Whatever reason Hunter was here wasn’t a good one. You don’t pop up back into someone’s life after years of radio silence to have a drink and a round of shoot the shit with your former college roommate—especially not with the gay roommate who let things go too far the last night you saw each other.
“Everything okay?” Paul asked as Devon cruised past him. “Want me to call him a cab?”
Dev slowed his step and turned to look at the booth he’d left. All he could see was the back of Hunter’s baseball cap. He loosened his necktie. “No, I’ve got him. He’s an old friend. I’ll make sure he gets home safely.”
Paul’s eyebrows scaled up his forehead. “To his home or yours?”
“It’s not like that.”
“That’s too bad,” he said, leaning on his elbows. “He’s gorgeous.”
“And straight.”
And engaged.
And famous.
And here.
This was going to be bad.
Chapter 3
Hunter stood a few steps down the sidewalk, inhaling the crisp night air and trying to get his head clear as he watched Devon lock the back door of the restaurant. Hunter had sat in the place for a good hour and a half and had eaten what he could. He could see straight again, but his muscles were in knots. What the fuck had he been thinking driving here and blindsiding Devon like this?
His original plan had been to lie low, to just see the place and maybe catch a glimpse of Devon—satisfy his curiosity. But his nerves had taken over, and he’d ordered a glass of wine . . . and another . . . and another. He’d never had problems with addiction. He’d given up alcohol after the accident as a PR move. His father had wanted an “action plan” so that his constituents could see he was handling the situation with his errant son, and he wanted to make sure no baseball teams would be scared to take a look at Hunter. But tonight Hunter had seen the appeal in drinking away the worries. He’d been feeling no pain by the time he’d gotten up enough nerve to ask for Dev.
Then he’d seen him and all had gone to shit. Parts of his former best friend still looked like the guy he remembered. His sable brown hair was still a little too long, though he’d ditched the bright purple streaks he’d had in college, and that tilted smirk still said he knew more than he was letting on. But this version—the suit, the air of authority, the way he took up space in a room—was a lot more sophisticated and refined. Dev had grown up while Hunter had continued on being what he always had been, a ballplayer, a congressman’s son—suspended animation. The space between their orbits had always been broad, but now it felt like they inhabited different galaxies. He shouldn’t be here.
Dev turned and tucked his hands in his slacks, eyeing Hunter. “I still can’t let you drive. You realize that, right?”
&
nbsp; “I can call a cab.”
Devon frowned. “Where are you staying?”
“Uh, it’s some kind of spa place. The Creekwater? Something like that.”
Devon sniffed. “It’s the Creekwood. Pretty swank setup I’ve heard. Great honeymoon spot. Meeting your girl there?”
“No. She sent me out here to get some time away. She has a friend who works there who’s supposed to set me up with whatever I need.”
“Right now all you need is a bed so you can sleep it off.” He glanced over at a tired-looking Nissan. “It’ll take forever to get a cab down here. I can park your rental in an employee space and no one will mess with it. The hotel can set you up with a cab in the morning to come back and pick it up.”
“You don’t have to—”
Devon held his hand out for Hunter’s keys. “No, I don’t, but you apparently came out here for some reason, so you may as well tell me why. You can talk while I drive.”
Hunter scrubbed a hand over his face and dropped his keys into Devon’s palm. Is that why he’d come out here? To talk? He didn’t know anymore. He watched as Devon relocated the rental and then followed Dev to the Nissan. He pulled open the creaky door and folded himself inside. The seat groaned beneath him.
Devon got into the driver’s seat and stabbed the key into the ignition, his profile tense. “If you need more leg room, you’re going to have to shake the handle beneath the seat a little. It’s temperamental.”
Hunter reached between his thighs and grabbed the bar, trying to adjust the seat. It slid back with a hard jolt. “Your suit looks like it costs more than this car.”
Devon glanced over, his blue-eyed gaze flicking down to Hunter’s loose, wide-legged pose before snapping back upward. “The customers see the suit. They don’t see what I drive. Got to allocate the money where it counts the most, right?”
Hunter shrugged. “I guess.”