He buries his head into my chest and tightens his grip on me. Just as I’m trying to detach him, to avoid introducing him to the boner that will not quit, a lurker comes up to my door and ignores the sign, walking right into the middle of this awkward exchange.
“Dude! Can’t you fucking read? I’m in the middle of something right now. Get the fuck out of here!”
The guy rips off his sunglasses, his eyes blazing. “I’m not here for you, asshole. And why the fuck is Rafi crying? Did you hurt him?” Grabbing Rafi’s shoulder, he asks, “Did he hurt you?”
He’s a tall, chiseled Arab man, Iraqi, if his deep, thick accent is any indication. He’s incredibly good-looking—startling blue-green eyes, dangerously angled eyebrows, thick black lashes, crazy-beautiful cheekbones, and a generous mouth with perfect white teeth that probably pop against a million-dollar smile. I admire the ink that winds down his arms—definitely custom work with Arabic lettering. He’s also wearing a tightly fitted, short-sleeve, navy blue button-down that matches the one I have hanging in my closet from my favorite queer retailer. Except, he’s wearing it better.
I’m…jealous? That a hotter, younger guy is asking after Rafi.
Great. That’s two assholes in my shop who need to stop emoting their testosterone in Rafi’s direction, especially since he’s dressed like jailbait and bad decisions.
“No, I would never hurt Rafi. Who the fuck are you? And why the fuck are you still here?”
Anders opens the door to the tattoo room, shirtless, his shoulder holster visible. “Hey, Everett, you need a hand out here?”
Both of my visitors stare unabashedly at Anders’ fine form. Tall, Nordic, ripped, and tattooed is a fucking look, and Anders carries it well.
Bastard.
Anders steps into the entryway and stands shoulder to shoulder with me, staring down our uninvited guests.
Rafi, clearly over his earlier shyness, pipes up. “You could give me a hand anytime. Anywhere.”
He bites his top lip and looks a little shocked at his own words.
The intense, sexy guy shakes his head. He continues in Arabic, and though it’s been a few years and my Arabic is a little rusty, I am pretty sure he just said the equivalent of “no fucking way.” Anders and I both laugh, and the man looks up at us, surprised.
I gesture my thumb between Anders and me. “We both cut our teeth in Iraq. You might want to choose a different secret language in front of us.”
The man colors but quickly puts a disinterested look on his face, asking Rafi, “Are you coming?”
Rafi snarls, glowering up at us with his hands on his hips. “Apparently not today.”
Anders rubs his bare eight-pack, biting his lip. “Well, don’t be too hasty. I haven’t said—”
“Nope,” I say, cutting him off. “Not going to happen.Han er min.” My Norwegian is worse than my Arabic, buthe’s mineshould suffice.
Anders shrugs, unaffected. “Ah well. I’ve just never been with a little guy before. Thought I’d give it a shot. I tend to prefer round women and ripped men,” he says, winking at the bigger guy.
Rafi’s face goes from annoyed to red with anger in about a second. Punching the big guy in his arm, he says, “Omar, I swear, if you pull from this and I don’t, I’m going to beat you in your sleep.”
Wait, what? “Thisis Omar?Thisis your brother-in-law? I thought he’d be—”
From the pictures he’d shared with me, Asadi was a big, handsome man with beautiful features. The only pictures we had on Omar (yes, I checked his background) were of a chubby, pimple-faced kid with overgrown eyebrows wearing traditional, if slightly untidy, Iraqi fashion.
He’d been trained by the head of his father’s “elite team,” but considering this was the same team that accidentally kidnapped Asadi, I wasn’t expecting much. Especially since the only family he’d been in contact with since his eighteenth birthday was Asadi, and now Rafi, who once called him a hermit.
At a minimum, I thought he’d be…older? Uglier?
Rafi looks up at me, putting his finger in my face. “You’re going to want to be very careful with your next words.”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “I didn’t…” I pause, finally putting together Rafi’s earlier words. “Wait, what do you meanpullfrom this? What, and more importantly,whoare you trying to pull?”
I look between Rafi and Anders and see red. No fucking way. Nofuckingway. The expression on my face must’ve been speaking for me because Anders was already backing up into the room. “Not it, dude.”
Omar raises his hand. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but for the record I’m not trying to pullanything.” Turning to Rafi, he continues. “I’m just making sure you’re okay. You’ve been walking around like a dog in heat, and you need to calm the fuck down.”
Rafi shoots me an embarrassed look and then shoves Omar, causing no perceptible shift in the man’s stance.
