“Maybe you should go easy on weight days, buddy. Try running. It’s a good way to lean out those muscles,” I say. “What am I talking about? Keep the muscles. Just don’t faint on me again, okay?”
He doesn’t answer, obviously. There’s a soft snore near my ear. I need to get up, which I think is going to involve a combination of wiggling while I try to roll him off.
Which sounds far easier than it is. Gavin is dead, smelly weight on top of me. And maybe that’s a good thing, because I think that under different circumstances, I could appreciate all the bare skin and his stubble brushing against my cheek.
By the time I’m able to wiggle enough to get my palms centered on his firm, hot, damp chest, I’m sweating too. This is overall one of the most unsexy, uncomfortable, and unbelievable situations I’ve ever been in. But I do manage to get in a position where I can shift his weight to one side. It involves a lot of rocking back and forth and I am blushing because if Gavin wakes up while I’m pressing against his body this way, I will literally die right here on his hand-scraped hardwood floors.
By the third grunt and roll, I manage to send his body rolling off me. But maybe with a little too much momentum, because the next thing I know, he’s thunking down the two steps into the sunken living area, his head banging on the floor as he goes. He comes to a stop at the edge of the plush gray rug, groaning with a furrowed brow.
I sit up, taking in deep breaths of fresh air without my lungs being compressed by Gavin’s body weight. I hope his head is okay. We might have matching black eyes by tomorrow. I touch the area around my right eye and can already feel the swelling.
“Gavin?”
He doesn’t answer, going back to louder, wet snores, so I manage to get to my feet, taking stock of the situation. I’m drenched in a combination of his sweat and mine. My whole head is throbbing, and Gavin is now two steps down, on the floor of his living room. He’s not going anywhere for now, so I walk to the kitchen, flicking on the lights as I go. Outside, there is just barely a sliver of purple in the sky. The pool has lights inside of it, and I’m tempted to hop right in and cool off.
I locate a bag of frozen peas and press it to the side of my face. What the heck am I supposed to do with Gavin? He’s obviously pretty sick. Feverish and passed out on the floor. I can’t just leave him there, but now he’s down a level. Two steps may not seem like a lot, but his body mass is no joke. While I’m thinking about that issue, I walk around, locating the master bedroom, which is breathtaking.
Behind the kitchen, it juts out from the house with almost a panoramic view, two sides directed toward the river and Austin. The other side faces the trees along the drive where I came in, oaks with their branches twisting over the pavement. His king-sized bed is rumpled with dark gray sheets and a white comforter. The furniture is all dark wood, masculine but not cold. I can see a sleek, modern bathroom that’s all gray and white marble and tile.
I don’t think Gavin’s wealth hit me until seeing his house. I mean, I read the articles. I knew he was a multimillionaire, coming from family oil before he started the successful practice of essentially flipping businesses for profit. I knew he was out of my league. But just how much escaped me. In a way, it calms me.
There is no way that Gavin and I could ever work. The age gap, his income bracket, this place—no. I need some guy who’s like me, just starting to make his way in the business world. Maybe someone a little more established. A doctor finishing up residency. A lawyer who just passed the bar. Someone accessible. Handsome, but not Gavin-level handsome. My bar needs to lower in a big way.
Knowing that, I can handle this. Because it never fully hit me how off-limits he was. Now that I understand it, I can relax.
Well. I can relax as I plan how to get his body from the living room to the bed without some kind of forklift or dolly, two things