Chapter 4

I shrug. “Just, you know. The motion I guess.”

His gaze drifts from my face down to the bulge in my boxers and those eyes harden. “What about this?” he asks with a poke at the front of my shorts. My hard cock sways at his touch like a drunk sailor reeling for another drink. “Don’t tell me you got this just from watching Home Improvement.”

Too late, I realize he’s mad at me. Hoping to lighten the mood, I give him a nudge. “That Al guy is kind of cute. He sort of looks like you.”

At another time, Timothy might’ve laughed—he has that same beard, though his is laced with gray, and he also favors flannel shirts and blue jeans when he’s not in skivvies or his work uniform. But at the moment he’s pissed, and whatever feel-good afterglow once enveloped us is gone. When he stands, I make a half-hearted grab for his hand but he pulls away. Without another word he storms out of the living room and down the hall. Two seconds later, I hear the bedroom door slam shut.