They didn’t do boyfriends.
It was spouse, fiancé, or nothing.
“Significant other” was a term for people without money.
Titus had dated men in college; this wasn’t a stretch.
He turned slightly, keeping Viper close. “This is a friend of mine—Clifford Hale.”
Hale inclined his head in greeting, polite and curious.
“And you are?” Hale asked.
“Reid,” Viper said.
“Reid who?” Hale frowned.
“Kensington.”
Shock moved across Hale’s face—quick, stark. The name carried weight.
“And off-limits,” Titus muttered.
He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
Well…fuck.
Titus’s gaze dropped to Viper’s feet, froze, then snapped back up.
“Are you wearing combat boots with Brioni?” he hissed.
Viper’s mouth tugged—slow, dangerous. “Apparently.”
His hand stayed clamped around Titus’s arm—firm, deliberate, not giving an inch.
Titus glared at the grip, then at him. Heat under it.
Challenge.
Something Viper had no business wanting.
But he did. Desperately.
“Excuse us,” Viper told Hale—and the entire table—voice smooth as polished steel.
Hale blinked, caught off guard. Vale shifted, subtle but ready. Syx’s stare sharpened. Ocean paused mid-martini sip.
Titus opened his mouth—probably to argue.
Viper didn’t let him.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” Hale asked.
“No, we’ll be right back,” Viper said, and the smile he gave Hale was all teeth—civilized veneer, lethal core.
Vale and Syx tensed, staying in character.
“Stand down,” Titus told them.
