“He’s a good man,” I said, speaking of Riggs and of Marshall, and… “And so are you.”
“Debatable,” he muttered, sliding down into the driver’s seat. “But I meant what I said. You’re the best of all of us.”
I took a step backward. “I’m going to tell them all you said that.”
“You better.” Finn pulled the door closed and the engine of his car roared to life.
I didn’t bother watching him go. Finn would leave when he was ready. Instead, I returned to the restaurant, finding Damon and Riggs side by side, a fresh mango lassi on the table and an order of steaming noodles between them.
“See?” Damon said when I returned. “He’s here, now we can eat.”
“He’s not always like this,” Riggs said to me.
“Seems to be going around.”
“Riggs would make sure you were fed,” Damon said, serving some pad Thai onto a plate and pushing it toward me. “And so would I.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
“So, Smith Covington, age twenty-five. Tell me about yourself.”
Damon smiled at me like a tattooed golden retriever, and he was so much like Riggs that it was jarring to see them next to each other. So, I told Damon about myself. Told him and Riggs both about what it was like being sold by my mother and growing up on the Covington estate with three half-brothers who were all far too old to care about me. I talked about Marshall the most, about why I went into architecture, what I loved themost about it. Riggs told me about some of the original elements of his building he’d insisted on saving during renovations, and Damon smiled at him like Riggs had just won a gold medal in the Olympics.
“Let me out,” Riggs said after we’d finished eating. “Need to piss.”
Damon scooted out of the booth to let him up and then it was just the two of us alone.
“He said he’s told you about Ev,” Damon said, looking over his shoulder. Apparently this was the part of the conversation not meant for his best friend’s ears.
“He did.”
“And about…about…”
“He’s told me,” I said, not wanting Damon to try and find an explanation that didn’t need to exist.
“And you’re fine with both?”
“I’m more than fine with both,” I promised him. “I really like him, Damon.”
“I believe you.” He stirred his drink with his straw, frowning at the orange mixture before looking up at me with resolution on his features. “Before he comes back, Riggs would never ask this of you, but I will.”
I nodded, waiting for him to go on.
“Please don’t hurt him, Smith. He would hurt himself if that was what you wanted, but please do?—”
Before Damon could finish, Riggs returned from the bathroom. Instead of sitting down across from me, he slid into the space beside me, casually throwing an arm over my shoulder. It felt right to have him there, to lean against him and breathe in the warm scent of him—leather and sweat and the green soap he used in the shop. There was no way of telling Damon I’d never hurt Riggs, at least not on purpose. He’d given me more in a handful of days than I’d ever thought possible.Sabotaging the thing building between us was not on my to-do list, but the only way I could prove that to Damon was with time.
“Miss me?” Riggs asked, pressing his mouth against the side of my head, almost a kiss, but not quite.
“Always,” Damon said, watching us with curious eyes.
I settled into the crook of Riggs’s arm, and Damon launched into a conversation about the next tattoo he wanted to get, the seriousness of our own conversation forgotten.
CHAPTER 26
RIGGS
After dinner—which went surprisingly well, considering the unanticipated interruption of Smith’s brother—I brought him back to my place. He climbed off the bike and tucked the borrowed helmet under his arm like he’d been doing it his entire life and silently followed me into the shop and up the stairs. Once back in the safety of my apartment, I took the helmet and set it aside. I helped Smith out of his jacket, his shoes, his socks. I appreciated the look of his bare feet against my floor, and then I discarded my jacket and led him to the bedroom.
