“I thought we might want some game-day snacks.” I bent down to pet the dog who had come out to sniff my feet. “And you must be Sutton.”
He let out a grunt and wiggled his stubby tail. Nolan watched with approval as I gave the dog a few good scratches behind the ears.
“Is Daniella here?”
Just the woman’s name sent hot jealousy spiraling through me. I’d never be okay with this. But it didn’t matter. I had a plan. And I would stick to it come hell or high water. I just wanted to know what I was getting myself into.
“She’s at work. Why, did you want to meet her?” he asked, his brows raised as if the idea of us meeting never crossed his mind.
I shrugged. “I just assumed. Since I was coming to your place . . . and she lives here.”
He shook his head.
As a knock sounded at the door, I was struck by the unmistakable feeling that things were about to get a whole lot more confusing.
Nolan opened the door and greeted a tall, muscular man who stood there. They did that thing guys do, a thump on the back and a one-armed hug.
“Lacey, this is Greyson,” Nolan said.
Greyson smiled warmly at me, giving the impression that Nolan had supplied more information than that behind the scenes.
“It’s good to meet you, Lacey,” Greyson said, his rough voice neutral, but his eyes dancing with mischief.
“Former SEAL?” I asked him, ignoring the unspoken messages passing between the men.
“How’d you guess?” he asked.
I tipped my chin toward the trident tattoo peeking from his sleeve. I’d been around enough SEALs growing up to recognize it anywhere. More than that, I was no stranger to the world these men had lived through—the blood, sweat, and tears that tattoo represented. Most women probably threw themselves at such strong, confident men, even before they found out their past professions, but I only viewed them with a healthy dose of respect.
“Very good,” Greyson said, clearly impressed.
Nolan, on the other hand, gave me a curious glance. “Drinks?” he asked.
“I thought we were just going to stand here staring at each other all afternoon,” Greyson said, smiling warmly at me.
I chuckled and followed them back into the kitchen. A formal tour wasn’t necessary. Nolan’s home was an open floor plan. The living area held two warm brown leather couches and a flat-screen TV mounted above a stone fireplace. The kitchen was all rustic mahogany cabinets and smooth cream-colored granite. It suited him. Airy, comfortable, and non-pretentious.
He pointed down the hall and told me I’d find the restroom at the end. And the bedrooms too, I assumed.
“Let me grab our drinks real quick. Then I’ll show you where I keep the good stuff,” Nolan said, winking at me.
After he popped the cap off an imported beer and handed it to Greyson, he filled a crystal tumbler with ice, adding a measure of whiskey and just a splash of water.
Noticing my gaze, he held up the finished product and remarked, “I’m a man of very singular tastes.”
“Except when it comes to women,” I said. Shit. Did my filter just disappear?
Greyson chuckled, sipping his beer.
“Can I make you something?” Nolan ignored my remark with barely a smirk on his full lips. “A margarita?” he asked, remembering my drink choice from last weekend.
He had a fully stocked bar with expensive liquor and cut crystal glasses for each type of drink. Martinis, red and white wines, highballs. Long-stemmed champagne glasses, which I guessed he rarely used.
“No, actually, I think a beer sounds good.”
“Sure.” He offered me a glass, but I opted to drink straight from the bottle, like Greyson was doing.
“So, Lacey, how did you end up hanging out with this dickhead?” Greyson grinned at me as he led the way back to the living room.
I chuckled and took the spot on the sofa next to Sutton. He grunted and looked up at me, then plopped his head down into my lap. Stroking Sutton’s fuzzy head, I thought about how to answer. The truth certainly wouldn’t do.
“We met at West’s a couple weeks ago,” was all I offered.
He grunted and turned his eyes to Nolan’s. Again, a silent message passed between them.
They’re obviously thinking about the same thing . . . but what?
As we sat and made small talk, I gathered that Greyson was just as damaged as Nolan, just as adept at hiding his true self. He stiffened whenever Nolan asked him about his personal life, answering only questions about their shared work or the game, before Nolan gave up entirely and focused on his drink. But Greyson was a riddle for another woman to solve.
Eventually the room fell silent as the game absorbed us, and I breathed a little sigh of relief. I drained half my beer and patted Sutton’s head as it rested near my thigh.
“You know,” Greyson remarked suddenly, “a woman who can make brisket this good . . . I think she’s a keeper.” He helped himself to another bite from the plate on his lap.