CHAPTER FOURTEEN Dirk

" W here are my clothes?" my guest asked, standing against the kitchen counter. He'd spun himself into the blanket and held it tight to himself.

"I've already seen you in all your glory," I casually stated, slipping the first leg into the briefs in my hand. "Thin for sure, but I liked it."

"What the fuck, creep?" he hissed. He scanned the room. "My clothes?"

"Not sure really. I assume under four feet of snow by now."

"How's that even possible?" he asked.

"I'm betting that you undressed when you rolled yourself up in the tarp. Maybe your clothes were wet?" I asked. He didn't respond to my guess but his brow was furrowed so I knew he was trying to recall what had happened. "Killer move with the tarp though, buddy."

"Thanks," he mumbled. "I'm going to guess that it was you who brought me up here?" I nodded, adjusted my nuts in my underwear, and moved toward him. About two feet away he quickly slid down the edge of the counter so I could crowd past him and get my morning best friend, Mr. Coffeemaker, going. "You actually carried me upstairs by yourself? Which by the way, where are the stairs?" he inquired.

"I did," I responded. "The stairs are located underneath the tower, and carrying you was easy because you're skinny, dude." He ignored the observation. "Coffee drinker?" I asked, backing away and finding a seat at the old dining table. I yanked one of the mismatched chairs from under it and sat down.

"Yes," he answered. "So you're basically saying I have no clothes to wear?" he added.

"Looks like it, my friend."

"Well…uhm…hmm…I can't just hang out naked with you."

"Sure you can," I began. "Unless you can walk through several feet of snow on nonexistent trails, that is. Trust me, your gear as well as your car are buried in snow."

"Shit!" he muttered, slowly stepping toward the table. "May I?" I nodded and watched as he tried to sit while encased in a blanket, swathed tighter than a mummy. "Do you…would you…?"

"Have some clothes for ya?" I answered.

"Do you think I could borrow something?" he asked shyly. He was cute when he was nice and looking like a lost little boy. "I can pay you for them," he added, which I found to be a weird statement.

"Would that be at current market value as used, or would it be at high-demand prices considering you're fucked right now?"

"You're an asshole," he stated.

"That's what you said yesterday," I acknowledged. "Kinda mean considering I saved your life, dontcha think?" My cute little guest was at a loss for words as it sank in that I had actually saved his life. "Wanna retract that?" I asked.

Blake Jensen studied me carefully, unsure how to proceed after I pointed out the facts, not to mention he had to know he was stuck here with me for a minimum of a day or two, depending on the weather. His smooth face blushed slightly. I wanted to reach across the table and move the strands of hair partially covering his left eye that had escaped his well-maintained hair part. My eyes trailed down his lean neck and to shoulders that were covered in smooth, milky skin. He appeared delicate and soft with a dash of boyhood still evident on his masculine face. He was pretty and manly at the same time. He possessed a square jaw with high cheekbones I wanted to touch.

"Thank you," he said softly. I leaned forward like I hadn't heard him, cupping an ear exaggeratingly. "I said thank you," he repeated.

"I know," I teased. "I liked hearing you say the words."

"Why are you such a…?" I held my hand up to remind him not to name-call. "Thank you," he said a third time. "I'm not good at this stuff," he added.

"What stuff would that be?" I inquired. "Being civilized?" He frowned. If looks could kill I would've been shopping for a coffin. "You're cute when you're angry. Anyone ever tell you that?" I asked, standing and taking the three steps to the counter. I grabbed two mugs and held one to him. "Cream and sugar?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered. "I like sugar," he added, watching me spoon some into his mug.

"Gotcha." I kept spooning until at five teaspoons he raised a hand. "You'd think you'd be sweeter," I quipped.

"You'd think," he chuckled, graciously accepting the coffee.

"Then why aren't you?" I asked rejoining him at the table and training my eyes on him. He was quiet but I knew he was thinking about the question. "Never mind. I was just being a prick," I added after the awkward silence.

"Maybe because my boyfriend died a year ago tomorrow?"

That wasn't the answer I'd expected.