As evidenced by the fact that he’d all but checked out on his best friend after the fallout from that stupidkiss.
Ugh.Not thinking about Drew’s lips, or those loaded words. Not thinking about how he’d taste when his lips weren’t flavored withcinnamon.
Focus,Seaver.
He pulled his chair closer to the desk and set to work, ignoring the growing hungers that clawed at both his stomach and the back of his mind, and lost himself in the simple, serene grace of clearly defined parameters that allowed his imagination toflourish.
Sometime later,the scent of vinegar and spice began to penetrate his concentration, and his stomach gave an almighty growl. Shifting back to reality was like surfacing from a long spell underwater, and he blinked as he looked around. There was a can of diet root beer unopened on the desk beside him, along with a large brown paper bag, stapled shut, which was the source of the delicious smell. And on the far side of the desk, slumped back in a chair with his nose buried in his phone, was DrewMcMann.
Hungry as he was, he couldn’t help but stare at the man, drinking him in, nearly giddy just to be in his presence after all these weeks.Shit, Bas had missedhim.
Drew had cultivated a reputation for perfection - his clothes were always immaculate, posture straight, smile polite. He was punctual, prepared, and never at a loss forwords…
Except, Bas realized, that wasn’t really true. Not when it was just the two of them. Right now, Drew’s tie was askew and his collar unbuttoned, his jacket missing entirely. His elbows were braced on the arms of a rolling chair, his ass on the edge of the seat, and his long legs spread out before him. His face was puckered in concentration as his thumbs moved across the screen, and Bas knew,just knew, that Drew wasn’t sending some critical text message, but lost in one of the dozens of mindless jewel-matching games that were his dirty littlesecret.
He was so fucking happy to see Drew sitting there, Bas forgot any awkwardness existed between them, forgot they hadn’t spoken in nearly a month, andgrinned.
“Can McMann make the four-ruby combo that will take him to the next level?” he queried the room in his best sportscaster voice. “The audience is holding itsbreath…”
Drew glanced up and scowled. “Dick,” he said withoutheat.
Bas opened his mouth to fire back with a very middle-school retort, but he thought better ofit.
Drew didn’t seem to notice. “Pad Thai in thebag.”
“Oh! From SweetLime?”
“Obviously.”
Bas opened the bag and pulled out a container. “Isit…”
“Crispy, with no shrimp and extra peanuts,” Drew said, his focus back on hisgame.
Bas groaned appreciatively. “Fucking awesome. Drew McMann, will you…”Marry me.That would’ve been the throwaway end of the statement anytime over the past decade, but now his tongue tripped over that, too. He cleared his throat. “Uh… will you hand me afork?”
Drew didn’t even look up. “Plastic fork’s in thebag.”
Right, of course it was. Bas grabbed the fork and dug into the noodles, and holyfuck.Better than sex. He couldn’t remember being this hungry in…ever.
“How’d you find me?” he asked, though it came outgarbled.
Drew did spare him a glance then. “Where the hell else would you be but hiding out in yourcave?”
So Drewwasangry.
Bas gripped the fork tighter and shoved more bean sprouts in his mouth. Suddenly all the reasons he’d started avoiding Drew came rushing back. Ever since Halloween, Drew’s sarcasm had gotten just a little too pointed, the tension between them a little too thick. And Bas hadn’t known how to handle it, because what he wanted and what heshouldwant no longer seemed toalign.
“Working, Drew. I’ve beenworkingnot hiding,” he said. And it wasn’t a lie. He’d finished his project earlier, afterall.
Drew gave a pointed look at the monitor where Alexei Stornovich’s photo was still displayed. “Yep. So Isee.”
“You got something tosay?”
Drew’s eyes met his and softened slightly. “Eat first,Sebastian.”
“Great,” Bas muttered. “Suddenly feels like my lastmeal.”
“Could be because it’s dismal as fuck down here. Like a prison cell…” Drew pointed to the painting on the wall. “A prison cell with really depressingart.”
