Page 38 of The Leaving Kind

“Seriously?” Did he sleep on the floor? Shit—crap—take a dump in buckets?

“Metaphorically.”

“Oh. Well, ah, sorry for not showing up for so long. I had to take care of the dog. But I plan to finish digging the holes today. Or try to.”

“With both of us working, we should get them done.”

Cam frowned. “You’re paying me to dig the holes. Technically, that means you get to open up a bottle of wine and watch from the patio.”

Eyes widening again, Victor opened his mouth and closed it. “I could do that.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “I could definitely do that.”

Uh-oh. They were flirting. How were they flirting?

When he turned it on, Cam could flirt the paper off a wall, but standing there in scuffed and grimy jeans and a shirt stiff with sweat, he wasn’t exactly feeling it. Or was he?

He licked his lips.

Victor’s eyes followed the movement of his tongue before flicking up to meet Cam’s gaze.

Turned on and now completely off-center, Cam disengaged. He busied himself opening the car’s back door. “Mind if I set her up on the patio? She won’t go far, and I’ve got a stash of plastic bags for, ah, poop. She shouldn’t need to go, though. Luisa took her out a while ago.”

“Luisa?” came the voice at his back.

“My boss, at the tree farm.” Cam got his arms under the dog and eased her off the seat. He turned around. “She’s allowed to hobble a little. Meant to be good for keeping her muscles conditioned. But no running, climbing, jumping. She seems to know the score.”

Victor was gazing adoringly at the dog. “I can’t believe she doesn’t have a name. There was no collar? No one seems to be missing her?”

“Nope.”

Reaching out a hand, Victor let the dog catch his scent before gently ruffling her ears. “I’d call you Honey for the color of your coat.”

She let out a soft yip and nuzzled Victor’s hand. He looked up with a beatific smile, and the sense they could flirt again, as inappropriately as last time, passed over Cam in a cool rush.

After settling the dog on the patio, they quickly discussed the location of the three remaining holes. Victor retrieved two shovels from the garage and they set to digging. Cam moved out to the edges of the lawn, and Victor tackled the last hole, closest to the house. No more was said about wine and watching. Cam decided he wasn’t disappointed. He didn’t know what he was feeling, really, so he concentrated on putting the edge of the shovel to the dirt and biting down. Lifting with a swing and doing it all again.

After finishing the second hole, Cam leaned on his shovel and wiped sweat from his face with his sleeve. His shirt was so wet, he could probably wring it out. Spying a faucet near the short tower at the back of the house, he went for it. He set the shovel against the wall and stripped off his shirt before turning the water on and thrusting the wadded-up bundle of material beneath the cool stream. Dirty water gushed down the first time he wrung the shirt out. Cleaner water the second time. Cam splashed water over his face and arms and used the shirt to mop the excess away.

When he looked up, Victor was watching him. He hadn’t set out wine and crackers or whatever. He’d grabbed a couple of bottles of water and a large bowl of sliced fruit.

“I thought you might enjoy some refreshment,” he said.

Cam eyed the fruit. “You just cut this up?”

“Yes.”

“For me.”

“Yes?” Victor seemed confused.

Cam swiped a bottle of water and twisted off the top. He chugged half of it before putting it down. “Hope you don’t mind I rinsed off under the faucet over there.”

When Victor’s gaze latched on to his bare chest, Cam wondered why he’d spoken. Why he’d invited the look. Victor was so far from his type, they could be a comedy act. The Odd Couple or some shit. But his interest was plain, and though slender, age-appropriate, well-dressed, refined and obviously educated men weren’t his usual purview—too much conversation required—Cam was interested too.

But why?

Victor intrigued him. With his quicksilver moods but also because he was, in some way, unreadable. He had secrets. Stories he probably wouldn’t or couldn’t share over a quick beer while any thought not engaged with making polite conversation was already moving toward the bedroom.

A man like Victor would require more work, Cam guessed. Though, the way their eyes kept catching, maybe not?