inside the restaurant. It would’ve been even smarter to have not scheduled this “date” in the first place.
“Rock.”
Shit . He spun around, his chin jerking up at the rich note of Carter’s voice. He hadn’t been able to get that distinct tone out of his mind. “Hey,” he managed to say.
Carter extended his hand. “Good to see you again.” His smile was broad and warm. His dark hair fluttered with another gust of wind that had turned his cheeks an appealing shade of red.
Once again, all forms of casual conversation fled Rock’s brain. At least this time he was with it enough to accept the greeting. He yanked his hand from his pocket and took Carter’s hand in a firm grip. His palm was chilled, his skin smooth.
Rock stared at their clasped hands, his gut clamping down in a tight knot that threatened to never unravel. He should say something, anything, but his throat was dry. The heat seemed to radiate from Carter’s palm into his. The light brush of the man’s thumb over the back of his hand sent a flash of shivers and flames straight up his arm.
The deep rumble of Carter’s throat clearing snapped Rock out of his stupor. He jerked back, pulling his hand away to stuff it back in his pocket. The tips of his ears burned and he prayed Carter thought it was from the cold.
“Should we head inside?” Carter asked when Rock failed to say anything. “Or do you have other plans?”
Rock glanced over his shoulder at the sports restaurant currently packed with Glaciers’s fans. The brightly lit interior glowed against the darkness outside, the activities of its patrons on clear display for everyone who passed by.
What had seemed like a good idea when he’d made the arrangements on Sunday now proved beyond him. He turned back. The man was waiting patiently without a hint of annoyance or frustration on his face. His lined leather bomber jacket was worn to a deep shade of brown. A black sweater showed where the zipper wasn’t fully closed, and Rock had the stupid thought of how the color matched Carter’s hair and made the blue of his eyes even brighter. He was model-worthy and completely beyond him. Yet he was here because Rock had paid him to be.
Reality was slapped back into his mind that quick. He shook his head and scoffed at his stupidity.
“I have tickets to the game tonight.” He motioned toward the stadium that shown bright with lights three blocks down. “We could head on over.”
“That sounds great.” Carter tucked his hands in his pockets and started walking. He brushed by, nudging Rock’s shoulder. “Loosen up. We’re just two guys enjoying a game. That’s all anybody sees.”
“Like dinner,” Rock mumbled. He followed along beside Carter almost mechanically, his feet moving in time with Carter’s as if he was unable to manage it on his own.
“Exactly,” Carter agreed. “Nothing different than those guys over there.” He nodded to two men decked out head to toe in Glaciers’s gear who were talking animatedly as they headedtoward the stadium. “Or those two ahead of us.”
Rock squinted at the backs of the men walking not more than twenty feet in front of them. Both were dressed much like they were, their heads bowed against the wind. There was nothing to assume about them by their postures or dress except that they were heading to the game.
Just like he and Carter were.
Just like he’d done with Deklan many times before. And he’d never worried about what others thought then.
“Does the guilt show?”
Carter stopped walking, and Rock came up short.
He turned back and willed the heat to not reach his cheeks. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
“Yeah.” Carter took a step forward under the guise of moving to the side to let some other people pass. The smile had dropped away from his face. “Why do you feel that way?”
Shit. I’m fucking this up again . “It’s not you,” Rock said, his voice firm. He made a quick check of their surroundings, but
“Rock.”
Shit . He spun around, his chin jerking up at the rich note of Carter’s voice. He hadn’t been able to get that distinct tone out of his mind. “Hey,” he managed to say.
Carter extended his hand. “Good to see you again.” His smile was broad and warm. His dark hair fluttered with another gust of wind that had turned his cheeks an appealing shade of red.
Once again, all forms of casual conversation fled Rock’s brain. At least this time he was with it enough to accept the greeting. He yanked his hand from his pocket and took Carter’s hand in a firm grip. His palm was chilled, his skin smooth.
Rock stared at their clasped hands, his gut clamping down in a tight knot that threatened to never unravel. He should say something, anything, but his throat was dry. The heat seemed to radiate from Carter’s palm into his. The light brush of the man’s thumb over the back of his hand sent a flash of shivers and flames straight up his arm.
The deep rumble of Carter’s throat clearing snapped Rock out of his stupor. He jerked back, pulling his hand away to stuff it back in his pocket. The tips of his ears burned and he prayed Carter thought it was from the cold.
“Should we head inside?” Carter asked when Rock failed to say anything. “Or do you have other plans?”
Rock glanced over his shoulder at the sports restaurant currently packed with Glaciers’s fans. The brightly lit interior glowed against the darkness outside, the activities of its patrons on clear display for everyone who passed by.
What had seemed like a good idea when he’d made the arrangements on Sunday now proved beyond him. He turned back. The man was waiting patiently without a hint of annoyance or frustration on his face. His lined leather bomber jacket was worn to a deep shade of brown. A black sweater showed where the zipper wasn’t fully closed, and Rock had the stupid thought of how the color matched Carter’s hair and made the blue of his eyes even brighter. He was model-worthy and completely beyond him. Yet he was here because Rock had paid him to be.
Reality was slapped back into his mind that quick. He shook his head and scoffed at his stupidity.
“I have tickets to the game tonight.” He motioned toward the stadium that shown bright with lights three blocks down. “We could head on over.”
“That sounds great.” Carter tucked his hands in his pockets and started walking. He brushed by, nudging Rock’s shoulder. “Loosen up. We’re just two guys enjoying a game. That’s all anybody sees.”
“Like dinner,” Rock mumbled. He followed along beside Carter almost mechanically, his feet moving in time with Carter’s as if he was unable to manage it on his own.
“Exactly,” Carter agreed. “Nothing different than those guys over there.” He nodded to two men decked out head to toe in Glaciers’s gear who were talking animatedly as they headedtoward the stadium. “Or those two ahead of us.”
Rock squinted at the backs of the men walking not more than twenty feet in front of them. Both were dressed much like they were, their heads bowed against the wind. There was nothing to assume about them by their postures or dress except that they were heading to the game.
Just like he and Carter were.
Just like he’d done with Deklan many times before. And he’d never worried about what others thought then.
“Does the guilt show?”
Carter stopped walking, and Rock came up short.
He turned back and willed the heat to not reach his cheeks. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
“Yeah.” Carter took a step forward under the guise of moving to the side to let some other people pass. The smile had dropped away from his face. “Why do you feel that way?”
Shit. I’m fucking this up again . “It’s not you,” Rock said, his voice firm. He made a quick check of their surroundings, but
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