Good Bones Read Online Free PDF Page B

to find his bottle opener. When he finally tracked the damn thing down—tucked into his one and only oven mitt—he popped the top and wandered out onto the porch to drink and watch the rain.
    When a figure came slogging through the puddles in his direction, Dylan felt an odd combination of hesitation and excitement. “Hey,” Chris Nock said as he climbed the front stairs, a can of Budweiser in each hand. “I brought you a brew, but looks like you have your own.” His T-shirt—a plain white one this time—was plastered to his body and nearly transparent, highlighting his broad chest and a pair of distractingly erect nipples. His hair was dripping onto his face.
    “I was just finishing this one.” Dylan set the empty bottle near the door—he had no intention to copy his neighbor’s outdoor decorating scheme—and took the offered can. “Thanks.”
    “So it’s okay if I actually show my face for a few minutes, huh? Long enough to play Welcome Wagon. I’m wearin’ pants.” He had this sarcastic little curve to his mouth that Dylan wanted to punch. Or perhaps kiss.
    “I wasn’t trying to be rude last time. I’m sorry.”
    “I get it. You like your privacy.”
    Dylan nodded and sipped at the Bud. He had to turn his head away when Chris tucked damp hair behind one ear. “Yeah,” Dylan said. “It’s pretty much why I moved out here.”
    “You mean you’re not plannin’ to run an organic winery or something? Grow heirloom tomatoes and quinoa? Grind your own wheat for bread?”
    “I’m an architect.” Dylan wasn’t sure why he’d shared that information. It wasn’t really any of this guy’s business.
    Chris chuckled. “Don’t got a whole lotta those in the neighborhood.”
    They stood side by side for several minutes, staring out into the darkness. Chris wasn’t quite close enough to touch, but Dylan could still feel him there, his proximity making the hairs on Dylan’s arms stand up as if he were in an electric field. Dylan could smell him as well—beer and motor oil and cigarettes and a surprising floral scent that was probably shampoo or laundry detergent. The combination smelled rather nice.
    Dylan’s neglected cock twitched and considered coming to life.
    “Fuck,” Dylan mumbled.
    “What? Tired of my company already?” Chris’s smile hadn’t faded.
    “No. Sorry. It’s been a long day, and I was thinking about how much I have to do before the place is really livable.”
    “Yeah, it’s kind of a dump, ain’t it?”
    Dylan scowled at him, but Chris didn’t seem to mean much with his snarky comments. He didn’t seem to easily take offense either. He just kept on grinning and leaned his elbows on the railing. That particular position pushed his ass out in a way that was even more distracting than a wet T-shirt, and Dylan was thankful that the light was too dim for his flush or his half-hard dick to be noticeable.
    “You got anyone yet to help you out?” Chris asked.
    For a very brief moment Dylan thought Chris was talking about sex. Fortunately, his frontal lobe kicked in before his libido took over, and he realized the discussion was still centered on home improvement. He cleared his throat. “Not yet. I’m sure I can find someone.”
    “I used to work in construction, and my rates are reasonable. I won’t even charge you for my commute time.”
    The offer took Dylan by surprise, and he had to process it for a minute. “But… won’t you be busy… plowing?”
    Chris stood straight and turned to look at him. Christ, that half smile was infuriating! “I didn’t know you were interested in plowing,” he said.
    Dylan’s face went redder. “I’m not. But it’s spring and I figured you’d be planting stuff. Or something.”
    “Nah.” He jerked his chin in the direction of his property. “I don’t farm it myself. Lease it out to a guy who grows wheat. I just sit back and collect the bucks. Wouldn’t mind a few extra dollars, though. I guarantee you—I’m a handy