“I see.” Nathan gestured down the narrow hallway toward the door, a sort of you first.
Jason’s pulse picked up a few paces. “Oh.” He floundered. “I guess I’ll wait—it’ll be locked.”
“Nonsense. None of these old locks have their keys anymore.”
Right.
His scalp prickled with sweat.
So. This was happening.
He moved to the bathroom door and slunk quietly through it, his back towards the interior. He shut the door and a towel fell off the back of it. Over the gushing water behind him he could hear a high humming. Rebecca Clarke’s “Piano Trio”?
He forced himself not to whirl around in surprise. It was a well-known piece. Anyone might hum it without even realising what it was, except . . .
Never mind that. The door. He’d focus on that for the time it took Nathan to move on down the hallway, then he’d sneak out as softly as he came in and dive into Owen’s bed. Enough adventure for tonight. Leotards would have to wait.
The sounds of Owen showering behind him were like a waterfall of shivers down his back. He pressed one ear against the door, hoping he might hear if the hallway was clear. Useless. He sank onto his knees on the soft towel and peered through the old keyhole.
A flash of movement.
Floorboards creaking, and the pad of paws. A voice, Renee’s this time, urging Mary to follow.
But Mary—that was the flash of movement he’d seen—was approaching the bathroom. Great. How long would he be trapped in here—
A rumble of plastic on runners.
Gosh. It’d gone awfully quiet . . .
“Christ!”
Jason froze as steam and Owen’s shock flooded over him, hot and moist on his bare legs and nape.
This was . . . not ideal.
Renee was close, possibly within earshot. It wouldn’t make sense for Jason’s ‘boyfriend’ to be too shocked by his being in here. In fact, a boyfriend might enjoy being joined in the shower.
On the other hand, this whole thing was fake and Owen might not appreciate this level of intrusion into his privacy. Jason’s palms grew clammy where they were pressed—along with his face—against the door. How to handle this?
In his panic, voice husky with nerves, he blurted, “Mmm, nice surprise I hope?”
Short silence and stirring air. “Definitely a surprise. Can I?”
A naked foot landed by his knee, and Jason caught a glimpse of a wet leg. A wall of heat buffered up close behind him and Jason didn’t understand what Owen was doing. With a little jolt of confusion rushing through his hammering chest, he twisted around.
Owen was close, a foot away, not much more.
He was dripping wet.
Entirely naked.
Jason had seen most of this before. The broad shoulders and thick, wet chest hair plastered to bronzed skin. Abs that glistened and tapered. Long legs corded with muscle.
What had been a mystery, covered by boxers, was . . . very much unravelled and mere inches from his face.
A curly patch of dark pubic hair surrounded a thick shaft that hung between Owen’s thighs, half-mast. Perfectly proportioned. It painted a picture of what Owen might have just taken care of, and Jason felt the rising urge to . . . perhaps shower as well. It would be a great way to de-stress after the day they’d had.
Jason blinked, hurriedly jerking his gaze upward. Owen had said something . . . Jason swallowed. “Can you what?”
Owen looked at him with incredible calm and not an ounce of embarrassment. No, all that was rammed into Jason’s cheeks. “You’re on my towel, sweetheart.”
Jason dropped his gaze to the floor with another glance over Owen on the way. His towel. Oh, right. He scrambled off it, tumbling forward in his rush, and Owen had to plant a palm on his forehead, fingers sliding into his hair, to stop him falling against his privates.
“Wow,” Jason lifted the towel between them, laughing at himself. “You’d think I’d never been around a naked man before.”
“Perhaps just not one you’ve responded to?” It was a quiet question. No judgements. No teasing.
Jason laughed anyway. He couldn’t help it. It was either this or give in to a rather strange urge to sob, and he’d been strange enough this evening already. “Maybe.”
Owen’s fingers stilled in his hair and slid out again, a soft drag that he felt echo in his toes.
A rough panting sounded, and Jason’s eyes widened with horror. “Not me,” he said, although his breath was not exactly the smoothest. “Mary.”
Somehow, he got to his feet without making more of a fool of himself, and Owen tucked the towel around his waist—something Jason caught reflected in the mirror. He really should try harder not to gawk.
Was the hallway free now? Could he run away?
Owen crowded him toward the door and Jason’s breath hitched. Their eyes caught, panicked vs. controlled. “It’s all right. I’m here for you. Come.”
Owen opened the door, and the strange elation that had sprung up in Jason’s veins dissipated. Oh. Of course. He’d been talking to Mary.