Chapter 18
Cain threw another folder in the stack on his father’s desk and ran a hand over his tired eyes, leaning back in the desk chair. “Anything?”
“Nah, nothing here,” Damon replied, blowing out a long breath. He tossed his own stack of folders on the coffee table in front of him and leaned back on the sofa, turning his head to look at Cain. He dragged a hand through his messy hair - hair that had dried every-which-way after their shower the night before - and Cain had to resist the urge to cross the room and jump him. He looked goodalways, but the morning-after, messy-hair, barefoot, unbuttoned-jeans look was probably Cain’s favorite. Plus, he admitted to himself that after last night, he wanted nothing more than to curl up against Damon’s skin.
He lifted the collar of his borrowed t-shirt - another black band t-shirt he’d stolen from Damon’s bag, this one emblazoned with the name Greta Van Fleet - and sniffed it surreptitiously. It smelled warm and delicious, like Damon himself, which was why he hadn’t bothered to go through the old clothes left in his closet this morning, but had immediately claimed one of Damon’s instead.
“You find anything?”
“No,” Cain admitted. He gestured to the stack. “Not a damn thing here but a bunch of utility bills and an enormous bunch of receipts for the work on the house.” He shook his head ruefully. “Holy fuck, I have no idea how they spent that much on renovations.”
“There goes the inheritance?”
“Yeah, right. No sugar daddies around here, I’m afraid.”
“Damn,” Damon said sadly. “There goes my plan.”
“Still a Big Dad—”
“Oh, God,stop with that,” Damon grumbled, pushing to his feet, but he was smiling as he said it. He walked slowly to the desk, his limp more pronounced this morning.
“Your leg okay?” Cain asked carefully, but Damon shrugged.
“It’s fine. Just overused it a little yesterday. Mostly last night.” His smile turned smug as he began idly leafing through Cain’s discarded folders. “Worth it.”
Cain felt his cheeks grow hot. Last night had been the absolute best night of his life. Every hour, every minute. And not just because of the sex, but because of the laughter, the acceptance. There hadn’t been a single moment when he’d felt ashamed of wanting Damon, not one second where he’d been focused on whether Damon really wanted to be with him or questioned his motives.
Yeah, this fucked-up road trip with Damon was like a journey into an alternate reality where the rules of his regular life didn’t apply, but last night had been something beyond eventhat. He’d been a whole different person- a better, truer version of himself, and…
Jesus.Yeah, okay. Gross. He had a little bit of an emotional hangover. He could practically see the hearts and tweeting birds flying around his own head. And while he’d felt closer to Damon than he’d ever felt to anyone, there was still the enormous question ofhow the hell they’d get Damon’s life back.
“I don’t know where else to search,” Cain said in irritation, eyes to the ceiling. “Maybe… I mean, he has his official office back in Nashville, but I still don’t think he’d keep anything there, you know?” He pulled at his own hair, frustrated beyond belief. “I really felt like something would be here. When we walked into the house yesterday, I got this… I dunno, kind of weird sixth sense, like something would be here. Silly.” He shifted his head to gauge Damon’s reaction, and found that Damon wasn’t paying attention to him at all. He was absorbed with the file of home remodeling bills.
“What are you looking at?” Cain demanded.
“Uh. Was I out of it yesterday when we pulled up? Is there a lawn around the property that I haven’t noticed?”
“We’re in a cabin in the woods, babe,” Cain reminded him. “On the side of a mountain. There’s no grass at all. Trees, bushes. Flowers in pots on the decks, when my mom feels like it.”
Damon glanced up. “Then why did your dad pay $25,000 for lawn sprinklers? And why is he continuing to pay for monthly maintenance?”
“What?” Cain jumped out of the chair and ran around to the front of the desk. “Let me see that!” Damon handed over a sheet of paper and Cain read aloud. “Rabinov Mountain Landscaping and Design? I saw this one, but I didn’t really look at the services listed.”
“And what about this one for house painting? Just over sixty thousand last year.”
Cain grabbed that paper too. “There’s nothing to paint in this house. Not outside, anyway. And the inside hasn’t been painted since they remodeled years ago.”
Damon leaned over and pointed to the header. “Color Home Professionals say differently. And the bill is marked Paid.”
Cain’s heart started beating harder. “Fuck, I need to grab my phone! It’s downstairs.”
“One step ahead of you,” Damon said, sliding his own phone out of his pocket. He leaned his hip against the desk and started tapping furiously at the screen while Cain practically vibrated in place.
“There’s the website for Color Home Professionals,” Damon said, and Cain rested his head against Damon’s shoulder to get a better view. It seemed pretty standard, if fairly light on actual info.
“Huh. Well, there are lots of pretty pictures of houses, alright.”
“But that’s pretty much all there is,” Damon agreed. “That and a contact phone number.”
