Melting - Sean Ashcroft Page 0,38

he licked a stray drop of come from the corner of his lips.

Yeah, okay, definitely the sexiest person I’d ever slept with. I was so attracted to him it was ridiculous, and if I’d thought that’d go away, I’d been so wrong.

“Umm.”

Hayden looked between me and the door, a thousand emotions flitting across his face before he settled on… defeat.

“… yes?” he called back, voice meek.

I had to cover my mouth to stop myself from laughing.

“Lower volume next time,” Mr. Lewis said. “Or you’re crashing on Wes’s couch.”

My teeth dug into my fingers, laughter threatening to burst out of me. It wasn’t me this was happening to, so I could laugh all I wanted—except that Mr. Lewis would hear, and we’d be busted, and we still hadn’t talked about how we wanted to handle telling him.

Or not telling him.

“Hey, Dad,” Hayden said. “Speaking of Wes.”

Uh oh.

I did not like the glint in Hayden’s eyes.

“When you’ve got a minute, could you invite him to breakfast?” Hayden asked, looking me right in the eyes. “I’m gonna shower and then start.”

“Gimme five minutes,” Mr. Lewis called back, his footsteps fading as he walked away.

Hayden grinned at me, then swooped in and kissed the tip of my nose. “That’s for laughing,” he said. “You’ve got five minutes.”

I scrambled out from under him and grabbed my clothes, debating whether it’d be worth the risk of running to the guesthouse naked but ultimately deciding that if I got caught, it’d be better if I was wearing clothes.

Hayden laughed as I climbed out of the window, darting over and pressing a kiss to my cheek.

“See you in four minutes,” he teased, eyes sparkling with silent laughter. And okay, I was temporarily mad at him for doing this to me, but he was so pretty when he laughed that I couldn’t hold onto the feeling.

That probably meant I was in trouble.

I walked into Mr. Lewis’s kitchen after fixing the shower, sweating straight through my shirt and desperate for a glass of water. I’d had to pull the whole thing apart to fix it, and the sun was not fucking around today.

The kitchen was a disaster zone, bowls and equipment everywhere—more bowls than I’d thought Mr. Lewis even owned—and Hayden was standing in the middle of it, in jeans, an ancient band t-shirt like one of mine, and a frilly floral apron.

My already-dry throat tightened painfully.

Was this what it’d come to? There was a harassed-looking man in a floral apron standing in front of me, and my dick was showing an interest.

But this was Hayden, and he was so obviously in his element, and these jeans weren’t quite as good as the other pair but his ass was still incredible, and the bare feet were the most adorable touch.

I kind of wanted him to bend me over the counter while he waited for the ice cream machine to finish whatever it was doing. Making ice cream, probably.

How long did that take?

“Wes!” Hayden enthused as he saw me, which wasn’t doing anything to discourage my dick. He looked at me like I was exciting, like he was excited every time he saw me.

My heart did a little backflip as he smiled.

Stop that.

“Just the man I wanted to see. This needs to go in the freezer when it’s done churning, but there’s one I, uh, prepared earlier already in there. I’ve always wanted to say that.”

“Here’s one I prepared earlier?” I asked, taking up Hayden’s usual spot on the opposite side of the kitchen counter.

“I’m a chef,” Hayden defended, the faintest hint of a blush coloring the ridges of his cheekbones. “We all fantasize about saying that.”

“Uh huh.” I nodded. “Whatever you say.”

“We do, some of us just won’t admit it,” Hayden said, adamant. Who was I to argue with that?

“Mere short-order cooks don’t aspire to such lofty dreams,” I said, grinning at him.

“You make the best eggs I’ve ever had,” Hayden said, offhand, like it wasn’t the biggest compliment anyone had ever given my cooking. “There’s nothing mere about you.”

I was so flattered I didn’t know what to do with that. Here was award-winning pastry chef Hayden Lewis telling me that not only did he like my eggs, they were the best he’d ever had.

“So, ice cream?” Hayden asked.

“Hell yes, I’m dying,” I answered, excited to try whatever Hayden had come up with.

I watched his hands as he scooped a blue-green tinted ice cream from one of the Tupperware containers Mr. Lewis never used but wouldn’t throw out no matter