Chapter One

Lio

T iming is everything . Those words were more than an adage my grandmother had ingrained in me; it was the one absolute I believed in because experience and, yes, time had validated its truth. Timing—good or bad—impacted everything under the sun and was reflected in opportunities and relationships, both seized and missed. Its presence felt as weighty as the encroaching fat rain clouds when Alex, my thirteen-year-old son, stepped up to home plate on an overcast Saturday in mid-October. It was a tie ballgame in the last regulation inning, and the bases were loaded with two outs. All the Tigers needed was one run to win the tri-county tournament and end their season on the highest note. It was Alex's biggest at-bat of his young baseball career, and it reminded me of a similar experience I'd had at his age.

Abe Beecham, my best friend and the man I loved but couldn't yet have, leaned over and put his mouth near my ear. "Is it me, or does this feel eerily familiar?" His breath against my skin made me shiver, and a dark, delicious chuckle rumbled through my tormentor's chest.

I turned and looked at the man who'd lived rent free in my heart and head for so long. The wind kicked up, blowing his sandy blond hair off his tanned forehead, and his too-blue eyes twinkled with affection and something deeper. His lips curved into a devilish smile, and I responded in kind. "I have a vague recollection of a similar situation," I replied nonchalantly.

Alyssa, my ex-wife and Alex's mother, leaned in from my other side. "Why aren't you two nervous?"

I glanced over and noticed her legs bouncing. Her husband, Russ, met my gaze, smiled, and shook his head. Alyssa was usually the definition of calm, cool, and collected until it came to sports, then she became a nervous cheering machine.

"Do you think getting anxious will change the outcome of the game?" I teased. Truthfully, my nerves were snapping and sizzling like bacon in a hot skillet. I was just better at masking it beneath a stoic expression. People who didn't know me well thought I had ice water pumping through my veins, but if they ever checked my pulse when Abe was near, they'd know I was as hot-blooded as they came.

Alyssa rolled her eyes. "Stop trying to calm me down with logic and sense." She looked over to the ball diamond, cupped her hands around her mouth, and yelled, "Let's go, Alex. Bring them home, baby!"

Around us, everyone cheered Alex on while I watched Clint Parker, the opposing pitcher, go through his windup routine. "Wait for your pitch," I said quietly as the ball zipped toward home plate.

"Strike!" the umpire yelled when the pitch landed in the catcher's mitt with a loud snap .

"The relief pitcher has quite the arm for a young kid," Abe said.

"Reminds me of someone," I quipped. Abe had a wicked fastball with late movement. It caused many hitters to take wild swings that left them feeling embarrassed at the plate, present company included. "You've got this, Alex," I called out.

My son took a practice swing, resumed his stance, and waited for the next pitch. Alex took a big swing, and his bat connected with the ball at the last moment, but because of the late movement, the ball sailed into foul territory.

Alyssa's legs bounced faster, and she mumbled, "Two strikes." Russ placed his hand between her shoulder blades, and she stilled.

The tension increased with each new pitch. Alex fouled off a few more, and Clint eventually threw three balls outside the strike zone, bringing the count full—three balls and two strikes. I could tell the stress was getting the best of the pitcher. He tilted his head to both sides to stretch his neck, and the catcher asked for time to speak to him. The umpire granted it, and we watched as the two kids had a brief conversation behind their mitts.

I fought the urge to fidget, chew my bottom lip, or bounce my knees like Alyssa while we waited for the boys to confer. I glanced over at Alex, who looked calm and determined as he practiced his swing. Abe pressed his leg against mine and kept it there. A sense of calm washed over me, and I turned to look at him. An arrogant grin curved his lips because he knew tension was eating me up inside just as he knew the effect his touch had on me. Christ. What kind of life could we have together if we stopped being stubborn and stupid?

"Time!" the umpire called to break up the conference and my fanciful daydream, though Abe held my gaze for a few more seconds before I focused on the diamond.

The catcher returned to his spot behind the plate, punched his glove, and held it up as Clint's target. Alex dug his plant foot in, lifted his bat, and waited. Instinct told me this was the pitch to decide the game, and I held my breath as the fastball sailed through the air. At the last minute, it veered wildly to the left and hit Alex's batting helmet with a sickening crack. I watched in stunned horror as my son immediately dropped to the ground.

Abe, Alyssa, Russ, and I moved as if tethered together, leaping to our feet and heading to the field as the coach rushed onto the diamond to check on our son. By the time we reached the fence, Alex had already sat up and was shaking his head. I gripped the chain-link fence and sucked in a lungful of air. Alex talked to his coach, the umpire, and the opposing catcher.

"He's okay," Abe said confidently.

"Thank God," Alyssa said. I heard the tremble in her voice, but I couldn't tear my eyes off our son, not even to comfort her. Russ murmured something softly, and I was again grateful for his presence in our lives.

Abe's big hand landed on my shoulder, and I longed to bury my head against his chest. I swallowed hard and fought off the instinct. Abe gave me a firm squeeze, and I looked at him. His blue eyes looked worried, but a wry smile tugged at his lips. "Now this really looks familiar," he said.

I couldn't resist returning his grin. "Surely, history won't repeat itself."

"I don't think I've ever heard this story," Russ said.

Alyssa snorted. "I'll let them tell you over pizza."

The four of us took Alex out to eat after every game—win or lose—and he'd chosen pizza this time.

One of the other parents was a doctor, and she ran by us to assess Alex for a concussion. After a few minutes, she gave Alex the all-clear. The opposing catcher extended his hand to help Alex up, and the fans for both teams clapped as he slowly jogged down the baseline. Getting hit by a pitch was an automatic advancement, so all the base runners moved to the next base. Alex stepped onto first base while one of his teammates crossed home plate.

All the Tigers celebrated together on the field with their coaches, but Alex headed toward the pitcher's mound, where Clint stood with his face buried in his mitt. The teen's shoulders shook while his teammates walked off the field without acknowledging him. Alex stepped up next to the kid and said something that made him lower his glove to reveal a blotchy, tear-streaked face.

"Poor guy looks wrecked," Alyssa said.

"Alex clearly doesn't get his sportsmanship from his father," Abe quipped.

"Kiss my ass, Beecham," I said softly in deference to the kids around us.

Abe leaned in until his hot breath ghosted over my ear. "Gladly."

I turned my head and looked at my best friend. His expression held a carnal promise that made me swallow hard. If I gave him the word, Abe would take me home, yank down my pants, and bury his face between my ass cheeks. I could practically feel his hot breath against my quivering pucker. His tongue would swirl and tease the rim before pushing in. Lust gripped my balls and squeezed. God, I wanted him so bad.

"Now I really need to hear this story," Russ quipped, jerking me back to reality and saving me from breaking my own heart. I blinked away the fantasy, and Abe's lips curled into a proud, wolfish smile. Unaware of the tension arcing between Abe and me, Russ continued chatting. "I knew you and Beecham went way back, Lio, but it sounds like there's more to it than I realized."

Few people knew the full story because I was stingy when it came to Abe. Our relationship had been fueled by variations of hate and love for three decades, but there had never been a right time to explore whether those feelings could develop into something more profound. My heart wanted to say until now , but my brain knew better than to get my hopes up. Abe and I had both drawn lines in the sand, and neither showed signs of relenting.

Alex continued to talk to Clint for a few minutes, then hugged the boy loosely. The pitcher was smiling when Alex walked away to join his team. A few kids tried to pat him on the helmet, but Alex ducked and pointed to his head.

Alyssa leaned her head against my arm. "We raised a good boy."

"Yes, we did."

The four of us waited until Alex's coaches had a final chat with the team before turning them loose. Alex didn't run to us like he usually would, and I worried the hit had rattled him more than we realized.

"How you doing, slugger?" Abe said, putting a beefy arm around Alex's shoulders.

"I'm okay," he said, wrapping his arm around Abe's waist. It had been love at first sight for both of them. Abe, a man who'd sworn he didn't want to have kids, had fallen hard for newborn Alex, who'd stared raptly at the giant who'd cradled him tenderly in his arms. Their bond had grown from their first meeting, and Alex had bypassed Alyssa and me a few times to take his troubles to Uncle Abe, an honorary title my best friend cherished. "I feel bad for Clint, though."

Abe nodded and said, "I hope his coach and parents can boost him up a bit. I'm proud of you for taking the high road and trying to make him feel better about his mistake."

"Thanks, Abe." I'd recently noticed Alex had dropped the uncle part, but I hadn't brought it up. The oversight didn't seem to bother my best friend, and honestly, my dirty thoughts about Abe made me cringe internally whenever the kid referred to him as his uncle. Whose brother was he supposed to be? Alyssa's or mine? Neither option made me feel good about my boner-inducing fantasies.

Alex looked over at me with a crooked grin identical to mine. Everything about my son's physical appearance was a younger version of me, including the cowlick only a military buzz cut could tame. "Are you disappointed I didn't charge the mound like you did when Abe hit you with a pitch?" Alex asked.

Russ, who'd been walking with Alyssa a few feet in front of us, stopped suddenly and spun around. "Now I've got to hear this story."

"Over pizza," Alyssa said, tugging his hand.

Russ playfully stomped his foot. "But I don't wanna."

"Trust me, Russ," Alex said. "It's worth the wait."

The Pizza Joint was jamming with what looked like the entire baseball team. It took us forever to get to our table, not because one wasn't available but because everyone wanted to check in on Alex, who downplayed the incident and seemed uncomfortable with the praise people heaped on him for being a good sport. He politely thanked everyone and responded that it had just felt like the right thing to do.

"Our boy is humble," Alyssa said.

"He gets that from you," we both said at once.

I chuckled and shook my head. "Me? Humility isn't an adjective I'd use to describe myself."

"That's what a modest person would say," my ex-wife countered. "Bragging about being humble is an oxymoron, don't you think?"

I tilted my head to concede. "Yeah, you've got a point."

"A person can be confident and humble simultaneously," Abe added. I looked over and quirked a brow, and he snorted. "Not me. I'm cocky as all get out." If he were walking in front of me, I'd see the swagger in his stride and the set of his broad-as-a-barn shoulders.

"Well, at least you're honest."

He winked. "Comes with the name." The truth was, Abe was honest with everyone but himself, which was why I kept him squarely in the friend zone and not in the zone where we'd fuck until we went blind.

Once we finally made it to the table and placed our pizza and drink orders, Russ leaned his elbow on the table and dropped his chin onto the heel of his palm. "No more excuses. Tell me the story."

"The year was 1994," I began. Russ groaned, knowing I was going to string this out, and settled more comfortably in his chair.

"Maybe I should get a beer," he said to Alyssa.

"It's your fault for being so eager," she replied. "You've got to play hard to get with this one."

Under the table, Abe bumped his leg against mine. Just that innocent contact sent my nervous system into a tailspin.

"Noted for future reference," Russ replied.

"Ditto," Abe quipped.

Across the table, Alyssa fought back a grin as she volleyed her gaze between us. My ex-wife knew how much I loved Abe—was in love with him—just as she knew the reason I guarded my heart. Our marriage might not have worked out the way we'd planned when we exchanged vows, but we had an amazing friendship and co-parented the world's greatest kid. Besides Abe, no one on this planet, including blood relatives, knew me better than Alyssa.

"Do you want to hear this or not?" I asked Russ. "I'm trying to give you some background information so you'll have the full picture."

"No, wait," Abe said. "If you really want to paint the picture, you'll need to start in 1992."

I nodded sagely. "You're right. Thanks."

Abe winked at me. "Anytime, pal."

Russ took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll bite. What happened in 1992?"

"These two idiots met," Alyssa said before I could respond. "It was at a similar tournament to the one Alex just played in. Multiple rounds to get to the championship game, which is where they met."

"Yep," I agreed. "It was hate at first sight."

Abe scoffed. "Speak for yourself. You didn't even register as a blip on my radar."

"Until I hit a grand slam off you in the bottom of the last inning to win the game," I countered.

"Yeah, that left an impression."

I nudged him with my arm and returned my attention to Russ. "Our teams dueled it out during the annual classic for two more years."

"Here?" Russ asked.

"Nah," Alex said. "Abe is from Alamo."

"The armpit of Georgia," I supplied.

Abe snorted. "That's rich coming from someone born in a town named after an onion. Bet you smelled like an armpit."

Alex rolled his eyes at both of us. "And Dad is from Vidalia."

"Got it," Russ said. "You were rivals who hated each other, and we're up to 1994 now."

"Yep," I agreed. "It's a rematch of the 1992 tournament, and instead of throwing honest pitches or intentionally walking me, Big Abe here hit me with a pitch on purpose."

"In the arm," Abe said.

"That pitch came at me faster than most people drive their cars," I countered.

Abe grinned proudly because humility was a stranger to him. I'd once asked how a person who'd come from such humble beginnings could have so much swagger. He'd told me it was because he'd clawed his way out of hell with nothing but determination and his bare hands. I couldn't argue with his assessment. It was too bad Abe's faith in himself didn't extend to his romantic relationships because that's where the cocky train derailed. "I had a wicked arm back in the day," he said.

I raised my glass of soda, tipping it toward him. "Yes, you did."

Russ's gaze bounced between us for a few seconds before his patience wore out. "I take it Lio didn't jog out to the mound to hug you."

Abe snorted, I laughed, and then we shared a look that lingered longer than two friends would allow. I could get lost in his baby blues, and I probably did more than was healthy. In their depths, I saw decades of memories as we went from heated rivals to best friends with myriad labels and pit stops along the journey. I was the one who broke eye contact first, and I grinned over at Russ.

"If by a hug, you mean I charged the mound and tackled his big ass to the ground, then yes." I glanced at Abe again and caught his crooked grin before he replaced it with a mock scowl.

"He broke my nose," Abe said, pointing to a slight bump near the bridge.

"Gives you character," I replied. "And you're welcome."

Russ laughed and slapped the table. "Then what?"

"Both benches cleared," Alex replied.

"And the two idiots were ejected from the game and the tournament," Alyssa added.

"And I was on track to have my best season," I said. "I was only two base hits from breaking the club record."

Abe played an invisible violin. If Alex weren't there, he'd mime jacking off instead. God, I loved him. "You weren't the only one having a banner year that season. I had college scouts checking me out at fourteen years old."

"Seriously?" Russ asked.

Abe shrugged. "They weren't prepared to make any offers yet, but my name was bandied about as the best pitcher in Georgia."

"Country," I corrected.

"Wait, didn't Abe play on the same high school team as Coach Steve?" Alex asked.

Alex's head coach, Steve Parker, was a former professional baseball player who'd collected the Cy Young and MVP awards as well as a World Series title. He was a phenomenal person, and Alex was lucky to play for him.

"Yep," I said. "Abe was a better pitcher than Coach Steve."

Alex's mouth fell open and a "Whoa," tumbled from his lips.

"You didn't end up playing college ball?" Russ asked.

"Nope. I decided to join the military instead," Abe replied. I felt his gaze on me, but I didn't turn my head. "And guess which asshole I went to basic training with?"

I smiled at Russ and held up my right hand. "I'm the asshole."

"Isn't that something?" Russ quipped.

The server delivered three pizzas because we liked a variety. I placed slices of four cheese, sausage and green pepper, and traditional pepperoni on my plate then sprinkled parmesan cheese on my pizza and handed the shaker to Abe, who passed me the red pepper flakes. I slid him extra napkins because he was a slob, and Abe gave me one of the forks the server had dropped off because I was fastidious in everything except sex. It couldn't be more evident we'd eaten meals together at least a hundred times. Eventually, the conversation picked back up again, but it centered on how things were going for Alex in school.

Midway through my slices, a tingle of awareness crept over me like a spider crawling up the back of my neck. I immediately scanned the room to search for danger and locked eyes with Dylan Eads, the last person I wanted to see while out with my family. The buff man with auburn hair and hazel eyes stopped at our table and plastered a fake smile on his face.

"Well, this sure is cozy," Eads said. "The chief of police is having a nice meal with the deputy chief of the internal affairs division. I figured you two were sworn enemies."

Alyssa and I exchanged glances, but before either of us could respond, Alex spoke up. "You know my mom and dad?"

"Seriously?" Eads said, looking between Alyssa and me. "You guys are married? Guess that's why you've teamed up to ruin my career."

Recently, District Attorney Gillian Babineaux and Commissioner Ellen Rigby approached me with troubling information regarding malicious prosecution allegations involving a former attorney in Babineaux's office. She'd discovered one conviction that needed to be overturned and was concerned everyone Adam Savant had put away would end up back on the streets. She had formed a task force consisting of investigators and litigators to review all cases Savant prosecuted on Chatham County's behalf. I assigned Topher Carnegie, a talented young cold case detective, to assist from our office. The task force had flagged ten cases out of more than a hundred that showed signs of prosecutorial misconduct.

As part of the investigation, Topher and a retired deputy sheriff also reviewed the police investigations prior to the cases landing on Savant's desk. In seven out of ten instances, Dylan Eads had been the lead detective. Was it a mere coincidence, or had Savant conspired with Eads? When Topher had handed me the summary of the findings, I'd had no choice but to turn it over to Alyssa. I'd asked about her initial conversation with Eads, but she refused to divulge anything. It left me feeling vulnerable and in the dark—two things I hated more than anything.

"They're divorced," Russ cut in. "I'm Alyssa's husband. And you are?"

Eads introduced himself to Russ, who also worked in law enforcement as a parole officer. Then he turned to Abe and said, "I recognize you. Sheriff Beecham from Bryan County, right?"

"Yep." Abe's casual reply contradicted his tense posture.

Eads didn't offer to shake hands with either man, and neither moved to extend the gesture to him. They both knew the score. The only person in the dark was Alex, and he looked between the adults, searching for answers as a tense silence washed over the table.

"So will I see you both on Monday morning?" Eads asked, volleying his gaze between Alyssa and me.

Monday, huh? I wasn't going to allow Alyssa to blow me off again after Eads's ballsy confrontation.

"This isn't the time or place for the discussion you want to have, Eads," my ex-wife said coolly.

"Yes, ma'am. Of course. You're right." Eads's words may have been conciliatory, but his expression was downright spiteful. "I guess we'll clear up this misunderstanding on Monday at ten." Eads looked at our son and smiled genuinely. "It was good to meet you, little man." Alex, who'd picked up on the tension around him, only nodded. Eads turned his focus toward me, and the cold, dead look in his hazel eyes raised the hair on my neck. Eads was annoyed by Alyssa but placed her intrusion squarely on my shoulders. I wasn't as big and brawny as Abe, but I would easily carry the burden. I didn't want dirty cops in my department, and if Alyssa could prove Eads was taking bribes, I'd ensure he was prosecuted fully. The angry detective gave us one final nod before exiting the Pizza Joint.

"Can I have some quarters," Alex said, breaking the silence. "I want to pick some songs on the jukebox."

"Yeah," Russ said, pushing back from the table. "I'll go with you."

Alex rolled his eyes and stood up. "Fine, but I get to pick the music. You like stuff from the Stone Age."

Russ hooked his arm around Alex's neck, and they continued bantering on their way to the jukebox. Normally, I would take the opportunity to express my gratitude for the close relationship Alex had with Russ, but I had more pressing things on my mind.

"Tell me," I simply said.

Alyssa took a deep breath and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I conducted an initial interview with Eads on Thursday afternoon. His union rep was with him, but he clammed up and wouldn't say a word without a lawyer present. Eads's attorney called me on Friday afternoon and arranged for a meeting on Monday at ten." Alyssa held up her hands when I opened my mouth to speak. "That's all I know at this point."

I leaned forward and kept my voice low. "What did your initial investigation turn up?"

Alyssa shook her head. "You know I can't divulge anything further right now."

"I'm the chief of police," I replied. "And you wouldn't have an investigation if it weren't for me. I deserve to know what I'm up against.

"Lio," Alyssa said with a level of calm that had always gotten under my skin. "I'm not going to thank you for doing your job nor will I let you interfere when I do mine."

I clenched my jaw tight enough to make my teeth hurt. "He knows we have a son together."

"I was right here when it happened," Alyssa reminded me. "He didn't say or do anything threatening."

Abe placed his hand on my knee under the table, and the weight and warmth of his touch soothed my rising temper. "If looks could kill, Lio would be bleeding out on the floor right now," Abe told Alyssa. "The guy is a ticking time bomb, Lyss."

My ex-wife inhaled deeply once more, and her expression softened on her exhale. "Our boy is heading back, so I'll make this quick. You can watch the interview on Monday through a monitor, but I don't want you present in the room. You'll only make things worse."

Before I could respond, Alex and Russ resumed their spots on either side of her. She held my gaze with a quirked brow until I gave her a subtle nod. We dove back into our food, and the conversation flowed as if Eads had never stepped up to our table. It was Alyssa's week to have Alex, so I said my goodbyes in the parking lot. I held open my arms, and Alex walked into them. We were fortunate he wasn't too cool to show his parents affection, but we were even luckier our son wasn't seriously hurt.

"That was a close one," I said, hugging Alex a little longer and harder than usual.

"I know, Dad, but I'm okay."

I pulled back from the embrace and smiled down at my son. "Okay? I think you're pretty freaking awesome."

"You're pretty awesome too," he said. Alex glanced over as if to gauge where Alyssa and Russ were. They were several feet away, chatting affably with Abe. "That guy back there…"

"Don't worry about him. Mom and I have everything under control." Damn, I hoped we did. "I'll see you Friday night, okay?" Alex nodded, and I said, "I love you."

"Love you too."

Alex jogged over and gave Abe a high five before getting into Russ's SUV. I waited for my best friend to saunter over, then we walked to our vehicles. Nothing highlighted the differences between us more than our rides. I drove a newer, charcoal gray truck with an extended cab while Abe preferred the turquoise, single cab truck his granddaddy had bought new in 1972. Abe called her Betty and had spent a small fortune in time and money restoring the truck to her former glory. He had a newer ride but preferred to take Betty out whenever the weather was nice. I glanced up at the sky, which was blue and mostly cloudless at the moment.

"What are your plans this afternoon?" Abe asked. There wasn't a hint of suggestiveness in his tone, but the look in his eyes was hot enough to set my hair on fire.

"I patched and replaced the drywall in the dining room. I tend to get carried away with the spackle, so I need to sand it down thoroughly before I can paint."

I'd purchased a fixer-upper in Thunderbolt eight months ago. The property itself was a dream. I owned six acres of woods and marsh that butted up against the Wilmington River. The house had excellent bones, but the interior was a disaster and had landed the property in my price range. Luckily, I had a lot of free time on my hands. Alyssa and I alternated weeks with Alex, and I hadn't been in a serious relationship for over a year. I was working my way through the house one room at a time. I'd started with my bedroom suite since I wanted a relaxing place to lay my head each night, then remodeled Alex's room. The dining room was next as I worked up the courage to tackle the kitchen, which would require the most time and money. And I really hated removing wallpaper, and there was no telling how many layers were beneath the ugly goose pattern that made my eyes twitch.

"Want some help?" Abe asked.

"By help, do you mean sanding drywall or trying to get me out of my pants?" The question triggered my earlier thoughts of Abe shoving his face between my ass cheeks.

Abe waggled his brows as he crashed into my personal space, walking me backward until I was pressed against my truck. My thin shirt wasn't much protection against the sun-warmed metal at my back and the scorching hot man pressed against my front. "Yes."

I bit my bottom lip to keep from taking him up on the offer I saw in his blue eyes while I practically melted into a puddle on the asphalt. If Abe felt this good pressed against me with clothes on, how incendiary would he be naked? I yearned to throw caution to the wind and find out, but we were at an awful impasse I didn't know how to navigate.

A few months ago, Abe, who oversaw the Explorer academy for the entire state of Georgia, had attended the open house SPD had held for our first class of cadets. During the reception, Abe had leaned in close and asked for a private word.

I'd led him into an empty office and sat on the edge of the desk. Abe had surprised me by placing his hands on my thighs and pushing them apart so he could step into the space. He'd cupped my face and stared into my eyes. "I love you, Lio."

My pulse had bucked and galloped like a runaway horse, but I'd reined in my emotions. I knew Abe loved me because he often told me so. I was the most important person in his life.

"I love you too."

Abe had shaken his head. "I'm in love with you. I think a part of me has been in love with you since you hit that grand slam off me when we were kids. I think you're in love with me too."

"I am," I'd admitted without hesitation. "Other than Alex, you're the most important person in my life."

Abe had caressed my bottom lip with his thumb. "I can't stop thinking about our almost kiss five years ago."

"The one where you pretended not to read my intentions and pulled away?"

"That obvious, huh?" Abe had asked with a wince.

I'd chuckled to release the nervous tension building inside me. "Like a neon sign. Why'd you do it?"

"I thought you were drunk, lonely, and on the rebound after things didn't work out with Calder, the sexy banker guy. I couldn't risk our friendship if I gave in to my desire."

I'd sighed heavily and leaned my forehead against Abe's. His lips had been mine for the taking and there was no denying the need vibrating through his strong body. I pulled back and stared into his baby blues. "I was tipsy and lonely, but you made a serious miscalculation." Abe quirked a brow to encourage me to continue. "Things didn't work out with Calder because I wanted you, idiot." He had been my first attempt at a serious relationship after my divorce from Alyssa two years prior. The relationship hadn't stood a chance because Calder wasn't Abe, so after we ended our relationship on friendly terms, I made a tipsy pass at my best friend.

"How was I supposed to know?" Abe had said. "You never said anything or hinted at an attraction to me."

"I was going to let the kiss do the talking for me."

Abe puffed out his cheeks and slowly exhaled. "Damn, I really am an idiot."

"Or maybe you made the right choice." That had made Abe scowl, so I explained. "Loving someone isn't always enough."

Disappointment had flashed in his blue eyes, but there was no missing the tenderness and yearning in his voice when he said, "I don't believe that for a second, and neither do you. I won't push you, though. The ball is in your court. We don't need to have a lengthy discussion about how wrong you are. All you have to do is just say when, Lio."

"How magnanimous of you," I'd teased to soften the edges of the disappointment riding us both.

Abe had mostly stayed true to his word over the following two months, but innuendo and teasing touches had creeped into our conversations as his patience wore thin. I knew a deeper conversation was on the horizon, and I wasn't looking forward to it.

"I'd love your help," I said.

Abe followed me back to my place where we put on masks to keep from inhaling the fine dust particles. I only had one electric sander, and I gave it to Abe while I used the old-fashioned block wrapped with sandpaper. He switched tools with me midway through the room and we knocked out the task much quicker than if I'd attempted it on my own.

I set the electric sander on the worktable in the middle of the space and faced Abe. He had drywall dust in his hair and on his clothes. He raised his hands and ran them through his hair, shaking the fine powder loose and putting his impressive biceps on display. I wanted to sink my teeth into Abe's arms, sweat and dust be damned. His t-shirt was damp and clinging to his broad chest. Hard nipples pressed against the fabric, and I so badly wanted to cross the room and work them with my teeth and tongue.

"Eyes up here, buddy," Abe said.

I jerked my gaze up and nearly laughed at his indignant expression above his mask. "My apologies. Let me buy you a beer to make up for it."

Abe waggled his brows. "Plying me with booze, huh?"

I pinned him with a dark glare. "Because that worked so well for me the last time I tried to kiss you."

Not only had Abe pulled away before my lips could land, but he disappeared from my life for a month. No phone calls or texts. No dropping by on a random evening to hang out and watch a game. He was just gone, and it was the loneliest time in my life until he reappeared on my doorstep with a sack of food in one hand, a six pack of beer in the other, and a sheepish grin on his face. I had a choice to make: I could open the door and pretend nothing happened so I could get my friend back, or force a conversation that could've ended our friendship for good. I chose door number one and buried my feelings. Until recently, I convinced myself that friendship with Abe was enough. Now, I couldn't stop thinking about what would happen if I just said when.

"Touché," Abe said.

We finished knocking off most of the dust, but I would still manage to track the shit everywhere before I finally got it out of my home. We tossed the masks onto the worktable and headed into the kitchen.

"Pretty sure I've found the task I hate more than stripping wallpaper," I said.

"You'll say the same thing when we paint the dining room." I loved how Abe said we.

"And I'll reaffirm how much I hate stripping wallpaper next weekend when we tackle that job."

"I probably have plans next weekend," Abe said when I handed him a beer.

I quirked a brow. It seemed there were some instances when we didn't apply. "I could live with this hideousness an extra week." I stretched and flexed my shoulders, neck, and back before reaching in the refrigerator for my beer. "Pretty sure I feel every one of my forty-two years right now."

He twisted off the cap and tossed it into the recycling bin. "You'll feel better after a hot shower."

Of course my brain leapt into action, conjuring up an image of the two of us taking a shower together right as I took a sip of beer. I somehow managed not to choke and chased the first drink with another.

"I love the way your mind works," Abe said huskily. Of course, he knew the direction my mind had gone.

Abe crossed the room and pressed his body against mine just as he'd done in the parking lot, then he set his beer on the counter and did the same with mine. "I really want my kiss."

"I thought you wanted me to say when."

"Oh, I do, but I'll settle for a kiss right now."

I had no business entertaining the suggestion until we had an overdue conversation, but reason and logic—my two best traits—were powerless against the smoldering expression in Abe's eyes. I cupped the back of his neck and planted my lips against his.