“You got a phobia of bathrooms?” Atticus asked, gesturing toward the door behind him. “No one’s in there, in case you’re wondering.”
“Not wonderin’,” he said simply.
“Then why’re you standing there?”
“Just ’cause.”
His words were slurred, the twang even thicker than it had been earlier.
“I wasn’t gonethatlong, was I?” Sure, he’d gotten lost in his head for a minute or two, but not long enough to warrant a search party.
“Anyone ever tell you you talk too much?”
Atticus grinned. “Daily.”
Carson’s eyes glittered with amusement, but his expression was full of heat.
“I think I’m gonna call it a night,” Atticus told him when it was clear Carson didn’t have anything more to say.
“Good idea.”
Well, that was easy.
Not sure what to do or say, Atticus tipped his chin. “I guess I’ll see you around then.”
Before he could take a step, Carson had him up against the wall. His hands were hard, almost rough, as they moved along his sides, but his lips were soft, his tongue sliding into Atticus’s mouth, making it impossible for him to resist.
Not that he would. Fuck no. A man like Atticus did not resist a man like Carson. It didn’t happen. Tomorrow, Carson would no doubt kick Atticus to the curb, but for one night, they could enjoy the hell out of each other.
“Dayummm,” Carson groaned, his breath fanning Atticus’s mouth. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you.”
“Two hours ago?” Atticus laughed, holding Carson’s hip to keep from dry humping the guy in the hallway.
Carson’s thumbs pressed against Atticus’s ribs as though the man was fighting to keep them still. “Try two months.”
“Two—huh? Where?”
“Here.”
Atticus shook his head. “No way. I would’ve certainly remembered seeing you before.”
Carson’s grin was wickedly sexy. “I come in here maybe once every three months to see what’s goin’ on. Since I saw you back in June, I’ve been in here every fuckin’ weekend.” He nodded toward the bar. “Ask Rafe or Mack. They’ll tell you.”
“Why didn’t you say somethin’?”
He chuckled. “I did.”
“Before now.”
“’Cause I wanted to know if you were for real.”
Atticus managed to lean back enough to meet Carson’s gaze. “How fucking drunk are you?”
Carson chuckled. “A little. But not so much I can’t think straight.”
That was debatable.
“Did I pass your test? Youris he for realtest?”
