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“Because,” Hank whispered, gently cupping the sides of Kevin’s face, running his rough, calloused thumb over one of his cheekbones and making him shiver, “unlike Lukas, I think you do need somebody to take care of you. To pamper you. To adore the fucking ground you walk on. And I want a chance to prove that I’m the perfect man for the job.”
A week ago, he’d been determined to avoid the man at all costs, and now his heart felt all melty and swoony and just… gross.
Cross his heart, hope to die, in the name of Casper the friendly ghost. Amen.
