Wood: A True Lover's Story

He was idly listening to a report on the weather when he heard Trent’s bedroom door open just before six. Bishop had told him that Trent ran one of the ground crews for Mike, but he wondered what he did for money while Mike’s landscaping business was in their off-season. He got up and put his tank top and basketball shorts back on, figuring he’d see if his new roommate was a morning person or not.

Trent was sitting at the dinette table scrolling through his cell phone and eating a massive bowl of generic Frosted Flakes when Wood walked in. Trent’s gaze roamed up and down his body before he quickly returned it to his breakfast. Interesting. “Good morning.”

“Unnh,” Trent mumbled around his mouthful of cereal.

“Mind if I join you?”

Trent shot his eyes up at him, and Wood noticed he had dark circles under them. “It’s your place too. Do whatever you want.”

“That wasn’t exactly a welcome,” Wood pointed out.

“This isn’t Denny’s.” Trent grinned, and Wood noticed how sexy his smile was when he thought he was being a smart-ass. He couldn’t become infatuated with this young man when he had grown-man stuff to do. And he could already tell that Trent liked to get a rise out of people. If he kept it up, his slick mouth and quick wit were going to get him in trouble.

Wood opened a couple of cabinets and asked, “Any coffee?”

“I don’t drink it. You’ll have to put it on your grocery list.”

“I’ll just have cereal.” Wood took a regular-sized bowl out of the cabinet and grabbed the box of Fruit Rings. He hadn’t had those in, well… a long time.

Trent leaned back in his chair, watching as Wood fixed his breakfast. “For your information, they don’t put enough in those boxes for two.”

Trent’s voice was deeper than Wood thought it’d be, but when he was being a prick he added more of rumble to it, and if the man only knew what that was doing to him he’d stop. The moment Wood sat down to eat, Trent stood and rinsed his bowl in the sink. He pulled a black lunch tote from off the top of the refrigerator and placed it on the counter. While he stood with his back to him, Trent packed two thick turkey-and-ham sandwiches, some chips, and a couple of apples.

“I got an idea. Why don’t we split the groceries too? Mike said we can work that out however we want. The fridge isn’t big enough to double up on everything, and don’t you think that’d be a waste of money?”

Trent shrugged as he continued to arrange his lunch. Wood was able to get a good look at his roommate’s body from behind, and he paused with his spoon of sugary cereal halfway to his mouth when Trent bent over to get a bottle of water out of the pantry. Shit. The man had on ragged work jeans that rode low on his narrow hips, a thick wool sweater, and steel-toe boots. His body was tight, and he stood only a few inches shorter than him, but he was stacked with a lot of damn boldness. Trent would be just his type if he wasn’t so damn young. Wood didn’t know what rocked his boat anymore, but he knew it wasn’t this. He preferred maturity… experience.

“Yeah, I’m not sure about splitting food costs.” Trent finally turned around, and Wood caught the flash of something in his eyes before Trent looked away. “I mean, don’t you have a lot of dietary restrictions and shit? Health food is expensive. Special K costs a lot more than Fruity Rings. Then will we need to add like Metamucil and Tums to the list? Or foods high in fiber and low in salt. More leafy greens?”

The little bastard. He’d really like to teach Trent some manners, but he only knew one way to accomplish that, and he was no longer a convict, so not a very effective method. Hell. Did Trent really see him as some dried-up, withering, about-to-kick-the-bucket old man? Wood knew he was no George Clooney, and prison hadn’t been kind to him, but he wasn’t that damn bad. He could see that Trent liked to get into people’s heads, but he’d soon learn that Wood wasn’t that easy to manipulate.

Wood stood up, and the screeching sound of his chair scraping the hard floor drew Trent’s attention to him. As he tightened the distance between them, Trent’s gaze quickly roamed over his chest, then to the full sleeves he had tattooed on both arms. When he glanced back up, Wood was standing directly in front of him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Trent ground out. He scanned around him as if he was searching for an escape route.

Wood smirked and held up his empty bowl. “You’re standing in front of the sink.”