Page 1 of Holiday Scars
CHAPTER ONE
Jett
Blade hasn’t looked at me once since we got into the car. Not really. Not in the way he did on that pier when his hands were shaking and his mouth was...
I don’t know what that was, and he clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. Just wants to drink off the moment, apparently. And had I not decided to take my life into my hands and caused us to look like drowned rats, Blade and I might have ended the night at Luxe, Shane Quinlan’s fancy nightclub.
Wearing clothes that have been in a go-bag for months, creased and stale, Blade suggested Battery Bar, a pub around the corner from his apartment. His favorite local dive. So here we are.
Or he did like this place. For some reason, Blade sits across from me in the booth with a scowl pulling at his mouth. He’s nursing a beer like it’s last call.
He’s barely said a word since he pulled me from the water and then started giving me mouth-to-mouth.
“What’s got you bent, man?” I ask, leaning forward so he can hear me over the bad local band.
He shakes his head, gaze cutting to the door. Is he waiting for someone? Stavros, his boyfriend? Hisex-boyfriend,who moved out two weeks ago.
My partner is all hard lines and heat in that vintage leather jacket from the go-bag. His beard is trimmed close lately, his jaw more defined without the extra scruff. His shaved head shows scalp curves like a Neanderthal. His polished crown catches the light, and I can’t help but stare. But when he lifts his pint of beer, my attention is drawn to those damn biceps straining against his sleeves.
Blade is the kind of man who makes people move out of his way. And the kind of man who could ruin me for women if I ever started thinking like that.
But I won’t. We work together.
And I’m straight.
I tell myself it’s just a man-crush. Just admiration. We have the kind of bond forged between men who’ve lived through painful childhoods and survived. If being trackers for the Irish Mob is surviving.
None of that explains the way my chest tightens when Blade looks at me. Or the way my pulse stutters when I catch him in a towel during our overnight hotel stays while on assignments. How he’s completely unbothered by being naked around me.
He must think I don’t care because I’m straight. Hell, I think I’m straight, or at least I was until this obsession with him kicked in.
“Have you heard from Stavros?” I ask when the silence stretches too long.
Blade’s jaw ticks. “Don’t...say his name.”
That’s a no.
His anguished answer is disappointing. He hasn’t moved on yet.
I glance down at my drink, mostly untouched. I can’t taste the alcohol. I’m still reeling from coming to with Blade’s mouth on mine. My tongue is screaming with his cologne, his last smoke, and the whiskey he downed before we left for the docks.
It’s likethatcocktail will be on my tongue forever. And if I’m honest, I’m sort of okay with that.
I almost confess how I’m feeling, but a man walks by our table. Pea coat, tight jeans, and reddish hair slicked back. Irish. One of ours. But this guy could be Stavros’s shadow, except for the hair. Same height, build, and chiseled cheekbones. Exactly the body type Blade likes.
His hand tightens around his glass as the guy’s eyes drag across my partner before he disappears toward the bathrooms. I guess saving me and putting his mouth on me had a five-minute shelf life.
After downing the beer, Blade shoves the glass away. “Be right back.”
“Wait!” I reach for him, my trembling fingers closing around his bicep.
It’s warm and solid, and the feel of his muscles sends something through me I’m struggling to figure out. Or control. I needed to get Stavros out of the way to confess how I’m feeling lately, but it looks like I missed my fucking window.
Blade looks down at my hand, then up at me. For a split second, there’s something raw and unreadable in his eyes. Our gazes collide, sparking a flame with heat that hardens my cock.
“What?” he rasps, confused over my objection.
Here’s my moment. My moment to say what I’ve been holding inside, but why does it always feel wrong? The rational side of me says it’s because we work together. And he’s my brother Dirk’s best friend. We’ve known each other for over ten years, and I don’t want to risk losing him if...
