Page 6 of In Too Deep

That same knowing look.

Oh, fuck off.

She climbed into the taxi. Harrison lingered at the roadside, watching until it pulled away, then turned back to the cottage, sliding his hands into his pockets. Then he tipped his head and looked up again.

Straight at Jake.

Jake dropped his gaze and bent back over the roof, letting his curls fall forward to hide the heat in his face and the stupid fucking thud of his heart.

“Do you want a…” Harrison lifted a hand to shield his eyes as he glanced back up to Jake.

Jake waited for the inevitable offer of a brew. Briefly entertained the possibility of a considerably less respectable invitation, too, before dismissing it. Harrison Black could barely admit he fancied him half the time. There was fuck all chance he was about to proposition Jake from the bottom of a ladder in broad daylight.

Except Harrison didn’t finish the question. His gaze seemed to snag somewhere on the way up, and his brow creased instead.

“Do you have to do it like that?”

Jake blinked. “Like what?”

Harrison made a vague gesture at the roof. Or possibly Jake. Hard to tell.

Jake glanced down the length of his own body as though searching for the problem. Work boots planted securely against the slate. Tool belt slung low around his hips. Bare chest already slick with sweat from the morning sun.

“What?” He looked back down. “You mean work?”

Harrison’s expression flattened.

Jake cocked his head. “You’re staring an awful lot for a man complaining about it.”

“Surely there’s a health and safety risk doing that topless.”

“More of a health and safety risk in distracting a man at height.”

“There’d be considerably less risk if you wore a top.”

Jake chuckled and splayed a hand over his bare chest. “You accusing me of not putting safety first? I’ll have you know I carry all the appropriate protection when I need it.” He glanced down, caught Harrison’s gaze, and licked his lips. “Lubrication, too, when the job requires it.”

Harrison’s jaw tightened, as though physically restraining himself from rising to it.

Jake grinned. There he was. That was the Harrison he’d been missing.

“Love a brew if you’re offering.” Jake smiled down at him, pretending this was easy.

Pretending he could keep doing this.

He could play it slow and easy. Let Harrison set the pace, call the changes, decide when the next beat dropped. He could do that. He was a drummer. He knew what it took to sit back, hold the rhythm, wait for the rest of it to catch up. Pull himself a step behind the tempo when pushing forward would only ruin the track.

Didn’t mean he liked it.

Didn’t mean he didn’t feel every second dragging, every beat he wasn’t allowed to hit.

Harrison turned for the door, then stopped. “Actually… could I ask a favour?”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Currently doing you one, mate.”

“An additional one, then.”

“For you?” Jake smiled. “What d’you need?”