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“Wyatt?”
While Thoreau turned off the shower, Wyatt rubbed the towel over his hair before covering his junk again. “Is phase two me moving to Seamus and Bell’s place? I’ve got no issues with that. They’ve got—”
“A pool, I know,” Thoreau interrupted sarcastically. “They’ve got a great library, too. I’m pretty sure there’s a wrestling gym. But everybody’s always going on about that indoor pool.”
He leaned against the counter and stared down at Wyatt. “The plan is not for you to leave. Let’s get that out of the way first. Noah still has a lot going on, and you going back into Finn territory would just excite the reporters who seem to have decided he’s the star of this story they won’t let die.”
The damn story hadn’t died because new details kept popping up every week. Money laundering. Dirty accountants and political intrigue. Not to mention an affair, compromising video and a potential homicide.
The amount of accelerant used could have done more damage than it had, but from what they’d managed to piece together, the arsonist was an amateur with no idea what he was doing. Maybe he’d watched a bad video online, because Wyatt knew they were out there.
Thank God for incompetence, otherwise he and Noah wouldn’t have made it out of there.
“I’m staying?” He looked up at Thoreau. “I’m freezing my bare ass off and you’re blocking the exit, so am I being moved to the bathroom for the duration? If so, I’d like to borrow one of those nice blankets your sister makes.”
Thoreau laughed and he fought the desire to smile in return. Then Thoreau tossed him the folded boxers he’d set by the sink and Wyatt caught them automatically, watching as he disappeared around the corner. “There. Warm those cheeks up.”
This was what he was talking about, he thought as he slipped his legs into the shorts before managing to slip them on without losing his towel. Normally he was proud of his body—a little too proud, maybe, and too quick to show it off—but today he felt the need to hide. In his defense, it had been weird as hell around here. He and Thoreau had never thrown down or anything, but he’d always felt there was a little bit of tension to their interactions. Like two dogs trying to mark the same territory.
You’re the only dog in this scenario.
He draped the towel around his neck and followed Thoreau into the living room. Was that true? Had it really been him all this time? He tried to think back, and other than some occasional snark, he couldn’t remember Thoreau ever doing anything to him. He’d never challenged him or insinuated he wasn’t good enough for Fiona. And he’d never been an asshole the way Wyatt had.
He was the one who hadn’t been secure enough to share Fiona’s time, partly because he knew Thoreau was more her type than he could ever be. Smart. Steady. Better at expressing his feelings.
The business owner even took his clothes seriously. The tan pants, new belt, and wrinkle-free blue shirt that made him look like he dropped off a catalogue were like nothing Wyatt would wear unless he was headed to a wedding or a funeral. Thoreau reminded Wyatt a little of Stephen. Or one of those political interns that circled his cousin like a pilot fish.
He was younger and way more together than Wyatt. He knew where he wanted to be five years from now. Fifteen years. There was confidence and direction in every step he took and every gesture he made. Clarity of purpose. That was the phrase, right? Thoreau had that and Wyatt didn’t.
Shit, where had all this introspection come from? He was a simple guy. Or he used to be. And he never used to sit still long enough to have such deep fucking thoughts.
“You’re really just going to leave me with something like phase two hanging over my head?” he griped.
Thoreau laughed as he went through the pile of books collecting under the coffee table, and Wyatt winced as he read the titles. “I was going to put those back.”
In addition to the book on brewing and a couple of political intrigues, there were three of Fiona’s self-help books. She said she read them like other people read romance, and that while what was inside wasn’t necessarily accurate, but there were kernels of truth and a guaranteed happy ending.
Wyatt liked them.
“Been having a hard time sleeping on this lumpy-ass foldout?” Thoreau asked with a grin, carrying the books over to the shelf and stacking them neatly.
“I’m trying to keep up with dinner conversations. You know how you and Fi like to talk while you eat.”
All the reading and living with a guy like Thoreau had made him start to question his own ambitions. Which until now had consisted of fighting fires until he couldn’t, and then… Something to do with sleeping in and drinking beer for breakfast? Going to Disneyland? He’d never thought that far ahead. He’d never thought about becoming an arson investigator or even the captain of his own station someday either, but that was changing, too.
