Tied to Trouble(2)

Chad resisted the urge to bristle. He knew his sister was just trying to be nice and watch out for him. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that hopping from job to job was ridiculous. He’d been doing it for so many years at this point, it was almost second nature. He hated being tied down, doing the same thing, talking to the same people. Hell, he hated wearing the same clothes. So what if he had a new job every couple of months? He paid his bills.

He ignored the voice in his head telling him that wasn’t quite enough for him anymore, and said, “Sure, Mars.”

She smiled at him and he felt a swell of warmth and love and mushy feelings. Marley was his best friend, and the only one who seemed to see him as anything other than a throwaway. He’d thought so many times of talking to her about his recent discontent, of his desire for more—a challenge, something to be proud of, just more. But it was never the right time (like now), or he chickened out (like now). He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Go make out with your boyfriend. I’m going to grab a beer and I’ll be outside.”

She gave him a quick hug and walked out the back door with a, “You better not eat and leave!”

He’d been contemplating it, so maybe it was a good thing she’d given that order. There was really no reason for him to be here other than his sister had invited him and, well, food. So he popped some sort of pecan tart in his mouth, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, and followed Marley out back.

The backyard was full of people. Other than Marley and Austin, he knew two of them—Grant Osprey, the owner of Gamers, and Grant’s girlfriend, Chloe.

He tilted his head with the bottle of beer up to his lips. The familiar tang of liquid hit his tongue and the comforting glug sounded in his ears. Ah, yes, beer. Nectar of the gods, really. No fancy wine or scotch in a highball glass for him.

A fidgeting man standing on the outer fringes of the crowd drew Chad’s attention. Then the man turned, and big, round blue eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses met his. He tipped his bottle toward the guy in a cheers gesture. He meant to look away, he really did, except those blue eyes blinked at him, and Chad couldn’t tear his gaze away. Everything about the guy screamed geek, from his perfectly parted and slicked-back blond hair to his button-down shirt and pressed slacks. He even wore a bow tie, for God’s sake—and not in the tacky Chippendales homage way like Chad sported at Blue Moon Bar.

But there was something about his eyes, those perfectly pouted lips, that had Chad wondering what the guy would look like on his knees at Chad’s feet.

Oh, shit, his sister would laugh her ass off if she found out he was perving on Bow Tie.

Chad watched as the guy’s eyes did the exact same thing to him. He braced his feet apart, let his arms fall loosely to the side and cocked his head, like, yeah, you know you want this, Bow Tie. Except when Bow Tie’s gaze returned to Chad’s face, there was…nothing. Blank slate. No blush staining his cheeks or lust burning in his eyes.

Nope, Bow Tie—who was clearly into guys, because no straight man checked out another guy like Bow Tie had just done—had rated Chad and found him lacking.

Chad frowned. No one found him lacking. At least not physically. He was a solid eight and a half, maybe a nine and a quarter on a good day. He could use a haircut. But Bow Tie was…was… Chad growled. He didn’t know, but Bow Tie was something. And just when he was about to open his mouth and figure it out, Bow Tie lifted an uninterested eyebrow and turned around.

Which only succeeded in making sure Chad’s gaze dropped right to the guy’s ass, and even encased in uptight khaki pants, said ass looked spectacular.

Damn it, why couldn’t Bow Tie have a flat ass? Chad huffed out a breath. It was like karma hated him.

He took a sip of his beer. Forget it. Forget that bow tie he wanted to unravel with his teeth and that hair he wanted to mess up with his fingers.

And anyway, those mini sandwiches he’d passed over earlier in the kitchen were calling his name. Unlike the stuffy bow tie–wearing hottie across the yard.

Damn it.

…

What were the odds Crazy Illegal Motorcycle Man was in fact his boss’s wild child brother, Chad Lake?

Or that a guy like that would ever check out a guy like him?

Owen Hawkins carefully schooled his face, pretending to listen as his coworker went on and on about…something. He wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten roped into this conversation with five of his peers—two of whom he bet didn’t even know his name—but there he was, trapped in that awkward position where he couldn’t walk away without excusing himself.

Although, maybe he should so his coworkers actually noticed he was there.