Marc Jillson & The Gazebo (Love Inscribed 2)

“This conversation just got awkward.”

“It helps to have drunk half the bar.”

I dropped my head into my arm. Shutting my eyes might clear up the fog. And the disappointment.

A warm hand landed on my shoulder and I startled upright, hoping it was Hunter. It was Quinn. “You all right?”

Hunter was dancing with—Red Jeans? When did he get here? I’d thought that was over.

I shrugged Quinn off. “I’m good. Should be heading home.”

I rushed out a goodbye, ignored Quinn’s sympathetic wince, and hit the men’s room for a quick piss. A better guy would swing past Hunter before leaving. I bolted for the exit.

It was just a kiss. We can forget about it.

Hunter had said it himself.

Fresh air breezed across my over-heated face and limbs. I sucked it deeply into my lungs, and stumbled down the street.

I heard my name in the distance behind me. I groped for the nearest lamppost and scanned the street. Hunter wheeled hard and fast along the pavement, a stern set to his jaw. He stopped with a sharp turn toward me. “Why’re you running off?”

I nicked my chin in the direction of the club. “You were having fun.”

“Yeah, I was hoping it would get more fun once you came over to dance.”

“Red Jeans was all over—”

“A little jealousy is cute, Marc,” he said softly, “but don’t overdo it. He was with someone else, our dance was platonic, and there’s plenty of space between us.”

I knocked my head back against the lamppost. “You are way too mature for me.”

“Maybe it’ll rub off.”

A laugh tickled out of me.

Hunter started rolling down the street and I followed by his side.

He side-eyed me. “What I saw of you was nice.”

“Nice?”

“Really nice. You and Liam hanging out.”

I rolled my eyes, secretly glad he thought so. “Never believed you’d see it, huh?”

“Sure, I did. I’m just surprised how quickly.”

His belief in me was unexpected. And touching.

“We’re civil,” I said gruffly, wishing the road wasn’t dancing. “We’ll never be BFFs.”

Hunter snagged my hand. I stumbled toward him and he firmly cupped my hips, steering me onto his warm lap. I gasped. “What are you doing?

His chest pressed against my back, one arm tightening around my waist, his voice pebbling at my ear. “Feet on mine. I’m giving you a ride.”

Muscles in his arms and chest flexed around me as he rolled us down a moonlit, oak-lined street. A hoot trumpeted out of me and I sagged against him, resting my head on his shoulder. Orange leaves rained gently over us.

Hunter stopped outside the ramp to his house under an iron-wrought lantern. Soft light glowed over his face and I shifted on his lap to ensure the best view. His eyes danced and that damn mouth would ruin me if I didn’t taste him again.

I touched his cheeks and his eyes briefly fluttered shut. I leaned in, nose tapping his, and stopped, groaning.

“I can’t.”

“Kiss me?”

I nodded but didn’t move back. “I’m too drunk.” I closed my eyes and breathed him in. “I need to remember it.”

Hunter swallowed, and his hand cradled my jaw, thumb sweeping across my cheek. No one had ever looked at me like that. My stomach jumped toward my throat.

Did Hunter feel the same thing? Except—

I scrambled off Hunter. “Is it unrequited? Or are you in an open relationship?”

His eyebrows popped to his hairline. “Excuse me?”

“Peter.”

“Peter?”

“Liam let it slip, that you love him. Like, crazy love.”

Hunter’s head arched back as he laughed.

I folded my arms and scowled at him. “So, what is it? How close are you?”

Hunter scrubbed his jaw over another laugh. “I do love Peter.”

“But? I mean, you flirt with . . . guys . . .”

He threw me a no-nonsense look. “I flirt with you.”

I shifted from foot to foot, and grabbed the support of the rail. “Yeah.”

Hunter rolled past me to the house entrance. “There’s nothing physical about Peter and I. Christ. That would burn. At most, Peter watches.”

I trailed after him into a brightly tiled foyer. “So he’s into voyeurism. And you love him.”

Hunter shook his head. “I’ll be talking to Liam about this.”

“No. I’m glad he told me. I’d rather know.”

“I’ll introduce you.”

I shuddered. “No, don’t. I’m good.”

“I think Peter would make you laugh.”

I huffed under my breath. “Funny is so overrated. Anyone can crack a joke.”

“Let’s see you do that with a splitting headache in the morning.” Hunter keyed open a door and held it wide. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

I entered, drunk and curious. Spotless hardwood floors and space. Everything clean and tidy. And green. How many plants did he own?

He gave me the grand tour. The apartment had been modified for wheelchair ease. Lower counter surfaces and drawers, and space to roll under the sinks in the bathroom and kitchen.

Hunter ushered me to a large wooden workstation that doubled as a table. I took the guest chair and admired the low-hanging baskets of herbs. Basil. Chives. Rosemary.