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They must have had a beautiful mother, Thoreau thought absently. Wyatt, Rory and Noah were all prettier versions of Finn than he was used to. Their features were more finely formed. Full lips, thick lashes and good cheekbones.
Wyatt would hate being classified as pretty, he knew. And out of the three of them, he was the one who seemed the most masculine. His jaw was a shade stronger and usually clenched with irritation. His hair was a dirty-blond mess that looked he’d driven his truck with his head sticking out of the window. The way he sat and spread out like the world owed him extra room. The way he roughhoused. His athleticism—though Thoreau imagined that came with the job unless you were stuck behind a desk at the firehouse.
Good looking was probably the safest adjective. He wasn’t ready to delve too deeply into the other one that sprang to mind.
Sexy.
Wyatt stirred and Thoreau had his bottle out before the man could open his eyes.
“Thor?” He sat up, scowling at his mask and tugging the contraption off his face impatiently. “What happened to Fiona? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine, Wyatt. She just went home to sleep for a few hours.” It made sense that he would go there. Why wouldn’t he? “I wanted to talk to you alone. Run something by you.”
Wyatt was looking at him suspiciously, but his eyes widened in surprise when Thoreau held up the bottle of beer. “I need a taste-tester. I thought after a week in this place, you might want to volunteer.”
He almost laughed when Wyatt glanced at the door like a child about to break curfew. “Well?”
“Well, I’m not saying no,” he responded, his voice deeper and raspier than Thoreau remembered. “Though I’m not sure how accurate this test will be. Anything that’s not broth or Jell-O is going to taste like fucking heaven right about now.”
Let’s hope so. Thoreau wrapped his fist around the top of the bottle to keep it from popping too loudly as he flipped the metal hoop up to open it. A slight thumping hiss escaped, and now they were both glancing at the door.
“Sips only,” he warned, pouring a small amount of the golden liquid into a small plastic cup before handing it to Wyatt. “Bronte’s orders, and trust me, you follow those or you suffer.”
Wyatt looked quizzically at the cup and gave it a tentative sniff, then took a sip, bright blue eyes studying Thoreau the entire time.
For a split second, it looked like Wyatt’s eyes were about to roll back in his head. He let out a groan after he swallowed the beer and smacked his lips before licking them.
Thoreau watched his tongue slide slowly across his bottom lip to catch the last, lingering drop of liquid and—
Sexy. It fit.
“Jesus, that’s smooth,” Wyatt said, sounding impressed.
Without hesitating he tipped the cup back and finished the beer in one gulp. He looked at the bottle expectantly, obviously wanting more, then glanced back at Thoreau when he made no move to indulge him. “So, what’s the deal?”
“What do you mean?”
“You brought beer. To me.” He stared at Thoreau as if he was slow.
“Seamus said you aren’t supposed to be talking this much.”
Wyatt sent him a warning look. “What’s the deal?”
Here we go, Thoreau thought as a zip of adrenaline burst through his veins. He poured Wyatt another small draught as he spoke. “I heard there’d been a discussion about where you’d be spending your time until you get back on your feet. I think you should recuperate with us when you get out tomorrow.”
Wyatt stared at him for a long moment and then tipped the glass to his lips again before echoing, “With us.”
Thoreau nodded and upped the ante. “Fiona wants to take care of you, and my place has plenty of space. She already has her own room and all her things there.”
When Wyatt held out his cup, Thoreau shook his head and took a drink straight from the bottle, making a satisfied sound after it went down. It was smooth. And he was good. “Well?”
Wyatt scowled. “What was the question?”
“I think you heard me.”
“Just making sure.” He shook his head. “Sorry, it’s going to take me a minute to wrap my head around this. You live in that duplex, right? The one you all own together?”
“I bought them out. The Wayne-plex is mine now. Both sides.”
Wyatt shook his head. “I guess the beer business is booming, huh? And the other side is empty?”
“I’m talking about my side, at least at first, while you need more care. You can have my bed, and I’ll stay on the couch. It folds out, so it won’t be a problem. Unless you’d rather have the other side. You’re welcome to that, too.”
Wyatt looked disbelieving. “I’d get an apartment to myself? While you stay at your place with Fiona?”
