“C’mon,” one of Boyd’s remaining friends cajoled, his voice a bit too loud. “It’s a celebration, Maccabee. You need to cut loose. You need… tequila!”
Boyd shook his head. “Beer,” he said. “I’m back on duty tomorrow, remember?”
The other man pouted and braced his arm against the booth, the stain of inked arms visible through his shirt. “So that just means you have to stay sober. It doesn’t mean you have to be on your best behavior. Find the bad boy inside.”
Yeah.Morgan narrowed his eyes. This guy was a bit too easy and comfortable with Boyd. Morgan didn’t love that. He wasn’t worried about it—Boyd didn’t look at Tatts the way he looked at Morgan, breathless and distracted—but that didn’t mean he was going to let it go either.
“Yeah,” he drawled as he came up behind Tatts. “I’ve got that part handled.”
Tatts turned and looked up at him. To his credit, he didn’t look intimidated by Morgan’s bulk, but Morgan could try harder.
“And?” Tatt’s raised his eyebrows. “You are who exac—”
The woman rolled her eyes, leaned over the table, and yanked on the back of Tatt’s shirt. “He’s the bad boy, Jessie. Get out of his way.”
Tatts—Jessie—snorted but did as he was told. Once he moved, Morgan slid onto the bench next to Boyd.
“Hey,” he said as he slung his arm along the back of the booth. Boyd gave him a dubious look, heavy brows drawn together warily. Morgan shrugged and brushed his fingers over the nape of Boyd’s neck. “So you’re a firefighter again, huh?”
Boyd shivered at the contact, and then his mouth twitched into a smile. “Yeah. Turns out they can’t do without me. So it’s official again. Until next time. So the guys wanted to take me out to celebrate. Danni, Tom”—Boyd ticked off the rest of the group as he went around the table until he got back to—“Jessie. This is Morgan.”
Jessie widened his eyes and pointed. “Oh, the dude everyone thinks is the missing kid? That must be weird as hell, huh?”
“Subtle,” Danni said sarcastically. She poked him in the ribs. “Go get the drinks, cuz.”
Jessie dramatically rolled his eyes but did as he was told. But once he was gone, the question still hung awkwardly in the air. “Weird as hell” was, Morgan supposed, one way to put it. But if he were willing to care about that, he’d have told the cab driver to keep going.
“I thought he was a nerdy accountant first time I met him,” Morgan said. He tapped his finger against the arm of Boyd’s glasses. “I mean, look at him. He does not screamfirefighter.”
“Really?” Boyd said. He reached up and pulled Morgan’s hand away from his glasses. “An accountant?”
“Or schoolteacher,” Morgan offered. He grinned as Boyd huffed at him. “I still thought you were cute.”
Tom laughed. “This idiot?” he asked as he pointed a finger at Boyd. “In an office? He’s always first through the door.”
“He is good with kids, though,” Danni pointed out as Jessie delivered a round of tequila shots and one beer. She grinned at him as she lifted the glass to her lips. “Just saying. Boyd’s never made a class cry, right?”
They bickered and laughed, jibes traded affectionately as the glasses were emptied and refilled. Morgan let it wash over him with the occasional comment to show he’d paid attention while Boyd nursed his beer and kept his fingers tangled through Morgan’s.
If someone didn’t know who they were, what this was, it might look like holding hands.
Eventually Jessie excused himself to chat to an equally tattooed couple at the bar, Danni bounced up and hit the dance floor as “her song” came out, and Tom excused himself to take a call from his wife.
Morgan stole Boyd’s beer, glass cold against his fingers, and took a drink.
“I should have called,” he said. “Wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”
“Since when has that stopped you?” Boyd asked. When Morgan didn’t respond, he let go of Morgan’s hand and shifted around on the bench to look at him. “I thought maybe it would be better, with Donna, if I kept my distance.”
Morgan remembered the venom in Donna’s voice as the drinks let her composure slip. “You could be right,” he admitted. “Shay thinks you’d be better off if I kept my distance, that I’ll hurt you in the long run. He might be right too.”
“You’re still here.” Boyd pointed out.
“Yeah,” Morgan said. He cupped Boyd’s jaw with one hand, stubble rough against his palm. “I guess I’m just an asshole.”
“I noticed.” Morgan scowled at the dry retort, but Boyd laughed at him and then pulled him down for a kiss. He ran his hand along Morgan’s thigh and stroked over the tight lengths of muscle to his hip. Morgan grumbled at the detour, his cock already tender and thick under his jeans, and then again when Boyd pulled back from him. “I could hurt you too, you know. You want me to back off?”
Morgan slid his hand around to the nape of Boyd’s neck and kissed him. It was hard and impatient, a rough scrape of lips and teeth that left them both flushed and breathless.
