“Okay, sure, why not?”
“Try not to overwhelm me with your enthusiasm.”
“Yeah, yeah. See you soon.”
He ended the call and glanced over at the empty side of the bed, then forced himself to get up and shower. No matter howmuch he liked it, Colson doubted Hogan and his family would appreciate him showing up smelling like sex, sweat, and Harper.
Of course, it didn’t matter. As soon as Hogan opened the door, he busted out a big grin. “Had a good night?”
He’d tried to cover up the red spots on his neck, but damn Harper for having a thing about marking his throat. It was sexy as hell while happening, but now he looked like he’d been mauled.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pushed past Hogan to hug Bea. “Hi, beautiful.”
Her sparkling dark eyes danced. “Don’t think you’re going to play that game with me, mister. I know a hickey when I see one…or three.”
“Can we not? Please?” He glared. “I came for margaritas and conversation and hopefully your fabulous eggs Benedict.”
“All three are on the menu,” she said, taking his hand. “We have the table on the deck set up.”
They walked through the cheerful and sunny main floor of Hogan and Bea’s home in Cobble Hill. Not too large, but not small either with three stories and a spacious backyard and deck, the house was his home away from home when he first started writing. It was one of the reasons he’d moved to the neighborhood. Hogan and Bea were more of a family than his own ever were.
The kids swarmed him, chattering about everything and nothing. He nodded and smiled at them, still disbelieving that his best friend had helped create two lives. Once outside, the kids left them to go play on the swings and slide set Hogan had put up. The large picnic table had the promised pitcher, a fruit salad, chips and guacamole, and a cheese board.
“Expecting a small army?” he joked.
Bea and Hogan exchanged glances, and he tensed. “What did you do?”
“Nothing. Really,” Hogan insisted.
“Meaning?” He sighed. “You are the worst liar. Always have been. Who is he?”
“A very nice guy I work with,” Bea rushed to explain. “I promise it’s casual. He’s about thirty, just got his PhD, and teaches the other first year psych class.” Bea was a child psychologist and taught college students in the city.
“Would’ve been nice if you’d mentioned it earlier,” he grumbled.
“So you could refuse?” Hogan glared at him. “You liked being a couple. We’re just trying to help you out.”
“Yeah, but maybe I’m not ready. Or maybe I don’t want another relationship. I’d rather—”
“What? Fuck around?” Hogan tipped his chin toward him. “Is that what those marks on your neck are about?”
His annoyance had zero effect on his damn inability to keep from blushing. “That’s not your business.”
“I’m making it mine. You go from being a monk to…whatever that is.”
“Nothing. I already said, not your business.” He knew Hogan would frown upon his booty-call relationship with Harper. He didn’t understand it himself, but that didn’t stop him from wanting Harper to text him again.
“Anyway”—Bea shot Hogan a warning glance—“Danny will be here soon. No pressure, just see how it goes.”
“Please don’t ever sandbag me.” He crunched some chips and washed them down with more of his margarita. “I’ll be nice.”
Bea looked relieved. “Hogan tells me you’re writing a new book?”
He sipped his drink. “It’s coming along. I’m debating a new angle to draw in more readers.”
“Yeah?” Hogan popped some cheese into his mouth. “Like what?”
“A romance. Between the detective and—”
