He could think again.
It took him a second to realise his dick was hard.
His whole body felt charged.
He put the heel of his hand to his heart and tried to catch his breath.
What the actual fuck?
The town wasquiet all afternoon. All inhabitants, apart from Sawyer, were nowhere to be found.
Ciaran’s store had the Closed sign flipped on the door. The convenience store was open, but Otis wasn’t behind the counter, and he didn’t come out of hiding when Sawyer called out. He needed a few things, so he made a list, left it on the counter with a twenty, and went back to his station.
Tobin’s boat was back at his mooring, so Sawyer just assumed they were all busy helping him.
Or something.
Actually, he had no fucking clue where they were or what they were doing.
Sawyer was so conflicted. He was confused, about a lot of things, and needed time to think. So, ignoring the freezing-cold wind, he took himself and his fishing rod over to the jetty, sat his arse at the end, dangled his legs over the edge, and threw in a line.
He didn’t expect to catch anything. That wasn’t the point of fishing. Not for him, anyway.
He liked the peace and quiet. He liked the solitude. He loved the cold wind whipping him, his beanie pulled down and his jacket collar turned up, as he swung his heavy booted feet and the dark water lapped at the pylons. He loved the salt air and how the sunshine tried to break through the low, gloomy clouds.
It was perfect thinking time.
Thinking about Ciaran, mostly. The tension between them earlier was suffocating—in a good way. His whole body felt afire, burning from within.
His eyes. Don’t forget about his eyes....
Or how he seemed to grapple with self-control. Which preened Sawyer’s ego, if he was being honest. Knowing he affected Ciaran like that...
And his eyes....
Sawyer didn’t want to think about that.
He knew what he saw.
He hadn’t imagined it.
Just like he hadn’t imagined the way that guy on Constitution Dock’s eyes had changed.
They weren’t entirely human.
The same with Fray’s tattoo in Sawyer’s dream.
Which was ludicrous. Right?
And Sawyer sat there, asking himself why he was so alarmed about none of them being around and the fact that all of them were somewhere, doing something. But if he were being honest, it wasn’t the cop in him that was troubled.
Were they doing something illegal? Were they doing something ethically questionable?
If they were, Sawyer had to ask himself why that didn’t bother him as much it should and why them doing something without him was the real issue.
They were off god-knew-where doing god-knew-what, and the real burr in Sawyer’s side was the fact that he wasn’t a part of it, or privy to it, or...
That he wasn’t one of them.
