Free Good Bones by Kim Fielding Page A

and pointed at Dylan’s dish. “You want thirds?”
    “Um… no. Thanks. I’m good.”
    “You can really put it away. What kind of workout do you do? Running?”
    Dylan paused but then shook his head. “No, I don’t really… I just have a good metabolism, I guess.”
    “Huh.” Chris put their dishes in the sink and leaned back against the counter, sipping his beer. He set down the empty can and chewed on his lip thoughtfully. That was the first sign of real uncertainty Dylan had seen in the cocky man, and for some reason it made his heart twinge a little. Then Chris must have reached a decision because he nodded and smiled. “You’re gonna have dinner here from now on, dude. ’Til your kitchen’s done.”
    “I couldn’t—”
    “Guy who eats like you shouldn’t be tryin’ to survive on cornflakes or whatever the hell you been eatin’, and cookin’ for two ain’t no more work than for one.”
    Dylan hesitated and thought he saw a flash of pain in those fierce blue eyes. “Okay. I’ll split your grocery costs,” said Dylan.
    “Done,” Chris said with a wide grin.
    “How do you have time for all this? The cooking, the—” Dylan waved his hands vaguely in the direction of his house. “—the construction, the mechanic stuff. Don’t you have a regular job?”
    “Sometimes.” He rummaged in a cupboard for a moment, emerging with a pack of Marlboros and a blue plastic lighter. Dylan watched in fascination as he patted the bottom of the red and white box, pried the top open, pulled out a cigarette, and placed it between his full lips. His thumb flicked a flame into life, and he took a long drag, then exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. “I don’t owe nothin’ on the house or the land, and I get cash off the guy who rents the fields. When I start runnin’ low, I find somethin’ for a while. Like workin’ for the sucker who bought the dump next door.” He grinned and tapped his ashes into the sink.
    “But what if you couldn’t find a job?”
    Chris shrugged. “Always have.”
    “But what if you got hurt or something? Do you have insurance? And how about retirement?” Just the idea of being without a financial safety net made Dylan feel mildly panicked, despite the good benefits through his job and the bulk of his parents’ life insurance payout tucked away in Treasury bills and long-term CDs.
    But Chris looked amused. “I ain’t gonna worry ’bout none of that shit unless it happens.”
    “But you have to—”
    “Dude. Chill. I just deal with things when they come.” He looked so relaxed with his cigarette and his too-long bangs and the strap of his overalls falling off one broad shoulder.
    Dylan gave an embarrassed little smile and stood, rubbing his stomach. “Maybe we should get back to work.”
    Chris took a few more drags of his cigarette and then stubbed it out in the chipped enamel of the sink. They both reached the doorway at the same time, and Dylan stepped back slightly to let him pass. But Chris turned very suddenly and grabbed Dylan’s arms and bang! Dylan again found himself pressed to the wall by Chris’s solid bulk. This time it was Dylan’s hands that clutched at hair, fingers tangling in strands that were surprisingly soft, and he bent his face down for a long, heated kiss.
    Chris made a sort of humming noise into Dylan’s mouth and slid his hands over Dylan’s biceps and then down his sides until they settled near Dylan’s waistband. His broad fingertips kneaded at Dylan’s flesh and tugged Dylan’s hips forward so they could feel each other’s heat and hardness, so they could rock and grind just a little for sweet friction.
    Dylan shouldn’t have been surprised at this turn of events. Hell, a part of him had been hoping for this since Chris had invited him over. Yet somehow he felt astonished to have this weight against him, to be tasting another man’s hunger as bright and sharp as his own. His fingers tightened their grip, and Chris groaned and thrust