At that last bit, she leveled an icy glare toward Travis Dean, who was sitting at the end of the bar, his eyes already glassy. Luke’s Spidey senses went on high alert. “Need me to kick someone’s ass? Tell me you didn’t hook up with him.”
Even the dim lighting of the bar couldn’t hide Sam’s flushed cheeks. “He’s not a bad guy. When he’s sober.”
“Yeah, and there’s the whole problem. He’s not a fan of anything he can’t do with a drink in one hand.” Maybe that wasn’t a fair assessment, but itwasthe reputation Travis had earned since his high school sweetheart filed for divorce and skipped town in the middle of the night. “You deserve better than someone who’s hung up on his ex.”
“Excuse me if I’m not eager to take dating advice from the person who doesn’t even remember the names of the guys he begs to fuck him through the mattress.” Sam huffed out a heavy sigh. “You know, now that I think about it, maybe penises in general are the issue. They make you men stupid.”
“Hard to disagree with that.” Luke turned at the sound of Keaton’s voice behind him. “And you’re talking to one of the dullest pencils in the box. Been telling him since we were teenagers that I’m never going to like him that way and he still calls me up, begging for a date.”
“Fuck you, Anderson,” Luke scoffed. “I wouldn’t have to insist on wasting my free time with you if you knew when to quit working. If I didn’t ask you to meet me for a bite to eat, you’d waste away to nothing.”
Keaton patted the slight paunch everyone knew damned well was more muscle than flab. “Yeah, really in danger of that happening. Come on, time for you to quit playing Doctor Ruth and leave Sam alone.” He swiped two menus off the bar. “Is there a server tonight, or should I come up and order for us so he doesn’t pester you anymore?”
“Jules just started last week, so be nice,” Sam warned, as if Keaton and Luke made a habit of being pricks to their servers. Even if they hadn’t been raised right, no way would they do anything that made them look bad in town. Keaton wouldn’t allow it. “I’ll send them over once you guys are settled. Want your drinks on the dinner tab?”
“Yeah, and let Jules know Luke’s buying.” Luke simply shrugged. If Keaton was in a rare enough mood to not fight to cover the tab, Luke wasn’t about to argue. Besides, by the time he finished explaining all the reasons he needed to help Noah fixup the old Queen Anne, he had a feeling Keaton would move on to something much stronger than beer.
Jules appeared at their table moments after they settled into their usual booth, their dark curls escaping from a messy bun secured with what appeared to be two pencils. “Hey, guys, I’m Jules. Sam told me to let you know she’s warned me about you. She said you’re regulars around here.”
Luke studied the server, trying to figure them out. He didn’t want to screw up by shoving his foot in his mouth, but Jules intrigued him. If the tentative smile on Keaton’s face said anything, his friend was having a similar dilemma. Luke had never met someone who so completely embraced the concept of androgyny.
“We’re usually here on Thursday nights,” Keaton replied, his usual brusque tone softening slightly. “Unless someone”—he shot Luke a pointed look—“ditches me for a hookup.”
“That was one time,” Luke protested. “And I texted. Besides, it’s not like you have room to talk, Mr. Workaholic.”
“An eggplant emoji isn’t a text.” Keaton turned back to Jules. “I’ll have the bacon burger, medium, with sweet potato fries.”
Jules jotted down his order, their lips twitching. “And for you?” they asked Luke.
“Same, but regular fries. And another round when you get a chance?”
“No problem.” Jules gathered their menus, their bangles jingling softly. “I’ll put your order in right away.”
Luke waited until Jules was out of earshot before grinning at Keaton. “Smooth.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Luke sipped his beer, watching his friend’s ears turn pink. “Just noticed you didn’t grunt your order like a caveman for once.”
“Shut up.” Keaton fiddled with his napkin. “So, what’s this about? You didn’t drag me out to critique my social skills.”
Now that Keaton had asked, there was no way he could wait until after they’d eaten to break the news. He took another long drink, gathering his thoughts. “You know the old Queen Anne on Maple Street?”
“The money pit? Yeah, heard someone finally bought it.” Keaton’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Yeah, Noah Thompson lives there now,” Luke told him, watching his features for any hint of reaction. “That’s why Rachel’s been hounding me about helping him.”
“Oh goodie, a neighbor in need who just happens to be the guy you used to spank it to when you were a kid,” Keaton scoffed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, casting his gaze upward. “Lord help me.”
“I didnotjerk off thinking about him.” Not often, at least. “That’s not what this is about.”
“Really? Because I think Rachel asked you to look at the place, and instead of saying no like you swore you were going to, you got sucked in by those big brown eyes that had you volunteering to ‘fix things’ in the basement every time he came over to study.”
“That was different.” Luke felt heat creep up his neck. “I was fifteen, and he was just…there. A lot.”
“Uh-huh.” Keaton leaned back, crossing his arms. “And now?”
“He needs someone who’s not going to nickel-and-dime him to death.” Luke traced patterns in the condensation on his glass. “You should see the place, Keaton. The structure itself is decent, but whoever flipped it did a hack job. With some real work…”
