Hot damn.
Sure, he was a few years younger than me, but he had that soulful-eyed, earnest look about him, made even more beautiful by the chocolate brown hair that fell to his shoulders in artfully mussed waves. It was the kind of hair that would look gorgeous shot through with silver, just like his wide, denim-colored eyes would only be enhanced by smile lines.
A little over a month ago, I’d realized I’d been dreaming about seeing him grow older and had to admit to myself that he was more than a hot piece of ass. I’d known I was going to have to do something to get his attention. Social media—Tristan’s bread and butter—was the vehicle I went with.
Given that he was here and pissed, it looked like I’d chosen wisely.
While I was mooning over his longish nose and the artistic scruff that hid a sharp jaw, Tristan clenched his fists as he let out an adorable growl. “You… You…plagiarizer!”
I held back a snort, entirely charmed by his angry, scrunched-up expression.
“Whatever did I do?” It should be noted that I was doing a piss-poor job of keeping a straight face.
“You’ve been stealingmywords foryourposts!”
Tristan’s family was a bunch of honey badgers: vicious to the point of drawing blood if you went after one of theirs. It made my balls tighten to see that sweet Tristan had been raised with the same don’t-fuck-with-me attitude.
I crossed my arms—his eyes fell to my tattoos as they always did—and smiled at him from across the bar. “Just now figured that out, did you?”
“Well, no. Allie had to point it out, but then I went back, and it was obvious.”
Called it.
Tipping back the last of his beer, Beckett shot me a look over the rim of his glass.
A piss-poor job, I tell you.
“Took you long enough.”
“Ugh!Thief!”
Beckett, distracted from our little melodrama, turned toward the bar’s front windows, a frown creasing his handsome face. Standing up on the footrest, he stretched across the bar top, reaching under the lip for Edith, the dented bat I reserved for drunk assholes.
I followed his line of sight and slumped. Outside, Chase DeWitt was harassing Bernie, one of the unhoused folks who sometimes slept in the park.
“Violence is never the answer, Mr. Preacher Man,” Ozzie said.
Despite his warning, Oz did nothing to block Beckett from his mission. Which… Fair.
Becks violently swung the door open, kicking the sleigh bells as he made his way to the sidewalk. It was always funny when people assumed queer folks didn’t know how to defend themselves and others.
We’d been fighting for a long time.
“At least take off your collar, you crazy bastard,” I called after him.
Beckett ignored me, and Chase immediately focused in on him.This wasn’t the first time he’d been introduced to Edith.
Becks lurched forward, faking him out from across the street. Flinching, Chase took off running. Beckett kept an eagle eye on him, twirling the bat, until Chase jumped in his truck and peeled out. Smirking, Beckett walked back into the bar and returned Edith to her rightful location, then tossed our lunch debris into the trash. “I’ll make sure Bernie’s okay, and then I’m gonna go check on Mr. Paige.”
“Something wrong with Mr. Paige?” Tristan had gone quiet, and I’d forgotten he was standing there. He was younger and had gone to a different school than we had, but everyone knew the queer shop teacher.
“He has a bad case of pneumonia and finally let Ren take him to the hospital yesterday,” Ozzie said, grimacing at Tristan’s concerned look.
“Damn,” I said, pulling on my lower lip. I knew that the cold he’d been ignoring had turned into something worse, but I hadn’t realized it was that bad.
When I was in school, I was always slightly jealous of Mr. Paige’s beloved “Lost Boys”: the queer kids—including Becks and Oz—who’d regularly gathered in the safety of his classroom. Come to think of it, that should’ve clued me in to my own queerness.
Mr. Paige hadn’t stopped when they’d graduated, though. He kept up with all of those guys and helped where he could. I knew for sure he helped Beckett with his community church, and he was the one who’d told Ozzie to reconnect with me when he’d visited over Christmas.
