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“We need proof this was Jagger,” Lucas said.
Noah cleared his throat. “That’s something I can help with. Rowe and I spent years sneaking into places we weren’t supposed to be in and getting dirt that we should never be able to find. We can get your proof.”
Looking over his shoulder, Rowe found Noah grinning at him, his bright eyes dancing with mischief and what were likely to be devious thoughts. “Are you asking me to do something illegal with you?” Rowe asked in mocking tones.
Noah threw his arm around Rowe’s shoulder and drew him close, pressing his temple against Rowe’s. “I’m asking you to help me break several laws, preferably in alphabetical order if we can manage it.”
Rowe looked over at Lucas and blinked wide eyes at his friend. “Please, Dad, can we skip the legal bullshit this time around?”
Lucas didn’t even crack a smile as he glared at Rowe and Noah, but the low snickers of his friends could be heard in the room. “Don’t get fucking caught.”
Noah snorted behind Rowe, his arm tightening around Rowe’s shoulders so that Rowe’s back was pressed against Noah’s front. “As if.”
Yeah, he and Noah were good, and now that Lucas had taken off his fucking “play by the rules” shackles, they were going to nail Jagger to the goddamn wall.Chapter 8Noah balanced a bottle of water on his belt buckle and crossed one ankle over the other on the arm of the brown couch. The thing was sinfully comfortable, so he’d stretched out when they came inside after taking out the dogs. He’d enjoyed the dinner at Lucas’s quite a bit, but he’d had a little too much whiskey and now laziness seeped into his frame. He wasn’t tired enough for bed, though. Rowe’s friends…they were incredible. His friend had a true home here in Cincinnati and the men he called family were the kind of people Noah would want on his side any day.
“So, Ian huh?”
He opened one eye to peer at Rowe, who sat in the matching recliner at the end of the coffee table, then remembered why he’d shut his eyes in the first place. Rowe had his bare feet propped up on the coffee table and he’d changed into a white T-shirt that had been washed so often, it could barely be considered a shirt, and soft, gray pajama pants—ones that had been driving Noah crazy because they rode low on his hips. He’d wrestled with his dogs outside and his shirt had kept riding up, showing pelvic muscles that made Noah’s mouth water. Between the pants, the whiskey, and those damned bare feet, Noah’s libido had kicked into high gear. It didn’t help that the intricate Maori tattoo that covered his upper chest, shoulder, and part of his arm kept peeking out. Made Noah want to tug off his shirt to reacquaint himself with the way those black lines circled Rowe’s left nipple. His memory had been supplying him with that image longer than he cared to admit.
Rowe had given him plenty to think about at Lucas’s with all the warning looks when it came to Ian, but there was something else. The soft catch in Rowe’s breath when he’d put his arm around Rowe’s shoulders and drew him close. The way Rowe’s pupils had blown wide when he’d grabbed his chin. He been so damn tempted to kiss the man right there, draw out the moan he could still hear in his dreams. But that would have only gotten him slugged by Rowe or his friends. From what he’d seen, Rowe was playing straight to his friends and Noah wasn’t about to be the one to expose Rowe. Well…expose Rowe’s secret.
Daisy, Rowe’s German Shephard, huffed and moved her head where she’d rested it on Rowe’s thigh. She was the same color as the recliner he sat in. Rowe had said he bought furniture that matched his pets so the dog hair would blend, but the man had lint rollers stashed all over the house. One of his dogs was passed out on a cushion in the corner of the living room and the other, he thought maybe Igor, had his chin on Noah’s leg.
“What about Ian?” Noah asked. He needed to get his mind of Rowe and his damn tattoos.
Rowe lifted his water bottle, his throat moving as he swallowed a couple of times. A drop slid down his strong neck to leave a dark splotch on his shirt. He lowered the bottle and met Noah’s eyes, his gaze guarded. It hadn’t been in the past and seeing it now tightened Noah’s chest. Every damn time. “He the type you usually go for?”
Both eyes open now, Noah turned his head enough to fully look at his friend, his hair flopping over to tangle in his eyelashes. “Type?”
