8 Chapter 8

Ange wouldn’t go there. Slipping out of his greasy work clothes, he pulled on a pair of baggy sweat pants and a sleeveless T-shirt, then tied his hair back from his face with a worn elastic band. With quick, efficient motions he jerked the sheets off the bed, shook the pillows free from their cases, and stripped the blanket to the floor. Then he tugged clean sheets onto the old mattress, snapping the fresh linen into place around the corners. Clean pillowcases, too—never let it be said he didn’t go all out to impress a guy. He even found an ancient quilt in an old suitcase buried under the sofa. It smelled a little musty but was bulky and warm and didn’t have spunk stains on it like Ange’s other coverlet.

As he smoothed it out, making the bed, the water cut off and seconds later, hinges squealed when the bathroom door opened. Ange glanced over his shoulder to see Tyler standing there, naked and wet.