fuck, what was I thinking? I couldn't afford to let my mind linger on these images. Thinking of spackle and drywall and invoices as hard as I could, I turned back to face them. My eyes fell immediately on Marcus', and they flashed dark, languid interest at me.