Wood (A True Lover's Story #2) - A.E. Via Page 0,118

clients?”

“Hell yeah! And we’ve all been paying you good for your help. But that’s not what I hired you for. You’re too damn good to act as a consultant. I need you working too, Wood. Tattooing. It’s your name and designs I’ve been plastering all over Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and—”

Still pressuring! Wood ground his molars as he glanced at his Lyft app on his new iPhone, his ride home appearing stuck in traffic somewhere between Fortieth and Atlantic Avenue. “El, I said I understand. I will draw, just give me some time, all right.”

“You know I took out that loan for the upgrades, and ads, not to mention the cost of the brand-new equipment for your station.”

Wood stared El down until he shrank away, at least having the decency to look guilty.

“Sorry,” he said softly, his gaze on his black tennis shoes.

Wood squeezed El’s shoulder. “I said stop worrying about it. I know what I’m doing, you just have to trust me. You made a bunch of noise about me being here a bit prematurely, but nonetheless, I’m gonna deliver. I just…” Wood glanced up at the clear night sky and deeply inhaled the salty ocean air surrounding him. He was finally back home. “I’m just waiting to feel it.”

“Feel what?” El frowned at him.

“It.”

“What is it and how damn long will it take?” El sighed.

Wood stepped away from the young owner when he heard a car horn. He shrugged slightly. “I’ll know when I feel it.”

Wood got home a little after ten, hoping Trent was still awake. Even though it was Friday, Wood still had to be at the shop early tomorrow. He’d been working on something new, adapting some of the more modern techniques he’d picked up from the young guys and incorporating it into his older designs. Hard lines and deep shadowing mixed with the classic beauty of his landscapes and flowers. He didn’t know what the image was missing, but he knew it was something. And he hoped he figured it out soon.

The trailer was quiet inside when he got home. The dining area and kitchen light were on, but the living room was dark with only the glow from the muted television illuminating the walls. Wood set his portfolio bag on the table and went to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. On the stove was a plate of grilled chicken and wild rice covered with plastic wrap waiting for him. He exhaled slowly, feeling bad that Trent had been forced to eat alone for weeks, each time ensuring there was something set to the side for him.

“Trent,” Wood called out as he removed the cover from his food and popped the dish in the microwave. “I’m home.”

Wood walked down the hall listening for any sound of movement. He couldn’t be asleep already. Maybe he’d had a hard day at work and hurt his back. Wood tapped on Trent’s door and tried to walk in only to find it locked. “Hey.” He knocked harder.

“I’ll be out in a second,” Trent said, sounding out of breath.

Wood’s curiosity was piqued. “Why’s the door locked?”

“Go eat your dinner. I said I’m coming out.”

Okay then. Wood finished his shower and was sitting at the table idly eating his dinner and mulling over the new touches he’d added to his design when he heard Trent’s bedroom door open. “About time. What were you doing in there that was so—” Wood glanced up and dropped his fork, the metal clanging loudly against the side of his plate before it fell to the floor.

He caught the satisfied smirk on Trent’s face as he strolled past in a long, black silk robe and sauntered into the living room. Wood stared blankly, wondering if he’d just seen what he thought he did. Had to be because suddenly his cock was pressing forcefully against his zipper, and his mouth began to water for some meat that wasn’t on a plate in front of him. He got up and discarded the last few bites of his uneaten bites of chicken, quickly washed his hands, then came around the corner into the living room.

“How was work?” Trent asked coolly, lying on the couch with one knee propped against the back cushions and the other resting on the floor. The way his legs were splayed open left absolutely nothing to Wood’s imagination. Trent’s satiny black boy shorts didn’t have near enough material to conceal what he was packing.

Wood slowly walked around the table and sat down at