Budding Attraction (Divorced Men's Club, #3)

by Saxon James

Between the water and the soil turned mud, anyone would think I shit my pants. What a beautiful start to the day.

Let’s see him think I’m cute with shit all up my back.

“Great. Have a …” Fuck, what do I normally say? He smiles. “You too.”

I’d always known the guy was hot; I’d just never realized he was fun as well. I’d clearly caught him off guard when I bought the flowers yesterday because today, he’s a thousand percent more comfortable. Probably helps he doesn’t have shit smeared up his back.

“Huh.” I snort at the single-sound answer. “Well, I’m glad I relayed that story.” “I enjoyed it, if that helps?” “Immensely.”

“You gonna bring me flowers?” “If you play your cards right, I’ll even pay.” “Will you put out?” “Not a chance.” I laugh. “Friday it is.” “See you then.” “Bye … sweetheart.” He shakes his head on the way out the door. “Not a date,” he calls.

Orson: You guys know Ford, right? On a scale of one to ten, how likely is he to kill me? Art: Easy nine. Orson: What?

“Not a date.” “Potato-potahto.” “It doesn’t work that way.”

Ford makes an obnoxious buzzer noise. “And that’s the game. Two-one to Ford Thomas. You owe me a lap dance, sweetheart.” My eyes fly wide, but maybe not for the reason he thinks.

“Iusedtobeastripper.” Ford blinks at me. His mouth slowly inches open. “Come again?” “I used to be a—” “Oh no, I got that. I mean, I think I’m about to come again.” He pulls a face and reaches down between his legs. “Fuck me, that’s hot.”

“Tell me, does saying all I can picture is you taking off your shirt and thrusting on that bar top fall under flirting or creeping?” “It definitely toes the line.” We meet eyes. Smiling, always smiling. “But I’ll allow it.”

Griff: So … date with Ford, huh? Orson: Dammit, Art! Ignore him. It was a date. Orson: WASN’T. I meant wasn’t. Payne: … Orson: I meant wasn’t! Fucking autocorrect. We just met up for dinner and kinks. Orson: DRINKS! Art: Oh, this is gold. Orson: You know what, I don’t need to explain myself.

I’m aware that I’ve developed a bit of a crush on the guy, but that side of things is harmless. Crushes come and go. And maybe I should let this one fade away into nothing, but I have genuine fun around him. The kind that floods a truckload of adrenaline into my veins.

“The gooch of day, then.” I snigger. “Do me a favor and don’t wish anyone gooch morning.” “You’re going to take all the fun out of today, aren’t you?”

“Those are buds. The stick part is a stem—if you call it a shaft, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Still straight, Ford.” “Still gay, Orson.”

“What is it?” “I’d rather show you.” “It’s your dick, isn’t it?” “Nah, sweetheart. You’ll only get to see that if you ask really nicely.”

My competency kink is in full overdrive that my florist slash stripper can talk cars with Taylor and hold his own.

“I hate you.” “I get that a lot.” “You’re very smart.” My laugh echoes off the walls of the cool room. “That’s one I don’t get a lot.”

Orson grabs my arm and hauls me into a hug. I freeze at first, caught off guard, because while we wrestle and invade each other’s personal space often, and he literally rubbed up all over my cock the other night, we’ve never just … hugged. Embraced. It’s a whole different dynamic to what I’m used to with him, but before he can freak out and pull away, I swamp him in my arms.

“Wait. Is the fact I’ve noticed Joey’s muscles gay?” “It could be,” Payne says at the same time as Art snaps, “What are you looking at his muscles for?”

“I’m up for a handie if you need practice,” Art offers. I give him a blank look. “Has anyone else told you how generous you are?”

“I won’t know until I do it.” Orson sinks to his knees. Holy fucking shit.

I scowl in an attempt to discourage tears. It’s crushing, all the what-ifs, but I don’t want to turn our night into something negative when it could be the start of a whole new positive for me.

“Do people really find you scary?” “Apparently.” “Because of the tattoos?” “And my size.” I clear my throat. “And apparently, I have RCF.” “Which is …” “Resting criminal face.”

I want that feeling back. To fall in love. And I have a sneaking suspicion that I’ve taken a step in the right direction.

Everywhere he touches me burns in the most incredible way, and it’s been too long since I’ve had this. This gut-swooping, skin-tingling kind of high. I’d resigned myself to the idea I’d never have it again when Ford stomped into my shop with those heavy boots, tight pants, and attitude too big to be contained.

It’s indescribable, the way we feel together. I want to be cool, and I want to take my time, instead of acting like a complete fucking virgin at forty-five, but more than that, I want a chance to enjoy this. To capture this feeling, the bone-melting need mixed with that ballooning in my chest.

He’s their quiet, and I’m their chaos. My grin widens as I think of us like that. Two parts working together.

Crispin pats me on the head. “There’s our Ford. I hope Orson knows your first love will always be cars. Nothing can compete with Darleen.”

But now I have another piece to fit into my life, and he’s jumped in like I’ve always been waiting for him. Like the space was open and ready for him to walk into. Nothing could compete with my love of cars. But I get the feeling Orson wouldn’t try to. And as I watch him laughing with one of the littlies, I also know … well, he wouldn’t have to.

I was hit with this moment where it wasn’t enough. I was inside him, and it wasn’t enough. I get the feeling I’ll always want more when it comes to him.

“I’m scared.” His words take me aback. “Why?” “Because there’s not a single part of me that wants to walk away.” “Isn’t that a good thing?” His laugh is dry. “Most people haven’t had their hearts broken. I have. I should be smarter than this.”