“He’s a regular here,” Amanda replied. “I couldn’t help but overhear some stuff when he talked to his friend. Speaking of Ryan…” She nodded toward the entrance with a crooked smile and sighed.
Sela turned her head and said, “Oh.”
Because the guy who had just entered the restaurant was easily the hottest man she’d ever seen. He was over six feet tall, with a firmly muscled body and broad shoulders. He had black unruly hair, a chiseled jaw with a five o’clock shadow, and deep green eyes that were positively sinful. Sela had never thought eyes could be sexy, but this guy’s were.
If James made her think of long, slow love-making and silky sheets, his friend made her think of dirty, rough sex.
“I know, right?” Amanda said with another sigh.
“Tell me he’s single,” Sela said, following Ryan with her eyes as he made his way to James’s table. He moved like a big cat.
Amanda laughed. “The hottest ones are always taken, sweetie. So forget about them. Yes, they’re hot, but they’re both completely unavailable.”
*
James Grayson watched his best friend of fourteen years make his way toward him—along with the rest of the customers in the quiet restaurant. He smiled ruefully. Ryan tended to have that effect on people.
“I can’t believe you ordered without me,” Ryan said, dropping himself into the seat next to him. “So rude. Where are your manners, Lord Exmouth?”
Chuckling, James returned his attention to his pasta. “I guess eventually you were bound to rub off on me. Dad has always warned me about it. I should have heeded his advice.”
“Your dad hates me,” Ryan said, grabbing a fork, stabbing it into James’s pasta and scooping a forkful into his mouth.
“Help yourself,” James said, not without sarcasm. When Ryan just smiled shamelessly, James let out a long-suffering sigh. Ryan was impossible. “I ordered for you, too. Could you wait a few more minutes?”
“I could,” Ryan said with the same maddeningly lazy smile. “But yours always tastes better.”
Snorting, James averted his eyes and resumed eating. He wasn’t going to ask Ryan why he was late. He wasn’t.
“Sorry for being late,” Ryan said, as if reading his thoughts. “Hannah asked me to drop her off at her dad’s office nearby. We got a bit distracted along the way.”
James didn’t need to look at him to know he was smirking. “I’m eating,” he said. “Please spare me the sordid details.”
Ryan laughed a little, knocking their knees beneath the table. “Prude.”
“Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell. Ever heard of that?”
“I only tell you, and you don’t count. And I’ve never claimed to be a gentleman. We can’t all know names of our dead relatives to thirty generations back.”
James sighed. “You will never let me live that down, will you?”
Ryan laughed. “Nope. Because your life is ridiculous.”
It kind of was.
James smiled faintly and looked around the restaurant. “Those waitresses are making eyes at you.” They always did.
Ryan glanced over. “The redhead is pretty cute,” he said. “A few months ago I would have totally hit that.”
James reached for his tea and took a liberal swallow. His throat felt dry. He took another gulp.
“So you’re serious about Hannah?” he said casually, setting the cup down. Ever since Ryan had met Hannah a few months ago, he’d been completely fixated on her. James had never seen him so besotted before. Ryan had always been the type to fuck ‘em and leave ‘em—until Hannah.
“Yeah,” Ryan said, his voice softening. “She’s…I think she’s the real deal, Jamie.”
James opened his mouth and closed it. He smiled, searching for words. For the right words. Thankfully, the waitress brought Ryan’s pasta, giving him a few precious moments to find them.
“So, when is the wedding?” he said.
Ryan laughed, knocking their knees together again. “You going to be my best man?”
James smiled brighter. His cheeks started hurting. “Only if you’re mine.”
Ryan’s grin faded, his green eyes turning intent and hard. “You aren’t seriously thinking of this, are you? Marrying that girl your dad wants you to?”
James just shrugged, looking away.
“Jamie.”
God, he bloody hated that Ryan called him that. No one but Ryan did it. Some of James’s friends tried to call him Jim, but it never stuck. The childhood nickname Ryan had given him sounded even more ridiculous now that they were both grown-up, yet Ryan kept calling him that, despite knowing that James hated it. Yeah, he hated it. Ryan just didn’t know the real reason why.
“Jamie,” Ryan said again, having no idea that he was turning James’s insides into a mushy mess.
“What?” James said, trying to pull himself together. It was never easy, but some days were harder. Some days he wondered what the point of all of this was. Lying and pretending never came naturally to him. Lying to Ryan was almost impossible. Good thing he’d had a lot of practice.
Ryan put a hand around his neck. James breathed in carefully. Ryan’s thumb pressed into his neck, a silent order to look at him. It had always been like this, even when they were kids: Ryan had always been the pushy one, the opinionated one, the leader in all their games, in all their mischief. Ryan had been the king, the general, the main villain, the dashing hero or the dragon while James was his loyal sidekick. As a kid, James hadn’t minded it. As a twenty-two-old guy, he resented it, because old habits died hard and he still hadn’t figured out how to quit following Ryan around like a loyal, eager puppy, starved for a pat on the head. There was a reason his dad disliked Ryan so much and it wasn’t Ryan’s common background. Dad hated that someone else had a bigger influence on his son.