The suburban sun blazed overhead, a relentless tyrant in a cloudless sky, as Alex reclined on his patio chair with all the lazy grace of a cat in a sunbeam. His iced tea, condensation beading down the glass, was a cool relief in his hand, but his eyes were elsewhere—locked on Mike, the landscaper he’d hired on a whim last week. The man was a goddamn sculpture come to life, muscles flexing under bronzed skin as he wielded the hedge trimmer with powerful, rhythmic snips. Each cut of the blade seemed to echo in Alex’s chest, a steady thrum that matched the quickening pulse beneath his ribs.
“Christ,” Alex muttered under his breath, taking a slow sip of his tea, though it did little to douse the heat pooling in his core. The day was sweltering, sure, but it was nothing compared to the fire stoked by the sight of sweat trickling down Mike’s chiseled jaw. A bead rolled down his neck, disappearing into the collar of his worn tank top, and Alex’s mind took a sharp detour into the gutter. He imagined tracing that path with his tongue, tasting the salt of hard work and raw masculinity. His grip tightened on the glass, condensation slipping over his slender fingers, cool and slick, mirroring the fantasies of Mike’s hard body pressed against his own.
He shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other as if that could hide the restless energy buzzing through him. But there was no hiding from himself—not when his gaze kept snapping back to Mike like a magnet. And then, as if the universe wanted to test his restraint, Mike turned his head and caught him staring. Those dark, knowing eyes locked with Alex’s, and a cocky grin spread across the landscaper’s face, slow and deliberate. A shiver raced down Alex’s spine, the tension between them crackling like static in the humid air, sharp enough to cut through the drone of cicadas.
Alex didn’t flinch under that gaze. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, a smirk tugging at his lips as he raised his glass in a mock toast. “Hey, hotshot,” he called out, his voice dripping with a teasing lilt, “you look like you’re melting out there. Why don’t you come over here for a cold drink? Gotta cool off that hot mess of a body before you combust.”
Mike’s grin widened, and he set the trimmer down, wiping his brow with a rag as he sauntered over with the kind of swagger that could stop traffic. “Oh, I’m a mess, huh?” His deep voice rumbled, playful but with an edge that made Alex’s stomach flip. “Seems to me like you’re the one lookin’ thirsty—and I ain’t talkin’ about lemonade.”
Alex laughed, sharp and bright, unfazed by the jab. “Keep dreaming, yard boy. I just don’t want my hedges half-assed because you’ve passed out from heatstroke. Consider it an investment in my landscaping.”
“Landscaping, huh?” Mike shot back, stepping onto the patio and looming just close enough that Alex could smell the faint musk of sweat and earth on him. “Way you’ve been eyein’ me, I’d say you’re more invested in somethin’ else.”
“Oh, please,” Alex scoffed, rolling his eyes even as his pulse kicked up a notch. “I’ve got standards, you know. Not just any sweaty grunt with a pair of clippers gets my attention.”
Mike chuckled, low and rough, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “That so? Guess I’ll have to work harder to impress you then, princess.”
The nickname sent a jolt through Alex, but he didn’t let it show, arching a brow instead. “Call me princess again, and I’ll make you bow, big guy. Now, you want that drink or not?”
Without waiting for an answer, Alex stood, letting his hips sway just a little more than necessary as he led the way into the cool sanctuary of his kitchen. He knew damn well Mike’s eyes were glued to his perky ass, and he reveled in it, a wicked smile tugging at his lips. The air inside was a stark contrast to the oppressive heat outside, but it did nothing to cool the fire simmering between them.
He busied himself at the counter, pouring a glass of iced tea from the pitcher, hyper-aware of Mike’s presence as the man leaned casually against the counter beside him. Their fingers brushed as Alex handed over the glass—a fleeting, accidental touch that sent a bolt of electricity shooting through him. His breath hitched, loud in the quiet room, and he cursed himself for the slip.
Mike’s gaze turned predatory, a slow smirk curling his lips as he took the glass, his fingers lingering just a second too long. “Damn, man, you’re all flustered over a little yard work. Should I be worried you’re gonna faint on me?”
Alex recovered quickly, shooting him a smirk of his own as he leaned a hip against the counter, arms crossed. “Flustered? Hardly. I’m just wondering if you’re as good with your hands indoors as you are out there. Or are you just a dirty dog who needs a good hosing down?”
The double entendre hung heavy in the air, and Mike’s eyes darkened, his grin turning downright sinful. “Careful what you wish for, Alex. I don’t play nice when I get dirty.”
The tension snapped like a taut wire, and Alex couldn’t resist any longer. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that dripped with challenge. “Then show me what else you can trim, Mike. I’m all ears… or, well, other things.”
Mike’s breath hitched, just for a split second, before his hand reached out, calloused fingers tilting Alex’s chin up so their faces were mere inches apart. The heat of their breath mingled, and Alex could feel the raw intensity radiating off the man, a promise of something primal and unrestrained. Those dark eyes bore into his, stripping away every pretense, and Alex’s knees damn near buckled under the weight of that stare. His body screamed to close the gap, every nerve alive with anticipation, a wildfire ready to ignite.
His hand hovered over Mike’s chest, fingertips brushing the damp fabric of his tank top, the unspoken question hanging thick in the steamy kitchen air. Would they cross that line? Or would they teeter on the edge, burning with the almost of it all?
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