“How the hell do you stand the smell? It’s vile.”
I scoff because I’ve lived with it all my life and is simply part of farm life to me. When I’ve had to visit Dublin or London, I wondered the exact same thing about the city. The smoke, noise and car exhaust were stifling, and I could barely breathe.
“Sorry to exploit your delicate sensibilities, man. Maybe I can grab you the special scented air freshener I keep just for my city guests.” I reply drolly.
A burst of self-deprecating laughter escapes his mouth, and the sound is fucking glorious. Like church bells ringing on Easter Sunday morning. Except instead of filling my soul, it goes straight to my groin.
He raises a hand and claps me on the back, the warmth seeping through my over clothes. I whip my head to stare at him and he offers me a wink.
A sexy, goddamn wink.
Jaysus, what is this man doing to me?
“I like this about you, Niall. You don’t see the need to filter anything. You’re not only funny but good looking, too. A dangerous combination.”
My mouth dries up like a well in a drought and I swallow down sand particles lodging in my throat. Did he just reveal something about himself? Or am I projecting with wishful thinking?
The last thing I need to do is make a mistake with a guest who may or may not be homosexual like me.