“Good to see you,” Bishop said, perfectly composed. He looked good. Soft-worn jeans and a flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows. Stubble shadowed his jawline.
“Hi.” Kit made a beeline for the fridge and snagged his own beer. “Hey James, where’s the—thanks.”
James grabbed Kit’s beer and opened it for him, instead of handing him the bottle opener. “Thank me later, babe.”
Their fingers brushed as Kit took his bottle back, and for a second, he thought James was going to kiss him. But James just grinned and went back to finding silverware.
Kit lifted his bottle in a toast. “Thanks for letting me crash date night, boys.”
Bishop laughed. “Don’t mention it, kid.”
“Business meetings. These are definitely business meetings,” James said. “Even if we don’t have any business tonight.”
“Actually, we do.” Bishop took another sip of beer and shifted against the counter. A slight frown creased his face, just for a moment. “I got a new client this week.”
“Who is it?” Kit asked. “Wait, I’m probably not supposed to ask about that.”
“You can ask anything you want,” Bishop said, fixing Kit with his piercing eyes. “Because I want you to help with their case.”
Bishop thought he would hate the sight of James wrapping a possessive arm around Kit’s waist. The sight of Kit leaning in, already so comfortable with the touch. Instead, he was just relieved Kit seemed to be doing all right. That jagged vulnerability, like a broken doll pieced together without glue, ready to fall apart at the slightest touch—Bishop didn’t see that anymore in Kit.
His relief didn’t soften his sharp-edged need for the kid. His unreasonable desire.
Maybe it was hypocritical for Bishop to be relieved that Kit seemed safe with James, when Bishop was the one who intended to drag him back into the fire.
“Help with a case?” Kit said, green eyes bright and intrigued. “How would I be helping?”
James’s usual carefree attitude darkened. His brows drew together in a guarded frown. “This sounds like a bad idea.”
“You haven’t even heard it yet,” Kit pointed out.
“I don’t need to,” James said. “It’s dangerous to get caught up in these things.”
The kitchen fell silent. Kit pulled away from James’s arm, joining Bishop in staring blankly at James.
“What?” James asked with a shrug.
Unbelievable. Bishop rolled his eyes. “You took him on a hit. You took him with you on your vigilante murder spree, and you’re complaining about some basic PI work? This is going to be routine legwork. Barely a step above filing papers.”
“It’s not a spree,” James muttered, rubbing his hand through his hair. “But fine, you might have a point.”
Kit tilted his head. “I’ve never filed papers before. That could be fun. Depending on the papers, I guess.”
“You’ve never filed papers?” James asked.
“And you have?” Kit countered, clearly eyeing James’s designer jeans and unnecessarily expensive watch—especially unnecessary since he always checked the time on his phone instead.
James full-body shuddered.
Bishop laughed, moving towards the living room. “He was on some low-budget undercover CEO reality show a few years ago. They made him do all the grunt work for a week. You should look up his episode.”
Kit lit up with interest, a wicked light in his smile. So different from the dead-eyed wraith Bishop first found in Ed Addersen’s blood-stained kitchen.
James’s indefatigable confidence kicked back in. “Of course he should. They talked me into a shirtless scene, not that it was relevant to the show concept. I was fit as fuck that year.”
“Wait, where are you guys going?” Kit asked, stopping at the kitchen door. Bishop and James were already in the living room.
James set the takeout bag on the coffee table. “The couch?”
