I take Michael Block in again: titanium-like shoulders, beautiful blue eyes, tanned muscles, rock-hard jaw, sexy cheeks, furrowed brow, inquisitive smile, and ...

“ ... I want to trim your hedges out front and do some other things, if you don’t mind.” He reaches out for my hand to shake, but I don’t present it.

I simply ignore his comment. My mind backtracks to his previous comment regarding Dayton sending him over to my yard. What else am I to do? “What do you mean that Dayton sent you over here to work in my yard?”

Again, he checks me out from head to toe and takes in my fit looks. The stud finally realizes I’m not going to shake his hand and drops his gloved paw. He admits, “Damn, you are one fine looking man.”

“Keep your eyes off me,” I stupidly say, since I stand in the backyard in nothing more than my underwear. “I suggest you finish up here and get on your way.”

He keeps the handsome smile on his rugged looking face and asks, “Can’t you offer a hard working blue collar guy a glass of iced water?”

I could, but ... what for? I haven’t hired him to cut my grass, weed my tea roses, and trim my hedges. Nor did I ask him to go out of his way to spend an hour or two in my backyard and accomplish whatever a landscaper enjoys accomplishing. Instead of agreeing with the sexy guy, unwilling to melt before him and have him seduce me with his Mediterranean-colored eyes and toned bulk, unable to please him in any way, even if Dayton wants me to, I shake my head, and reply, “You really should be getting on your way, Mr. Block. I do believe you’re trespassing.”

He doesn’t give up; I wouldn’t either if I was in his position. Block asks, “Can I ask you a man to man question first, Nino?”

I want to tell him no, he cannot. This doesn’t transpire, though. Instead, I break down a little, absorbed by his good looks, his sweaty-rank smell, the pointed left nipple that doesn’t hide behind his denim bib, and say, “One question ... and now you have to leave.”

He takes the back of his gloved, right hand and wipes it across his mouth, clears his throat, continues to smile at me, and asks his single question, “What have I done to you that makes you not like me?”

It’s a great question, but not very fair. I do like him ... on many different levels: his brilliant mind to run his business, his inevitable sex appeal, his queer tendencies (the thought of him sucking a ten-inch cock and licking a man’s tight and hairy ass can turn any queer on), his honesty, and how he is an upstanding citizen in Templeton. “I do like you,” slips out of my parted lips, which even surprises me, since the last thing I want to do is get along with him.

“Now why don’t you give me a glass of iced water, Nino? I don’t bite. I like you a lot. We share the same man in the sack, and in our lives. Maybe we should start to get along. What do you say?”