MAXIM

I saw him.

Through the glass, I saw him.

I’d been looking at the roses, seeing what needed to be done, and I realized I’d need gloves to even get started. As I walked toward the house, I saw Derek through the large glass door off the patio and decided to knock on it. Then I got closer and saw him holding the sweatshirt I’d worn. His face was buried in it.

At first I thought it was a trick of the light on the glass, my mind bending a reflection into a fantasy. But I blinked several times, and he was still there.

My pulse quickened. Why would a man smell another man’s shirt that way, unless he was trying to smell the man? My stomach flipped over.

But rather than stand there and risk being caught, I decided to look away as I knocked. Make him think I hadn’t seen anything. The alternative would’ve been way too awkward for both of us.

Luckily, I was a good actor. I asked him about the gloves without a tremor in my voice and kept my face expressionless. In contrast, his cheeks were deep red, and he refused to make eye contact. It was the most flustered I’d ever seen him. He came outside and hurried into the garage without even glancing my way.

But by the time he found the gloves and handed them over, he’d appeared composed again, his usual self. He told me what he wanted done in the yard overall, what the priorities were today, and where all the tools were. I listened and asked questions and assured him I could handle everything he wanted done, but in my head all I could see was his face buried in that shirt.

I obsessed over it all afternoon, adding up all the significant details—the lack of a girlfriend or wife. The odd moment in the kitchen, where I’d had the crazy thought he might kiss me. The way he’d looked at me last night in my bedroom.

Maybe I wasn’t crazy.

Was it possible I had felt some chemistry between us? Was it possible the attraction was mutual? Was it possible he’d smelled that shirt for the same reason I’d asked to borrow his clothes in the first place—to experience the illusion of intimacy without actual physical touch?

This morning, I’d have said it wasn’t.

Now I was starting to wonder.

* * *

When Derek returned from the store, he took bags of groceries straight into the house with barely a glance in my direction. He spent the entire afternoon cooking and preparing for dinner without saying anything to me, although at one point he came out and set a plate with a sandwich and some chips on it on the patio table—a long wooden table with two benches on either side. Next to it, he set a tall glass of ice water. “Lunch,” he called to me before going right back inside.

Grateful, I took a short break to eat and cool off, and when I was done, I left the plate and glass on the table, figuring I’d bring it inside when I was done. But a little later, I looked over and discovered he’d taken them in already.

At that point, I was ready to conclude I’d been totally off about him before. He wasn’t acting like someone who was into me at all. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I might have thought he was irritated with me for some reason.

Eventually, he did come outside to talk to me. I was in the middle of mowing the lawn, and he wandered over, hands in his pockets. It had been a warm afternoon, so I’d taken off my T-shirt earlier, and even though he wore sunglasses I could see the way he stared at my upper body. The sun was hot on my back, but his eyes on my chest were hotter.

“You need sunscreen,” he told me.

I turned off the mower. “Maybe. But the sun feels so good on my skin.”

His gaze stayed on me another few seconds before scanning the yard. “You did a lot of work out here today. And actually, I think you did a better job than my landscapers.”

“Thanks. I haven’t gotten to the rosebushes yet.”

“Don’t worry about it. It can wait until tomorrow.”

“I’ll get it done by tonight.”

“Well, dinner is at about seven-thirty tonight, and it’s about six right now. I wasn’t sure how much time you needed to clean up, or if you wanted to wash some clothes, or borrow something.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need to come to your dinner party. I can stay upstairs once your guests arrive.”

“Actually, you’ll be doing me a favor if you come.”

“A favor?”

“Yeah.” His expression was a little embarrassed, and his eyes dropped to his shoes. “Originally it was just going to be my friend and his wife and this woman I’ve been seeing, Carolyn.”

He’s seeing a woman. Disappointment punched me in the gut.

“But while I was talking to my sister earlier, she asked if she could come and I said yes without thinking. That would make five people,” he said, as if that explained the problem.

I was a little confused. “Five people?”

“I have a thing about an odd number of people at the dinner table.” He rolled his eyes and shrugged. “I know it sounds weird, but I can’t stand it. I like an even number. That doesn’t mean I’m superstitious,” he said defensively, probably because I’d started to grin. “It just means that visually, I like all the seats filled. It’s a personal preference.”

“Of course.”

“I have plenty of food, and I know Ellen would love to see you, so it would be great if you’d join us.” He finally looked me in the eye, and said the words I wanted to hear. “I’d like you to join us.”

I felt it again—that pull between us.

“Then I will.” Truthfully, I’d have said yes even if he hadn’t told me he wanted me there, because I liked the idea of doing him a favor. “You said seven thirty?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll finish quickly.” I looked down at my muddy jeans and chest, which was smudged with dirt and shiny with sweat. “Then I’ll clean up and maybe do some laundry.”

Derek didn’t seem to know where to look—he went from my torso to my eyes to the house in the space of five seconds. “I’ll put a few more things on your bed that I think might fit, and we can throw your stuff in the wash.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

He went back inside, and I finished up the lawn, cleaned up, and put the tools I’d used back exactly where I’d found them. I knew how Derek was about staying organized.

When I was done, I scooped up my sweaty T-shirt from the driveway and went up to the guest bedroom. Derek had placed a pair of jeans and two shirts on my bed, along with more new socks and underwear. I shook my head in disbelief. How much new stuff could one man possibly have on hand, the tags still attached?

I undressed, shoving all the dirty things in the bag I’d used earlier. I took a quick shower, scrubbing off the sweat and dirt of the day, and tried very hard not to imagine hands other than mine running over my skin. He’s dating a woman, remember? Not into guys, not into you, not into anything you’re thinking. So get him out of your head.

Derek had left a new towel folded on the sink, and it was slightly warm, like maybe it had just come out of the dryer. He’d also left a little travel kit packed with basics like a razor, deodorant, a comb, and a couple different hair products. He’s being so good to me. But was it only his belief in helping people out? Did he feel obligated to be this kind, or was there something more to it?

After messing with my hair a little, I hung up my towel and went into the bedroom, where I dressed in Derek’s clothes again. I was glad they belonged to him and weren’t new—it meant he’d worn them before. In fact, before I slipped my arms into the sleeves of the shirt, I found myself smelling the neck of it, looking for any trace of the man, feeling cheated when I didn’t find it. When I was dressed, I checked my reflection in the full-length mirror on the closet door.

It pleased me that his clothing fit almost perfectly. No, it was more than that—it turned me on. I felt like we were sharing something (which we weren’t). I felt a physical closeness between us (which didn’t exist). I felt my body respond when I imagined him taking them off me, replacing them with the heat of his skin (which would never happen).

Enough.

I closed my eyes, willing the blood to stop rushing, the desire to stop building, the hum beneath my skin to go away. The insane thing was, my attraction had seemed to grow stronger since hearing that he was dating a woman. What was that about?

It’s about wanting what you can’t have, asshole. Now quit being stupid about him. He’s just a really nice guy. He’s not interested in you and never will be. Get over it.

Nothing is going to happen.