“Some of us are adults.”
“Debatable.” Zack kept licking his ice cream, seeming unaware of the effect that tongue was having on Colton.
Outside, they carried their ice cream around to the picnic tables behind the shop. A few broad trees cast enough shade to make the air pleasant, and the boards of the table were warm under Colton’s forearms when he sat. Bees drifted lazily near a planter full of petunias. Somewhere nearby, somebody was grilling, smoke and char floating on the breeze.
Zack sat across from him, then immediately changed his mind and slid onto the same side, angled toward him. Better for conversation, presumably. Also better for Colton’s restraint, if the goal was to test it.
First lick of coffee ice cream tasted bitter and creamy, the cone sweet and crisp. Next to him, Zack gave a soft moan in reverence.
“Still toothpaste?” Zack swiped the tip of his tongue over his plump lips.
His mate was out to kill him.
“Still a dental product.”
“Hopeless.” Zack scooped up some strawberry next, and a tiny dot landed at the corner of his mouth.
Colton couldn’t rip his gaze away.
When Zack caught him staring, his mate wiped it away with his thumb. “You could’ve told me.”
“I was considering my options.” Colton’s voice had dropped to a husky pitch.
“Oh my God.” Zack laughed, and the sound landed warm somewhere low in Colton’s ribs. “We’ve known each other less than a day.”
Time wasn’t a factor to shifters. Colton had been alive for a little over three hundred years, always on the lookout for his mate. “Felt longer.”
Something softened in Zack’s expression before his smile tipped sassy again. “That could be charming, or it could be the kind of thing said by a man with several hidden wives.”
That made Colton give a toothy smile. “Promise. No wives.”
Zack bumped arms, wearing a mischievous grin. “Good. I don’t have the wardrobe for that kind of scandal.”
They sat there and ate, talking in the loose, easy way that usually took longer to earn. Zack had opinions on everything. Bad carpet. Good coffee. Why cherries in fruit salad were an act of aggression. Why old movies were either unbearably glamorous or aggressively beige. He spoke with his hands and his mouth and his eyes, every bit of him involved, and Colton found himself watching every detail. The quick arch of a brow. The way Zack’s smile sometimes arrived half a second late. The tiny pause before some of the jokes, as if he was checking the room before telling them.
With surprising ease, his mate pulled things out of Colton. He was normally a private man, but he wanted to share his life with Zack, including the darkness haunting his past.
“So security.” Zack nudged his empty cup around on the table with the spoon. “Were you the kind with an earpiece and a terrifying stare, or the kind who says sir a lot and watches cameras?”
“Mostly private contracts.” That seemed like a lifetime ago. Five years ago Colton had decided to join Grayson’s team, taking down as many dog-fighting rings as possible. His bank account was well funded and it was for a good cause.
“That sounds secretive.” Zack glanced at him from the corner of his blue eyes.
“It was mostly standing around being large.” It was only part of the truth, but Colton wasn’t sharing the grittier, more dangerous side of preternatural security.
Zack slowly rotated his spoon between his fingers. “Ah. Weaponized looming.”
“Useful skill.”
“I can see that.” He glanced at Colton. “You do have a very effective silent thing. Sort of calm, sort of dangerous, very unfair to my pulse.”
Colton bit into the cone to hide a smile. “Unfair?”
“I’m trying to insult you, but the slip came out as a Freudian confession instead.”
A burst of laughter escaped Colton. His mate had a way of putting things. “Hate when that happens.”
“You have no idea.”
