Prologue
Ten Years Ago
Matt Miller banged the top of the beeping alarm clock and the high-pitched noise stopped. For another eight minutes. Burrowing deeper into the warmth of his covers, he closed his eyes and reimagined the dream he’d been enjoying. A variation of the trip to the Texas coast he’d taken with the Jacksons the previous fall.
His best friend, Dylan, and Dylan’s parents were nowhere to be found. Matt and Dylan’s brother Caleb splashed around in the shallow waves, laughing and having fun. Matt’s ankle braces were non-existent here in his dreamworld. He’d never been born with spina bifida. He was a perfectly healthy boy.
In this perfect place, Caleb and Matt tracked a slow-moving sand crab and threw fish-shaped crackers to the sea gulls. The sun warmed them while the water cooled them, and the wind off the Gulf rushed past their ears and blew their hair every which way.
The alarm buzzed again. Matt let the dream slip away and sat up with a groan, killing the annoying sound in the process.
Stumble-lurching to the bathroom, he rubbed his eyes.
Too.
Much.
Brightness.
The alarm clock had read six thirty-nine, hadn’t it? Crap. If he’d overslept and showed up late for early band practice, Mr. Donovan would kill him.
Matt peered through the open blind slats and gasped.
A blanket of white covered the world.
“Fuck yeah. Snow,” he said softly, throwing a fist into the air. Please, please, please, let school be canceled.
Racing to the living room, he clicked on the TV and found the local news channel. When their district name slid across the bottom of the screen, Matt whooped for joy, slapped a hand across his mouth because his dad was still asleep, and sprinted to his room.
He yanked on some warm clothes and scribbled a note for his dad. Not that he needed to. If not at home, Matt could almost always be found at the Jacksons’ house around the block. It had been that way since his mom had died.
Ash-colored clouds hung low. Random snowflakes fluttered down as he plodded through what had already accumulated on the ground—at least a couple of inches, surprising as that was for those outside of Texas to imagine. But it happened. Various areas of the state got snow on an annual basis. Out here in Weatherford, they mostly got flurries that melted to nothingness when they hit the streets, but every couple of years, they got real snow. Matt snorted. Okay, so other parts of the country got blizzards and feet of snow, but for Texans, this was real snow. Real enough that schools were shut down because no one knew how to drive in it and Texas cities had no equipment to clean off the roads.
Matt’s nose and cheeks tingled in the biting air, and his breath whirled visibly with each exhalation. He slipped and slid around the first corner through the slushy parts of the snow in the gutter. When he rounded the final corner, a grin snuck its way across his face and his heart rate went into accelerato. Halfway down the block, a dark splotch moved against the whiteness.
Caleb.
Caleb maneuvered around at the end of his driveway, kneeling, rising, and circling. Scooping, patting and packing. When Matt got close enough, he saw the first giant snowball, the bottom of a snowman, taking shape. Caleb stood and took a few steps backward, bracing his fists on his hips, studying his creation.
“Looks good,” Matt said, coming to a halt beside him, grateful he could blame his breathlessness on the trek around the block and the cold air if he needed to. It was mostly true.
“It’s sorta lopsided, though.” Caleb’s eyes met Matt’s and a zing arced between them, held them captive for a few moments. The red on Caleb’s cheeks deepened and one corner of his mouth lifted.
Matt’s heart somersaulted and then belly flopped into the bottom of his stomach. Did that mean Caleb liked him too? Could it, really? With all his heart, Matt wished it were that easy. But it wasn’t.
Movement in a second-story window drew Matt’s attention. Silhouetted by dark blue curtains, Dylan waved, and Matt waved back.
That was one reason why it wasn’t so easy. Dylan.
“You wanna play with me?” Caleb asked, spreading his arms and twisting left and right to encompass the snow-covered yard. His shaggy head tilted to one side. His nose and cheeks were bright pink and white puffs escaped his red mouth. He’d been out there for some time. Probably longer than Matt had been awake, knowing Caleb. He’d always risen earlier than everyone else. Dark brown eyes regarded Matt, daring him, as they always did, to defy Dylan.
The other reason, though…Caleb had just turned fourteen to Matt’s seventeen, soon to be eighteen. Almost four years between them. That wasn’t right.
Knocking on the window startled them both. Matt noted Caleb’s frown as they glanced up at Dylan in tandem. Dylan motioned for Matt to come inside.
Matt wanted nothing more than to play in the snow with Caleb, though. To finish the snowman, have a snowball fight, maybe even make snow angels. Temptation tugged at him hard. The snow would be long gone by the end of the day. As always, Caleb’s eyes sparked with challenge. Matt heaved a sigh. He couldn’t. Not without Dylan, and Dylan hated the cold. He hated his little brother too. Matt sighed.
“I wish I could, Caleb, but I can’t. Dylan would never forgive me.” He pointed a thumb in the direction of the house.
Caleb’s lips thinned and curved downward. “Fine. Some other time.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” Matt pressed a hand to his stomach and trudged toward the house.
But snow days in Texas were few and far between.
Chapter One
Matt sorted through his sheet music and put the pages back in order before sliding them into the folder.
Home called to him. Yoga, a shower, and then leftover pizza in front of a hockey game. Skipping yoga was so very tempting. He wasn’t in the mood this afternoon, but his ankles would hate him tomorrow, so yeah, he’d be a conscientious cripple and do one of several of his mandated routines.
“Mr. Miller?”
Lost as he’d been in his head, Matt hadn’t noticed the half dozen people—the leadership core of the orchestra—along with Dave Thompson surrounding him. The rest of the orchestra members had filed out, which wasn’t unusual. Matt was often one of the last musicians off stage. Because of his condition, mild though it was, he was given space to navigate the chairs with his larger instrument and not have to worry about people at the same time.
Off the top of his head, he couldn’t think of a reason he’d be in trouble, but the sight of the six of them, including the concertmaster, had him a tick off kilter. Having only been with the orchestra for a little over a year, Matt was one of the lower musicians on the totem pole. There’d been no rumors of cutting positions, and his evaluations had been positive since he’d come aboard. Surely, if they were going to fire him, he’d be called into someone’s office or something.
He rose, hauled in a breath and let it glide out. “Hi, yeah. Is something going on?” Gaze scanning each face. No one appeared particularly perturbed, so that was reassuring, although his pulse still thrummed through his veins.
Jett Gallagher, principal cello player, stood in front of him with his fluffy gray hair and bushy eyebrows, beaming. “Matt, your name was put into the mix for the cello solo for this year’s Concerts Around the City tour.”
“What?” His relief was replaced by disbelief and a rapid exhale that made him light headed. Not what he’d been expecting to hear at all. Matt looked from smiling face to smiling face, feeling his own face stretch into a grin. “I mean. Wow. Thank you.” He shook hands all around, thanking each person directly.
“Next Friday, young man,” Jett said. “Three p.m., here at the hall.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.” He nodded, feeling light as air.
The group dispersed, each person heading to their instrument, except Dave, one of the trombone players.
“Congrats, Matt. Best of luck next week.”
“Thanks.” Matt wasn’t sure why Dave was part of this little announcement, unless… “Did you put me up for this?”
Dave smiled and shrugged, looking a bit bashful about the question. “You’re a talented musician, Matt.”
Matt scoffed. “I appreciate you saying that, but everyone here is talented. I’m not special.”
Tilting his head to one side, forehead furrowing, Dave said, “You really don’t see it?”
“See what?”
“You have a special way with the music, Matt. You wouldn’t have been offered the audition otherwise.”
Matt’s jaw dropped at the compliment and a pleased warmth spread through him. He had no idea what to say, so he stuttered his gratitude and, thankfully, Dave took his leave. Matt dropped into his chair and tried to wrap his head around what just happened. He loved music and was proud that he had the skills to be able to make a living being a musician. To be told that the leadership of his orchestra thought he had serious musical chops was unbelievable and wild and freaking amazing and the heck with his yoga, he’d deal with sore ankles. Tonight, he wanted to celebrate.
* * * * *
Matt hustled down the corridor to Dylan’s apartment, a six-pack curled under one arm and a bottle of Dylan’s favorite wine clutched in his hand. The door swung inward when he reached out to knock, and he swiped through empty air instead.
Dylan wore a surprised expression and his gaze was drawn to the alcohol. A plucked eyebrow arched. “Oh, we’re celebrating something? Something awesome by the expression on your face, but I have to run to the jail. Old Mr. Thornton’s gotten himself arrested again. Holy Christ, I wish that man would stop picking up hookers.” He shrugged into his designer trench coat and grabbed his high-end leather briefcase. “Wait for me? I won’t be long. I promise. An hour, tops. And then you can tell me all about whatever it is.”
The door snicked shut behind Matt and only the low drone of the television remained.
All of Matt’s excitement swirled out the door after Dylan. The dangers of your best friend being a defense attorney only a few years into his career… Lots and lots of scutwork. Lots of long hours. Lots of broken plans.
Of course, Matt could head home. Do his freaking yoga, eat his leftover pizza, watch the anticipated hockey game. But, dammit, he had exciting news and he wanted to share it. Matt stashed his IPA in the fridge and slid the wine into the wine cooler. The hockey game wasn’t on yet, so he’d pull up his current obsession on Netflix. Hopefully, the end of an episode and Dylan’s return would coincide.
Matt stopped short in the doorway between kitchen and living room. His attention had been on Dylan when he’d arrived, but now… Matt huffed and gazed around Dylan’s art-deco-inspired living room, his eyebrows rising in surprise. The overhead light cast a garish glare over the room. Compared to the normally pristine status of Dylan’s apartment, the place looked as if an F1 tornado had blown through. Three of the four dark wood pub chairs sat at random angles to the raised table. File folders were scattered across the table’s surface. The mini metal-work sculptures on the sofa table, which Matt hated but Dylan loved, were out of place, and a handful of actual books and a dozen or so movies were piled precariously on one of the glass-and-chrome end tables. Clothes—not Dylan’s designer-label clothes—were draped here and there. A dark pea coat hung over the back of one chair. A stack of colorful tee shirts sat on the far corner of the sofa. A large gray suede chukka boot peeked out from under the coffee table.
Matt shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the back of one of the pub chairs and pushed them all in. The sound of the key in the lock had him turning toward the door. “That was fas—”
The words died on his lips.
Despite the sweat-wet hair and the dark circles around his armpits, the sexiest man Matt had ever seen stepped into the room. He snapped his mouth shut. Taller than Matt, broader than Matt, and very obviously in way better shape than Matt. Wow.
“Well, well, well, who do we have here?” asked a voice that matched the body. Well rounded and sexy.
“I’m, uh, I’m Matt. Dylan’s best friend.” Oh, sheeze, tongue tied because of a very pretty face. Matt felt like an idiot.
The man grinned and Matt’s heart rate sped up. Get it together, Matt. A stranger just walked into Dylan’s apartment. “And you are?”
The guy said, “I’m hot and sweaty. I’m gonna grab a quick shower. You want to join me?”
Matt blushed hot and no doubt red to his hairline. “I, uh…”
“No worries. Maybe next time.” With a wink, he disappeared into Dylan’s guest bedroom, leaving a whorling scent of clean sweat and a trace of cologne in the air as he passed. Matt sniffed appreciatively. Oh God.
So many thoughts whirled through Matt’s mind. Did Dylan have a guest? Did he have a new roommate? Considering Dylan’s anal-retentiveness, Matt was surprised. He’d never mentioned wanting a roommate, much less actually having someone move in. Matt had been here the other day. There’d been no evidence of a roommate, much less the mention of one. Dylan wasn’t hurting for money even though he was only a couple of years into his career; he’d gotten hired by a prestigious firm right out of law school and seemed to be busy all the time.
Had to be a guest, right? But who?
Although, how many guests brought that many physical books and movies with them?
Matt glanced through the movies, the titles of several old black and white films evoking a familiar warmth of pleasure from him. The books were an eclectic mix that included fantasy and political thriller along with a romance novel.
The bedroom door opened and Matt startled and turned, staring wide-eyed at the man now walking toward him towel-drying his short-cropped wheat-colored hair. The scent of deodorant soap wafted through the air. Nothing like the scent of a freshly showered man to make a guy’s heart thump a bit faster. Dark eyes sparkled, and he grinned at Matt from above the smooth golden expanse of his well-defined chest. Dark blue denim hung open in a vee, revealing bright white underwear and a bulge the likes of which Matt hadn’t seen this up close and personal in a while. Matt resisted the urge to ogle outright, but couldn’t stop his mouth from watering or a tingle from skittering down his spine.
Dylan’s guest? roommate? was gorgeous. What Matt wouldn’t give for a guy like that. Not that anything would happen between the two of them anyway because Matt was, well, Matt. Skinny. Cerebral. Physically imperfect. And this guy was…
Matt raked his gaze up and down the guy. Adonis, thy name is…
He blinked.
No. He shook his head. Blinked again. No, no, no. Danger, Will Robinson. This was not a roommate. This was Dylan’s little brother. Oh, shit. As if punched in the gut, Matt’s breath left him in whoosh.
“Hi, Matty.”
Ten Years Ago
Matt Miller banged the top of the beeping alarm clock and the high-pitched noise stopped. For another eight minutes. Burrowing deeper into the warmth of his covers, he closed his eyes and reimagined the dream he’d been enjoying. A variation of the trip to the Texas coast he’d taken with the Jacksons the previous fall.
His best friend, Dylan, and Dylan’s parents were nowhere to be found. Matt and Dylan’s brother Caleb splashed around in the shallow waves, laughing and having fun. Matt’s ankle braces were non-existent here in his dreamworld. He’d never been born with spina bifida. He was a perfectly healthy boy.
In this perfect place, Caleb and Matt tracked a slow-moving sand crab and threw fish-shaped crackers to the sea gulls. The sun warmed them while the water cooled them, and the wind off the Gulf rushed past their ears and blew their hair every which way.
The alarm buzzed again. Matt let the dream slip away and sat up with a groan, killing the annoying sound in the process.
Stumble-lurching to the bathroom, he rubbed his eyes.
Too.
Much.
Brightness.
The alarm clock had read six thirty-nine, hadn’t it? Crap. If he’d overslept and showed up late for early band practice, Mr. Donovan would kill him.
Matt peered through the open blind slats and gasped.
A blanket of white covered the world.
“Fuck yeah. Snow,” he said softly, throwing a fist into the air. Please, please, please, let school be canceled.
Racing to the living room, he clicked on the TV and found the local news channel. When their district name slid across the bottom of the screen, Matt whooped for joy, slapped a hand across his mouth because his dad was still asleep, and sprinted to his room.
He yanked on some warm clothes and scribbled a note for his dad. Not that he needed to. If not at home, Matt could almost always be found at the Jacksons’ house around the block. It had been that way since his mom had died.
Ash-colored clouds hung low. Random snowflakes fluttered down as he plodded through what had already accumulated on the ground—at least a couple of inches, surprising as that was for those outside of Texas to imagine. But it happened. Various areas of the state got snow on an annual basis. Out here in Weatherford, they mostly got flurries that melted to nothingness when they hit the streets, but every couple of years, they got real snow. Matt snorted. Okay, so other parts of the country got blizzards and feet of snow, but for Texans, this was real snow. Real enough that schools were shut down because no one knew how to drive in it and Texas cities had no equipment to clean off the roads.
Matt’s nose and cheeks tingled in the biting air, and his breath whirled visibly with each exhalation. He slipped and slid around the first corner through the slushy parts of the snow in the gutter. When he rounded the final corner, a grin snuck its way across his face and his heart rate went into accelerato. Halfway down the block, a dark splotch moved against the whiteness.
Caleb.
Caleb maneuvered around at the end of his driveway, kneeling, rising, and circling. Scooping, patting and packing. When Matt got close enough, he saw the first giant snowball, the bottom of a snowman, taking shape. Caleb stood and took a few steps backward, bracing his fists on his hips, studying his creation.
“Looks good,” Matt said, coming to a halt beside him, grateful he could blame his breathlessness on the trek around the block and the cold air if he needed to. It was mostly true.
“It’s sorta lopsided, though.” Caleb’s eyes met Matt’s and a zing arced between them, held them captive for a few moments. The red on Caleb’s cheeks deepened and one corner of his mouth lifted.
Matt’s heart somersaulted and then belly flopped into the bottom of his stomach. Did that mean Caleb liked him too? Could it, really? With all his heart, Matt wished it were that easy. But it wasn’t.
Movement in a second-story window drew Matt’s attention. Silhouetted by dark blue curtains, Dylan waved, and Matt waved back.
That was one reason why it wasn’t so easy. Dylan.
“You wanna play with me?” Caleb asked, spreading his arms and twisting left and right to encompass the snow-covered yard. His shaggy head tilted to one side. His nose and cheeks were bright pink and white puffs escaped his red mouth. He’d been out there for some time. Probably longer than Matt had been awake, knowing Caleb. He’d always risen earlier than everyone else. Dark brown eyes regarded Matt, daring him, as they always did, to defy Dylan.
The other reason, though…Caleb had just turned fourteen to Matt’s seventeen, soon to be eighteen. Almost four years between them. That wasn’t right.
Knocking on the window startled them both. Matt noted Caleb’s frown as they glanced up at Dylan in tandem. Dylan motioned for Matt to come inside.
Matt wanted nothing more than to play in the snow with Caleb, though. To finish the snowman, have a snowball fight, maybe even make snow angels. Temptation tugged at him hard. The snow would be long gone by the end of the day. As always, Caleb’s eyes sparked with challenge. Matt heaved a sigh. He couldn’t. Not without Dylan, and Dylan hated the cold. He hated his little brother too. Matt sighed.
“I wish I could, Caleb, but I can’t. Dylan would never forgive me.” He pointed a thumb in the direction of the house.
Caleb’s lips thinned and curved downward. “Fine. Some other time.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” Matt pressed a hand to his stomach and trudged toward the house.
But snow days in Texas were few and far between.
Chapter One
Matt sorted through his sheet music and put the pages back in order before sliding them into the folder.
Home called to him. Yoga, a shower, and then leftover pizza in front of a hockey game. Skipping yoga was so very tempting. He wasn’t in the mood this afternoon, but his ankles would hate him tomorrow, so yeah, he’d be a conscientious cripple and do one of several of his mandated routines.
“Mr. Miller?”
Lost as he’d been in his head, Matt hadn’t noticed the half dozen people—the leadership core of the orchestra—along with Dave Thompson surrounding him. The rest of the orchestra members had filed out, which wasn’t unusual. Matt was often one of the last musicians off stage. Because of his condition, mild though it was, he was given space to navigate the chairs with his larger instrument and not have to worry about people at the same time.
Off the top of his head, he couldn’t think of a reason he’d be in trouble, but the sight of the six of them, including the concertmaster, had him a tick off kilter. Having only been with the orchestra for a little over a year, Matt was one of the lower musicians on the totem pole. There’d been no rumors of cutting positions, and his evaluations had been positive since he’d come aboard. Surely, if they were going to fire him, he’d be called into someone’s office or something.
He rose, hauled in a breath and let it glide out. “Hi, yeah. Is something going on?” Gaze scanning each face. No one appeared particularly perturbed, so that was reassuring, although his pulse still thrummed through his veins.
Jett Gallagher, principal cello player, stood in front of him with his fluffy gray hair and bushy eyebrows, beaming. “Matt, your name was put into the mix for the cello solo for this year’s Concerts Around the City tour.”
“What?” His relief was replaced by disbelief and a rapid exhale that made him light headed. Not what he’d been expecting to hear at all. Matt looked from smiling face to smiling face, feeling his own face stretch into a grin. “I mean. Wow. Thank you.” He shook hands all around, thanking each person directly.
“Next Friday, young man,” Jett said. “Three p.m., here at the hall.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.” He nodded, feeling light as air.
The group dispersed, each person heading to their instrument, except Dave, one of the trombone players.
“Congrats, Matt. Best of luck next week.”
“Thanks.” Matt wasn’t sure why Dave was part of this little announcement, unless… “Did you put me up for this?”
Dave smiled and shrugged, looking a bit bashful about the question. “You’re a talented musician, Matt.”
Matt scoffed. “I appreciate you saying that, but everyone here is talented. I’m not special.”
Tilting his head to one side, forehead furrowing, Dave said, “You really don’t see it?”
“See what?”
“You have a special way with the music, Matt. You wouldn’t have been offered the audition otherwise.”
Matt’s jaw dropped at the compliment and a pleased warmth spread through him. He had no idea what to say, so he stuttered his gratitude and, thankfully, Dave took his leave. Matt dropped into his chair and tried to wrap his head around what just happened. He loved music and was proud that he had the skills to be able to make a living being a musician. To be told that the leadership of his orchestra thought he had serious musical chops was unbelievable and wild and freaking amazing and the heck with his yoga, he’d deal with sore ankles. Tonight, he wanted to celebrate.
* * * * *
Matt hustled down the corridor to Dylan’s apartment, a six-pack curled under one arm and a bottle of Dylan’s favorite wine clutched in his hand. The door swung inward when he reached out to knock, and he swiped through empty air instead.
Dylan wore a surprised expression and his gaze was drawn to the alcohol. A plucked eyebrow arched. “Oh, we’re celebrating something? Something awesome by the expression on your face, but I have to run to the jail. Old Mr. Thornton’s gotten himself arrested again. Holy Christ, I wish that man would stop picking up hookers.” He shrugged into his designer trench coat and grabbed his high-end leather briefcase. “Wait for me? I won’t be long. I promise. An hour, tops. And then you can tell me all about whatever it is.”
The door snicked shut behind Matt and only the low drone of the television remained.
All of Matt’s excitement swirled out the door after Dylan. The dangers of your best friend being a defense attorney only a few years into his career… Lots and lots of scutwork. Lots of long hours. Lots of broken plans.
Of course, Matt could head home. Do his freaking yoga, eat his leftover pizza, watch the anticipated hockey game. But, dammit, he had exciting news and he wanted to share it. Matt stashed his IPA in the fridge and slid the wine into the wine cooler. The hockey game wasn’t on yet, so he’d pull up his current obsession on Netflix. Hopefully, the end of an episode and Dylan’s return would coincide.
Matt stopped short in the doorway between kitchen and living room. His attention had been on Dylan when he’d arrived, but now… Matt huffed and gazed around Dylan’s art-deco-inspired living room, his eyebrows rising in surprise. The overhead light cast a garish glare over the room. Compared to the normally pristine status of Dylan’s apartment, the place looked as if an F1 tornado had blown through. Three of the four dark wood pub chairs sat at random angles to the raised table. File folders were scattered across the table’s surface. The mini metal-work sculptures on the sofa table, which Matt hated but Dylan loved, were out of place, and a handful of actual books and a dozen or so movies were piled precariously on one of the glass-and-chrome end tables. Clothes—not Dylan’s designer-label clothes—were draped here and there. A dark pea coat hung over the back of one chair. A stack of colorful tee shirts sat on the far corner of the sofa. A large gray suede chukka boot peeked out from under the coffee table.
Matt shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the back of one of the pub chairs and pushed them all in. The sound of the key in the lock had him turning toward the door. “That was fas—”
The words died on his lips.
Despite the sweat-wet hair and the dark circles around his armpits, the sexiest man Matt had ever seen stepped into the room. He snapped his mouth shut. Taller than Matt, broader than Matt, and very obviously in way better shape than Matt. Wow.
“Well, well, well, who do we have here?” asked a voice that matched the body. Well rounded and sexy.
“I’m, uh, I’m Matt. Dylan’s best friend.” Oh, sheeze, tongue tied because of a very pretty face. Matt felt like an idiot.
The man grinned and Matt’s heart rate sped up. Get it together, Matt. A stranger just walked into Dylan’s apartment. “And you are?”
The guy said, “I’m hot and sweaty. I’m gonna grab a quick shower. You want to join me?”
Matt blushed hot and no doubt red to his hairline. “I, uh…”
“No worries. Maybe next time.” With a wink, he disappeared into Dylan’s guest bedroom, leaving a whorling scent of clean sweat and a trace of cologne in the air as he passed. Matt sniffed appreciatively. Oh God.
So many thoughts whirled through Matt’s mind. Did Dylan have a guest? Did he have a new roommate? Considering Dylan’s anal-retentiveness, Matt was surprised. He’d never mentioned wanting a roommate, much less actually having someone move in. Matt had been here the other day. There’d been no evidence of a roommate, much less the mention of one. Dylan wasn’t hurting for money even though he was only a couple of years into his career; he’d gotten hired by a prestigious firm right out of law school and seemed to be busy all the time.
Had to be a guest, right? But who?
Although, how many guests brought that many physical books and movies with them?
Matt glanced through the movies, the titles of several old black and white films evoking a familiar warmth of pleasure from him. The books were an eclectic mix that included fantasy and political thriller along with a romance novel.
The bedroom door opened and Matt startled and turned, staring wide-eyed at the man now walking toward him towel-drying his short-cropped wheat-colored hair. The scent of deodorant soap wafted through the air. Nothing like the scent of a freshly showered man to make a guy’s heart thump a bit faster. Dark eyes sparkled, and he grinned at Matt from above the smooth golden expanse of his well-defined chest. Dark blue denim hung open in a vee, revealing bright white underwear and a bulge the likes of which Matt hadn’t seen this up close and personal in a while. Matt resisted the urge to ogle outright, but couldn’t stop his mouth from watering or a tingle from skittering down his spine.
Dylan’s guest? roommate? was gorgeous. What Matt wouldn’t give for a guy like that. Not that anything would happen between the two of them anyway because Matt was, well, Matt. Skinny. Cerebral. Physically imperfect. And this guy was…
Matt raked his gaze up and down the guy. Adonis, thy name is…
He blinked.
No. He shook his head. Blinked again. No, no, no. Danger, Will Robinson. This was not a roommate. This was Dylan’s little brother. Oh, shit. As if punched in the gut, Matt’s breath left him in whoosh.
“Hi, Matty.”
* * * * *
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