Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Rory

“ S hit, shit, shit.”

My vocabulary seemed to have been reduced to a single word as I barrelled around my house. I wasn’t a messy person per se, but I’d worked a lot of long shifts this week. Knowing I had two days off for Christmas and no other plans, I’d left all my cleaning and tidying to do tomorrow.

Which would’ve been fine, if the man of my dreams weren’t on his way over.

I moved through the house like a cyclone, piling my arms high as I went. Rubbish went into the bin. Washing into the basket. Clean clothes hidden in the wardrobe to be sorted properly later.

On top of everything else, I hadn’t been able to find the stopcock. I was only thirty per cent sure Owen wasn’t having me on about it being called that.

I was just slotting the final dirty dish into the miniscule dishwasher when there was a firm knock on my front door. I froze for a moment before cursing at myself.

Pull yourself together, Rory. He’s come out late on a Friday evening. Not just any Friday either, but Christmas Eve. You will not repay his generosity by making the poor man feel uncomfortable.

Slamming the dishwasher shut, I hurried to the door. Pausing with my hand on the latch, I took a steadying breath and arranged my face into what I hoped was a welcoming smile.

By which I mean, welcoming him into my house, not into my arse. I mean, I was very happy to do that too, but Owen was straight. He’d made it clear my attention was unwanted.

I flung the door open to find Owen on my step, dressed in his work clothes. Despite seeing him in this getup on a regular basis, it still made my tongue feel too thick for my mouth. I gobbled up every detail, everything from his warm dark coat to his heavy work boots. He even had a toolbox in one hand. It truly was a porn fantasy come to life.

Ask him if he’s here to inspect your pipes.

I smiled at him, ignoring my filthy inner voice. “Hi. Thanks for coming over.”

“Hey, Rory.” He gestured towards me, smirking slightly as I stayed planted in the doorway. “Can I come in? I’m good, but I’m not sure even I can fix the problem from outside.”

I groaned internally as my cheeks flushed. Fuck, he hadn’t even got inside yet and I’d made it weird. “Of course. Sorry.”

I stepped back so he could enter. A woodsy, cinnamon scent hit me as he passed and I bit my lip. Fuck, he smelled edible. That was the problem with the coffee shop—the scent of coffee covered everything else.

Actually, I didn’t think that was a problem. It was probably a good thing. If I’d known how good Owen smelled before now, I undoubtedly would’ve embarrassed myself even further.

“Kitchen’s straight ahead,” I said. “Go right through.”

Owen paused. “Want me to take my boots off?”

Yes, please, along with everything else.

“No, it’s fine. The floors in here are awful, you’re probably better keeping them on. ”

“Is this a rental?”

“Yeah.” I winced as we stepped into the kitchen and I saw how much the puddle had grown. I hadn’t really paid attention as I was buzzing around tidying up. “The landlord seems more concerned about affording his next strawberry daiquiri than maintaining his properties.”

Owen gave a low whistle as he spotted the problem. “Did you find the stopcock?”

There he went, saying that word again. “Um, no. Sorry. I had a look under the kitchen sink, but I wasn’t really sure what I was looking for.”

There was mischief in his eyes as he glanced at me. “No flaccid penises presented themselves?”

I smacked my hands against my face and groaned. “I’m never living that down, am I?”

A warm hand gripped my shoulder. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. But seriously, most people don’t know that’s what it’s called.”

I opened my fingers just enough to glare at him from between them. “Bet they don’t mention penises though.”

Owen chuckled, seeming far more relaxed than I’d ever seen him at the coffee shop. “Nah, can’t say they do. Might make things more fun for me if they did.”

He squeezed my shoulder before releasing me, and the skin burned under the cotton with the memory.

Lowering my hands, I tried not to ogle Owen as he bent over and glanced into the open cupboard door. I tried, I did.

But then he dropped to his knees, fully bending over as his head disappeared under the sink, and the threadbare denim stretched thin over his plump arse. I shifted on my feet, openly gawking at the delicious sight he presented.

“Ah, got it!” There was the sound of something turning. He said something else, but I missed it. I was too lost in wondering if his cheeks were as squishable as they looked, and how it might feel to bury my face between them .

“Rory?”

I jumped a foot in the air, accidentally catching my toe on the corner of a unit. “Ow! Fucking thing.”

Owen pulled out of the cupboard to see me hopping around, clutching at my foot. “You okay?”

“Yep.” I dropped my foot to the floor, trying to ignore the jolts of pain from my pinky toe. “Sorry, what did you say?”

He frowned in the direction of my foot. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“No more than usual.” That was true. Something about being around Owen seemed to amplify my clumsy nature.

“Hmm.” From how the lines on his forehead deepened, he didn’t believe me. “Do you need to sit down?”

“Nope. I’m good.” And stubborn. I was most definitely that.

Owen opened his mouth as though he was going to argue, before snapping it shut and smiling tightly. “Want me to show you where the stopcock is, so you know for future reference?”

“That’d be great.” I scurried over and dropped to my knees. When Owen didn’t move, I glanced at him questioningly.

“Here.” He ducked his head inside the cupboard. “It’s okay, we can both fit.”

I mean, yes, we could. But not without touching. And while I was sure Owen saw this as nothing other than a plumber educating a client on water safety, that wasn’t how I saw it.

Or, more specifically, how my cock would see it.

After taking a deep breath and sternly warning my body to behave, I copied Owen’s posture and gingerly edged closer. In order to fit, I was going to have to press my entire left side to his right.

As soon as my shoulder brushed his, all my blood rushed south. The situation didn’t improve as the rest of us lined up, making me imagine all the other fun ways I’d like to be lined up with this man.

Fuck, I needed to get laid. Maybe a trip into Cardiff to hit up a gay bar would be a better plan for New Year’s Eve, rather than the one I currently had—sitting on my sofa and eating an entire tin of Quality Street while watching Gavin and Stacey for the millionth time.

In the small space under the sink, Owen’s scent was even more potent. I dragged in a whole lungful, adding it to the memories of this I’d undoubtedly be revisiting later. Alone. In bed.

Owen cleared his throat, like he’d just realised how close we were. “Here, this is it. Turn it this way for on, this way for off.”

“Great,” I squeaked, hurrying out as fast as I could. The last thing I wanted was for Owen to realise I was lusting after him.

Again.

Owen followed slower, studying me with shrewd eyes as he clambered to his feet. “Any questions?”

“Nope. Would you like a tea or coffee?”

He bit his lip as though he was trying not to laugh. “Um, no, thank you. The taps won’t be working right now with the water being off.”

I closed my eyes as I berated myself internally. When I opened them, I could’ve sworn Owen was staring at me. He looked away too fast for me to be sure.

He’s probably wondering if there’s a reason behind your stupidity.

There was, but not one I could share with him. It was just, when I was in the same space as Owen, all common sense and intelligence seemed to vanish like mist.

“I’ll leave you to it,” I said. The last thing he probably wanted was me hovering over him while he worked. “Give me a shout if you need anything.”