Lazy Sundays (Lazy Days Book 1)

by K-lee Klein

  “You think I’m…not necessarily,” Scott replied softly. “Numbers have always made more sense to me than most other things.”

  “Yeah and see that's cool and weird.” There was no judgment in Devon's tone. “I envy people who can do that kind of shit.”

  “Kind of…?”

  “Stuff you have to actually sit down and concentrate on. I think my brain would have a seizure or freaking blow up.”

  He was funny, Mr. Devon DuCaine. But was it the right moment to return the question? Scott decided it was now or never. “So, uh, what about you? What do you do when you're not making breakfast for boring accountants?”

  The look in Devon's eyes instantly changed; brightly amused to decidedly disappointed. “You're far from boring, Scott.”

  “Well, I, um. Thanks. I think.”

  “You having one those anxious moments, sweetheart?”

  “No,” Scott quickly piped up. “I mean. No, I'm fine. But you didn't answer the question.”

  Devon turned back to his stove, cursing softly under his breath. His bracelets sang a tune when he shook and wiggled the pan. “I always forget your burners heat up so fast. Might be a little crunchier than I intended.”

  “That's okay.” Scott figured it was time to stop grilling Devon. If he was avoiding the question, pushing might change absolutely everything. “The crunchier the better.”

  “Ouch. Crap,” Devon grunted. “We need to get you a new frying pan. The handle on this one is shot. Where are your oven mitts?”

  “Pantry. Second shelf,” Scott offered unwittingly, his head lost in a daydream of buying kitchen utensils with Devon. He liked the way Devon was learning his kitchen, his house, his life.

  “Hey. Hey. Hey. What's all this?”

  Scott twisted to see when Devon was so excited about. “Oh dammit,” he muttered, lunging out of his chair. He'd carelessly forgotten that his new project was stashed in there. He grabbed the blue wool from Devon's hands and childishly shoved it behind his back. Devon merely smirked, pulled on an oven mitt then scraped and flipped his masterpiece onto plates.

  He was rooting around in the fridge for juice and what Scott assumed was condiments. “You want Tabasco for your omelet? Might disguise the crunchy bits.”

  “I'm okay with whatever,” Scott said. Devon placed two plates on the table and Scott marveled at how perfect they looked, despite the overcooked bits—the red, green, and yellow combination practically popped off the dish. “Wow. It looks amazing.”

  Devon threw himself into the chair beside Scott, dumping a ton of hot sauce on top of his eggs. His first bite was obviously one of scrutiny as he narrowed his eyes and chewed slowly. Scott watched him with stalkerish fascination.

  “Um, good?”

  “Meh,” Devon replied. “Passable I suppose. So…you're a knitter?”

  Scott nearly choked on his first bite. “I know it's weird,” he muttered bashfully.

  But Devon smiled at him, close lipped, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. “I don't think so. My mom liked to knit. What kind of stuff do you make?”

  With a shrug, Scott tapped his fork on his plate. “Mostly slippers. My feet are always cold.”

  “I've noticed,” Devon teased.

  “Shut up. I've done a couple baby blankets for ladies at work, and a scarf for my sister.”

  Devon squirmed in his chair, bouncing his butt on the seat. “You make these cool seat cushions too?”

  “Embarrassingly enough, yes. And that ugly throw blanket on the couch? It was one of my first projects.” Scott dipped his head. “Guess that makes me even more of a geek, huh?”

  “I think it's cool, and these cushions make my ass feel fabulous.”

  “Your ass always looks fab—” Scott cut himself off with a tight shake of his head. He took another bite of his breakfast, chewing carefully while Devon eyed him with amused suspicion. “Um…so what do you do?”

  Devon popped out his bottom lip and leaned his head to the right. “I dabble in different things, but I've got a small shop where I spend most of my time.”

  “A shop?” Scott asked curiously. He finished the glass of juice Devon put in front of him then took another bite.

  “Yeah, nothing fancy. I fix bikes.”

  Scott bit down on his bottom lip. “Like ten-speeds?” He knew it was a stupid question as soon as he asked, especially considering what was parked in front of his own house.

  The laughter was expected, though Scott still rolled his eyes. “I don't think anyone calls them that anymore, but no,” Devon told him. “Motorcycles are my thing. It's not a big place but my mom insisted I open it up a couple years ago.” Devon hesitated, his head hanging low while he gripped his fork. “Sometimes I think she knew me better than I know myself.”

  There were no words to describe the emotions storming through Scott. He kept getting sucked deeper and deeper into Devon's endearing abyss. “That's really sweet, Devon. I bet you make her proud every day.”

  “I hope so,” was Devon's quiet answer. His eyes were sad as he picked at a piece of onion. “Shit, this is not my best work. Ma wouldn't be proud of this mess.”

  “It's good Dev, but we could still go out to eat if you want,” Scott suggested.

  With a shake of his head, Devon frowned. “I eat in restaurants so much that it's nice to hang out here instead.”

  “Okay.” Scott sighed, but kept eating.

  There it was again, that nagging tingle of suspicion that bounced around his head. He'd only broached the subject twice before, but never in such a direct way, and it could be time to put all his cards on the table, despite the horrendous consequences that could arise.

  “Devon, are you, uh…are you…” Scott blurted, stopping abruptly when his brain caught up with his mouth. He chastised himself for his rudeness. “Darn.”

  Devon cocked his head to the side, pausing with his fork halfway to his mouth. An adorable dimple seemed to wink at Scott from under the stubble on the left side of his face. ”Am I what? Hungry? Married? Gay? A serial killer?”

  Scott choked and gasped around a mouthful of spicy goodness, a little bit falling out the corner of his lips. His mother would be appalled. “Serial killer?” he said with a snicker. “I never considered that. You do have that vibe going on and don’t they all have long hair and ride motorcycles?” Oh my god! He'd made a joke. A real joke. He hoped Devon didn’t take offense to what he’d said. Way to go Scott.

  Silence floated heavily around them as they chewed, but Devon’s gaze never wavered. Scott was happy for the reprieve after his so inappropriate blatant comment on Devon's physique. Mortifying. Of course, when they rose to rinse their plates Scott was positive Devon puffed his chest out a little more than usual. It was proven when he stroked a hand down the middle of his so-called cleavage, one eyebrow raised in amusement. He was such a jerk.

  After they wordlessly, but comfortably, cleaned up the kitchen together, Devon leaned into Scott's personal space; way in. “Are you stalling? You can ask me anything. Scout's honor.” He saluted to prove his point.

  When Scott twisted to see him more clearly, Devon shifted closer. He framed Scott's body between his strong arms, pressing his backside hard against the countertop. Scott tried not to swoon while his heart thumped a jazz beat against his ribs.

  “Out!” Scott spit out as Devon's scent spun him into lightheadedness. “I mean, oh my god, are you out?”

  Devon face glowed and delight sparkled in his eyes before he bent to rest his forehead against Scott's. He could feel more than hear Devon's snickers. Yet, again, he didn't think he'd said anything particularly funny. But he'd never object to Devon keeping him caged in his arms all day if he really wanted to. “I'm out. Believe me. But today I'd much rather stay in and do some number-crunching.”

  Scott swallowed thickly, lightly running his fingertips up Devon's sides, careful to not drag him closer. His nerves vibrated under his skin at the lecherous expression in Devon's eyes. “Num…number-crunching?
”

  “Yeah,” Devon agreed matter-of-factly. He nudged Scott's nose with his own. “Isn’t that what accountants do? You know, count things. Like counting how many times I can make you come before lunch. Tally how many times you can return the favor. Add up all your sighs, and moans, and whimpers.”

  Geez. Devon could even make accounting sound sexy. Scott's breathless reply was unintentional. “Oh my God. Are you trying to kill me?”

  The words were barely out of his mouth before Devon captured Scott's lips, his determined tongue sliding along the crease until it was welcomed inside. Scott was afraid he might lose it right there in the kitchen, let go of all his inhibitions, but unfortunately Devon pulled back before he was able to find out.

  He smirked and smoothed a hand over Scott's back. “Killing you is definitely not in my plans for the day.”

  “I said that out loud?” Scott intentionally looked away, but Devon propped a finger under his chin to steer him back. “I only meant…oh dammit, Devon. Your mouth could kill a man with one lip tied behind its back,” Scott asserted bravely. Anxiety and desire buzzed under his skin.

  It was a dozen awkward heartbeats before Devon reacted to Scott's joke. Did he know it was a joke at all? Way to make yourself even more lame, Scott. But before he could think of an escape plan, Devon snorted loud enough to echo through the kitchen before bursting into laughter. He bent at the waist, pressing Scott harder into the countertop and gripping the back of his neck. His gruff guffaws filled the kitchen like the perfect crescendo.

  Scott wasn't sure how to respond. Nobody ever laughed at his jokes, let alone almost bust a gut in doing so.

  “You made a joke!” Devon squeaked between bursts of breath. “That's two in one day. You've never…” He was lost to more giggles and Scott finally peered up at him.

  “Was it funny?” he asked with an insecurity he absolutely deplored. “I meant—”

  Devon broke into Scott's sentence with a kiss. “It was fucking funny. Seriously.”

  Scott glared. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I'm not sure how much truth there was to it. But um, thanks?”

  “Devon DuCaine. You're an idiot.” Devon smiled sweetly at Scott, but he didn't feel bad about his accusation. “You ooze charm from every pore.”

  '“Sounds messy.”

  “Jerk.” Scott wasn’t usually the one to initiate intimate contact, letting Devon call the shots until they reached the bedroom, but it felt amazing to kiss Devon first. It was slow, lazy, like Sundays with Devon always were. He was rewarded with a sloppy play of lips he'd never admit to liking. Devon kissed like he did everything else; with enough conviction and heat to cause Scott's untimely death on the spot. But what a way to go.

  Devon wrapped an arm around Scott's waist, stroking his lower back before tugging at his waistband. His eyes were pure lusty desire and he looked at Scott like he wanted to eat him up. He slid one hand over Scott's backside, and all Scott could do was gasp when he suddenly had Devon kneeling at his feet. His strong hands drifted down the sides of Scott's body, fluttering, caressing, rubbing circles and soft patterns.

  “Back to that number-crunching,” Devon cooed up at Scott. “I was thinking of some other numbers I could crunch.” He lifted the front of Scott's shirt to press a kiss to his belly.

  Scott stifled a groan. “Yeah? Um, what…what would that be?” When Devon tugged gently on his pants, Scott. Did. Not. Swoon. Well, maybe a little.

  “I could keep track of how many sucks it takes to get you off. How many inches I can fit in my mouth all at once.” Devon thumbed Scott's hip bones before sliding the fabric to the side. He kissed the exposed skin on both sides. “Or how many times I can lick you before you scream for me to let you come.”

  “Jesus, Dev.” Scott balanced himself against the counter, tangling one hand in Devon's luxurious locks.

  Devon traced Scott's treasure trail with his tongue, his voice muffled against Scott's chilled skin. “Or we could watch a movie.”

  Scott could barely speak, but he was pretty sure his hearing was still functional. “M-m-movie?”

  Devon beamed up at him, eyebrows waggling like some demented puppet. There was a beautiful fondness in his eyes that made Scott blush. “I'm very versatile.”

  Oh mother of God, yes he was.

  Scott sighed but managed an indignant squeak when Devon dragged the pants down to his ankles. His thoughts whirled as fast as his passion while Devon took good care of him.

  I think I have a boyfriend. I have a boyfriend. Holy mother of…

  Scott Weston had a boyfriend who definitely made Sundays the best day of the week.

  And even thinking the B word had him coming as fast as a teenager watching his first porn.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Devon showed up the following Thursday, only minutes after Scott had arrived home from work. He had a black backpack slung over his shoulder and a wicked smirk as he greeted Scott when he answered the door. Scott cocked an eyebrow as Devon leaned-in to steal a quick kiss.

  “Told you I was bringing my laundry. Did you add me to your list?”

  It took Scott six slow breaths before he could answer. “But it's…Thursday.” He regretted it immediately, but he was too flustered to do anything except his usual Devon-stutter. “I mean…um, that came out…um…”

  “You got something against Thursdays? I guess I should have called, huh?” Devon asked without a hint of regret in his voice. He slid past like a cat on the prowl, his leather-clad torso brushing seductively against Scott. “If you're not busy, I thought we could go out tonight. Music and drinks? I mean, if you'd be into that.”

  “Really?” Scott struggled to control the excitement sparking the nerves under his skin. He ushered Devon inside, still stunned as he shut and locked the door behind him—habit, OCD, whatever.

  His mind was a little blown, too many synapses firing all at once. For starters, Devon had only been to Scott's house on a weekday twice before and only ever later in the evening. Secondly, he always texted first. And lastly, they’d never been outside Scott's house together, with the exception of the night they'd met. Was Devon asking him on a real live date? Scott blinked the hope away, sucking on his bottom lip as he watched Devon.

  “Well, yeah. But if you've already got plans…”

  Scott pinched his lips together to prevent a hysterical laugh from slipping out. Plans? How absurd. “I…don't.”

  Devon hung his bag onto one of the hooks behind the door, arranging it carefully beside Scott's collection of reusable grocery bags. He didn't look at Scott as he went about his task. “Cool. We don't have to go right away if you need to kick back a little first. Or we don’t have to go at all. Did I interrupt something? Seriously, you can kick my ass out if you want?”

  “Like I’d ever do that,” Scott mumbled—unintentionally out loud. He studied the obvious care in Devon’s actions, hiding a shy smile behind his hand. It was entirely likely that Devon had watched Scott rearrange those bags numerous times, but it stunned him into silence. Had anyone asked him how he felt in that moment, all that would come out would be a sighing, “Ahhhhhh,” followed by a, “Dawwwww.” It was adorable and made Scott's heart sing with joy. But he refused to read too much into it. Or tried to.

  He had barely gotten over the boyfriend revelation, after all.

  After hanging his leather jacket in the closet, rather than tossing it over a chair as had been the case in the beginning, Devon aligned his scuffed, biker boots beside Scott's freshly polished penny loafers in the entryway, heels flat against the wall. Happy domestic feels washed through Scott because Devon had adjusted to Scott's compulsive routines and habits.

  “Scott?”

  “Sorry what?” Scott refocused on the moment. His face felt too tight, smile too wide and goofy, while embarrassment heated him from the inside out. Devon, in his tight jeans and cool leather jacket, had never seen Scott in his stuffy work clothes and Scott would’ve been fine keeping it that way. His clothes we
ren't designer or special in any way, just fresh-off-the rack dullness. Boring accountant clothes.

  Devon examined Scott from head to toe. A long whistle preceded him shifting closer to Scott. “Damn, sweetheart. You look hot in that suit.”

  “No,” Scott replied without thought. He didn't think Devon would purposely make fun of him, but hot was not a description Scott had ever heard about him and his frumpy suits. An attempt at excusing himself to change failed when Devon snagged his hand and tugged him close.

  “Still don't like my compliments, huh? How can I prove I'm being honest?” He wrapped an arm around Scott's shoulders, but kept a distance between them as he held Scott's gaze. “I wouldn't be here if I didn't think you were worth it.”

  An involuntary snort made Scott slap a hand over his mouth. “You're way too charming for your own good.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?” Devon dropped his arm to his side again, his lips puffed out in an adorable pout. Scott didn't think he was going for adorable though. “Did I say something wrong?”

  Scott busied himself by smoothing the wrinkles from the front of his white shirt. “Not in so many words. It's fine, Dev. I’m fine. Nothing wrong with being charming.”

  “It is if you think I’m only using that charm to get into your pants.”

  “Well, aren’t you?”

  Dammit. Scott felt like a complete schmuck. Devon was right, they'd had brief conversations about Scott's inability to accept praise whether in the bedroom or out of it. And even after barely three months of knowing Devon, Scott could vouch that he wasn't that kind of guy. Devon had depth and intelligence, but those things only brought about more questions for Scott. Sex was one thing, but Devon wanting to spend time with him for other things didn't quite compute.

  With a shrug, Devon leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his strapping chest. “Maybe the first time, but I came back because the sex was smokin’ and you were cool.”

  “Cool?” Scott held back a cackle. “I'm about as cool as this budget suit I'm wearing.”