The server dropped a skillet of fajitas between them, the sizzle loud enough to turn a few heads. Maurice barely glanced at it. “Then come work at my firm. Easy.”
David didn’t reach for a tortilla. He just watched him, eyes steady in that way that always meant slow down, you’re missing something. “Don’t you want to know why they fired me first?”
Maurice shrugged, too quick. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve wanted you at my firm forever.”
David let out a breath—not quite relief, not quite agreement. “They wanted me to take the Brown case. I told them it was an ethical conflict. He fired me on the spot.”
Maurice scoffed. “Of course he did. That case is a disaster. You know the Browns. I know the Browns. No one with sense touches it.”
“I know,” David whispered. “But I couldn’t prove the conflict. And… you and I share the same values. That’s why I didn’t take it.”
Maurice finally reached for a tortilla, mostly to keep his hands busy. He piled on peppers and chicken without really seeing them. “So come to my firm. We’ll figure it out.”
David hesitated, thumb tracing the rim of his glass. “Would you still want me there if it… complicates things?”
Maurice looked up. David wasn’t talking about HR policies. He was talking about the years between them—the late-night study sessions, the road trips, the way they still fell into old rhythms without trying. The kind of friendship that didn’t break easily but could bend in weird ways if they weren’t careful.
Maurice gave him a small, crooked smile. “I’ll send you the contract. Read it. Sign it if it works for you. And whatever happens at the firm? It won’t touch us.”
David’s shoulders eased, but not all the way. “Okay.”
Maurice lifted his margarita and tapped it gently against David’s. “Good. Now eat. You’re gonna need your strength for this Pride Train you’re dragging me onto.”
David laughed, but the sound had an edge like he was still thinking about the job, about them, and about the line they were about to blur. Maurice felt it too, sitting there between thesizzling fajitas and the bright Pride ticket tucked under David’s phone.
A celebration, sure. But with a shadow curled around the edges.
Chapter Three
Finn
Finn kept his eyeson his coffee, pretending the sudden shift in the room wasn’t about him. The scrape of boots, the low murmur of voices—five men drifting closer like they’d rehearsed it. He straightened a little, trying to project occupied but friendly, the kind of boundary that usually worked in bars and clubs.
The tall one reached the table first, his voice sharp enough to slice through the quiet. “You’re in our booth.”
Not a question. Not even annoyed. Just… claiming.
Finn’s fingers tightened around his mug. “Didn’t see a sign,” he said lightly, aiming for a joke, a soft line in the sand. A seasoned flirt’s version of hey, I’m not trying to start anything.
The heavyset guy stepped in next, boots thudding like punctuation. “Easy, man. Kid’s just drinking coffee.” His gaze swept over Finn, slow and assessing, like he was sizing up a piece of furniture he might move.
Finn’s pulse ticked faster. Boundary ignored.
The pretty one leaned in, curls brushing his cheek as he smirked. “Aw, look at him. He’s cute when he’s confused.” He stretched the word cute like he was testing how far it could bend.
Finn’s smile wobbled. He wasn’t confused—he was calculating. Five guys. One booth. Zero exits that didn’t involve brushing past them. But part of him—some lonely, reckless part—liked the attention. Liked being noticed. Liked the idea that maybe, just maybe, these guys could be fun if he didn’t bolt.
The tattooed one crossed his arms, ink shifting with the motion. “He took our booth.” No heat, no humor. Just a blunt fact delivered like a verdict.
Finn’s throat tightened. Boundary gone.
The quiet one had been watching him the whole time, gray eyes steady, unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft enough to make Finn’s skin prickle. “You’re shaking, boy.”
It wasn’t comforting. It was diagnostic.
Finn’s heart hammered so loudly he was sure they could hear it. He tried to breathe slowly, tried to keep his expression neutral, and tried not to show how the walls of the booth were suddenly too close.
The tall one slid into the seat across from him without waiting for permission. Another dropped into the spot beside Finn. Then another. They filled the booth with bodies and heat and the faint scent of cologne and leather, closing him in like a trap disguised as camaraderie.
