Chapter 2
“An old folks’ home isn’t what I had in mind when we started our security company.” Archer’s Texas roots became more prominent whenever his emotions soared high or his energy sank low, so that Monday morning, he sounded closer to Matthew McConaughey than Glen Powell on the scale of Texan twang.
I glanced over at the passenger seat, where my best friend and one of my four business partners flipped through the dossier I’d memorized weeks before our first day on the job. “Silver Maple isn’t an old folks’ home,” I replied. “It’s—”
“Premier living for the wealthiest retirees, not only in Green Island Hills, or even Georgia, but the entire country. I can read too, Hawk,” Archer replied dryly. He was really annoyed if he’d reverted to using the call sign I’d earned during our Army Ranger days.
“Never said you couldn’t, buddy.”
“Sorry.” Archer heaved a sigh. “I’m just tired.”
Resisting a snort, I said, “Yeah, I ran into your latest conquest in the hallway when he left your apartment this morning.” The handsome brunet guy with dark brown bedroom eyes had been all dreamy smiles in the elevator.
“Shit,” Archer grumbled. “He asked if he could see me again before he left.”
I grimaced and sucked air through my teeth. “Did you forget to give him ‘the speech’ before sex or—”
“You know damn well I didn’t forget.” Archer’s snappish reply had enough bite to leave a bruise. “I always make sure a guy knows the score before I take them home with me. He seemed down with just hooking up, but I’m not so sure now.”
I couldn’t resist a snort this time.
Archer slapped my thigh with the folder. “Cut it out. You sound like my mom’s pug when she sucks something up her nose.”
There were far worse things than being compared to Maggie Mae, the pampered pug, but Archer sounded proud of the insult, so I let it go.
Besides, I had something much better to wind him up about.
“I think you’re going to have trouble avoiding your newest friend.
It seems you’ve made quite an impression on him, and I bet you don’t even remember his name. ”
“Of course I do.”
“Okay, what is it, then?” I pressed.
“It’s Jason, Jack, or possibly Jared. Definitely a name that starts with a J. Mostly, I just said Jesus a lot. Man, the stamina on that guy is something else. He made me feel like I was twenty all over again.” Then Archer yawned like someone much older than our thirty-five years.
Biting my bottom lip to keep from laughing, I turned onto Silver Maple’s tree-lined drive. The vibrant pink blooms and paver tiles stretched ahead of me for as far as the eye could see, offering a glimpse of the expansive, lush green lawn beyond the colorful border.
“Sure is pretty back here,” I said. “Are these silver maple trees?”
“Not even close,” replied Archer, who came from a long line of landscapers and arborists.
“These are crape myrtles. You can’t imagine the amount of work that goes into maintaining a driveway to this standard, and a person could retire on the amount of money spent on the pavers used in this driveway.
Slow down and look at the intricate pattern. ”
I’d already dropped my speed to twenty miles per hour, but I eased off the gas even more.
“See that?” Archer asked. “They used four different shades of gray to give it richer texture and dimension. Only people with expendable money care about details like this.”
“It’s nice.”
“Nice?” Archer sounded appalled and annoyed by my blasé response.
“Look, I appreciate the craftsmanship that went into this installation,” I said. “Just not as much as you. Where I come from, people use gravel, asphalt, or concrete for their driveways. We don’t care about parking our vehicles on texture and dimension.”
“You’re such a basic Florida bitch,” Archer said, his twang now sounding more cunty than country.
“Texan snob,” I shot back. “And his name is Bobby.”
Archer’s head snapped in my direction. “Who?”
“Your hookup from last night. He introduced himself to me this morning.” I didn’t bother hiding my glee when I grinned at Archer. “I introduced myself as your best friend, and sweet Bobby said he looked forward to getting to know me better.”
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
“Yeah, I think that’s what got you into this problem,” I said. “Your hookups rarely stick around until sunrise, so you must’ve shown Bobby some extra attention.”
“I already mentioned his stamina, but I didn’t tell you about his incredible hands. Oh, and he does this thing with his mouth. I—”
Raising my hand to cut him off, I said, “Don’t want to hear the details.”
“Prude.”
“Not even close,” I said.
“Okay, you’ve turned into a monk, then.”
The accusation hit closer to home than I liked, so I leveled Archer with a dark glower.
My best friend had the good grace to look sorry.
He knew damn well why I’d chosen celibacy, even if he didn’t agree with me.
Archer thought it was beyond time for me to put myself out there again, and so did our other friends.
“I’m sorry, Hawk.” Archer’s voice jolted me back to reality, and I was relieved to see I hadn’t veered off the driveway. “You’ll be ready when you’re ready.”
And the thing was, I’d tried.
Almost two months ago, I signed up for that stupid Randy app—who named this shit—and had even matched with Atticus, a gorgeous man who made me feel things I’d thought were impossible.
It took me three weeks to stop jerking off to his pictures long enough to arrange for a meetup.
I’d been very explicit about not looking for a date, and Atticus had claimed to feel the same way.
I’d gotten the impression that he was newly single or possibly a virgin because Atticus had seemed as clueless as I’d been about how these things were supposed to go down.
Go down. Mmmm. Atticus had the prettiest mouth I’d ever seen, with a well-defined cupid’s bow and a full lower lip made for nibbling. I’d really wanted to see my cock sliding through his parted—
“Do you forgive me?”
Archer’s question jolted me out of my fantasy, and I jerked my head in his direction.
His soulful green eyes could get Archer out of trouble nearly as fast as he found it.
I was no more immune to his puppy-dog expression now than I was when we met at ranger school thirteen years ago, so I let him believe I would someday be whole enough and brave enough to risk my heart again.
Hell, I’d reached the point in grieving where I needed to believe there was more for me too.
I just wasn’t ready to say it out loud, not after I fucked things up with Atticus.
It had been a month since I lied to him about having a work emergency.
I’d been sitting in my truck when Atticus had whipped a shiny sedan into the parking deck closest to the Uptown Tap.
I watched him park, check his teeth in the rearview mirror, and test his breath.
I couldn’t tear my eyes off Atticus when he climbed out of the car and hurried toward the bar, nearly colliding with someone in his haste to meet me.
I’d wanted to get out of my truck and follow him, but fear had a death grip on my heart.
I couldn’t move and barely breathed as my mind replayed all the reasons why it wasn’t a good idea for me to ever love someone again.
No matter how many times I told myself it was only a hookup, my heart didn’t believe it.
I just wasn’t built that way. So, I tried my damnedest not to picture his face when I finally freed myself from the crippling fear long enough to tell Atticus I wasn’t coming.
I’d spent the past thirty days dreading my choice and not knowing how to fix it.
I’d pulled up the Randy app the next morning, intending to apologize and probably to jack off to his thirst traps, but our chat was gone.
Atticus had deleted his profile altogether, and that had made me feel even worse.
Guilt and remorse had been my constant companions, and I was sick of their company.
But what could I do? I’d only communicated with Atticus through the app, so I didn’t have his phone number or email.
Yes, I had access to one hell of a search engine through the security company I co-owned.
I could learn just about anything I wanted about Atticus, but tracking him down that way felt like predatory behavior.
If Atticus had wanted me to have his personal information, he would’ve given it to me.
Fuck, I just wanted to apologize and maybe explain what had happened so he would know it had nothing to do with him.
And I really wanted to know the color of his eyes.
They looked brown in some photos and green in others.
Did he wear colored contacts? Or maybe his irises changed depending on his mood, the lighting, or the color of clothes he wore.
I nearly snorted. Atticus had worn very little in the photos he uploaded to Randy, so I discounted that.
I’d heard of mood rings, but I’d never heard of mood irises.
I nearly dismissed that too, but decided to look it up later.
Color contacts seemed like the logical answer, but what was his true color? Brown or green?
“Hawk?” Archer prompted. “Are we good?”
“Of course. Sorry, I zoned out on you. My mind has already shifted to work stuff.” The lie rolled too easily off my tongue, but Archer would never ease up if he knew I was obsessing over a near hookup.
“The Silver Maple account is the biggest thing to ever happen to us, and I really want to get it right.”
“And we will.”