“Thanks for fixing the wobbly leg.”

His laugh is fuller this time. “Pretty sure you already thanked me really fucking well.”

That makes my face heat up, and I’m not sure how to respond. But he solves this by leaning in, not even hesitating about kissing me after I had his dick in my mouth. It’s brief, though, and then he says, “See you later,” before walking out of the room.

In his absence, I stare at the bed, kind of not believing that happened. What the heck has gotten into me?

No, not what. Who.

Travis fucking Reed. That’s who.

He’s gotten into my pants and into my head, and I’m not sure how easy it’ll be to get him out again. But it sure would be nice if maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

TRAVIS

Brenden Sanderson is going to be the death of me, I swear.

How the heck am I supposed to concentrate on setting up this booth for him when I keep remembering exactly how fantastic his warm mouth felt wrapped around my cock? It’s a miracle I haven’t hammered my finger instead of a nail yet.

Leo, one of Brenden’s employees who came with me to help, luckily hasn’t noticed my distracted state. He’s not the most observant guy. Sure, he follows directions fine, but I think I was right not to trust him being in charge of this job.

We’re not the only ones out here on the green getting things ready for the festival. People are bustling around everywhere. Some of them are holding shouted conversations with one another from opposite sides of the green while they work, which also isn’t helping my concentration.

This is exactly the kind of town hoopla I usually like to avoid. But for Brenden, I can endure it.

My phone rings, and I pause what I’m doing to take it out of my pocket. I accept my dad’s call right as Leo carelessly swings around a piece of plywood and almost knocks me in the head.

Ducking swiftly, I let out a curse rather than a greeting.

“Travis?” my dad says, sounding alarmed. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m fine.” I send a pointed look Leo’s way, and he grimaces apologetically before carrying on with what he was doing. “How are you?”

A vague, grumbling sound is the only answer I get to that question. Then Dad says, “I need you to do me a favor if you can.”

“Sure. What’s up?”

As he explains that one of his employees is on a job site and needs a part picked up and brought over to him, I continue directing Leo with hand gestures. We’re just about done here, so I should have time to run the errand.

“No problem,” I tell him.

“Thanks,” Dad says. “Christ, I can’t wait to get back to work. All this sitting around on my ass is killing me.”