7. Rayne

Rayne

Fire training was overand that same feeling at the end of a hockey season, of being cast out to drift on his own when his teammates all left town, came over Rayne.

He sat at a desk in a two-hundred-person-capacity lecture hall-cum-classroom at the training center, with thirteen remaining trainees out of the original twenty. Only a few, like Chip Morin, had quit, but the rest had either failed to grasp the skills it took to be a firefighter, or had failed their final written and oral exams.

Today, they had come in to collect their official certificates and receive career guidance for their next steps. There weren't a lot of jobs available in the Boulder area, and many of the soon-to-be firefighters would fan out across Colorado, or to another state. But one thing Rayne knew for sure was that the only place he wanted to work out of was Boulder.

Holy shit!

Realization slammed Rayne back in his chair as though he'd taken a body check into the boards, earning a surprised look from both Wash and Thatcher.

This whole past week he'd been looking forward to moving forward as a firefighter, of starting his new career at a local station, giving no thought at all to hockey or what next season might bring. He frowned. How had he gone from firefighting as backup for after hockey to hockey as the afterthought?

But before he could think on it too much, Lieutenants Seavers and Verlice, and Firefighter Capmany entered the classroom and stood next to Captain Poverly.

Rayne swallowed at the sight of Nick in his navy station pants and same-colored form-fitting Boulder Fire Training T-shirt. The instructors were all sporting the same station wear, as they had throughout training, but the way Nick wore it got all of Rayne's synapses firing. Who knew he had a man-in-uniform kink? Or maybe it was just a Lieutenant Seavers in anything kink.

But Nick was officially no longer his instructor, and Rayne wasn't leaving without a date, or at the very least, Nick's phone number.

"Congratulations on completing your firefighting training," Captain Poverly began. "You've done well on your final exams, and I'm happy to elevate you all to rookie status. Let's give a big round of applause for all of you getting this far."

Nick's gaze collided with Rayne's and locked on while the officers' claps echoed throughout the large hall. A crooked grin tugged at the corners of Nick's mouth.

"Thank you," Rayne shouted when they were done, not looking away from Nick. "We couldn't have done it without you. I think you're all owed a round of applause, too."

The newly minted rookies joined in with Rayne, and Thatcher whistled so loud Rayne thought his eardrums might burst.

"Okay, okay." Captain Poverly raised his hands, laughing. "Come and get your certificates."

"One more thing," Firefighter Capmany called out as they began filing toward the front of the room. "I'm having a barbecue and pool party at my house on Saturday, and you're all invited." He pointed to a short stack of file card-sized paper on the desk. "My address and phone number are here. I'm planning on all of you being there, but please call if you can't make it."

"And if you don't make it, you'll miss out on the best barbecue you've ever had," Lieutenant Verlice added. "You've been warned."

Everyone dispersed as they collected their certificates and Capmany's party directions, thanking their instructors individually before leaving. Rayne hung back until everybody cleared out so that he could get a minute alone with Nick.

When it was finally just the two of them, Rayne shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans as a rare wave of uncertainty washed through him. Nick mirrored the action.

"Will you be there?" Not what Rayne had wanted to say, but the weird sense of shyness that suddenly gripped him chose an easy opening. "At Capmany's barbecue?"

"You heard Verlice." Nick grinned. "No one passes on invites to Capmany barbecues or dinners."

"That good, is it?"

A quiet mmm escaped Nick's mouth and sent tingles racing over Rayne's skin.

"You don't even know."

Rayne didn't think Nick meant to say that so seductively, but that was how it sounded to Rayne's ears. And he wanted to hear it again. Preferably somewhere private. With less clothing. And him being the one to draw that sexy moan from Nick.

Rayne rocked on his heels when the charged silence between them stretched, the words in his head deciding to play hide-and-seek. He got the feeling the same was happening with Nick, going by the way he was intently watching him, eyes searching. As though he had something to say but was hoping Rayne would say it first. That, or Rayne was projecting. Which he probably was, because damn, he was tired of keeping himself in check around Lieutenant Seavers.

"So . . . I'm just going to put it all out there," Rayne blurted in a rush.

Nick raised an eyebrow, and a quirk of a smile lit his face, but he didn't say anything. Just waited for Rayne to continue.

"I know we haven't spent a lot of time together outside of training, but I've been attracted to you since the first day," Rayne said, hoping he wasn't making a complete fool of himself. But better a fool than to spend the rest of his life wondering what if. "I started dreading Fridays because that meant I wouldn't be seeing you for two full days, and looking forward to Mondays so I could see you again. I think about you more than hockey, which is weird because hockey has been my whole life for a long time."

"Hamilton, I—"

"Rayne," he interrupted. He desperately wanted to hear his given name on Nick's tongue.

Light flashed in Nick's golden-flecked eyes. "Rayne."

Rayne's heart did a little tap dance at the soft, reverent way Nick said his name, but then Nick pursed his lips and his jaw ticked.

"I'm just saying," Rayne rushed in when Nick didn't continue, afraid if he didn't get it all out now, he never would. He pulled his hands from his pockets, letting one hang while he made to reach toward Nick with the other, but stopped himself. "That I want to get to know you better. I want to hang out with you outside of all things fire and go for that drink or dinner or whatever you'd like. And now that training is out of the way, you and I aren't inappropriate anymore, so there's nothing to stop us from spending time together."

Except if Nick said no.

Rayne held his breath, hoping his word vomit wasn't too much as he waited for Nick's response. But Nick's mouth remained firmly shut.

Rayne's bravado slipped when Nick looked away and Rayne braced himself for rejection, even though he knew Nick felt the same because there was no way all that crackling energy Rayne felt between them could be one-sided. Not with the way Nick tracked him in the training yard and the heated looks he cast his way and the sexy as fuck blush that colored his cheeks when Rayne caught him looking, or when Rayne was near or made a suggestive double entendre.

"I'll admit," Nick said finally with a ragged edge to his voice, and when his warm eyes met Rayne's, there was a mix of desire and melancholy swimming in them. "I am attracted to you, too. I'm just . . . I'm not sure I'm ready."

Nick didn't elaborate, and Rayne didn't know what to say to that. He wouldn't push, but he wondered what held Nick back. Was he still worried about their trainee/instructor dynamic, even though that barrier was gone now? Was he still recovering from a nasty breakup? Did Rayne hope Nick would tell him? Hell, yeah.

Rayne held out a hand, palm up. "Hand me your phone."

Confusion played over Nick's ruggedly handsome face, and his voice was hesitant when he asked, "Why?"

"Please," Rayne said quietly.

Nick's expression softened somehow at the plea, and with a subtle shake of his head, as though he was surprised at obliging, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it before handing it over.

Rayne smiled as he took the device and punched his phone number into Nick's contact list. When he was done, he resisted pressing send so that he could have Nick's number too. Something told him that this had to be Nick's move. Rayne didn't know why, but he knew he had to leave it up to Nick to call first. Otherwise, if he had Nick's phone number, he would call him the second he got home tonight. Maybe sooner, like before he even left the training center.

"There." Rayne handed his phone back. "You have my number. Use it when you're ready."

Their fingers brushed when Nick's hand closed around the device, and electricity shot up Rayne's arm. Nick's lips parted and Rayne's inner child did a little happy dance.

"Hamilton," Wash shouted as she popped back into the lecture hall. "We're leaving."

"Be right there," Rayne called over his shoulder without breaking eye contact with Nick.

He couldn't look away, and it seemed Nick couldn't either.

"Where the hell is Hamilton?" Thatcher's voice carried down the hallway.

Rayne sighed. "I'd better go."

He didn't want to leave, but he smiled anyway.

Nick cleared his throat and shook his head, as though clearing it from a fog. "Yeah," he said, the single word rough sounding.

"Be seeing you, Lieutenant Nick Seavers," Rayne said as he walked backwards.

And boy, did he ever hope he would see Nick soon.

Nick nodded. "See you."

Wash was waiting for him outside the hall doors, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.

"So?" She pushed off the wall and fell into step with him. "Did you get his phone number? Plan your first date?"

"I gave him my phone number, yes," Rayne said, already regretting that he hadn't pressed send on Nick's mobile.

"And you got his?"

He shook his head.

Her eyebrows rose. "Why not? You've been lusting after him since day one."

Rayne shrugged. "Just making sure it's not all me."

He knew deep down in his bones that wasn't the case, but he didn't want to speculate on what held Nick back with Wash. That was tantamount to gossip, which he hated with a passion. There was enough of that from total strangers online when it came to him, his Blitz teammates, and hockey in general. Whatever the story was, it was Nick's to tell, and his choice when and who to tell it to.

"Oh, believe me," Kelly said with a grin. "It's definitely not all you. He wants you too."

"There you are," Thatcher huffed as Rayne and Wash rounded the corner into the atrium. "What the hell took you so long? We've got some celebrating to do, man."

Rayne pulled Thatcher into a side hug, knuckling his scalp as they staggered outside, laughing.

Later that night, as Rayne toasted and cheered with his new friends and fellow graduates, his mind kept wandering back to Nick Seavers. He checked his phone what felt like every five minutes. But each time disappointment lashed through him at the stubbornly blank screen. He took a swig of his beer as he noticed the time. How was it that only a few hours had passed since he'd left the training center, but it felt like weeks?

"Stop it," Kelly said as she plopped down on a chair beside him, snatching the phone from his hand.

"Hey! Give that back."

She shook her head as she shoved it into the back pocket of her jeans. "You can have it when we leave."

Rayne slumped and crossed his arms. Was he pouting too? Jesus. How was it that Nick Seavers had him tied up in so many knots and he hadn't even kissed the man yet?

"Nobody calls the same day, hon."

I would. Rayne sighed. "I know."

But that didn't mean he couldn't hope for it.

A boutof nerves hit Rayne square in the chest when he arrived at Capmany's barbecue a couple of days later. He'd changed three times before leaving his house, which was ridiculous because he only had three pairs of shorts. But he'd needed the right pair of shorts to match the right T-shirt. He ended up in a pair of blue ombre beach shorts that reached mid-thigh, and a tight white T-shirt with the Boulder Blitz mascot emblazoned on it.

A woman with golden-brown skin and jet-black hair approached, her smile wide and welcoming and her dark eyes glittering with joy—as though Rayne and his friends arriving was the best thing to happen to her all day.

"Welcome, welcome," she greeted, her gaze roving over them. "I'm Raquel, óscar's wife. Please come in and make yourselves at home."

"Thank you, Raquel," Rayne said, and introduced himself and his partners in crime—Kelly, Thatcher, and Garcia.

"I hope you all brought something to swim in," Raquel said she led them through the modest house.

"We did," Thatcher replied with youthful eagerness in his voice. He rubbed his hands together. "I can't wait to get into the pool. It's been years."

Rayne followed the sound of voices and laughter into the backyard, with Kelly, Thatcher, and Garcia trailing behind.

"Hey guys," Lieutenant Verlice greeted as they stepped out onto a large patio. "Grab yourselves some beer and join in."

"Thanks, Lieutenant," Garcia said as he reached into the cooler set in the shade against the house and pulled out bottles dripping with melting ice, handing them out.

"Oh, please," Verlice scoffed. "Call me Sabrina."

An attractive blonde woman came up behind Sabrina and slipped an arm around her waist. She smiled at them expectantly.

"This is my wife, Jenny." Sabrina looked at her with so much adoration and love that an unexpected longing tugged at Rayne's heart for someone to look at him the same way. Someone like Nick Seavers.

After introductions, Garcia split off to go mingle while Thatcher pulled off his T-shirt and wasted no time diving into the pool. Kelly stood with Rayne at the edge of the large patio as he took in the backyard scene.

There were over two dozen people mingling around the large yard in small groups. Rayne recognized some from training and others who he guessed were firefighters from other stations, as well as their partners and children.

A couple of young girls were playing swingball while Nick's dog Roo chased the ball around the pole. A little boy barely two feet tall was trying to play badminton with an even smaller child. A few others were running around in circles, giggling and squealing. How different would his life have been if he'd had a childhood like that? Would he still have found his way to hockey? Would he even be standing where he was right now?

"No running on the pool deck!" a woman sitting at a gazebo-covered patio table shouted at a couple of boys, who immediately slowed to a fast walk, giggling conspiratorially.

At the table with her were a few more women and a couple of men, with wine coolers and beers in their hands, chatting animatedly away. A few people were playing a game of bocce ball while others splashed in the pool, and over at the barbecue stood the man who made his pulse quicken.

Nick was helping Capmany—who wore a red apron with Don't make me use my firefighter voice in white letters splashed across the chest—cook burgers and hotdogs, but Rayne had a feeling "help" was a loose term, what with the way Capmany was waving a spatula in front of Nick's face. Nick, who was wearing a peach-colored tank top that showed off his defined biceps and warm olive skin, and white boardshorts revealing lightly furred, sinewy legs that made Rayne's mouth immediately water, flicked his hand at the utensil as though batting away a fly.

"Go find someone else to annoy, Seavers!" Capmany shoved playfully at Nick.

Nick gasped, hand going to his chest, pretending offense. "I'm just trying to help."

Capmany laughed and looked up, grinning when he spotted Rayne and Kelly. He waved and then pointed his spatula in their direction. "Go bug the newbies."

Nick scanned the partygoers, his gaze freezing when it landed on Rayne, and Rayne's breath caught in his throat. He barely knew Nick Seavers, today being the first time he'd ever seen him out of his station wear, but that didn't matter. Nick was the only person Rayne saw when he was near, and the only person who filled his thoughts when they were apart. He'd never met anyone in his life who demanded as much of his attention as Nick did, simply by being there.

"Oh-oh." Kelly turned to face him, pulling him from his wandering thoughts. "Incoming."

Rayne glanced over her shoulder and bit back a groan. Brownlow must have just arrived, because Rayne hadn't noticed him before, and he was headed their way.

Lucky me.

Rayne clenched his jaw. The last person he wanted to see at a party—or anywhere else, for that matter—was Rex Brownlow.

"Hey, Wash," Brownlow said. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts. "Hamilton."

"Brownlow."

Rayne hoped the guy had put on liberal amounts of sunscreen because Rayne wasn't sure he'd ever seen anyone as pasty white as Brownlow.

"I'm not a puck bunny." Brownlow's eyes widened, as though he hadn't intended on saying that. His cheeks colored.

"Uh, okay." Rayne frowned, shooting a sideways glance at Kelly. Her eyes were also wide, and her brows raised.

"Right. Yeah." Brownlow cleared his throat. "So, uh. I may have misjudged you." He glanced away and surprise shot through Rayne at the sheepish bow of his head and forward roll of his shoulders. Brownlow was serious. "I realize now that you weren't just trying to skirt through training using your celebrity status and flirting with the instructors."

"No, I wasn't," Rayne said without the irritation he'd have expected at Brownlow's insulting comment. "I'm not the celebrity you seem to think I am. Most people I meet have never even heard of me. Or the Blitz. And I wasn't flirting with all the instructors."

"No." Brownlow smiled for the first time since Rayne had met him, and it completely changed his appearance. When he loosened up a little and didn't take everything so seriously, he was actually . . . an attractive man. "Just the one."

And there's the jerk we all know.

Rayne didn't reply, but his gaze searched out the man in question of its own accord. He spotted Nick talking with Garcia, Verlice, and Jenny. As though Nick could feel Rayne's eyes on him, he glanced unerringly at Rayne. A grin ghosted across his lips before he returned to his conversation.

"Well," Brownlow said, drawing Rayne's attention back to him. "Maybe I'll see you on the job." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and sauntered off toward the coolers.

Rayne exchanged a look with Kelly, whose expression was as surprised and confused as he felt.

"What was that?"

She shrugged and snort-laughed. "I have no idea."

"Did I miss something?" Nick said as he appeared at Rayne's side, gaze bouncing between him and Kelly.

"Just Hamilton making friends everywhere he goes," Kelly chirped with amusement in her voice. She slid a mischievous look at Rayne before putting her bottle down. "I think I'm going to jump in the pool."

Rayne stood alone with Nick, suddenly feeling awkward and unsure of what to say. He took a draught of his pale ale.

"So . . ." Nick began, but he had to be feeling the same as Rayne because he didn't continue.

"So . . ." Rayne echoed, pulling a grin out of Nick. "You haven't called me yet."

Nick chuckled, effectively breaking the awkward moment.

"It's only been a few days," he said, as if Rayne didn't know. But Rayne knew how long it had been down to the minute—12,780 minutes. Ish.

"Yeah, well," Rayne deadpanned. "I would've called you that night."

"Eager, are you?" Nick's eyes glittered and a small smile lit his face.

Rayne opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was "oof" when eighty pounds of canine bounded into him and began dancing around his legs.

"Hey there, Roo." He kneeled, bracing himself so she didn't upend him, and accepted her sloppy dog kisses as she wriggled against him.

"Watch she doesn't get that tongue in your mouth," Nick teased.

And just like that, a mental slideshow of all the dirty things Rayne would like Nick to do to him with his tongue flashed through Rayne's mind. He didn't know what showed on his face when he looked up at Nick, but that beautiful pink blush slashed across Nick's cheeks.

Nick tipped his head. "Let's sit down."

Roo followed on their heels and plopped down at their feet as they sat in a couple of patio chairs near the far corner of the pool, but away from where most of the partygoers and kids were congregated. The chairs were close enough that Rayne's knee touched Nick's, his chest fluttering when Nick didn't move away.

"I was hoping you would be here today," Nick began, his soft-spoken words warming Rayne like a ray of sunshine.

"Is that so?" Rayne couldn't help grinning.

"I wanted to clarify." Nick lowered his voice. "I didn't want you to take what I said before the wrong way, about not dating and not being ready to. Because I do. I want to. With you. But . . ." He loosed a breath as he stared at his beer bottle, as if it held the words he was looking for. He lifted his gaze. "I was married."

Rayne's heart stuttered. Nick is married? But then his mind caught up. Nick was married. As in, now divorced and single. Rayne had been right about a nasty breakup holding Nick back.

"My husband. He . . . died suddenly a couple of years ago." Nick swallowed, his Adam's apple working, and looked away.

Rayne's heart squeezed, a painful ache burrowing inside for Nick's tragic loss. He wanted to pull Nick close to him, comfort him, but wasn't sure if it would be appreciated. Especially at a party with his coworkers and friends all around.

"I'm so sorry," Rayne said softly, meaning it with everything in him.

Nick nodded, picking at the label on his beer bottle. "Thanks."

It was one word, but Rayne had never heard a single word sound so broken.

"How long were you together? If you don't mind my asking."

"Since we were sixteen." Nick grinned—fast and fleeting—his eyes going distant and dreamy. "He was my high school sweetheart. We were married for six years, before . . ."

Rayne didn't think. He leaned over and slipped his arm around Nick's shoulders, and Nick fell willingly into his side. Rayne didn't check to see if anyone was looking, and he didn't care. Not when Nick so clearly needed comfort. Nothing mattered more in that moment. He didn't speak, didn't voice whatever might be the right platitudes or encouragements. Grief wasn't something he'd ever had to deal with—not in the loss of a loved one kind of way, just the continued eating away of hope for a genuine family by the consistent neglect of the people he'd been born to.

"The thing is." Nick straightened up, pulling away from Rayne, who immediately missed the warmth of his body. "I haven't had a single spark of interest in anyone since then. Not even a flicker." He huffed and shook his head. "I was starting to think I never would again."

"Until me," Rayne quipped, hoping to infuse a little levity and immediately regretting not keeping the thought to himself.

Nick chuckled and bumped his knee against Rayne's.

"Until you," he repeated.

He met Rayne's gaze, his smile lingering, the creases of his eyes softening, and Rayne relaxed, grateful his lack of brain-to-mouth filter hadn't upset Nick.

"But . . ." Nick began, and Rayne braced himself. Nothing good ever started with ‘but.' "Even though I'm attracted to you, I'm not sure I'm ready to do anything about it."

Nope. Understandable, but not good.

Rayne swallowed. Disappointment scraped down his throat like shards of glass. "I get that. I'm not going to push you, especially now that I know what you've been through. But I'll be here when—if—you're ready."

Rayne hoped he would still be in Boulder and not signed to some other city in another state before Nick was ready. Because he knew, deep down, that Nick Seavers was someone worth waiting for.

"Thank you for that."

"I can't guarantee that I won't still flirt with you," Rayne quipped.

"Please don't stop." Nick chuckled and bumped their shoulders. "It's good for my ego."

"Well then. Expect lots of stroking," Rayne teased, and then heat raced up his neck and into his cheeks. "Ego stroking, I mean. Unless . . ."

A laugh burst from Nick at that. Loud and loose and full, and one of the most beautiful sounds Rayne had ever heard. He felt like he'd just won the lottery. Roo lifted her head from her paws, tail wagging in agreement, and a few curious partygoers turned their way.

"So," Nick said after a moment of quiet between them. "What got you into hockey?"

Rayne shifted in his suddenly uncomfortable chair. He didn't want to get into the whole sad story about his hockey origins. He avoided talking about his past as much as possible, even when people told him over and over that talking would help him let go of his anger and move on. But Nick had revealed something heavy and personal, so it was only fair that Rayne reciprocate.

"Third-grade teacher," Rayne said. "Believe it or not."

Nick tipped his head. "I believe it. Some teachers are better than parents."

Rayne huffed under his breath. Nick had no idea how right he was.

"Every teacher was better than my parents. They never should've had kids. They couldn't even take care of themselves." Rayne took a swig of his beer, the taste as bitter as his memories. "Half the time they didn't even know I was there. When they did acknowledge my existence, it was with annoyance or derision."

Roo put her paw on Rayne's foot, like a tap, looking up at him with warm amber eyes, as though she understood what he'd gone through. He leaned down to pet her.

"School wasn't much better," Rayne continued, not looking at Nick as he spoke. "I got teased and bullied for being the weird skinny kid with the hand-me-down clothes who never had lunch or lunch money. I started getting into a lot of fights and disrupting class until my teacher, Mr. Kim, pulled me aside and told me he coached a local youth hockey club and that I should try out, and if I liked it, he'd sponsor me." Rayne grinned fondly, remembering how kind Mr. Kim had been to him. "I was skeptical at first, but I went and turned out I loved it. I still got into fights, but it wasn't long before the fights were only on the ice."

"I'm sorry your parents weren't there for you," Nick said, the regret in his voice genuine. "But I'm happy your teacher steered you in a positive direction."

Rayne nodded and sat up. "Me too. The world could do with more Mr. Kims."

A peaceful silence fell between them as Rayne thought about the paths of his life that had led him to this moment. And not for the first time, how much he wanted to stay here in Boulder permanently.

"Is that how you got the ‘Rain the Pain' nickname?" Nick asked, breaking the silence. "From fighting on the ice."

"Yeah." Rayne leaned back and crossed his ankles. "I learned to channel my anger into hockey, but then hockey taught me I didn't need to be so angry anymore. I'd found my people."

Someone had turned on a bubble machine, and translucent rainbow bubbles drifted lazily on gentle air currents before popping. Like the people in his life. Yes, he'd found his people in hockey, but except for a few, they were as transient and changing as the sport. But here in Boulder he'd found new people. People that had roots and long histories, and he so desperately wanted to be a part of that, too.

"So, why firefighter training instead of playing for the Denver Mustangs?" Nick asked, snapping Rayne out of thoughts. "The Blitz is their farm team, aren't they?"

"They are," Rayne answered as he watched a bubble settle onto his knee and blink out. "But most guys in the PHL never make it to the big show. I've been playing in the minor league eight years now and haven't been called up even once. I don't think the call is coming at this point." He chuckled without mirth. He couldn't believe he was about to say this, but . . . "Hockey is a young man's sport."

"You are a young man," Nick argued, shock raising the pitch of his usually soft voice.

"Not in hockey." Rayne laughed. "You're an old man by thirty and most players are fully retired before they're thirty-five. If not earlier."

Nick gasped, his eyes wide and eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. "Are you calling me an old man?"

Shit. Rayne was about to grovel when a grin split Nick's face and the light in his eyes glowed. He shoved playfully at Nick's shoulder.

"You are definitely not an old man," Rayne assured. "But out of curiosity, how old are you, anyway?"

"Thirty-one," Nick replied and sighed. "But sometimes I feel like I'm fifty."

Rayne studied Nick as he looked forward. The late afternoon sun painted the ends of his dark hair bright red, his nose had a cute little lift at the end, and his square jaw was dusted with stubble. There were fainted crease lines in the corners of his eyes, but there was nothing fifty about him. He was young and vital, and a roaring wave of want crashed through Rayne.

But the roaring wave tasted like chlorine.

Roo trotted away as Rayne wiped water from his face, and Thatcher laughed from the edge of the pool.

"Are you going to swim?" Thatcher splashed water at him again to make his point.

Beside him Nick chuckled, his clothing speckled with water drops, but he'd luckily been spared the full brunt of Thatcher's antics. Roo now off chasing bubbles with the kids.

"Go," Nick said.

Rayne pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it to Nick with a grin, puffing out his chest when Nick's gaze fell to his torso and the heat of his stare seared Rayne's skin and raced through his veins. Seconds away from sporting a major wood, he spun around and cannonballed into the pool, splashing everybody within an eight-foot radius, earning shouts and laughter.

He roughhoused in the water for a while, but every time he sought Nick out, Nick was watching him with rapt attention.

After swimming and devouring Capmany's incredible barbecue burgers—Verlice was right about how good his food was—Nick stood and called Roo over.

"I think it's time for us to head home," he said, snapping the leash to Roo's collar.

"I'll walk you to your car," Rayne said, jumping up.

Another half hour of thank yous and goodbyes later, Rayne stood by Nick's truck, waiting as he opened the door for Roo to hop in. Nick turned to face him, and a sense of anticipation swirled in the air between them.

"So . . ." Rayne didn't want the day to end, didn't like not knowing when he'd see Nick again. "I, uh . . . Really want to see you again. Just so that's out there."

Nick chuckled, the sound warm and easy burrowing into Rayne's chest. "I'm aware."

"Now that I know why you're not ready yet, I'm going to behave and let you go," Rayne said. "But you have my number."

"I do," Nick said, his voice low and silky.

But Nick didn't make to move, and neither did Rayne. Energy swirled around Rayne and between them, growing more and more kinetic, until Rayne leaned closer, his body moving forward of its own volition. A voice in the back of his mind warned him to stop, but Nick was standing right there looking so damn delicious, with the rising moon limning the outline of his jaw and haloing on his dark hair.

Nick didn't back away. He licked his lips, the movement drawing Rayne's eyes. They glistened in the low light, and reasonable thought vanished.

Rayne pressed a soft, chaste kiss on Nick's mouth. Tingles exploded in every direction from the light touch. Time stood still for a heartbeat, and then it was like something inside Nick unleashed. He snaked a hand around the back of Rayne's neck, tugged him close so their bodies were fully flush, and kissed him with a ferocity that had Rayne's knees going weak. Rayne wrapped his arms around Nick's waist, but he wasn't sure if it was to pull Nick closer to him or to hang on tight under the mind-blowing onslaught of Nick's mouth.

He tasted like the beer and burgers they'd had, and something else Rayne couldn't put a finger on. Something sweet but also savory and one-hundred percent addicting.

As fast as the kiss had ignited, Rayne was suddenly holding empty air and Nick was pressed against the box of his truck. His eyes wide and wild, chest heaving and breath ragged.

"I'm so sorry," Rayne apologized, horrified at himself for crossing a boundary, for not letting Nick be the one to come to him. He ran a hand through his hair and tugged, embarrassed by his recklessness. "I shouldn't hav—"

"No," Nick barked, holding his hand up and shaking his head. "No." His voice was softer this time, his conviction clear. "You should have, and I'm glad you did, but this is on me. I . . . I'm sorry." Nick turned away. "I have to go."

Rayne stood stock still, unable to move as Nick climbed into his truck, fired up the engine, and pulled away from the curb without looking back. Rayne stood there watching until the truck's taillights disappeared around the corner and the distant rev of its engine faded.

Now more than ever, he knew Nick was who he wanted in his life. He turned his face up to the sky and imagined he could see the hockey stick galaxy—which was impossible to see with the naked eye—and cast a plea into the universe.

"I want to stay in Boulder."