The next morning Vic was sitting at the dining room table sipping hot, black, tasteless coffee and shuffling through the newspaper when Matt finally woke. Vic heard him in the kitchen, yawning loudly as he poured himself a cup of coffee. A few minutes later, warm arms wrapped around Vic’s neck and Matt pressed his cheek against the back of Vic’s shaved head. With a contented sigh, he hugged Vic to him. “Morning, stranger.”
“‘Bout time you got up,” Vic grumbled, but he didn’t bother to hide his grin. Matt leaning against him was a pleasant way to start any day.
“Oh, please.” Matt untangled himself and flounced into the chair next to his. He wore Vic’s flannel bathrobe, cinched at the waist, and probably little, if nothing, else. A jockstrap—the thought came out of nowhere, unbidden, so
