“So, what are we talking about if not Robert’s matchmaking failures?” Rory asked. “Or should I say who?”
“I think Matthew’s talking about our first official customer over there,” Robert said after swallowing his last piece of ham. “The one who managed to wrangle a membership out of William before my ads were even posted.”
Finally. “Yep. That’d be the one.”
Rory pushed his blond hair out of his eyes and looked over his shoulder with zero subtlety. “That guy? Interesting.”
When those keen blue eyes turned back in his direction, Matthew ducked his head. “It’s called making conversation. I just think it’s curious that he always seems to be around.”
Liar.
“You’re right about that,” Robert agreed. “And I’m not sure what his story is, but at least he’s not spying for the competition, which was my initial thought. The little man is focused on working out and nothing else. He’s practically making his own Rocky montage over there.”
Rory snorted. “You’re comparing that sweet slice of angel cake to Rocky?”
“I’m not saying he’ll ever be a boxer.” Robert shrugged, crushing his plate and tossing it in the bin with practiced ease. “But he is stubborn. That slice has been coming in every day for the last two weeks, dodging last-minute fix-it crews while working himself to exhaustion. And because he stays for hours, I stay for hours, since William and Bronte are swamped prepping for the baby’s arrival.”
“That is intriguing,” Rory declared. “Now I want to know his story, too.”
Robert sighed. “I could be having promotional meetings with local business owners or wooing my fashion designer buddy into making an athletic line for this place. Instead I’m manning the phones and keeping the lights on for one member. Either he needs to finish his montage, or I need to convince William to hire some actual staff.”
“Good luck with that,” Matthew said automatically, though he was soaking up all the information on Legs like a sponge. Stubborn. Focused. He’d already figured that out. He needed more.
“Why do I need luck?”
“Because fatherhood is turning my brother into a miser. He’s already started a savings account for the baby. I even heard him use the word portfolio.”
“Good for him.” Robert didn’t seem surprised. “He’s been getting advice from my brother, Emerson, who knows better than anyone how expensive kids can be. That doesn’t mean we can’t hire a few people on at minimum wage. It would save him time and money if he let me do what I’m good at for a change.”
His brother already knew how expensive kids were from personal experience. When they’d lived in Ireland, William had run backroom brawls and handled debt collections to make sure his little brother and sister could eat. But back then, he’d been more focused on surviving the present than saving for the future.
Nothing had surprised Matthew more than seeing William so eager to settle down and become a respected member of his community. After all he’d done for Matthew and Calamity, he’d been sure his big brother would revel in the fact that his days of responsibility were over.
But then Bronte Wayne happened, and quick as that, William was practically begging to be ball-and-chained. The odd thing was, the daft boxer had never seemed happier.
Hell, Matthew was happy for him, though he hadn’t understood the power of that first-sight scenario until he got his first look at the coltish man throwing wild, untrained punches at a heavy bag. He’d taken in those damp curls, flushed cheeks and focused expression, and had the craziest urge to cross the room and get in the guy’s way. Invade his space until that passion aimed in his direction.
It scared the hell out of him, how swiftly his world had turned upside down. How hard he’d gotten, right there, in the middle of visiting his damn brother.
He couldn’t remember what excuse he’d given William, who at the time had been trying to show him a sonogram of the alien with dimples he was calling his son. All Matthew recalled was the urgent need to escape the building. To grab a breath of fresh air, unscramble his brain and get his dick under control.
A man didn’t get hit with that kind of lightning every day. The Surprise! You like peen! thunderbolt that apparently ran in his family. Anyone with a sensible head on his shoulders would need some time to evaluate those new and unfamiliar feelings before acting impulsively. Wouldn’t they?
He wondered what it said about him that his dark night of the soul had lasted less than twenty-four-hours. A possible record in the Finn books as far as orientation epiphanies went.
On the other hand, life was too damn short, and denying his desire wasn’t an acceptable option. Not when he could explore it instead.
So, yeah. He was into guys now. One guy in particular. And he’d shown up at the gym each day since, with one bullshit excuse or another, because he couldn’t make himself stay away long enough to figure out what the hell he wanted to happen.