“Huh,” Rowe grunted. “He’s got some definition to him. Color me surprised. I thought he was some rich club kid.”
“He is.” Ian eyed his arms, shocked to see Rowe was right. He had a small set of pretty tight abs and his arms were slim but defined. He’d been curious about Geoffrey after hearing about the escapade his friends had taken him on last winter. “Very rich, by the way.”
“Like Lucas?”
Ian shook his head. “No, but apparently he created some app and sold it before he hit twenty. He’s some kind of gamer or something.” He chuckled. “One who gets on Jude’s every nerve—not that I blame him.”
He was stunned when Sven nodded and walked with Geoffrey to the exercise mat. They stood talking for a few minutes and while he couldn’t hear the words, Ian had taken enough beginner self-defense classes with Rowe and even Lucas to know that Sven was teaching Geoffrey about the basics of stance and how to lower your center of gravity. Of course, Ian wasn’t too sure how much of it was sinking in because even from the second floor, Ian could see Geoffrey had this dazed expression as he stared up at Sven like he was some kind of Norse god. Not that Ian could blame him.
As if to snap him out of it, Sven grabbed for Geoffrey and even from here, Ian could tell he held back. But in the blink of an eye, Geoffrey easily dodged his large grasping hands. Sven reached again and Geoffrey slipped away, moving like a jackrabbit on crack. The young man giggled, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. Sven reached a third time, aiming wider to catch Geoffrey. But this time, Geoffrey didn’t try to dodge. He delivered one lightning-quick hit to the center of Sven’s chest before grabbing his left wrist. Geoffrey twisted around and dropped to his knees, pulling Sven’s arm over his shoulder.
The quick hit and sudden movement pulled Sven completely off-balance, sending him flying head over feet to land with a heavy thump on the mats. Sven didn’t move for a breath, looking utterly stunned that the delicate man had bested him so simply. Geoffrey—never one to miss an opportunity—straddled Sven, his small hands braced on the other man’s massive shoulders.
“Poor Sven,” Rowe said from behind his hand as they watched the big guy just lie there and frown at the smaller man perched on his groin.
Ian kind of wished he was the one sitting on the man’s crotch. To hell with their lack of attraction. Enough kissing and he could make it work. Kissing just flat-out did it for him. And he knew Sven was a nice guy…
Rowe’s laugh was enough to pull his attention back to his friend because the man laughed so rarely these days.
“You do not need to be looking at my employee like that. Time to go out and find yourself a friend.”
“I could say the same for you,” Ian retorted without thinking. He instantly felt a hot wave of shame sweep through his chest.
Rowe didn’t say anything for a long time, just watched the activity below. He finally cleared his throat and when he spoke, his voice came out sandpaper rough. “Well if you need a wingman, let me know. It’s not like I haven’t done the same for the others. We’ll just not take them with us. You’re never going to get laid with those two mother hens.” He paused. “I really did think that cop was interested in you.”
Ian just shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. It’s pointless to talk about Hollis. I think he moved away.”
Rowe frowned and smoothed down his beard.
“No,” Ian said, voice firm as he pointed at his friend. “I know that look on your face. Do not look into it. I don’t want to know where he is. He missed his chance and that’s all there is to it.”
Again, Rowe remained silent, but a spark had returned to his eyes that made Ian both happy and very, very worried.Chapter 3Rowe frowned as he drove toward the end of the street and saw that his front porch light was out. It could be a coincidence. He hadn’t changed the bulbs when he set up the security system after buying the house. But after Lucas and Snow…and Mel…there were no coincidences for him. He slowed, removing the gun he kept in the center console.
The bright lights of the truck splashed across the front of the small, red brick, single-story house, elongating shadows but revealing no one as he parked. Rowe’s heart sped up and he found himself praying that someone was waiting to kill him. He didn’t like the waiting, not knowing how the next assailant was going to strike or when or even why.
Switching the lights off, Rowe pocketed the keys with his left hand while tightly clutching the gun in his right. As he opened the door, the snick of a lighter echoed in the silence followed by the soft glow of a flame as it was applied to the tip of a cigarette. The light caressed features that looked hauntingly familiar, but he couldn’t place the face from what little he could see of it. At least it answered the question of whether someone was waiting for him.