Like a Cool Drink of Water (1/2)
“A dead body,” Greg told himself sternly. “Maggots, blood, the stench of
death.”
He bit his lip in concentration as he scrapped a few flakes of dried blood off
of the dresser.
“Talking to yourself again?”
Greg swung around to see Sara leaning against the doorway and watching him, a
smirk on her face.
“It’s how I do all my best work,” Greg answered, recovering quickly.
“How much more time do you need to finish processing this room? Nick and Warrick
could use your help outside.”
“Is there some reason why you can’t do it?” Greg asked.
“I’m…overseeing,” Sara hedged. “Besides, someone has to process the kitchen.”
“I can,” Greg said.
“No you can’t. It would be rude to make a woman go outside in this heat.”
“Oh yeah, because you’re such a delicate flower,” Greg deadpanned with a roll of
his eyes. He sighed and resigned himself to his fate. Sometimes it sucked to be
the new guy and have no weight to throw around. “Give me another half an hour, I
just need to print this dresser.”
“You’re the best, Greg,” Sara beamed.
“About time you realized,” Greg mumbled, pulling out his print kit.
He took as much time as he could get away with printing the dresser. His
handwriting had never been neater. Finally, though, he had to leave the
blissfully air-conditioned ranch home and head outside into the record-breaking
heat.
Decapitation, Greg thought as he slowly trudged out of the backdoor and
into the wide expanse of open land that surrounded the house. Third degree
burns, evisceration, decomp…
He slipped on his aviator glasses to shield his eyes from the blinding sun and
groaned at the sight that greeted him.
Nick stood twenty feet away, body folded over as he dug a shovel into the
ground. The heat had made him abandon his shirt hours ago—right around the time
Greg had manfully ran back into the house—and it was tucked into the back pocket
of his jeans.
The afternoon sun beating down on him had left a slick sheen over his body, and
it took all of Greg’s willpower not to cross the distance between them, fall to
his knees and lick the sweat off of Nick’s flat stomach.
That was just…unfair.
And in case Nick wasn’t enough visual stimulation, Warrick worked beside him,
similarly unattired, his dark skin complementing Nick’s lighter
complexion.
Greg hated everything—starting with Nick Stokes, Warrick Brown and hot as fuck
Nevada summers and ending with tight jeans, Sara Sidle and the inventor of the
shovel.
Nick noticed him and straightened, holding the shovel with one hand and his hip
with the other. He had a smudge of dirt across one cheekbone. The overall effect
was like something out of the Abercrombie and Fitch Farming Collection.
“Hey G, get your ass over here and help!” he called and gestured towards the
extra shovel.
Greg made a show of rolling his eyes before unzipping his vest and tossing it in
the grass.
“You know how I feel about manual labor,” he said.
“Oh, let me go get my violin,” Warrick responded with a grunt as he hauled a
shovel full of dirt into the growing pile beside him.
*
It was easily one hundred and ten degrees outside without taking into account
the humidity. Fifteen minutes into the shoveling Greg’s light t-shirt was
already stuck to his back, feeling moist and disgusting.
“Aren’t you hot?” Nick asked after half an hour.
Greg turned to look at him and watched a rivulet of sweat slide over one of
Nick’s dusky nipples. “You have no idea,” he responded thickly.
“So what’s the problem? It’s not like you’re modest. Lose the shirt, man. I’m
getting hot just looking at you.”
Behind his sunglasses, Greg squeezed his eyes shut. Irony was a cruel bitch.
Opening his eyes again, he gingerly pealed the sodden material over his head and
tossed it near his vest.
“Three sweaty, half-naked men digging with their giant shovels,” Catherine’s
voice came from behind them, amused and indulgent, “I think that was the premise
of a video I saw once.”
Greg raised his eyebrows, happy for the distraction. He usually didn’t go for
women, but flirting with Catherine was always one of the highlights of his day.
“Why Catherine, I didn’t know that you had an interest in those…proclivities.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Greg,” Catherine replied with a smirk.
Oh yeah, that experienced older woman thing was still hot. If only he could
convince her to take off her shirt too. They’d have a complete set.
“Are those water bottles?” Nick asked, gesturing at the bag in Catherine’s hand.
“Yeah, Sara and I decided that the least we could do was keep you guys
hydrated.” She tossed them each an ice-cold bottle. Greg hissed when a drop of
condensation flew off and landed on his chest. He swore he could hear it sizzle.
“That’s big of you,” Warrick was saying as he uncapped his own bottle,
“considering we’re doing all the grunt work.”
“Speaking of that, how’s it coming out here? Find anything interesting? Smoking
gun, signed confession?”
“I thought I felt a body,” Greg said, “but it turned out to be a deflated
basketball. The dog probably buried it.”
“Fascinating,” Catherine said dryly.
“Aren’t you glad to have Greg here cracking the case wide open?” Nick asked
playfully.
Greg felt a warm, heavy arm drape over his shoulders and looked up to see Nick
smiling down at him.
“Haha,” Greg choked out. At that moment Nick dumped a torrent of freezing water
through his hair. “Shit!” he cried, jumping out of Nick’s grasp and shaking his
wet hair as the water ran over his neck and back.
He bristled a few seconds as the other three snickered, but after the initial
shock wore off he could feel the individual paths of each cool droplet of water
as they slid down his back, licking away the heat and sweat. His eyes almost
rolled back in his head at the sweet relief of it.
And then a moment later he was sweating, burning up again worse than before,
because Nick took another bottle and splashed the contents over his own head.
Greg watched, mesmerized, as water sluiced down the planes of Nick’s perfect
chest and stomach, staining the jeans he wore a darker blue. Nick gave an
all-body shiver and then a little sigh of contentment.
God, so, so unfair. Greg hated everything.