Noah settled the pen on firm skin amid hoarse morning laughter. “Won’t be mine, promise.”
Noah steadied his strokes. His breath, leaving him in short bursts, sounded wanton. Wade watched him, eyes half-lidded, with only the slightest blush when his boxers grew a damp spot.
Each line of black ink crackled the air with tension until it was impossible to keep his hand steady.
“Talk.”
“Are you nervous, Noah?”
Noah scowled at him. “Talk about something else.”
Wade’s other leg squeezed up against his back. Comfort. “Where did you learn to play pool like that?”
“The longest trip to Australia of my life.”
“You say it with a smile.”
“My brother has a certain misadventurous charm to him. He sees something and goes after it, then sees something else a little shinier and goes after that, and I . . . well, I follow to make sure he doesn’t die.
“A few years back we found ourselves in the middle of a desert town of two hundred, stranded at a pub, and this pool champion Harley Irish gives us room and board and trains us how to wield a cue. It was all fun and games until we realised he wanted us to scam tourists. Anyway, I found a trucker who was happy to take us back to Sydney, where Zach got us into the next wee pickle.”
Wade stared at him. Like he had last night, at the pub. Just before he’d crowded him to the wall. A shiver raced to his crotch.
“I need you to pop your dimple again.”
“You’re some brother.”
The ink in Noah’s pen struggled through the clamminess of Wade’s inner thigh. Noah kept on, imagining the lines there. “We’d both of us be dead without one another. Him physically, and me inside. It’s because I race after him that I end up with all these adventures under my belt, and . . .” He paused, his pen at the edge of Wade’s boxer briefs. “I wouldn’t change it for the world.”
Wade pushed into a sitting position and glanced down at Noah’s imaginary lines. Slowly, he looked up. Their eyes met, his dark and desperate. “Noah?”
“Yes.” Noah dropped his pen, clasped Wade’s nape, and kissed him. It was like the night before, but with less held in reserve. Noah pushed Wade to the bed, straddling his hips, locking those gorgeous arms to the mattress. He rocked their crotches together and ate Wade’s groan.
Their kiss grew deeper, and Noah forced himself to pull back.
Wade nodded; he understood.
Noah dropped a softer kiss to his earlobe. “Not today, but there’s something I’m better at than pool.”
Sun glittered on Wade’s Mustang. Beautiful, like the entire morning had been.
Noah halted, and Wade stopped abruptly too.
An impressive-looking bird hung upside down from a branch over the car, its olive-brown plumage clashing with the emerald paintwork below. Its gracefully curved beak burrowed into its feathers, then it flipped itself upright and—
“Noah, is that a kea? Why is there a kea shitting on my bonnet?”
Noah chuckled. “Kea are green and live in the alps. That’s a kaka. I love kaka!”
“I might love it more if it were doing this to a Civic.”
“Really? I quite like those.”
Wade levelled him a look that promised they’d talk about that later. “I don’t want to lose points by mistreating a psychopathic parrot. Do you think you could . . . handle—oh God, there’s another one!”
Laughter reached up from deep inside Noah, and Wade rested his toolbox on the asphalt and folded his arms.
“Do I have to beg?”
“Unfortunately there’s little to do, Wade. Just hop toward the car with a bit of noise and they’ll fly off.”
Wade followed behind Noah with a jangle of his keys.
The cheeky birds vacated their branch in an explosion of ruffling feathers just they as reached the doors, surprising Wade into a backward step. Noah shook his head, grinning, and they slung themselves into the car.
He looked over at Wade sharply. “Wait. The car’s broken.”
“Hmm?”
“It’s the whole reason we’re stranded here.”
“Shoot. I forgot. Um.” Wade pulled the key from the ignition. “Right. I’ll . . .” He started to open his door and dropped his hand. He sank back against the seat.
Noah’s pulse ticked.
Was there . . . nothing wrong with this car? Had he . . . made it all up . . .
Wade made a fuss about double-checking he had the tools he needed and left for the garage. He returned five minutes later—less, maybe—and smiled as he rocked up to Noah waiting on the curb.
Noah raised a brow. “Did they have ‘the bit’?”
“Sure did.” Wade lifted the bonnet and set about tapping things with various tools.
Noah folded his arms and watched.
Pretend or not, this . . . tinkering with the guts of the car was Wade’s element.
His body curved over the engine, moulded intimately against the front, muscles under the thick layer of his t-shirt undulating, all graceful. His arms flexed, biceps, triceps. Legs shifted, jeans tightening at the arse . . .
