21
NOAH
A rumbling purr draws my attention as I’m locking up the gym.
I turn to see a shiny black Ducati pulling up beside me, rider in all black leather gear and matte black helmet. As he pulls it off, I realize it’s Theo. I let out a low whistle of appreciation. “Hey man, I didn’t know you rode a bike. It’s beautiful.”
A smirk creeps onto his face. “I’m trying to fully live up to the sexy tattoo artist image. I thought the bike fit.”
I bark out a laugh. “You’re not wrong. You just heading out for a ride?” I ask as my eyes rake over the bike. It really is gorgeous, every part of it gleaming in the evening light.
“Heading out to Ciarán’s, gonna take him for a ride.”
I raise my brow at that, snickering. “A ride, huh?”
A hearty chuckle leaves him. “On the bike, get your head out of the gutter.”
I shake my head at him, laughing, but I can picture them easily—Ciarán behind him, clutching Theo’s jacket, talking too loud over the engine, laughing that infectious, chaotic laugh of his.
They’re more alike than I first realized. On the surface, they couldn’t look more different. But I can see the thread that tiesthem together—two men who build themselves out of art and attitude, who deflect with humor.
Different styles, same armor.
“Have fun,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets, grinning. “I’m heading home to Gabe.”
I love how that combination of words sounds together.
Theo’s grin softens, probably at the dopey look on my face. “Thanks, man, let’s do something during the week, yeah?”
“Definitely,” I say, bobbing my head.
He puts his helmet back on, and I watch him go.
I wonder if it’s a date. Gabe said Ciarán doesn’t really date, though.
Then the worddatesnags in my mind. I’ve assumed I’m dating Gabe. Is that what he thinks, too?
I think about all the quiet moments we’ve already shared—the way he makes me tea without asking, how his smile softens when he catches me watching him, how we end up orbiting each other in that tiny apartment like we’ve been doing it forever.
We haven’t done more than kiss, and still, it feels like something solid is growing stronger between us each day.
Dating doesn’t seem like the right word for it, though. What’s between us has always been more than that.
Dating sounds small, temporary—like it could end someday. My hand drifts up to the tattoo at the top of my spine, the top of the compass peeking above my shirt.
Gabe and I… we’re written in ink.
It’s permanent.
He’s part of me.
I glance down the street. The pull toward him is so strong, undeniable, calling me back to Evergreen.
Calling me home.
Evergreen is quiet when I step inside, the lights are off, and there’s no sign of Gabe downstairs. A faint sound carries from above, a chair scraping against the floor, and then his voice calls down, “I’m up here.”
I take the narrow stairs two at a time, the old wood creaking under my feet. The apartment is warm against the damp chill outside. He’s on the sofa, laptop already open in front of him.
