Nope. Absolutely not.
Finn slipped out of the Welcome Car and headed straight for the Dining Car. The Dining Car was a completely different world—bright, warm,and smelling like coffee and cinnamon. Sunlight poured through the windows, catching on the white tablecloths and the colorful-striped menus. The clink of silverware and the low hum of conversation instantly calmed him.
He dropped into a booth and ordered pancakes and bacon, grateful for the relaxed lull between mealtime rushes. A few minutes later, the server slid the plate and a mug of coffee in front of him. The scent of bacon drifted up, rich and comforting, and his stomach answered with a low growl. Then Finn raised his head, and there they were—five guys filling the doorway like a wall.
Chapter Two
Maurice
Maurice walked out ofthe courthouse riding the high of a clean win—one of those cases that reminded him why he loved the fight. His shoulders finally loosened as he slid into his red sports car, the leather still warm from the sun. Dinner with David sounded perfect. He could already taste chips, salsa, and the first sip of something cold.
Cozy Cactus sat on the south side of Charlottesville, tucked between a bakery and a tattoo shop, its neon cactus sign buzzing faintly in the early evening light. Inside, the place smelled like warm tortillas, grilled peppers, and lime. Strings ofpapel picadohung from the ceiling, and the booths were upholstered in bright turquoise vinyl that squeaked when you slid in. It was loud enough to feel alive but not so loud he couldn’t hear himself think.
He spotted David immediately—of course he did. The man always drew the eye without trying. He was in their usual booth, a margarita sweating on the table in front of him. Sun-kissed skin, sharp blue eyes, blond hair falling in those loose waves that looked like he’d just rolled out of bed in a very attractive way. The beard didn’t hurt either.
A grin tugged at Maurice’s mouth. Show-off. He probably didn’t even know he looked like that.
David stood the second he saw him, arms already open. “There he is! The man of the hour.”
Maurice laughed as they hugged, David squeezing him like it had been months instead of a week. “You act like I’ve been deployed overseas.”
“Winning a big case counts,” David said, pulling back with a proud smirk. “Sit. Drink. Tell me everything.”
Maurice slid into the booth, the vinyl giving its usual squeak, and let himself relax. Good food, good company, and the buzz of victory still warm in his chest—yeah, this was exactly where he wanted to be.
Maurice ordered a margarita the second the server reached their table—salted rim, extra lime. He needed something cold to take the edge off the day and, honestly, the nerves he hadn’t admitted to yet.
“So,” he said, leaning back in the booth, “what have you planned for our vacation?”
David grinned like he’d been waiting for that question. “We leave Saturday morning. I’ve got our tickets for the Pride Express.” He slid a ticket across the table with a little flourish.
Maurice picked it up, turning it over in his hand. An entire week on a Pride Train. With… a lot of gay men. More than he’d ever been around at once. His stomach did a weird flip—half excitement, half what the hell am I getting into?
“What do we even do on the Pride Express? And where are we going?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
“It’s a train ride across the country,” David said, sipping his margarita. “We stop to pick up guys from sixteen states. It ends in San Francisco. Three days of Pride events there, then we fly home.”
Maurice blinked. “Wow. I’ve never done anything Pride related.”
David gave him a look—the kind that saidexactly. “That’s why I picked it. You need to feel more comfortable around other gay men. And it wouldn’t hurt if you met Mr. Right.”
Maurice laughed, but it came out softer than he meant. “Mr. Right. Sure. Because he’s just waiting for me on a train.”
“You never know,” David said. “Stranger things have happened.”
Maurice took a long sip of his drink. The tequila burned pleasantly, but it didn’t quiet the thoughts spinning in his head.
A whole week surrounded by queer men who weren’t half-drunk in a club. Men who talked, laughed, flirted in daylight. Men who might actually want something real.
Maurice swirled the salt on the rim of his margarita glass with his thumb, the tang of lime hitting his nose a little too sharply. It reminded him of that night behind the club in Richmond; he’d pushed a younger guy with citrus-scented cologne against a brick wall and kissed him like they wereboth starving. Hot, fast, forgettable. The kind of thing Maurice pretended didn’t bother him. But it did. More than he ever said.
He cleared his throat. “What if I don’t fit in?”
David looked up from the menu, tilting his head. “Maurice. You’re gay. You fit in by default.”
Maurice laughed. “Yeah, but I’ve never been around all that. Not for more than a few hours at a club.” He didn’t say not without his hands on a stranger in the dark, but the memory lingered.
“That’s the point.” David leaned back as if he’d been waiting for this opening. “You deserve more than hookups and work and pretending you’re fine.”
