|"Hey, Jonah, you still take it up the ass?"
Jonah Chevalier froze, unable to believe anyone would actually have the balls to say that to him. In the middle of the Tim Horton’s to boot. Jesus, he hadn't missed this town at all.
Looking to his left, he spied Rich Matheson standing a yard away from him. He looked just as good today as he had the last time Jonah had seen him, unfortunately. Seemed his personality hadn't changed much either. A thick mop of wavy black hair covered his head, his features were strong, cheekbones to die for and eyes so dark blue they appeared nearly the same color of his hair.
Rich smirked, obviously aware of Jonah's perusal. Those thin lips never had looked good with that cock-sure look on his face. He hated it just as much today as he had ten years ago. "Rich, they haven't locked you up yet?"
Rich snorted out a laugh, the harsh, grating sound raking Jonah's ears. There was the other reason he'd never liked Rich. Actually, there was more than two reasons, but he didn't have all day to stand here and start listing them off.
Sauntering over to him, as if they were the best of friends, Rich patted him on the back, the good old boy movement turning into a caress at the end. Jonah stepped aside, not wanting to be touched. Where was his sandwich? He just wanted to get out of here. He gripped his coffee tighter in his left hand, raising the cup to take a bracing sip.
"If you're looking to have a good time while you're back, give me a call. You know the number?" The words were just as creepy as the caress had been, spoken in a low murmur.
"Why the hell would I know your number?"
"That mean you want it?"
"You going to block the way all day, Rich, or let me pass?"
Jonah started, shocked at the low timbre of the voice that came from behind Rich. Almost afraid to look, he peered over Rich's shoulder, meeting an all too familiar deep chocolate gaze before the man stepped around Rich.
He was tall and lean, with a shock of dark brown hair. His head was lowered just enough that Jonah couldn't quite see his face but he'd recognize that body anywhere. He'd have to be careful around Neil Brogan. Nothing quite like getting your ass kicked in your hometown for ogling some prime piece of man. And Neil was definitely prime.
Jonah's fingers itched to be able to touch. Run his palms down that body. Touch skin that he just knew was taut. Couldn't be a police diver if you weren't in the best shape of your life.
Rich sneered at the newcomer, ignoring him. He pressed a business card into Jonah’s chest, holding it there until Jonah lifted his free hand to take it. "Call me. I know you'll like it."
Curling his lip, Jonah refused to answer. He slid the card in his pocket without looking. He wasn't sure why he didn't just throw it out.
Left alone, finally, he went back to perusing the activity behind the counter, waiting for Neil Brogan to pass him by.
Heat seared his side; an arm brushed his right before that deep voice spoke again. "Good to see you home, Jonah, although I'm sorry for the cause."
Swiveling again, he met Neil's steady gaze. The man was so fucking intense, it made him want to just curl up and look at him all day. Dark chocolate eyes stared back at him, set in a face that wasn’t pretty as much as it was rugged. His nose had been broken more than once, he had a bump that was very visible, giving him a craggy appearance. He had a typical hockey face, not nearly as attractice as Rich, but appealing. Wholesome. So damn familiar it made Jonah ache. "Neil."
Neil nodded, holding out his hand. Jonah placed his fingers in the man's strong grip, just about moaning at the feel of the callused palm against his skin. It was one of the reasons he used to avoid him near the end of high school.
Neil held his hand for a moment, squeezing it gently before releasing it. Jonah had to squash the urge to curl his fingers and hold that heat in his palm. He slipped his hand into his pocket instead, gripping the card Rich had handed to him.
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