Page 15 of Flare

“Good. So, what’s with this fashion shop?”

I pushed the card toward him.

“Flare.” He turned it over in his hand.

“It’s a high-end frou-frou men’s store. The owner’s some up-and-coming designer I’ve never heard of.”

Rafe caught the eye-roll. “That hardly narrows the field. And let me guess. You don’t approve.”

I shifted in my seat. “It’s not that I don’t approve. They seem nice enough, and Rhys was good about not pressing charges.”

“Rhys, huh?” Rafe raised a brow. “Fashion designer? Male? Gay?”

I ignored him, but heat rose in my cheeks nonetheless as I watched the leaf-stripped maples bow to the bitter northerly rolling off the harbour. I didn’t need to be thinking about the beautiful designer or the way those brown eyes rolled over me, lighting fires where they shouldn’t.

Not a hair, not a thread out of place, not even a shadow of scruff on his jaw. Dressed in a billowy white shirt with damn ruffles on the cuffs—ruffles, for fuck’s sake—tight-as-fuck black leather jeans with a silver belt buckle the size of my hand, and a long black...somethingover the top of it all. A coat seemed too simple a description. It looked light as a feather and fell like a waterfall. And what the hell did I care anyway?

The guy was gorgeous. Exactly the type of gorgeous I’d learned not to waste my time on. He and I lived in two different worlds, and I especially didn’t need to be thinking about the way he’d turned me down flat. Shocker.

“So, heisgay?” Rafe waggled his brows. “I really hope so. Because the way you went all secret-squirrel quiet gives my poor heart hope that maybe you have a pulse after all.”

I flipped him off. “Shut up. And yes, he’s gay. But I only got laid last week, as you well know. I’m hardly gagging for it, arsehole.”

Rafe screwed up his nose. “You don’t need a pulse to fuck Devon Martin, just poor taste and a bath in disinfectant when you’re done.”

I shoved his feet off my chair. “Hey. There’s nothing wrong with Devon. He’s a nice guy. He’s just a little...” I waved my hand in the air, searching for the right word.

“Weird, I believe, is the word you’re looking for,” Rafe offered. “Along with creepy and peculiar.”

“He is not.”

“The man makes his own lube, for fuck’s sake.”

I winced. “I’ll give you that. But he’s...” I blew a long breath as Rafe waited with arched brows. “Uncomplicated.”

Rafe snorted. “The man’s a walking glory hole, so yes, he’s about as uncomplicated as you can get. And I repeat—disinfectant.”

I laughed because he wasn’t wrong. I’d even double gloved for the singularly unspectacular event, PrEP notwithstanding. But I hadn’t been laid since Jack moved in, so yeah, there was that. It wasn’t like I was looking for sparkling conversation.

“You can do better, Beck.”

I hope so. A pair of dark brown eyes came to mind, but I let them float on by.“If it makes you feel any better, I won’t be revisiting the experience. It was just... convenient for us both. Now can we move on from this before I die the death of a thousand humiliating choices, cos you know I have that sucker licked.”

He stared at me. “As long as I reserve the right to reconvene if you lose your fucking senses again. Next time, choose the phone-a-friend option for everyone’s sake.”

I frowned. “We don’t do that with each other, Rafe. We promised. No fucking between us, ever.”

He blushed. “I know, I know. But I’d suck it up for world peace. I mean, Devon Martin, for fuck’s sake? What the hell were you thinking?”

“Enough. And I’m going to ignore the not-so-barbed insult in there for the sake of our friendship.”

He looked about to add something, then thought better of it. “Okay. So, is this designer guy... hot?”

My lips set in a thin line, which of course gave Rafe everything he needed.

“Oh, he is, isn’t he?” Rafe grinned from ear to ear. “Well, doesn’t that add an interesting wrinkle to the equation?”

“No, it does not. We’re not all scientific problems to be reduced to our sub-atomic particles and solved, you know.”

---