All Kinds of Tied Down (Marshals 1)

“You’re on a date,” I commented.

“It’s actually a group thing, and we’re having dim sum.”

I snorted out a laugh. Dim sum would not fill Ian up. He loved Chinese food as much as me—but noodles, chicken, and pork in large portions, not small pieces in steamer baskets.

“Fuck you, come meet me.”

“Meet you? It’s a date. She wants you to get comfortable with her friends.”

“I don’t care. I feel like hitting a ball.”

Whenever he was bored, he thought about going to the batting cages. “Closed until March, buddy,” I reminded him. “It’s like twenty degrees outside right now, plus snow.”

“What about bowling?”

“What about it?” I chuckled.

Silence.

God, I was ridiculous for even considering going. “Where are you?”

My hunger for Ian Doyle’s company had gone from casual appreciation and friendship to a craving for the man himself that sat like a cold, hard stone in the pit of my stomach. Not that anyone knew; even the object of my affection would never be allowed to see how famished I was for his touch on my skin, his scent on my sheets, his breath in my ear. I hid the yearning well.

“At Torque in River North.”

“That’s not a Chinese restaurant.”

“Like I don’t fuckin’ know that.”

“Then what’re you—”

“I told you, it’s stupid.”

“Are you sure it’s okay?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, just come on.”

“All right,” I muttered, levering off the wall, “Gimme like—”

“Wait, where are you?”

“I’m at Granger’s.”

“Oh, I’ll come there instead.”

“Ian, buddy, you’re on a date,” I emphasized. “You’re not supposed to bail.”

“I’ll just tell them—”

“Just stay put. I’ll be right there.”

A huff of breath and then he was gone.

I made my excuses to the group, drained my beer, handed off my pool cue, and was on my way to the door when I moved to shift around a woman and she turned.

“Jill,” I said, smiling fast.

“Miro.” She beamed for a second and then faltered. “Oh, is Ian with you?”

How her whole face fell, like there was nothing worse she could think of than seeing my partner, was sort of sad. “No, he’s not. I’m actually going to meet him now.”

“Good,” she sighed, clearly relieved, and then she visibly realized what she’d said. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like—”

“It’s fine.”

She exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. I know he’s your partner, but honestly the only good quality the man has is having you for a best friend.”

I smirked. “You don’t think that’s a little harsh?”

“No, I really don’t. You should have a PSA made, Miro. Something like: even though Ian Doyle is drop-dead gorgeous, just walk away, because dating him will be short and disappointing, as he’s clearly holding out for someone else.”

I nodded, moving to leave. “So you’ve given this some thought, I see.”

“I wasted a month of my life thinking a US marshal would be a fun thing to have,” she said, shrugging. “I may be an idiot, but he’s the one guilty of false advertising.”

“Well, I think—”

“And he’s terrible in the sack.”

It was my cue to run; it was too bad I couldn’t. The crowd was too thick for me to bolt, so I plastered on a smile and pushed through. She caught my hand quickly, squeezing tight, letting me know that we were still good, before I pulled away and she was swallowed.

Outside, I moved to the curb to hail a cab, and my phone rang.

“What?”

“We’re on our way to The Velvet Lounge. Meet me there.”

I laughed into the phone. “Ian, buddy, I am so not dressed for The Velvet Lounge.”

“Me neither.”

“You’re wearing a suit, aren’t you?”

“No. Why?”

Lord. “Let me talk to Emma.”

There was some muffled noise and then, “Miro?”

“Hey, Em,” I said softly. “Are you guys going to The Velvet Lounge?”

“Yeah, we are, right after we drive Ian by his place so he can change.”

I coughed softly. “Em?”

“Yes?”

“Was The Velvet Lounge a last-minute group decision?”

“Well, yeah. I’m doing some PR work for the owner, and he just called to say he put me on the list for tonight. How awesome is that?”

“So great,” I agreed weakly. “But would it be okay if I borrowed Ian? My plans fell through, and I don’t know if he told you I broke my wrist today, but—”

“No, he—oh, I’m so sorry,” she said sympathetically. “But ohmygod, yes. Can I pretty please pawn him off on you?” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “I swear to God, he’s so bored and he’s bringing everybody down.”

I was certain he was. Ian did not suffer in silence. “Yeah, please. Put him on.”

“I’ll owe you big time. Thank you.”

If she only knew how permanently I wanted to take him off her hands. “No problem.”

Again there was the muffled noise of a phone being passed around. “Hey?”

“I’ll grab sandwiches at Bruno & Meade. You come over, bring Chickie, and we’ll take him for a run after we eat, all right?”

“Yeah?” He sounded so hopeful.