be something in the basement,” he said slowly. “But I’m not sure. Everything is sorted down there -- it’s a lot of stuff that was my mom’s, but it’s all shelves or in labeled boxes. My Dad is pretty organized.”
“You want me to go check?”
“Better you than me,” Kit said with a laugh. “The trip back up could be an issue.”
“Hey, am I allowed to poke around for boxes labeled baby pictures?”
Kit’s jaw fell open, then snapped shut. “You could, but you won’t find any.” The baby photos were all safely in an album not six feet from where they were, under a coffee-table book about Scotland.
“How come?”
“Because I know where they are, and they aren’t in the basement.”
“Cool -- we can look at them when you’ve finished with the massage.”
“I don’t think that was part of the bet.” Kit was not going to show off his baby photos. Oh, hell, no.
“No, it wasn’t, but I thought it might be a nice after-massage activity.”
Kit had been planning on drinking beer and eating pizza as an after-massage activity. “We’ll see,” he said, not intending to give up any baby pictures at all. “Now, since I’d rather like to touch you, we should get this whole thing underway, don’t you think?”
Neil rolled his eyes. “Perv.”
“Don’t you want me to touch you?” Kit was pretty sure Neil did, indeed, want that.
“Shut up. Where’s this much vaunted basement of yours?”
Grinning but resisting the victory fist pump, Kit directed Neil to the basement door. “The room on the right is all storage and the one on the left is what Dad calls his workshop. I think it’s where he hid from Mom, but what do I know? I’ve never been married.”
“And the stool would be...” Neil pointed to the right and to the left.
“Beats me. Try Dad’s shop.”
“Gee, thanks.” Neil laughed and headed down the basement.
Kit hung out at the top. “I’ve only lived here since the accident,” he protested. “I haven’t been down in the basement for years. If there’s monsters don’t tell me; I have to sleep tonight.”
Neil came trotting back up the stairs, a little stool in hand. “No monsters -- just me.”
“Huh, and we even have a stool. Although you do realize that this way won’t be nearly as much fun as lying down. Maybe next time I’ll swim faster than you.” Kit grinned and headed back to the living room.
“Ha! See? I did win.”
“Only in the very strictest sense of the word.” Kit gestured toward the living room. “After you.”
“Only in the sense that I beat your ass at the lap, and now I get the prize. I’m pretty sure that’s the very definition of winning.” Neil waved the stool around. “Where do you want me?”
“Where you’re not ready to be,” Kit told him with a sunny grin. Honesty could be a weapon sometimes, and all was fair in love, war, and winning bets. “But for now I think that over there by the couch would be fine. You can sit in front of me and then flop onto it when we’re done. I have magic fingers, you know.”
“I’m hoping you do, because otherwise this was a bit of a dud as a prize.” Neil gave him a wink and set the stool by the couch before sinking onto it.
Kit snorted. “I’ve been using my hands for weeks and weeks now to compensate and navigate. I’ll make your spine melt.” Kit rolled up behind Neil and locked his wheels. “By the way, my father was wondering when he should buy me a cane -- he’s got his eye on a fancy walnut number he figures he’ll use when he’s old and I’m mobile.”
“Tell him to get it. The sooner you have that carrot in front of you, the quicker you’ll get there.” Neil sat there, waiting for him to start, not making any attempt to take his shirt off or anything.
Kit weighed his options. He could be bold, he could be blunt, or he could be seductive -- which was probably the nicest, but the most likely to get him in trouble with Neil. Dropping his hands to Neil’s
“You want me to go check?”
“Better you than me,” Kit said with a laugh. “The trip back up could be an issue.”
“Hey, am I allowed to poke around for boxes labeled baby pictures?”
Kit’s jaw fell open, then snapped shut. “You could, but you won’t find any.” The baby photos were all safely in an album not six feet from where they were, under a coffee-table book about Scotland.
“How come?”
“Because I know where they are, and they aren’t in the basement.”
“Cool -- we can look at them when you’ve finished with the massage.”
“I don’t think that was part of the bet.” Kit was not going to show off his baby photos. Oh, hell, no.
“No, it wasn’t, but I thought it might be a nice after-massage activity.”
Kit had been planning on drinking beer and eating pizza as an after-massage activity. “We’ll see,” he said, not intending to give up any baby pictures at all. “Now, since I’d rather like to touch you, we should get this whole thing underway, don’t you think?”
Neil rolled his eyes. “Perv.”
“Don’t you want me to touch you?” Kit was pretty sure Neil did, indeed, want that.
“Shut up. Where’s this much vaunted basement of yours?”
Grinning but resisting the victory fist pump, Kit directed Neil to the basement door. “The room on the right is all storage and the one on the left is what Dad calls his workshop. I think it’s where he hid from Mom, but what do I know? I’ve never been married.”
“And the stool would be...” Neil pointed to the right and to the left.
“Beats me. Try Dad’s shop.”
“Gee, thanks.” Neil laughed and headed down the basement.
Kit hung out at the top. “I’ve only lived here since the accident,” he protested. “I haven’t been down in the basement for years. If there’s monsters don’t tell me; I have to sleep tonight.”
Neil came trotting back up the stairs, a little stool in hand. “No monsters -- just me.”
“Huh, and we even have a stool. Although you do realize that this way won’t be nearly as much fun as lying down. Maybe next time I’ll swim faster than you.” Kit grinned and headed back to the living room.
“Ha! See? I did win.”
“Only in the very strictest sense of the word.” Kit gestured toward the living room. “After you.”
“Only in the sense that I beat your ass at the lap, and now I get the prize. I’m pretty sure that’s the very definition of winning.” Neil waved the stool around. “Where do you want me?”
“Where you’re not ready to be,” Kit told him with a sunny grin. Honesty could be a weapon sometimes, and all was fair in love, war, and winning bets. “But for now I think that over there by the couch would be fine. You can sit in front of me and then flop onto it when we’re done. I have magic fingers, you know.”
“I’m hoping you do, because otherwise this was a bit of a dud as a prize.” Neil gave him a wink and set the stool by the couch before sinking onto it.
Kit snorted. “I’ve been using my hands for weeks and weeks now to compensate and navigate. I’ll make your spine melt.” Kit rolled up behind Neil and locked his wheels. “By the way, my father was wondering when he should buy me a cane -- he’s got his eye on a fancy walnut number he figures he’ll use when he’s old and I’m mobile.”
“Tell him to get it. The sooner you have that carrot in front of you, the quicker you’ll get there.” Neil sat there, waiting for him to start, not making any attempt to take his shirt off or anything.
Kit weighed his options. He could be bold, he could be blunt, or he could be seductive -- which was probably the nicest, but the most likely to get him in trouble with Neil. Dropping his hands to Neil’s
Similar Books
