Grace's Bookstore

Chapter 2

"Hey, Noah?" Damien called once he stepped from the bathroom.

Noah didn't glance up, eyes down on the book, leaning over the desk. "Hm?"

"I have a question." From his voice, Damien was in the doorframe, and Noah looked up.

The first thing Noah noticed was that Damien had done his hair, fixing it back into its usual style, and it looked good. Really good. Not any better than usual, but still really good. Then he noticed the broad shoulders, the chiseled biceps and triceps, the veined hands and forearms, popping tendons. With a start, he snapped his eyes shut and whirled around in the chair.

"What the hell!" He swore in surprise. Noah never swore. Though he couldn't see it, Damien arched a brow in pleasant surprise. "Put a shirt on," he demanded, "you're in clear view of the window!"

"Oh?" Damien asked, if only to aggravate. "Damn, I hadn't noticed."

"Go put a shirt on." Noah ordered, but in truth that was the last thing he wanted. Already Damien's hard lined eight-pack had been engraved in his mind, the slices of his plunging v-line slipped in right beside them.

"Will you turn around and talk to me? It's important."

"Not so important that I will see you shirtless." Noah said sharply. "Again."

"Noah."

"No! I don't want to see your bare chest, no matter how- no matter what." He caught himself, corrected, glared from behind the safety of his eyelids.

"It's really not that big of a deal." Damien said gently. Noah had seen the cut black jeans hung low on the other boy's hips and couldn't quite shake the image of the hem of Damien's black boxers or his plunging v-line, but his body tightened like a wire as he heard Damien make his way around the desk. "I don't mind if you see me shirtless."

"I mind!"

"I'd think of it as an honor, actually." Damien said, cleanly ignoring Noah's complaint.

"Put a shirt on, then talk to me." Noah said, eyes still firmly shut even when Damien's hand slid over his shoulder and spun him around. "Get off me." Damien's hand disappeared in a flash. "I'm not some pretty girl you can seduce and distract. Go put a shirt on!"

"Bellissimo," Damien mused, accent smooth and pleasing to the ear, chuckle deep and inviting, "where do you learn these insults?"

"What does that mean?"

"What does what mean? Insults?"

"Wha- of course I know what insults means! What does that... thing you said in Italian mean." Noah asked and Damien chuckled again.

"My question, Noah." He said.

"A shirt, Damien." Noah reminded, earned another chuckle.

"Alright, alright." Damien conceded this round to Noah, slipped his large hands off the chair and wandered to the archway. He knew the moment Noah's eyes opened, could feel his gaze trail down his broad shoulders and triceps, eyes slowly taking in the back muscles, laced with scratches, and wide but muscular ass. His own jeans hugged his legs, showed off each muscle there too, and he smirked lazily as he walked away.

***

The next time he appeared, he had a shirt on, much to Noah's delight and chagrin.

"DiAngelo, Damien, clocking in at three thirty-four." He said as soon as he appeared. Noah scoffed, tilted his bookmark into its place, and closed the book as the computer beeped and hummed.