As soon as Rowe got his key in the lock, he heard the pounding from the other end of the house. The flea brigade had likely been sleeping on his bed again, waiting for him to come home. Rowe quickly slipped inside and tapped in the code to disarm the security system before his dogs—two Rottweilers and one German Shephard—launched their large bodies at him.
“Damn! Did you adopt them from Satan’s rescue shelter?” Noah complained above the yipping and barking, staying in the open doorway.
Rowe looked up from where he was kneeling on the floor, giving attention to each dog while at the same time trying to avoid getting a tongue up his nose or across his eyes. “What? They’re just babies.”
“Babies my ass,” he muttered, but allowed Rowe to introduce him to each dog. There were a few quick sniffs before they attempted to lick and tackle Noah as well.
Rowe pushed back his feet, brushing off the dog hair and drool. “Why don’t you grab a shower before you fall over while I let the mongrels out?”
“Sounds like heaven to me.”
“Bathroom is down the hall. First door on the right. You can take the spare bedroom across from it.”
Once the dogs were settled in the backyard and he made one last check of his voicemail for any work-related issues, Rowe walked to the bathroom with a couple of beers in hand and slowly nudged the partially open door wider. Then he hesitated. He hadn’t thought twice about entering the bathroom because they’d been in each other’s pockets for years and got used to talking anywhere it was convenient. But now, he couldn’t help but think of the last time he’d seen Noah naked. Rowe clamped down on the memory hard, shoving it aside. There was no revisiting that.
Steam filled the small bathroom and Noah’s clothes were scattered across the floor. He resisted the urge to poke at them, to discover where his friend had been and more importantly why he was now on his doorstep. He’d notched it up to too many years of poking around in things he shouldn’t.
“Here,” he grunted, slipping a cold beer inside the shower past the curtain, careful not to look.
“Fuck,” Noah groaned, accepting the bottle. “If I’d known I’d get this kind of service, I’d have camped on your front step years ago.”
“Just so long as you don’t expect me to wash your back.” He nearly choked over the thoughtless remark, then silently cursed. He needed to stop second guessing his every move. They’d patched things up long ago.
A low chuckle lifted above the sound of pounding water. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Rowe leaned his butt against the sink and smiled before taking a drink of his beer. Noah sounded like…Noah. His friend. “That was only because that no-star motel you found had only two minutes of hot water and if we hadn’t shared, you wouldn’t have left me any.”
But that night had been a real eye-opener for Rowe. He’d noticed men before but never like he had with Noah, and that shared shower had strung a wire of tension between them that had never loosened. It had in fact, kept stretching until it snapped one night in Prague.
“And after your comment earlier, I’d thought something had changed…”
Rowe forced a laugh, but didn’t say anything as his mind raced. A massive wave of disjointed memories crashed over him. He remembered smooth, sweaty skin, full lips, and the rough burn of whiskers abrading the tender skin of his inner thighs. Noah’s moans from so many years ago echoed in his ears and he barely swallowed back an answering groan. One stupid night they’d given in to that taut attraction and it had been hotter, fucking better than anything he’d ever known before.
And Rowe had run. That next day, he’d panicked and insisted they forget what happened. Sure, Noah had shrugged and laughed in his usual, easy-going manner, chalking everything up to booze, but Rowe hadn’t been blind to the pain flashing in his brilliant blue eyes. Of course, shortly after that, Noah had gotten sick and Rowe was shot, ending his career as a Ranger and separating them. It had taken them years to get back to the easy friendship they’d built before that stupid night.
Rowe sucked down half of his beer, realizing that Noah’s words held a faint hopeful hint. But they couldn’t go back down that road. He had his friend back and Rowe wasn’t going to fuck that up—not when he was still too emotionally wrecked over his wife for anything else.
Of course, this all assumed that Noah was even staying. Rowe hadn’t seen Noah in years. His appearance could just be a pit stop on the road to wherever he was headed next.
“So, it’s not that I’m unhappy to see you,” Rowe started slowly, his eyes focused on the nearly empty bottle in his hands. “But what are you doing here? Last I heard you were still a fucking Ranger.”