The sound of Tom’s door opening reached the kitchen, and Jason scowled when his heart picked up. What the hell should he say? What would he say about last night, and about wanting to come with Tom this morning?
Biscuit ran around his legs, almost making him fall as he moved to take down two cups from the cupboard.
“What are you doing up?”
Jason turned to respond, but the words froze on his lips. Tom ran a hand through his dishevelled hair and then rubbed his chest while trying, and failing, to stifle a yawn. Jason couldn’t look away from the broad chest covered with copper-coloured hair, the powerful arms—his left covered in ink.