The Jock - Tal Bauer Page 0,151

a slow breath as his fingers clenched around his empty glass. One look. One glimpse. One skip of his heart. Jesus, if this was the reaction he got just from making eye contact with a good-looking guy, then…

Well. It’s not like he really wondered anymore. He pretty much knew. But there was a difference between thinking, and wondering, and pretty much knowing and… really knowing.

Of course, to know, he’d have to work up enough courage to do something about it, and considering his track record…

It wasn’t so bad, being alone.

Besides, that guy was probably looking at someone behind him. One of the sales guys, or, more likely, Rachel. Or any other attractive person, male or female. Who in this casino would pick him out of the crowd, drinking alone at the bar, to smile at?

Well, he’d had his drink, he’d seen a guy who made his heart race, he’d nearly dropped his drink, and now it was time to head back to his room. Noah batted his glass between his palms on the bar top: once, twice, a third time. He nodded. He’d done what he said he would. Time for another year of thinking about it, thinking he might be—

“Can I buy you another one?”

The voice that spoke was honeyed whiskey, amber and gold sliding down his spine and burrowing beneath his skin. Warmth flowed from Noah’s chest, slid up his neck, and grabbed the back of his skull. A hard body leaned into him, just like Rachel had, but instead of cleavage and soft curves, a sculpted chest wrapped in a dark suit slid against his side. A knee brushed the back of his.

The impulses to jump and to melt crashed inside Noah, and he did both and neither at the same time. Jerking, he twisted, losing hold of his empty glass in the process. He lunged for it before it slid off the bar top.

The man beside him caught it one-handed, as if Noah had pitched it to him on purpose.

Jesus. Noah flushed from the roots of his hair to his toes. His eyes flicked down, and down, and then up, quickly. It was him. The blond man who had smiled at him was right there, one leg behind Noah’s, elbow on the bar top, holding Noah’s glass. He was close enough that Noah could feel the heat coming from his skin, see his chest peeking out from beneath the top two buttons of his shirt, undone and open.

He was tall, as tall as Noah, able to look him in the eye as they stood practically inside each other’s shadow. Up close, Noah saw a distinct lack of fine lines and crow’s-feet, the signs he’d come to recognize in the mirror as he hit the big 4-0 and that he saw creeping onto the faces of his friends. Deep brown eyes, like old leather and cognac, stared back at him. His stomach flip-flopped.

The sales guys behind Noah roared again, laughing at yet another story told too loud. One of them backed into Noah, this time not even bothering to mumble an apology. Noah turned, glowering. “Hey. Back up, please. No need for that.”

They were drunk enough to be happy, and the group shifted six inches down the bar. When Noah turned back, the blond was studying him, that hint of a smile back on his lips, as if he was appraising what Noah had just done.

“Sorry.” Noah gestured to both the sales guys and his glass—still in the blond’s grasp—at the same time. “It’s a little crazy here tonight.”

“This isn’t your normal scene.”

“Definitely not.” Noah chuckled. “I uh, wasn’t planning on coming out tonight.”

Noah felt the blond’s eyes rake down his body. “I’m glad you did.”

He flushed, as if the sun had turned its entire focus on him and him alone. His vision blurred, and there were suddenly two blond hunks in front of him until his eyes snapped back into focus. He coughed, looked down. Ran his finger over a seam in the bar’s marble as he fought a slow smile. “When in Vegas.” He shrugged.

Silence. He felt studied, like a lab rat. He looked back up and met the blond’s gaze. The lights from the bar dipped in and out of his facial features, curving around his angled cheekbones and the square lines of his jaw. Across the bar, he’d been eye-catching. Up close, he was breathtaking. Noah’s chest squeezed.

“Is this your first time?” The question was quiet, the man’s voice soft. Gentle.

He barked out a quick laugh and looked away, squinting at the bottles of top-shelf liquor. He was going to jump out of his skin. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well, I saw you shoot down the waitress—who, I might add, a hundred other guys would give just about anything to get a smile from. I thought I might have a better chance with you than she did, but… now I’m thinking I might be the first guy who has ever asked to buy you a drink.” His eyes peered into Noah’s, searching.

Noah swallowed. Lifted his chin. “You are.”

“Was my offer unwelcome?”

It was an off-ramp, a way to escape this conversation. Escape the question, escape his own question, escape his search for answers. “No. It was welcome. You’re right, though. I’ve never done this before. I’m not sure what I’m doing.”

“What did you come here for?” The man was still staring at Noah. The rest of the bar faded away: the shouts, the jingle of the slots, the electronic chimes and whirs. Even the sales guys and their boisterous, drunken laughter. Everything disappeared except the two of them and the inches that separated them. The heat of the blond’s knee where it brushed the back of Noah’s.

“I was…” He was what? Coming down here to look at men? How did that sound, when he said it outside the four walls of his hotel room? He sounded like a creep, like someone he would investigate and expect to find a string of sexual complaints behind, maybe some Peeping Tom activity or stalking. It hadn’t sounded that ridiculous before. Let yourself look. Let yourself pretend you’re allowed to.

God knows he’d wanted to.

He’d imagined meeting a man so many times, dreamed it and yearned for it and hungered for it, the skin of his hands itching from wanting to reach out and…

He wanted to know what it was like. Was the reality anything like the wanting?

“I was giving myself permission,” he said.

Smiling, the man held out his hand. “My name is Cole.” His smile made his whole face light up, turning the strong angles into gentle curves. “If you’d like, I’ll buy the next round and we can chat for a while.”

He has kind eyes. Whirlpools of warm wood, dark velvet and starlight. Cole’s eyes went right through Noah. That clench he’d carried for years was back, a constriction in his chest like his heart couldn’t beat right. “I’m Noah.” He took Cole’s hand. His skin was warm, smooth. His fingers were long. Jesus, he was gorgeous. “I’d love to have a drink with you.”

Cole beamed.

Grab your copy of The Murder Between Us today!

It was just one night.

It was just one mistake.

FBI Agent Noah Downing had questions about his sexuality that a single night in Vegas should have answered. But dawn finds him on a plane back to Iowa, back on the trail of a vicious serial killer who disappeared six years ago and has suddenly resurfaced. There's nothing like a murder investigation to escape an existential crisis.

FBI profiler Cole Kennedy is still reeling after finding a heart-stopping connection with a seemingly perfect man, only for him to vanish. When he's sent to Iowa to profile the killer terrorizing America's heartland, he finds more questions than answers - both about the murderer and about Noah, the last man he ever expected to see again.

A twisted secret stretches between Cole and Noah, tangled with questions they both have about each other. But now, thrown together, they'll have to unravel the killer's profile and follow his trail... back to the very beginning, to where everyone's questions are answered once and for all.

Acknowledgments

Thank you to Maria, Alicia, and Lindsey for your help with this novel.