windows and closed them. “Don’t want to waste your electricity. And I can wait.”
“Wait? Wait for what?”
A wicked grin spread over Leo’s face. God, the man was so fucking gorgeous. That dimple in the hollow of his cheek alone gave Morgan enough fantasy material for a month.
“For a second batch. I’ll be home all night, watching the baseball game. I gotta go shut off the other alarm now. Bye, 5C.”
Leaving him with his mouth hanging open, Leo sauntered out of the apartment.
Leo was into guys?
And was he flirting? With him?
More importantly, what the hell was Morgan going to do about it?
* * *
SIX
* * *
Shit.
What the hell was he thinking? The door to his apartment slammed behind him, and Leo immediately hit the refrigerator for a beer. Why’d he go and say those things to Cantrell? Like he was inviting him over for a fucking date.
But even as he ran the words through his mind, Leo couldn’t pretend the thought of having that smart-mouthed man under him wasn’t a huge fucking turn-on. Those big, dreamy green eyes…that full mouth sucking Leo’s tongue…
For a start.
Damn. He glanced at his hard-on and shook his head in disgust. What the fuck was wrong with him? Cantrell might be living in a crummy apartment, but Leo knew he wasn’t staying for the long haul. Cantrell was a Nice guy with a capital N, and Leo didn’t have a good track record with Nice guys.
Finished with his beer, Leo stretched out on his couch to watch the ball game. Vague memories of doing this with his father stirred. They’d share a bowl of microwave popcorn while he’d learn the difference between a curveball and a slider. If it was an afternoon game, when it ended, they’d go out in the backyard to practice his throwing. His mother would be out shopping with her friends, but Leo didn’t care. For him, those afternoons alone with his father were the best of times. Once his father was gone, he thought maybe his mother would want to spend time with him, but after the first month, she left him with his grandparents or a babysitter, and he stopped hoping she’d care.
His eyes burned, and he forced himself to pay attention to the screen. He thought about getting up and eating, but he was too lazy and comfortable ensconced on his sofa. During a commercial, he scrolled through the foreclosure sales in Brooklyn and spotted a six-story building in Flatbush. He might be able to get financing for it if he and Peter took the plunge to go into business like they’d planned. He saved the listing and rolled his shoulders, hoping he didn’t overdo the earlier workout and stiffen overnight.
Hearing a movement outside in the hallway, he muted the set. On silent feet, he walked to the front door and peered through the peephole.
Well, well.
He grinned and opened the door, startling Cantrell. A plastic-wrapped plate flew out of his hands.
“Oh, hell no.” Leo grabbed the plate with one hand and Cantrell with the other.
“What’re you doing?” Cantrell yelped, and Leo held him tighter. In fact, the more he held on to Morgan Cantrell, the more he liked it.
“Saving my cookies. These are for me, right?”
“Yeah. Like I said before, a peace offering.” Long, dark lashes fanned down, hiding Cantrell’s eyes, but not the pink of his cheeks. “I know I’m a fuckup, but I really didn’t mean to knock you over.”
Cantrell looked visibly upset with himself, and Leo didn’t like that. He wanted the verbal back and forth and Cantrell’s snarky, quick comebacks.
“Listen, come on in.”
“I don’t want to butt in on your evening plans…” But he made no move to leave.
“My ‘evening plans,’ as you call them, involve laying my ass on the couch and yelling at the Mets for being the losing bastards they are. Now stop arguing with me.” He swung the door open wide and waited.
A swift upward glance from those green eyes, and Cantrell followed him inside and took a seat in the recliner. Leo closed the door and locked it, noticing Cantrell watching his movements. His fingers laced together, and Leo wondered if he was nervous, as it was the first time they were alone by choice. It made him even more curious about who Morgan Cantrell was and how he’d ended up here.
“Want a beer or something else to drink? I have whiskey, tequila…vodka.” He stood by the kitchen counter and pointed to an array of bottles. “Anything you like.” Waiting