Hold On

Mike eyed him, hand wrapped around his coffee still resting on his desk.

“Can’t get a read on you,” he noted after a few beats. “You either just got a late life offer from the Colts to be their starting tight end or you’re planning to kidnap someone to torture them.”

Garrett was not surprised Mike got this read. They’d been partners for a while.

“Accurate on both, seein’ as things are good, as in real good, and I’m still pissed.”

Mike took a sip of his coffee before suggesting, “Maybe we should start with the good shit.”

“Takin’ Cher Rivers to dinner at Swank’s tomorrow.”

Disappointment slid through Mike’s features, his mouth went hard, and he sat back in his chair.

Mike could read Garrett, Garrett could read Mike. And his read was that this wasn’t about Garrett not sharing with Mike how things were the last week and a half with Cher. Even if he hadn’t said a word, Mike had definitely heard because everyone in town was talking about Garrett, Cher, and Mia.

But Mike knew him well enough to know that if Garrett wanted to talk it out, he’d do that. So Mike had let it go, waiting for Garrett to come to him if he needed him, or not.

No, his reaction was Mike knowing Garrett liked to get laid and him thinking that was what was happening here.

Garrett figured disappointment didn’t slide through his own features, considering he didn’t feel disappointed.

He felt pissed.

“You heard talk,” he remarked.

“Impossible not to hear it unless I locked Dusty and me in a soundproofed panic room the last two weeks,” Mike returned.

“Well, I can confirm Cher and me hooked up.”

Mike leaned toward Garrett’s desk, starting, “Man—”

Garrett leaned forward too.

“It was that. Then it was not that,” he bit out. “You know me, brother. I’m dumb enough to get drunk with a good woman who’s a friend who means somethin’ to me and fuck that shit up. I’m not that man who would do what you’re thinkin’ to Cher.”

“You and Mia are—”

“There is no me and Mia.”

At the strength of Garrett’s tone, Mike did a slow blink.

“Straight up, Cher and me hooked up,” Garrett carried on. “That’s what I thought it was. Wasn’t so drunk I didn’t think she knew the score. She did. Problem was, I didn’t.”

“And what’s the score?” Mike asked.

“The score is, when I went to J&J’s after we’d had our thing to get us back on track, some trouble Cher was having walked into the bar with bad timing. I saw that shit go down, I asked her about it. But she’s Cher. She’s been fucked over so bad, she doesn’t want anyone to think they can get at her just the same as she doesn’t want anyone to think she needs them. She tried to shut me down.” Garrett shook his head. “When she did that, what we had before and then what happened between us—havin’ her, wakin’ up to her—something in me, brother, it just clicked.”

“It just clicked,” Mike muttered, still studying him.

“Near on two weeks, can’t get the woman off my mind.”

Mike’s eyes grew intent. “What’d you and Cher have before?”

“You ever known me to get to know a woman before I took her to bed?” Garrett asked. “I’m not talkin’ dating. I’m talkin’ spendin’ years building a friendship with a woman and then takin’ that further.”

Understanding hit his eyes as he shook his head. “No, man.”