“I adopted Abigail when she was six months old.”
Larkin raised an eyebrow. “By yourself?”
Doyle smiled at the note of interest in Larkin’s tone. “Yup. I really wanted to be a dad.” He picked up one of the egg rolls and took a bite. In between the crunch of the fried food, he asked, “What about you and Noah? Any children?”
“No.” Larkin stabbed some sweet-and-sour chicken with his fork and ate it.
“Don’t want any?” Doyle pressed, polite but curious.
Larkin took another bite. “Noah does.”
“But not you.”
“I’m not parental material.” Bitterly, Larkin added, “Just another thing we disagree on.” He sipped his water. “You didn’t invite me over to hear about how my marriage is falling apart.”
“It’s all right.”
Larkin shook his head. “This must be why you’re single.”
“I’m single because all the hot guys are married,” Doyle corrected as he put a half-eaten egg roll back on the plate. He laughed under his breath and then added, “I really was going to ask you out yesterday. Before I knew you were married, I mean.”
Larkin shot him a disbelieving look. “I was an asshole.”
Doyle hemmed. “Sort of. But I can spot the difference between sincere and fake assholery. It also helped that you’re cute.”
Larkin studied Doyle’s relaxed and playful expression with a sudden and overwhelming sense of… melancholy.
Larkin had acquaintances.
He had colleagues.
He had a husband.
But he had no friends.
He had no partnership—no day to complement his night. Until now. He’d known Ira Doyle for all of two days and the other man saw, really saw, more of Larkin than Noah did. Saw what Larkin thought he hid so well, because he was odd, he was strange, he was broken, and peoplehatedbeing exposed to that sort of pain. Doyle saw Everett Larkin and took him and all of his complications in stride.
And it broke Larkin’s heart.
Broke his heart that he’d been begging for help, dying in front of Noah for a year, and the one who made Larkin eat, who hugged him, who gave that hair tie a tug to make sure he wasokay, had been an absolutely gorgeous and kind man he wasn’t married to.
Larkin took Doyle’s face in one hand and kissed him. It was sudden, catching Doyle’s parted lips in surprise, but the kiss between them was firm. Certain. Doyle brought his big hands up and cupped just under Larkin’s jaw. He opened to Larkin’s touch, and Doyle tasted like oil from the egg roll, sugar from the Coke, and something a little like perfection. Larkin slipped his tongue free and kissed Doyle’s lips again, relishing the burn of whiskers against his own skin. He leaned back, still holding Doyle’s face with one hand. Doyle took a shaky breath, his hands sliding down to rest on Larkin’s shoulders.
They stared at each other.
Larkin moved in for a second kiss.
“Wait,” Doyle said. He swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Noah.”
Larkin gripped Doyle tighter, rubbed the pad of his thumb against Doyle’s stubble, then released him. He stood and took a step around the coffee table. “I have to go.”
Doyle jumped to his feet. “Evie, hang on—”
But Larkin opened the front door and left.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The kiss had been a catalyst.
