“Sweater vest.”
Tobias’s pulse tripped, his chest tightening at the low drawl of those two words. He dragged his gaze upward, finding the man from the coffee shop, now wearing a button down shirt withPaddy’sstitched on the pocket.
The man grinned at him. “Lemme guess. You need your tire fixed?”
Tobias grimaced.Fuck.
4
Soren
Dr. Eastman looked stiff. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but like he was holding a pose he’d been practicing.
Soren slid a hand into the pocket of his jeans as he ambled closer to the man, noting Eastman’s astute green eyes as they darted down, then up, then skipped to another point on Soren before their gazes met. Soren was being observed, no doubt, which might’ve annoyed him in another situation but intrigued him in this instance.
He indulged in his own once-over but took his time, lingering at certain spots. The man’s neck was elegant but masculine, the barest hint of stubble shadowing a square jawline. A strong, steady pulse thumped through his carotids; the doctor was neither scared nor nervous, though what Soren judged as a flicker of annoyance passed through his eyes as he came to a stop across the counter.
Soren nudged the service bell farther away from the hand Eastman had rested against the polished wood top. His nails were an immaculate contrast to the half-moons of grease under Soren’s.
“I got it,” Soren called over his shoulder when one of the other mechanics poked his head out of the office. He nodded and vanished. It hadn’t been hard for Soren to get the job here nor to seamlessly blend into the world. He’d spent years becoming a perfect chameleon. “Could’ve saved yourself a penny or two if you’d let me change it back at the coffee shop.”
Eastman sighed languidly. “I don’t have a spare.”
He removed it.The thought came to Soren suddenly, but he didn’t doubt the truth in it. His gut rarely lied, and his gut said this renowned psychologist was being purposefully vague.
Soren wanted to know why.
Eastman gestured behind him. “So, can you put a new one on? Or patch the old one? Or both?” He glanced at his wristwatch. “I have meetings beginning in a half hour.”
“Which you would already be on your way to if you’d let me change your tire.” Soren smiled. He had a nice smile. He’d always been told that. Even Eastman seemed to spend an extra couple of seconds examining it before that flare of annoyance reappeared. It vanished just as quickly behind his version of a nice smile. A bit tight- lipped but not unpleasant. If Soren had seen it across a bar, he’d have been curious.
“This is a little unprofessional, wouldn’t you say?”
Soren nodded. “I would.”
“So, maybe I should speak to your manager. Or maybe the owner if he’s here?”
Shit.Soren didn’t need to go making himself a noticeable nuisance to Paddy Killeen. That would just muddy up what looked to be a clean and easy job. He sighed and straightened. “My apologies,” he drawled. “I’ll take care of it.” He inclined his chin toward the open garage bay door. “Bring it around. I’ll have you in and out in fifteen.”
Eastman met Soren’s gaze and held it passively for a beat before nodding and turning away with a muttered, “Fine.”
Soren shamelessly checked out the doctor’s ass as he walked away. He suspected the man was aware, which amused him all the more.
Tobias wasn’t Soren’s type, though. Too pale, too put together, too clean, too prompt, too painfully normal, even if Soren was beginning to suspect it was just a veneer. It was the doctor’s eyes Soren had come back to over and over when they were standing at the counter. Even behind the glasses—Soren wondered whether they were necessary or just another part of his affect—there was a striking lucidity to them. He wondered if anyone else could see the lies piled on top of lies behind the chic tie and perfectly starched shirt. He suspected not. Soren didn’t consider himself a particularly smart man, and nowhere near the kind of brilliant Eastman was, but he was astute enough, paid attention, was persistent, and, most importantly to his job, seemed to have been born with the preternatural ability to not be jaded by the horrors he’d seen.
But he could spot society’s unmentionables.
He’d seen the same ability in many of the men he’d worked with over years, some of whom, like his friend Madigan, he’d ended up teaching to kill.
He could see that same trait, too, in Tobias.
Tobias parked just outside the garage and Soren drove the SUV the rest of the way in, got it up on the lift, found the nail, and got to work, noting that Tobias didn’t go into the waiting room with the others but simply stood near it, watching Soren the same way Soren had watched him walk outside.
He supposed the turnabout was fair play.
After dropping the lug nuts into a bowl, he straightened and arched his back in a slow, luxurious stretch, resting his palms on the side of Eastman’s car and shifting his shoulders from one side to the other. He anticipated the man barking out something about his paint job but nothing came, and when Soren turned around and indeed caught the doctor watching him, the man didn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t. Nor did his expression change.
The immutable expression would’ve unsettled the average human, Soren thought, but he couldn’t detect even a whiff of the feeling inside him. No. Instead, there was a familiar tingling warmth of interest as his cock stirred.
