Wood: A True Lover's Story

Wood took his time walking down the hall, enjoying the view of Trent’s firm physique in a pair of loose cutoff sweats and a white T-shirt stretched across his toned shoulders, while he tended to whatever he was cooking on the stove. The sight was sexy as hell to him, and he didn’t stop his advance until he was standing directly behind Trent and looking over his shoulder.

“Mmm,” Wood purred. “Smells good. I love sausage.”

“Fuck.” Trent jumped and struck Wood in his stomach with his elbow. There wasn’t near enough force in it to hurt him, and Wood ended up laughing as he held his hand over his stomach.

“You’re giving me love taps already.” Wood eased to the side and leaned against the counter as he watched Trent flip the meat over. When he finished, his roommate turned to face him, appearing ready to go in on who-knows-what when those pretty eyes got as wide as saucers.

“Where the fuck are your clothes?” Trent yelled.

Chapter Twelve

Trent

“Jesus!” Trent tried to look away, but it was as if his brain was telling his eyes that there was nothing more fascinating to see at the moment than Wood standing before him, clean, wet, and bare-chested.

“I’m hot. You got the thermostat set on seventy-six… that’s too high. Besides, I do have clothes on,” Wood said calmly.

“No you don’t!” Fuck me. He’s playing again. Trent marched across the tight space and snatched the Sharpie and household rules off the refrigerator, tearing a piece of the corner in the process, and began to quickly scribble, “New rule! Clothes must be worn at all times. Top and bottom.”

Wood was shaking his head with an unfazed smirk on his face that made Trent’s blood simmer as he taped the paper back in place. He returned to the stove determined to focus on his dinner and not his roommate—who for some reason didn’t understand the meaning of boundaries.

“For as old as you are, I’d think you’d understand personal space,” Trent teased.

Wood took a half step to the side, barely moving at all. “Sorry. Am I too close?”

Trent scoffed, cutting his eyes to one of Wood’s stiff nipples, then hurrying to look away.

“That smells good. Is there enough in there for me?” Wood asked politely.

Trent rolled his eyes, knowing he’d sound like a complete asshole if he said no and ate the entire link of sausage by himself while Wood’s stomach was growling loud enough for him to hear. “A small amount, but don’t think I’m going to be your cook. If you don’t know how, then I suggest you watch a Food Network show or something.”

“I can cook.” Wood smiled down on him, and Trent narrowed his eyes so he didn’t get lost in the expression. “At least I think I still can, anyway. Some things you just never forget how to do no matter how long it’s been… am I right, Trent?”

Wood’s voice was loaded with suggestion, and Trent knew he should’ve called him on it… but for some reason… he didn’t. Trent poked at their dinner with his tongs when he realized he was still staring at Wood’s chest. He had silken straight, light gray—but mostly black—hairs lying slick across his broad pecs. The hair trailed down his muscled torso and into his loose pants that were riding so low Trent could see the edging of Wood’s dark pubic hairs. Trent felt his pulse skyrocket the lower his gaze went. There was just so much to see. Wood’s entire body, his arms, his stomach, his entire fucking chest was an array of bright blooming flowers and nature.

“You got any tattoos?” Wood asked, as he simply stood there and took the eye-fucking Trent knew he was giving him. But it was so hard for him not to stare. What had Wood expected him to do?

“No. I never understood people who get one or two tattoos and then feel they have to turn their entire body into a work of art.” Trent groaned, thinking that hadn’t come out right. His jab had sounded more like a compliment.

“Is that what you see when you look at me? A work of art?” Wood asked, his voice gliding deliciously over Trent’s body the same way the pellets of water were dripping down Wood’s throat.

“What’s to go with the sausage, or are we just eating straight meat like carnivores?” Wood glanced around. “No sides?”

Trent banged the tongs on the edge of the frying pan. “If you want a three-course meal, then fix it yourself.”

“Sure.” Wood licked his smooth lips. “Maybe I will. You want me to cook for you, Trent?”

“Whatever.” Trent turned away to hide his smile, trying to pull off the nonchalance he didn’t feel. Wood was clearly flirting, and so far Trent had yet to admit he liked it… or disliked it. And the more he showed out, the further his roommate amped it up. While Wood was busy looking at his phone, Trent decided to let his eyes roam because the fight not to was giving him another headache.