Squeaky Clean

Tim opened his eyes very wide as he looked up from his laptop.

“Bloody hell…” His fingers came to a complete stop, hovering uselessly over the keyboard as he muttered the words under his breath.

There were things he’d grown quite used to seeing outside the window since he’d moved into his luxury third floor flat, right on the edge of town. Song birds, the odd bug, there was even a squirrel that occasionally ventured into view.

Tim was not, however, used to seeing half-naked men out there. A lean, muscular torso almost completely blocked his usual view. A thin white T-shirt technically covered the guy’s chest, but the wet fabric was nigh onto see through. It had ridden up as the guy stretched to clean the farthest corner of the glass, exposing a line of golden skin above a pair of ratty old jeans.

A trail of light brown hairs guided Tim’s eyes to a button-up fly that begged to be undone. As Tim gawped, open mouthed, he unwittingly leaned forward in his seat. There was something strangely fascinating about the man’s body. It couldn’t actually be familiar, but at the same time…

Tim leaned a little farther, in an effort to get a better view and solve the conundrum. Then, without bothering to consider boring things like balance and gravity when there were hot men to think about, he leaned just a little farther again.

“Oh, sh—”

There was nothing muttered about Tim’s words that time. He yelled the half-curse at the top of his lungs as his balance deserted him. As though in slow motion, he felt himself tumble forward.

His laptop slid off his lap. Feeling as if he were moving through thick treacle, Tim lurched off the sofa in an instinctive attempt to grab for it. He was too late. There was nothing he could do but watch it fall.

All the air rushed out of his lungs as he crashed onto floor in front of his sofa. Well-articulated syllables morphed into a yelp as his flailing arm brought the coffee table down upon him, and steaming-hot coffee splashed down over both him and his computer.

“Damn! Are you okay?”

Tim lifted his head and peered at the window, fully expecting to see a stunningly attractive guy watching, while he once again made a fool of himself in front of a perfect example of male hotness.

There was no one outside his window, outside his wide-open window. Tim frowned. It had only been propped ajar an inch before.

Suddenly, a shadow fell across him. He tilted his head back farther. “You climbed through my window.”

The guy crouched down next to him, the scent of cleaning fluid clinging to his skin and making Tim’s head spin. “Are you okay?” the guy asked again.

“You climbed through my window!” Tim repeated, on the basis of one good repetition probably deserved another.

Strong, wet hands caught Tim by the shoulders. One moment, he was lying in a crumpled heap, the next, he was sitting up, leaning against the base of his sofa and the other man was kneeling between his feet.

Tim just stared at the guy. He’d really never seen anyone so gorgeous in his life.

“Sorry, mate. Didn’t realize anyone was home. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Tim blinked. There was something horribly familiar about—

“Damien.” The name cut through every thought in Tim’s head.

Full, pink lips twitched into a half-smile. “Yeah.”

“You’re Damien Reynolds. We went to school together.” Sudden heat flooded Tim’s cheeks. Forget falling off his sofa, to hell with tipping coffee over his new laptop. This, this was what real humiliation felt like.