Chapter Nine
RILEY
Riley pushed open the door to the diner and was met by an evaluating and not terribly friendly stare from the owner, Sam. She showed him to a table, where she set down an iced water and a menu, and somehow he still felt like a suspect in a lineup.
The diner was busy, though at least he’d been spared martini time today. There was no sign of Jason. Which was fine. It was just sex, after all, and it wouldn’t kill him to go without for a few days. Except, he was discovering that he wanted Jason in a way he hadn’t wanted anyone in a long time.
The hum of multiple conversations, the clashing of plates, and the occasional hiss of steam from the coffee machine meant he almost missed the conversation beside him. Almost.
“The Daily Sentinel’s a reactionary rag that wants us all living in the past.”
Riley jerked his head around at the sound of his paper’s name, then tried to make it look like a smooth glance to check out the specials board. He didn’t think it was too convincing, but thankfully, no one was paying attention to him.
“Doesn’t mean it isn’t right about some things.” The response was an older voice, sounding gruff.
Cautiously, Riley observed the people at the table next to him. A white-haired guy who looked well into his seventies was sitting with a teenage girl, who was currently waving a fork around with a fry stuck on the end of it like a conductor’s baton.
“Look at that story they ran about the Portland pack, how they were dangerous,” she said. “It was just one guy who hit one person in self-defense. Self-defense, Grandpa, but they made it sound like he was about to murder every human in town. You shouldn’t give that rag your money.”
The older guy harrumphed. “Well, they have good articles about investments.”
“I know they do, but they’re also constantly stirring up everyone against shifters.”
Riley frowned. That wasn’t what the paper did. Sure, they ran a lot of shifter stories, but they weren’t anti-shifter. They were just making sure that a balanced story was told. At least, he’d thought so.
But the way she said it, stirring people up…
Before he could chase that thought further, she was speaking again. “Look, why don’t I set you up with some sites that give you that sort of advice for free?”
“Laura, honey, I’m not completely decrepit. I do know what the internet is.”
Laura had the grace to look guilty. “Sorry.” She stabbed another fry in ketchup. “All I meant was that Joey hooked me up with some good sites when he was interning for that broker. Hey, did you hear about him breaking up with Taylor again?”
Riley’s interest in their conversation evaporated. He just hoped there weren’t more people out there who thought like Laura because if the readership of the paper dwindled much further, he’d be out of a job for a different reason.
And yet, he couldn’t shake what she’d said. Would his father think The Daily Sentinel was a rag? Not reactionary, obviously—that described his father to a T. But would he see Riley’s work as beneath him?
Riley had spent so many years trying to prove himself, and nothing he’d done had ever worked.
He was too short to be a successful model, not good enough to make it as an actor, and his band had lasted three months on the club circuit before he was kicked out in favor of a “better singer.” But if he broke a story this huge, had real journalists quoting his work…
If he landed on every news channel in the country, his father wouldn’t be able to ignore him anymore.
Riley was lost in thoughts of how that would feel when a shadow fell across his table.
“Ready to order?”
He jumped, heart thumping harder than it should have done, and found Sam standing right beside him. Close enough that it was either flirting or intimidation. Judging by her face, flirting was definitely off the menu. Well, what the hell had he done wrong this time?
She jotted down his order, then paused with her pen still in her hand. “How long are you in town for?” There was something almost hostile about the way she asked.
Riley had no idea what lay behind her question, but he was determined not to alienate anyone in the town—he never knew who might be willing to spill some gossip.
“At least a week, but more likely two,” he said smoothly.
Or hopefully longer, if Amy let him, because as well as the whole Jason thing, Riley was beginning to think that two weeks to uncover the dark secret of Elk Ridge’s pack might be optimistic.
His research that morning hadn’t turned up much, just the ranch’s deeds, confirming that Urban split the land and house sixty-forty with Bryce Reynolds.
Riley figured he’d take a hike out that way with some high-powered binoculars.
Purely for tourism research, of course. If he happened to spot an Argent, that would be entirely accidental.
“Just so long as Jason knows you’re only passing through,” Sam said.
Ah. The protective-mom speech. “He does,” he said firmly.
“Good,” she said. “Your food should be up in ten.”
It was. What was even better was that it was delivered by Jason, looking delightfully flushed and a little flustered, because apparently Sam had insisted she was too busy to serve Riley herself.
Seeing Jason approach, Riley couldn’t stop the grin stretching across his face.
He got to his feet, leaning in to press a brief kiss to Jason’s lips.
When he pulled back, Jason looked highly self-conscious but more than a little pleased, and Riley could see a wicked smile on Sam’s face from across the diner. Hell, Riley didn’t mind being the entertainment if it meant he got to kiss Jason.
“So, this afternoon,” he said. “What are you going to show me?”
It took Jason a moment to answer. If the look in his eyes was anything to go by, that was because his mind had gone to the same place as Riley’s—Jason stretched out on his bed, completely naked.
“I thought we could check out the microbrewery,” Jason said at last.
“Check out the beer or check out each other?” Riley asked, and Jason’s cheeks flushed pink. He was adorable—something Riley had never thought about anyone before.
“It’s a little way out of town, but I thought if there was enough interest from visitors, they could do tasting sessions or something. And the beer’s good,” Jason said in a rush, seeming to want to steer the conversation back to where he felt safe. Or to what he’d practiced saying beforehand.
“Sounds perfect,” Riley agreed. “We could bring some back with us and do some taste testing in my room. And then maybe we could drink the beer.”
Jason’s pink cheeks turned deep, dusky red, but his eyes were glued to Riley’s face as if he never wanted to stop looking at him.
Riley would have felt smug as hell about that fact if he weren’t feeling the exact same way about Jason.
He had no idea when it had happened, but he didn’t want to let Jason out of his sight again.
“Jason, honey,” Sam sashayed up to their table and put her hand on Jason’s shoulder. Riley bit back his instant jealousy. “I hate to interrupt, but I think something’s on fire.”
“Oh, hell.”
And Jason was gone, leaving Sam smirking and Riley counting the minutes to three o’clock.
* * *
The microbrewery sounded interesting. Riley kept repeating that to himself as he drove out of town, attempting to keep his attention on the road instead of the thigh in blue denim that was only inches away from him.
Jason was slouched comfortably in the car seat, his long legs sprawled, which brought one of them so damn close to Riley that he only needed to move his hand the slightest bit and he’d be able to feel the warm muscle beneath the denim.
He was fairly sure Jason was just relaxing after work, not trying to kill Riley, but the effect was the same either way.
With Riley concentrating on not jumping Jason, conversation was sparse, yet it didn’t feel uncomfortable. It felt a little too comfortable, given that they didn’t know one another. There was something about Jason’s undemanding warmth that made Riley feel good inside.
“I called Tim, explained why you’re in town, and he invited us out here,” Jason said as Riley turned off the road to maneuver up the rutted driveway that Jason had indicated.
“Everyone in this town really does know everyone else.” Riley was amused by the thought that Elk Ridge bought into the small-town stereotype so enthusiastically.
“I guess because I work in the diner, I’ve gotten to know a lot more people than I would otherwise,” Jason said.
“How long have you worked there?” Riley asked, pulling up outside the house.
“Nearly two and a half years.” Jason got out of the car and waited for Riley to follow suit before he continued. “I was hitchhiking, got dropped off in Elk Ridge by a ride and saw the Help Wanted sign in the diner window. That’s why I stayed. To start with, anyway.”
“You weren’t born here?” Riley asked, realizing he’d broken the first law of investigative journalism and assumed. Not that he had any interest in investigating Jason. Not in a way his paper would approve of, anyway.
Before Jason could answer, he was greeted by a shout from the house. A stout, affable-looking man strode across the grass to meet them.
The microbrewery looked more like a barn than a business, though the scents of hops and yeast hung heavy in the air. As they looked around the brewery, sampling the products and talking about beers they’d known and loved, Riley forgot all about the topic of where Jason came from.
But he evidently wasn’t the only one wondering about the other. When they walked back to their car, visit finished, Jason asked, “Have you written other travel books? Or something else I could read?”
Unlike Matt Urban, he sounded enthusiastic at the prospect.
Riley shook his head, irritation flickering. He wanted to feel at ease with Jason, not boxed in by the lie that got them here.