“Hey, Trey!”
At the sound of his name, he peered over, saw one of his many cousins waving him over. Holding up a finger in the universal sign forgive me a minute, Trey went to the bar, waited until the bartender glanced his way.
Tonight, the bar was being manned by Rafe Sharpe rather than by Moonshiners’ owner, Mack. That had been the case a lot lately, almost as though Mack was handing over the reins. Whether or not that was true, or if it was simply because Mack was now happily married and spending a large portion of time with his husband, Trey didn’t know, nor would he ask, because it wasn’t any of his damn business.
Maybe he should pick up the superstitious ritual of making New Year’s resolutions. If he did, that would be his main one for next year: mind his own damn business. Starting right now.
“Beer?” Rafe asked.
Trey nodded, figuring he couldn’t be heard over the din of conversation anyway.
He waited patiently while Rafe retrieved a bottle, flipped the top off, passed it over.
“Put it on my tab.”
Trey’s head swiveled around, triggered by the familiar voice, but he quickly turned back to Rafe. “No. My own tab, thanks.”
“It’s good to see you,” Cyrus said kindly.
Yeah, well, Trey wished he could say the same. But it wasn’t good to see him. Probably wouldn’t be for a while. Not until Trey got over the fact Cyrus had up and moved to California, letting him know by way of text message. Not even an attempt to speak directly to him.
Trey immediately sidestepped Cyrus, taking a long pull on his beer and pretending not to notice the man.
“Come on, Trey.” Cyrus’s normally monotone voice held a hint of a whine that made Trey cringe. “I’m in town for a couple days. Can’t we just be civil?”
To Cyrus,be civilactually meantfuck.
Trey felt his blood begin to heat, but not from lust or desire. No, this was anger. Hot and potent and directed at the man who’d pretty much dumped him after revealing he now lived fourteen hundred miles away.
Rather than engage in conversation and risk punching the guy he used to fuck, Trey headed for the cluster of Walkers he’d seen on his way in. Noticing the cousin who’d waved him over was now grinning and making googly eyes with some chick, Trey detoured, heading over to where Brantley and Reese were sitting at a table with that dog trainer Reese had recently hired to help him with Tesha. Magnus something or other.
When a firm hand landed on his arm, Trey stopped, turned slowly. He glanced down at where Cyrus was holding, then met the man’s dark brown eyes.
“What’s your problem?” Cyrus asked, his voice lower than before, his grip tightening ever so slightly.
Before he could launch into all the reasons he wanted Cyrus to take a hike, he heard, “Get your ass over here, Trey,” the command coming from behind him, barked by none other than his brother, Brantley.
“I’d love to,” he said, glaring at Cyrus before shrugging off his hand.
“You’re not seriously pissed off at me, are you?” Cyrus asked, his eyes probing his face as though looking for the answer.
“I’m not pissed, Cy. I don’t give a damn one way or the other.”
“I took a job,” Cyrus complained. “I’m not sure what you wanted me to do.”
Giving him a heads-up would’ve been a good start, but Trey didn’t tell him that. Truth was, he didn’t care that Cyrus had taken a job in fucking California. Or that he’d moved and didn’t bother to tell Trey until he had a new permanent address. Trey was merely dealing with some wounded pride, that was all. And until he could get over being ghosted by a man he’d thought he had a connection with, Trey didn’t care to chat it up with him.
Because nothing good would come from this conversation, Trey turned and walked away. He took the vacant seat beside the dog trainer, doing his level best not to look at the guy.
Not an easy thing to do, he would admit. Magnus Storme was one of those guys who caused people to do a double take. Could’ve been his hazel eyes—heavy on the blue side tonight thanks to the navy-blue Henley he was wearing—or those chiseled features, the purposely stubbled jaw, or even those perfect lips. Or it could simply be the combination. Magnus was put together in a way that most men weren’t, and although some would’ve probably called him pretty if it weren’t for the previously broken nose, Trey would have to say Magnus was devastatingly handsome.
And if that wasn’t enough, the guy had a body meant to undress slowly. He figured buying T-shirts off the rack wasn’t an easy thing to do with arms that size. His chest was impressive, too. As was the fact it tapered to a trim waist, then down nicely to what was a world-class ass.
Not that Trey was looking at Magnus’s ass. The guy was sitting down, after all. But he’d gotten a glimpse the day they met and a few times since. And yeah, he’d given the man a once-over.
Okay, twice.
Three times, max.
