Z grinned as he sipped his beer. Colby was the only one who called Z by his last name. Z’s parents had learned early on that his name was more than a mouthful. Hell, even his last name was more than most people could pronounce. Put them together and most people stumbled. That was the reason his father had nicknamed him Z and it had stuck. Everyone called him Z.
Everyone except Colby. When Z’s best friend, Trace, had asked Colby why he called Z by his last name, the guy had said he liked the way it sounded.
Fair enough.
“Gotta watch my fair skin,” Z informed him as he joined the two men outside, once again ducking to keep from nailing himself in the head with the doorjamb.
Colby laughed. “Right.”
“Somethin’ you wanted to talk about?” Z inquired when it was clear Colby wasn’t just there to hang out.
“Nope. Hopped a ride on the jet to bring your stuff. Y’all are worse than a coupla chicks, the way you pack. I left your shit in the garage, by the way. Y’all can haul it up to the house if you need it that bad.”
Great. What the hell had Kira sent down there?
“So why’re you still here?” Ryan cast a bored look in Colby’s direction.
“Waitin’ for my ride.”
“Your ride? How’d you get out here?” Z asked, propping himself against the cement railing.
“Cab.”
“Who’s comin’ to pick you up?” RT questioned.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Colby teased.
“Damn, bro. You got a chick down here, too?” Z joked, tipping his beer bottle to his lips.
Colby merely smiled. “At least one.”
And they called Z the playboy.
The sound of a horn honking drifted on the breeze, causing Colby’s eyebrows to dance upward. “That’s my ride. You two be safe. If you need me, holler.”
“Will do,” Z assured him. “Now go catch her before she comes to her senses and ditches your ugly ass.”
With that, Colby headed into the house.
RT didn’t turn around, still choosing to stare out at the water. Z wanted to move up behind him and press his hips against RT, to wrap his arms around him. The guy always looked as though he needed a hug.
A full-body one.
With lots of skin-to-skin contact.
“You up for a swim?” Z offered instead, riding the wave of heat that crashed through him.
RT peered over his shoulder at Z, his sunglasses shielding his eyes. “Sure. Why the hell not.”
Z’s thoughts exactly.
“OCEAN OR POOL?” Z WAS already pulling his shirt off after depositing his gun on the table, gripping the collar and shedding it in one swift move.
Ryan had to look back at the ocean. Looking at Z, remembering the guy’s suggestion that they act like a couple for the sake of the operation, thinking about what had happened between them… It was too much.
If he gave in, agreeing to the farce, it wasn’t going to be smooth sailing for Ryan. He knew Z was a playboy, knew the man had his fair share of lovers at any given time. He wasn’t any different than Colby, save for the fact Z preferred men.
Hell, since the night they’d spent together in Coyote Ridge, Z hadn’t said a word about it. At least not to Ryan. He didn’t even act as though he remembered, but Ryan was pretty sure he did. After all, Ryan could see the interest in Z’s eyes.
But Ryan wasn’t like Z. He couldn’t write these things off so easily. Sure, it had been a mistake, and the best thing for both of them would be to forget it ever happened, but still. Why hadn’t Z acknowledged it? Had he already moved on to someone else? More than one, maybe?
Ryan frowned.
The thought of Z with another man didn’t sit well with him. Not at all. He didn’t want to think about another man having the opportunity to put his hands on that phenomenal body, or spending a night with those strong arms wrapped around him, laughing with him, soaking up his incredible wit and intelligence.
Fuck.
Reining in his thoughts once more, Ryan remembered Z’s question. “We’ve got a pool back in Dallas,” Ryan told Z simply, needing his thoughts to get back to something more appropriate, such as the case.
“Gotcha,” Z replied.
Knowing he had to get his shit together and pretend that Z didn’t affect him, didn’t make him crave something he hadn’t had in far too long (if ever), Ryan turned to face the other man.
Z was toeing off his boots, then tugging off his jeans.
Fucking hell.
Standing before him was six foot seven inches of prime alpha male, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs and a gorgeous grin.
Ryan’s mouth dried up like the Sahara Desert.
“You goin’ in like that?” Z asked, pointing at Ryan by tipping his beer bottle toward him.
It wasn’t as though he could go inside and grab his swim trunks. That’d make him look like a pussy next to Z. Without saying a word, Ryan proceeded to undress, checking his gun and setting it on the table, then tossing his discarded clothes in a pile, all while ignoring the heat of Z’s stare. When he was down to his boxers, without a glance back at Z, he went right for the stairs.
As he was heading down to the sand, Z mumbled behind him. Something that sounded very similar to, “Dayum.”
Or at least that was what Ryan thought he heard Z say.
For the first time in a long time, Ryan blushed.
*
Two hours later, after a shower to wash off the sand and salt water, Ryan ventured back downstairs and found Z sitting on the couch in front of the big screen mounted to the wall in the main living area, flipping through channels with a bottle of water in his hand.
After a quick trip out to his bike to retrieve the files he’d brought with him, Ryan went right for the kitchen, coming to stand at the breakfast bar after grabbing a beer from the fridge. Z joined him a minute later.
“That the file?” Z asked, grabbing his own beer.
“Yeah,” Ryan relayed. “I thought maybe you could look it over while I call Bryce.”
Z nodded, then took the file and spun it around to face him.
Ryan grabbed his cell phone and headed outside. He didn’t want Z to hear the conversation he intended to have with his father.
As he stared out at the water, the same peace he’d experienced earlier washed over him. It sure as hell beat the view of the concrete jungle he was familiar with. This…yeah, this he could get used to. It was a surreal feeling. He hadn’t been at peace in far longer than he cared to admit. His life was about work, ensuring that the bad guys were taken down, the good guys were protected, and most importantly, he worried about his own enforcers, wanting to keep them safe from the danger that lurked in every corner.
He knew that the people who worked for him—most of them family or close friends of the family—were more than capable of taking care of themselves, but that didn’t mean Ryan didn’t worry. He figured he’d picked that up from his father over the years. Both Bryce and Casper had done their level best to keep the members of Sniper 1 safe at all costs while still being effective.
Granted, that didn’t always work out the way they wanted. Two years ago, they’d lost one of their own. Conner’s wife had been gunned down just outside the Sniper 1 offices. It had been a day that changed their lives forever. Although Conner didn’t discuss what had happened, Ryan knew that the unfortunate incident wasn’t simply the result of a cartel coming back for a little retribution. No, Conner’s wife had known something. What, Ryan wasn’t quite sure, but he intended to find out. It was an ongoing investigation that Ryan was overseeing himself. He knew that Conner was also seeking answers, but Ryan feared vengeance was more of what Conner had in mind. Although Ryan wouldn’t mind putting a few bullets in the brains of the men who’d killed her, he knew that wouldn’t solve anything.