skin is more important for now.”
Later? Like after Tuesday? Jensen sometimes talked like Tuesday wasn’t a deadline. That he would go to the doctor’s and nothing would change. That he could still live here. Still make Jensen his tea every morning, and still go to sleep every night listening to him reading a story.
The first touch of the razor was so light. Jensen wasn’t pressing down at all. He rinsed the razor and repeated the same smooth motion. Sometimes he would direct Dash to tilt his head or lift his chin with the pressure of his finger. Sometimes he murmured praise or checked he was okay, but mostly Jensen just let Dash drift with each sliding motion.
“This is cold water, sorry,” Jensen warned him before he used a clean cloth on his cheeks and chin. “The warm water opens your pores. The cold closes them so they can regenerate.
“Later, when we know how your skin will react, you can repeat the whole process before the cold water if you want to try for a closer shave, but to be honest I don’t think you’ll ever need it.” Dash heard the click of a tube, and then Jensen smoothed some moisturizer onto the shaved areas, then dabbed his skin dry.
Dash still hadn’t opened his eyes and smiled when he heard the gentle chuckle. “You look like another nap wouldn’t hurt.”
Dash opened his eyes reluctantly, but Jensen was so close. His warm breath slid over Dash’s skin like his fingers had. Dash desperately wanted to close the gap, to touch his lips, to feel the rest of him, but Jensen cleared his throat and stepped back. And the moment was gone.
“I’m going to let you get dressed and make breakfast.” Then Jensen seemed to nearly bolt from the room. Dash looked down at himself, suddenly aware that he was hard. Very hard, and that it would have been noticeable to anyone with eyes. Was that why Jensen had fled? Did the thought of Dash getting aroused panic him, or even worse disgust him?
Dash blew out a breath. His happy mood fizzled out nearly completely, but then he thought about what Jensen had said last night and this morning. That there were two sides to everything? And an utterly amazing thought entered Dash’s mind. He’d noticed Jensen was hard the couple of times he’d sat on his knee. What if Jensen was attracted to Dash but felt guilty? What if Jensen didn’t want to put any pressure on Dash or make Dash think he was obligated to encourage Jensen’s interest because he was staying here.
If he was right, then the only way of making Jensen change his mind would be if Dash showed his touches were welcome, but he could be wrong, very wrong. Jensen was a gorgeous-looking, successful businessman, and Dash? Well, Dash wasn’t.
He quickly got a shower and dressed knowing breakfast would be ready soon. He hadn’t had any more mental breakthroughs and wasn’t sure what—if anything—he could do, but it was worth thinking about.
“Good, it’s nearly ready.” Jensen smiled approvingly as Dash hurried into the kitchen. Two poached eggs on toast and the usual fruit cup adorned the plate. He had a choice of juice, cold milk, or tea, and he went with juice. They ate in companionable silence, but sure enough, Jensen was soon answering what seemed like a ton of texts. He frowned after the fifth one and looked apologetically at Dash. “I know it’s Sunday, but I kind of took the last couple of days off.”
“Go,” Dash shooed him. “I got this.” Within no time at all, Dash had the kitchen cleared. He decided the fridge needed a clearout and a clean which progressed to the pantry, and before he knew it, it was eleven o’clock and he thought Jensen would appreciate a cup of tea, and maybe a cookie leftover from the ones that Ellie had brought with her and would be still good.
He looked rather longingly at the huge garden while he waited for the kettle to boil. The roses were lovely, but Gran would have had him growing carrots and cauliflower on the shady part at the end, and probably potatoes beyond that. There was an empty raised bed in full sun when it was out that he could fill with the herbs Jensen would need to make his gorgeous food. If he was still here. The intensity of that thought burned him. He glanced absentmindedly at his fingers. It was a wonder his