Head in the game, Trexler.
There was no doubt about it, Z was the bane of Ryan’s entire existence. There was something about him that Ryan—no matter how hard he tried—simply couldn’t ignore. Not that he’d ever acted on his physical reaction to the man’s proximity, but he’d sure as hell wanted to.
And with each second that ticked by, that desire was getting harder and harder to disregard.
There were plenty of reasons why Ryan needed to stay away from Z, mostly due to the fact that, for all intents and purposes, Ryan was Z’s boss, his employer. As of a year ago, Ryan had stepped in to take over Sniper 1 Security so that Bryce and Casper could officially retire. Thirty-five years running a company was a long time for anyone, and Ryan didn’t blame them for wanting to spend less time at work and more time with family.
As far as Ryan was concerned, business was business and personal was personal. The two didn’t cross. He’d learned that from personal experience, life lessons, and all that shit. Thanks to the debacle that had disrupted his life for months, Ryan knew a relationship that crossed those lines wasn’t worth it.
And if that wasn’t enough to deter Ryan from giving in to the craving that nagged at him, there was also the fact that Z was a playboy. The man, without shame, spent his nights with different men, choosing not to settle down with anyone. For as long as Ryan had known Z—all ten years and counting—he’d never known the man to have a serious relationship.
Since Ryan’s sister, Marissa, had married Trace—Z’s closest friend—Ryan knew more about Z’s extracurricular activities than he cared to. Due to the fact that Z lived on the first floor of the converted warehouse that he and Trace had bought years ago, and Marissa and Trace lived on the second, his sister had firsthand knowledge of Z’s comings and goings. To hear his sister tell it, Z was never home.
“I’ll get a beer,” Z accepted now, smirking at Ryan as though he knew exactly where Ryan’s thoughts had detoured.
Knowing he couldn’t recant his offer or he’d risk giving away his desire to keep a safe distance between the two of them, Ryan nodded once. Their relationship was strictly business, and he had to keep reminding himself of that fact.
“Meet me at Rick’s?” Ryan suggested.
Rick’s was a local bar that catered to cops. It was a place that the Sniper 1 Security team had been known to frequent. Considering it was just a couple of blocks away from the office, the trek was quick and easy.
“Sure thing.”
Without another word, they both mounted their motorcycles and tore out of the garage.
By the time Ryan was walking into the bar, he was fighting an overwhelming sense of anxiety. The more time he spent with Z, the harder it was for him to pretend that there wasn’t an inexplicable chemistry between them. After having endured a couple of weeks in Coyote Ridge—Z’s hometown—on a stalker case for one of Z’s friends and the friend’s famous country music singer girlfriend, Ryan had found himself being pushed to his limits. But somehow—honest to God, he had no fucking idea how—Ryan had managed to resist the temptation that was Zachariah Tavoularis.
Barely.
But he certainly had to make a conscious effort.
Could’ve been the fact that Ryan hadn’t gotten laid in… Well, fuck… It’d been months now. His hand wasn’t doing it for him these days, either, but he used work as an excuse as to why he couldn’t take the time to date.
Truth was, he didn’t want to date. He didn’t want meaningless sex, either. He was tired of all the bullshit, and at thirty-two, he was beginning to believe that was all he could expect out of life. Didn’t help that work seemed to be his one and only priority.
Ryan planted his ass on one of the rickety stools at the bar, subtly glancing around the room, noting every single person and their location—something that was second nature to him. The place wasn’t as busy as it would be later, but there wasn’t a shortage of bodies, either. Rick’s was already filled with cops and a handful of cop groupies, all surrounded by booze, the clack of pool balls, and the steady drone of conversation—but that wasn’t unusual for a Friday night. Cops wanted to blow off some steam after a difficult week as much as the next guy, and though Ryan wasn’t one of the good boys in blue, he’d established some rather strong relationships with the Dallas police department, hence the reason they opted to frequent the place.
“Two Coronas with lime,” Z told the bartender when the older man sauntered over, a gap-toothed grin splitting his weathered face.
Hoping not to appear too conspicuous, Ryan stole a glance at Z. The guy’s dark hair was tousled, a stray lock hanging over his forehead while the rest spiked on the top. Z had previously kept all of his hair short; however, now only the sides and back remained relatively close to his scalp. His mocha-brown eyes scanned the room, his prominent chin jutting out, and the corded muscles in his neck strained slightly as he did.
Ryan had to jerk his eyes away when Z turned back toward him.
“How’s…uh…Brendon?” Ryan asked, trying to make casual conversation despite the nervous energy flowing through him. It was so unlike him to let anyone get to him, but Z did so without effort.
“Good. No more issues with the stalker,” Z replied in his signature laid-back Texas drawl. “Oh, and his twin’s ’bout to get married.”
“Yeah? They settled on a date?” Last Ryan had heard, Braydon Walker—the twin Z was referring to—and his long-time fiancée, Jessica Prescott, hadn’t settled on a wedding date.
“They did. Bray originally said they’d wait till Sawyer got married in December, but he’s an impatient one. They’re tyin’ the knot on the twenty-second.”
“Of this month?” Wow, that seemed fast. That was… Holy shit. That was next weekend.
“Yep. Oh, and I know it’s late notice, but they invited you.”
Ryan peered over at Z, studying him momentarily. “Really?”
Z laughed. “Yeah. You act like that’s crazy or somethin’. You’re responsible for takin’ down the stalker. Why wouldn’t they invite you?”
“Whoa there. No, you get credit for that one, not me. I was merely there to help out.”
“Right.” Z grinned. “Since I learned from the best, you still deserve the credit.”
Ryan wasn’t sure what to say to that.
“And before you make up some excuse about not bein’ able to go, I checked with Jayden. Your schedule’s free.”
Great. And now he didn’t even have an excuse.
Glancing down at the bowl of peanuts in front of him, wishing like hell he had his beer already, Ryan nodded.
“Is that a yes?” The incredulity in Z’s tone was thick.
“Yeah,” he told him. “I’ll go.”
Ryan had met the Walker clan—a group of good ol’ boys who happened to own a risqué sex resort in their small town in central Texas—back when Z had requested Ryan’s help for the stalker case. But the brothers’ business sense hadn’t been all he’d been impressed with.
Spending two weeks in the small town had given Ryan the opportunity to get to know the brothers, but he’d mostly chatted with the eldest Walker, Travis. Ryan had been somewhat inspired by the fact that Travis had managed to successfully establish his own form of gay marriage in a state whose government, at the time, had still been stuck in a much different (translated to repressed) era.
Travis’s younger brother Ethan and Ethan’s husband, Beau, had also made it work, even with the many obstacles that had plagued their relationship in the beginning. Turned out, Ethan had received some sage advice from Travis, who had successfully gone into a committed ménage relationship with his husband, Gage, and their wife, Kylie.