Turning away, he continued working. He found a match for Tobias’s tire while he sent one of the other guys to the back with the busted tire in order to patch it.
“Flat?”
Soren glanced up at the distinct accent and nodded at Paddy Killeen. The man’s round face was perpetually glazed with sweat, his eyes small, dark, and calculating. He was easily a bigger piece of shit than Soren, and that was saying something.
“Almost done.” Soren plastered on a grin. “Got lucky and found the right rim.”
Paddy nodded. “Yeah, ordered a new set for a lady last week and she left the old ones. Christ, I hate Volvos.” He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “The bitches who drive them are usually primo, though. Is it that blonde in there?” He ticked his head toward the waiting area.
The comment rankled Soren, but he couldn’t make sense of why. He subtly pointed his wrench at Eastman, who was still watching them. “That guy right there.”
“Guy—oh shit.” A greasy smile hooked the corner of Killeen’s mouth as he lifted a hand. “I know that guy. Great guy. Take care of him. Tell him it’s on the house.”
“I don’t think—”
Killeen swung back in Soren’s direction, his eyes hardening. “Don’t think,” he bit out. “Just tell him it’s on the house from Killeen.”
Killeen had been insufferable since Soren had started working in the garage a few days before. He couldn’t fucking wait to kill him, but he kept his grin in place. “You’ve got it, boss.”
“That’s better.” Killeen nodded gruffly and vanished after sparing another brief look in Eastman’s direction. The doctor smiled warmly, a wholly different expression than Soren had seen in the brief amount of time he’d spent with the man. The magnetic glow ebbed as soon as Killeen was gone, though, and when Eastman noticed Soren watching him, he turned away.
Soren narrowed his eyes. Eastman was up to something, and now, Soren wanted to know what.
He finished with the car, put the patched tire in the trunk, drove it out of the bay and to the front of the shop, and headed back toward the counter.
“Tire’s patched. So now, you’ve got an extra spare whenever you locate your other one.” Soren’s pointed look was met with a flat expression that didn’t change as Eastman held out his hand for the keys. “Killeen must be a friend of yours. He said there was no charge.”
Thereit was. That flicker of annoyance from Eastman, then another tight smile. “Something like that. Thank you.”
Soren wondered what the man looked like when he was fucking. He could imagine sweat dripping down the doctor’s temples, mouth gaping with pleasure, maybe with pain. Under that crisp shirt was probably a tight, lean-muscled body. Was he wild or tame? What made the doctor come undone? Maybe he wasn’t a talker, but Soren wondered if he screamed.
He shifted as his pants became uncomfortably tight, and flicked the images from his mind. “Take it easy,” Soren said as Eastman turned away. He didn’t get a reply but, then again, he hadn’t expected one either.
Just do your fucking job and go back to the beach, he told himself as he watched the doctor slide smoothly into the driver’s seat of his car, but the words floated around his head without taking root.
The truth was retirement was fucking boring. There was only so much drinking and fucking across exotic locales one could do. Hell, Soren had seen Pompeii three different times, each with a different lover hanging off his arm.
Tobias Eastman was the most interesting thing he’d seen in ages—an eighth wonder for a guy who was convinced he’d seen everything. Maybe that was hyperbole, but it amused Soren.
Which was why he planned to annoy the fuck out of Eastman.
* * *
There was morehumanity to Dr. Eastman’s office than Soren had expected. There were bookcases, a couple of potted plants that seemed healthy and well-cared for, a sofa that was comfortable. His degrees hung on the wall along with a few watercolors. The photos displayed looked like they had come with the frames, though. Not that Soren could blame him; he wouldn’t want a bunch of psychopaths checking out his nearest and dearest, either. Though, as far as Soren’s research had told him, Eastman had none, aside from his dog, Mantis.
Soren brushed his finger over a small, framed print on the side table next to him, then sank back into the couch as he heard movement outside. He heard Eastman’s voice briefly before the man himself opened the office door and closed it behind him. He’d almost made it to his desk before he noticed Soren and paused mid-stride.
Soren inclined his chin. “You might consider rearranging the furniture so you have a more advantageous view when you open the door.”
Eastman slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers and rested against the edge of his desk, aloof and calm in a way that belied how quickly he’d stopped in his tracks. And yet, Soren found himself becoming aroused again simply by the way Eastman watched him with a detached gaze.
“The furniture is arranged in a manner that allows me the quickest escape if I need it. Why are you here?”
“To see how that new tire is working out for you.”
Eastman didn’t budge. “It’s working great. How did you get past my secretary?”
“I didn’t. You were both out to lunch.”
