After dropping the letters on the hall table, Calvin went into the bathroom to check on Brock’s shirt that he’d put on a hanger over the tub. The shirt was dry, but incredibly wrinkled. The stain had come out at least. He toyed with the idea of taking it to the dry cleaners; they would at least press it correctly. Calvin hated ironing. Feeling the soft blue silk gave Calvin a hard on. He had to admit Brock had looked hot in the thing.
Before he could talk himself out of the idea, Calvin had stripped off his T-shirt and was putting his arms through the sleeves of Brock’s shirt. Doing up the pearl snaps, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the medicine cabinet.
“Get off your horse and drink your milk!” he drawled, and felt only a little stupid. But there was no one around to
