His Hart's Command (Nothing Special 6)

Soon. Be patient.

Hart

His heart was hammering so hard he decided to stay leaning against the rough concrete instead of trying to walk toward his bike. He could do nothing but stare after Free’s gorgeous ass. His head reeled at what Free had confessed. All the admissions Free had willingly given up, with no clue how much his words had affected him.

“The more hair the better.” That was what Free had just admitted. There was no way that could be true. Teresa had threatened him with divorce only two years after they were married as Hart’s hair got thicker around his groin…shit, thicker everywhere. It was a hereditary trait that ran through the men in his family. It wasn’t something he could control. He hadn’t used to be self-conscious about it, but as the years of verbal abuse progressed…Teresa had made sure he’d had plenty of shaving cream and razors. He’d rather have had a root canal than shave his body hair, but he’d done it for her. To keep the peace. To be allowed to sleep in his bed.

What if Free did get turned on by it? Really found it sexy. He’d be in for an abundant treat. Oh my Lord. Tell me he didn’t mean it. Hart’s neglected dick throbbed painfully in his cargos. The mere thought of his flaws being a turn-on to the young, brilliant guru gave Hart hope like he couldn’t imagine.

“You guys weren’t out here long?” God asked.

“Not bad. I don’t think.” Hart stood stunned.

God laughed and grabbed him around his shoulders. “Get your ass back inside. We need to talk some more, man. I know just what you need to do to catch that stud.”

“I hope it’s better than that, ‘just play it cool’ mumbo-jumbo you gave me earlier,” Hart grumbled.

God snorted, dragging Hart back inside the bar, “Nope. I’m about to give you some of my best stuff. Trust me. Your eyes are as good as rolled back, my friend.”

Hart turned off the engine and walked his bike into the garage. He took his time cleaning the small amount of road grime from the chrome while he thought of how the night had gone. Free had flirted with him—there was no mistaking that. He wasn’t sure why the beautiful man wanted to waste his time teaching an old dog new tricks, but he’d enjoy the company for as long as he could.

His smile faded when he thought about the what-ifs. He was a police officer, of course he was a master at assuming possibilities. What if he and Free did start to hang out more, and he started to like him—a lot—but Free didn’t want to get too serious? What if he fell hard and Free wanted to see other people? What if he ended up making a ton of assumptions that a man as fine as Free would actually want to be his, and ended up becoming the laughingstock of the precinct? Shit.

“Shut up. He’s not that kind of guy.” He gritted out, tossing the dusty rag into the bin beneath the work shelf.

He closed his garage and went inside. His house was a little warm since he didn’t run the AC too high when he was out of town. There was also a delicious aroma shocking his senses the closer he got to his kitchen. His single-family, three-bedroom home was small compared to most houses on his street. But it was all his, and he’d put a lot of love into making it that way. When he turned the corner into the cozy eat-in kitchen, he saw the deep dish of untouched lasagna on the stove, with at least a two-inch thick layer of gooey mozzarella cheese on the top.

“Oh, come on.” Hart bent over the stove and took a long whiff. His traitorous stomach growled. He shouldn’t eat it. He should call Teresa and tell her he didn’t need her to bring him food, and to not use his spare key anymore without his permission, like he’d already asked. But, damn, it smelled heavenly. After his real mother had passed away a few months ago, his ex-wife had actually felt bad and started doing some of the things his mom used to help him with after Teresa had dumped him. The main one was feeding him. He swiped the note written in his ex’s flowing cursive from his refrigerator.

You probably haven’t eaten properly the whole time you were gone. Here’s a triple-veg lasagna for you. And you’re welcome for the clean sheets. Try to be mindful of cleaning up behind yourself. The stove was dirty and the refrigerator had food stains.

Hart balled up the paper and slammed it onto the counter. She wasn’t his momma. She wasn’t even his wife anymore! He’d never made a bigger mistake than helping Teresa get a job at the police station as a clerk typist in their records department. The alimony hadn’t been enough to sustain her, so she’d needed additional income, and of course anything not going right in her life, he still had to fix.