Page 7 of In Too Deep

Harrison winced. “Car’s still in town.”

“Figured.”

“And…” He glanced back down the empty lane, then up again. “I’ve got some stuff in storage. Last day I’m allowed the unit before they’ll fine me. If you’re not busy, could use your help?” He angled his head at Jake’s Transit. “Particularly your van.”

“You’re using me.”

“Not my fault there are multiple uses for you.”

“Have a few more if you want them.”

For once, Harrison didn’t ignore it, and he held Jake’s gaze for a beat too long before he said, “Maybe after.”

Fuck.

Apparently, all it took was for two words to make several weeks of voluntary celibacy seem like an excellent life choice.

So Jake grabbed the T-shirt he’d discarded beside his tools and got moving. “Aye, then.”

He took his time coming down the ladder. Not obviously. He had some dignity. But Harrison waiting below with every rung he descended had him all sorts of giddy. Then he hit the ground and stepped towards Harrison until there was barely enough room between them to justify it and made a performance of finding the right way round on his T-shirt. Turned it once. Frowned at it. Turned it again.

Harrison watched him.

More specifically, Harrison tried very hard not to watch him.

Jake bit back a grin. Then he lifted the shirt slowly, raising his arms above his head, knowing exactly what the movement did to his body. Stretched his torso long. Pulled everything taut. He paused before dragging it down, the cotton caught between his hands above him and looked at Harrison through the space between his raised arms.

Harrison caught the hem and yanked it down over Jake’s head. “Put the bloody thing on.”

Jake laughed into the cotton before his face emerged through the neck hole, curls going everywhere. Harrison was still right there, hands momentarily caught at Jake’s sides where he’d dragged the shirt down.

Then Harrison released him and shoved him in the arm. “Get your keys.”

Oh, yeah.

The dry spell might still be worth it.

A moment later, they were in the van, Larkspur Lane disappearing behind them as Jake drove, far too aware of Harrison in the passenger seat. Of the space he occupied. The occasional brush of denim when the van lurched around a bend. The faint scent of him. Usually Harrison smelled clean. Soap, aftershave, whatever expensive shit he probably put on without thinking about it. This morning there was something else beneath it. Something stale and slightly sour that had seeped into his skin overnight.

Alcohol.

Jake knew that smell. Knew it from mornings after gigs and waking beside people whose names he’d occasionally had to work too hard to remember. Booze, sweat, sleep. The aftermath of a night that had gone on longer than intended. And his mind immediately supplied several possibilities involving Harrison and the woman who’d just climbed into that taxi.

Jake told his mind to fuck off and said, “Gazelles.”

Harrison glanced across from the passenger seat. “Sorry?”

“Your trainers.”

Harrison looked down at them. “What about them?”

Jake shrugged, keeping his attention on the road. “You look like you spent the nineties listening to Oasis.”

“Really.”

“That or Blur.”

Harrison shook his head through a laugh.