Page 31 of Sin Deep
Is tonight okay? I miss you.
Harley looked at his phone, then erased the text.
That sounded fucking needy.
Not that he wasn’t needy, because he was. He hadn’t gone over on Monday because he’d worked ’til eight, and Ollie had been up ’til four a.m. talking to him. So he’d texted and told the truth.
Now it was Tuesday, he was getting off at four, and he wanted to see Winter. Bad.
Can we pls have supper 2nite? I miss your face.
There. Better.
Winter’s response came back quickly.
I miss more than your face. See you tonight, mon petit.
Tonight. I’ll go home, bathe, and head over.Fucking A! That was better than what he’d hoped to hear.
If you just happened to bring an overnight bag I wouldn’t be mad at you.
Good 2 know. See u soon.
The guys were pulling up in his neighborhood, and he waved. “See y’all tomorrow. Have a good one.”
Then he hopped out and headed upstairs. Ollie had apparently gotten ‘spoken to’ about keeping him up all night, and was sort of hiding, so he was glad the man was at work.
He jumped in the shower, not lingering because he wanted to get on with it, get over to Winter’s, and touch that hot man.
When he got out of the shower there was another text waiting for him from Winter.Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you sleep too.
You’re worth being exhausted for.Okay. Tomorrow’s work shirt, jeans, briefs, socks, ditty bag. Then he put on his good jeans, a nice t-shirt, and called for a car, put his boots on, and wrote Ollie a note before he left.
At least this time he knew where he was going. And it was still light enough out that he could see more than headlights and gray buildings flashing by.
He was buzzing—he’d not even gotten a chance to jack off, because Ollie had needed to chat about everything, and then he had crashed and burned.
On my way. I got my bag with me.
I hope you like pasta.Winter sent him a picture of spaghetti boiling in a deep pot.
Oh, yum.Yes please. We’re pulling over now.
He grabbed his bag, excitement flooding him. It was silly, but so true. He was like a goofy kid for Winter.
Winter’s building didn’t have a doorman, but the security guard let him in, called Winter, and sent him on his way. Back of the building, up two flights.
He didn’t run, because he had worked all day, but he didn’t toodle, either. Two flights of stairs was still nothing. The door was ajar when he arrived, and he could smell the pasta cooking.
“Come in, petit. I’m in the kitchen.” Winter’s voice was muted by all the books and soft furniture in the living room.
“Oh, I’m so glad to be here.” He put his stuff down, locked the door, and took off his work boots before going to see his Winter.
“Oh my. Don’t you look delicious.” Winter came right to him and gave him a warm hug, and he knew Winter was really glad to see him.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day, and I didn’t even drop a box.” Harley grinned and squeezed Winter tight.
“Impressive, petit. I didn’t plan anything fancy, just good, old-fashioned spaghetti and meatballs.” Winter pointed to a tall stool. “Sit and rest. You must be exhausted.”
