Page 7 of Breakfast Included

But it also felt like a trap. That if he confessed his feelings for the younger Pierce, he might feel the wrath of the older Pierce—not that Ricky would ever physically harm him. But there was good reason Ricky was an enforcer on the ice. The man was seriously intimidating and could level his opponents with one look. Plus, one didn’t mess with a best friend’s younger sibling. So, Tate had said nothing.

“And also, because everyone at school knew not to mess with Reno Pierce,” Tate parsed his thoughts. “Not unless they wanted to deal with the business end of Ricky’s fists.”

“He was always a scrapper on the ice.” Reno laughed, but it was a soft, affectionate sound. “There was never any doubt he’d make it all the way to the NHL.”

Reno’s gaze was on the fire, but Tate knew he wasn’t really seeing it. Whatever was rolling around in his head, he was taking his time to articulate it.

“You never thought about looking me up when you moved back?”

Reno’s voice was quiet, tentative, and Tate would have kicked his own ass if he could. He shifted on his cushion. He never wanted to do anything again that would hurt Reno. Or incur Ricky’s wrath by doing so.

“I was just so focused on my career that I really didn’t have much time to think about anything else,” Tate said, which sadly was the truth. Plus, after he’d come out, he’d made up for lost time by sleeping with a different person every weekend. Then there’d been his long-term relationship that he’d thought was his forever.

Reno nodded but still didn’t make eye contact.

“That and . . .” Tate cleared his throat. “You were so cute. I knew you’d grow up gorgeous and figured you’d be in a full-on committed relationship by now. Married with the one-point-two kids and a dog and all that.”

Reno turned to him finally, and a smile lit up his handsome face. “You thought I was cute?”

Yet again, warmth spread over his cheeks, and he knew his skin would look as red as his hair. He couldn’t remember a time he’d flushed so much as now. It was all Reno’s doing, he decided. “Well . . . I might have been stupid, but I wasn’t blind.”

Reno’s laughter filled the cabin, and a little piece of Tate’s self-confidence pulled its head out of the metaphorical sand. He wanted to hear that laugh again and again. Reno’s eyes locked with his, and the air crackled like a living thing between them. Tate’s whole body flushed with arousal, and his lower belly tightened.

He wanted Reno.

But Reno turned away, and the moment broke. Reno lifted his beer bottle to his mouth and Tate sat mesmerized. He watched Reno’s Adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallowed back the last of the amber liquid. Reno stood, looked around the cabin, and walked over to the kitchenette to place his empty bottle on the counter.

“Just the one bedroom then?” he asked, and at Tate’s nod, said, “I’ll sleep on the couch. If you have some extra blankets.”

Tate stood. “You don’t need to sleep out here. You can have the bed.”

Or better yet, share it with me.

Reno shook his head and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “This is your cabin. I’m not kicking you out of your bed. The couch will be comfy enough.”

After getting Reno settled Tate cleaned up for the night, and then laid alone in a bed big enough for two. His mind replayed every moment spent with Reno when they were kids and then tonight. He may not have given much thought to Reno over the years since he’d left for university, but he knew that would change from this point on. Reno seemed hesitant, and with good reason, but Tate decided he was going to make a point of really getting to know Reno now that they’d reconnected.

He drifted off to sleep with the decade-old memory of Reno’s lips against his.

ChapterThree

Friday, December 23

Reno woke slowlyas the most delicious dream that involved him and Tate and very little clothing—none, in fact—began to fade. He stretched and pressed the heel of his hand to his groin. He froze at the sound of movement nearby. He snapped his eyes open and took in the surroundings. He was not in his own bedroom.

He bolted upright as the previous night rushed to the forefront of his mind. Running into Tate Boylan at the speed-dating event, an avalanche stranding them all at The Retreat, sleeping on the couch in Tate’s private cabin, and wanting so badly to kiss him again.

Tate was moving about the kitchenette, shirtless, clanking pans and plates, and the heavenly scent of bacon teased Reno’s nostrils. His stomach gurgled with anticipation.

“Morning, sunshine.” Tate sounded way too chipper at whatever the time was, but it was definitely too early, given the low light coming in through the large mountain-facing windows. Through a gap in the curtains, all he saw was white.

Reno narrowed his eyes and growled. “It’s snowing.” That was not a good sign for road clearing. “And stop being one of those annoyingly happy morning people.”

Tate didn’t seem to take any offense to Reno’s lack of morning manners and placed a tray on the coffee table in front of him. There were two cups of steaming coffee, a plate with several slices of buttered toast beside which sat a jar of strawberry jam and one of honey, and two plates, each topped with omelets. He didn’t know what kind, but he could see mushrooms, bacon, and spinach with swiss cheese melted on top.

“As promised,” Tate said with a proud smile. And still shirtless. “Breakfast included.”

“This looks and smells amazing,” Reno said as he adjusted himself on the couch to put his feet on the floor and give Tate room to sit. “But first . . .”

---