Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
For several minutes Jack sat slumped over the table, his head in his hands. Though he knew it was unfair, a part of him wanted to blame Will—if only he hadn’t followed Jack home. If only he hadn’t seduced him in the first place. No. That wasn’t fair. Jack was a grown man. He hadn’t been seduced—he’d gone willingly into whatever the hell it was he and Will shared.
Will…
With a start he realized he’d left Will alone the workshop. Jumping from the table, he hurried through the living room but when he got there, Will was gone. Jack spied the pale green T-shirt he’d practically ripped from Will’s sexy body in his lust. It lay on the floor in a puddle, the only proof Will had been there at all.
Jack stepped toward it, bending down to grab it. He clutched it in his fist, dragging it over his face. He could smell Will on it—his particular citrusy, spring soap sort of scent with an underlay of pure masculine musk. The scent evoked Will’s presence so strongly Jack nearly cried out his name. He bit his lip instead, so hard he almost drew blood. With a heavy heart he walked to the door that led outside and opened it. Will’s fancy sports car was nowhere to be seen.
“What have I done?” Jack said aloud.
He reached into his pocket and flipped open his cell phone. He punched in Will’s number and waited, his heart beating jerkily. Instead of Will, he got his voice mail. Having no idea what to say, he hung up.
He moved slowly, feeling as if he’d been a fight. He felt battered and bruised as he hauled himself through the room. He was heading toward the liquor cabinet, which he hadn’t touched since he’d confessed to Anna he might be a drunk.
He opened the cabinet door, reaching behind ancient bottles of tonic water and bitter lemon for the unopened bottle of bourbon a customer had given him along with payment for a job. Not even bothering with a glass, he took the bottle with him to his recliner and sank into it. He twisted off the cap and tipped the rim to his lips, glad for the burn as the liquor went down.
When Will got home, he retrieved his forgotten cell phone. He saw the missed call from Jack and sighed with relief. He’d called. He pushed the button to call him back, pressing the phone to his ear as he sank onto the sofa in front of the fireplace.
“You’ve reached Jack Crawford of Affordable Improvements. I’m sorry I can’t take your call at this time…”
Will closed his phone. He didn’t want to leave a message. He checked his own voice messages, but there was nothing from Jack. Damn.
A part of him was tempted to get into his car and drive straight back to Jack’s house. When Jack had gone to the kitchen with his son, Will had waited several minutes for him to return to the workshop. When he’d heard the raised voices, the word faggot drifting to his ears, his brain had done a temporary short circuit, and he’d found himself in his car, his hand shaking as he tried to fit his key into the ignition.
On the twenty-minute drive home, he’d had time to collect his thoughts somewhat. He realized he shouldn’t have run away. Jack was definitely going to be in need of a sympathetic ear once his bigoted son quit the scene.
He stopped himself. The two of them had gotten themselves into trouble in the past by not calling first. Better to let Jack know he wanted to come back. Better to gauge if Jack even wanted him to come back. For all he knew, Jack might have done a one-eighty, succumbing to his son’s invective—claiming temporary insanity for his lapse of heterosexuality.
Before he could think himself out of it, Will flipped open his phone and called Jack again. Again it went to voice mail, Jack’s gravelly, sexy voice apologizing for being unavailable. Damn it. Where was he? This time Will left a message.
“Jack? It’s Will. I’m worried about you. Please call me.” I love you. He wanted to add those words. He very nearly did, biting them off at the last second. Maybe Jack wasn’t ready to hear them, especially not now. Will wondered if Jack was ready to feel them, but he knew it was too late for that.
He sat, waiting, too jittery and distracted even to go get a fresh shirt from his bureau. He sat for ten minutes, for twenty, for an hour. Still Jack didn’t call him back. He thought of calling again. Maybe he hadn’t gotten the message? Maybe Eric had only just finally gone. Or maybe he was still there?
Will punched in the number one more time, telling himself this was it. He wasn’t going to sit like a lovesick idiot, pining for someone who might no longer want anything to do with him.